SS#15 BABY-SITTERS EUROPEAN VACATION part SIX! :D
welp, spring fever/mania must be in the air, because thursday i power-snarked and finally managed to finish this thing! i was shocked when i found out my snark of this book is actually 215 fucking pages long, which means it's officially almost as long as an actual super special. no wonder it took me so long to write.
thanks for all the awesome comments on parts one, two, three, four and five! i'm so glad you guys have enjoyed this snark! i'm going to try to get the last part up ASAP, since it's already done.
sorry i'm not back-back yet, there's still a lot going on at home with my kitty and other things that are taking up a lot of time, but fingers crossed shit'll slow down soon!
now, onto part six!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
stacey
damn it, i was hoping we'd get a kristy chapter. i need to read more of this epic saga of 'love that dare not speak it's name'! it's the only thing keeping me going in this book of shark jumping, ego stroking and boring bullshit. i could weep real human tears right now.
sadness. all is sadness.
stacey's entry is written by her AND abby, so bolded font will indicate that abby is writing.
'saturday,
hello from the channel -- the new, improved, underground way to cross the english channel!
guys, it is the ultimate ride. it leaves new york city metro north tunnels in the dust. it's clean. it's bright. and the eurostar (that's the name of the train) feels as if it's gliding on a cloud.
they should hire me to write ads!
i am sitting next to abby right now. she wants to say hi.
hi, everybody! before i forget, here's a fundraising idea for the BSC: an auction of THE shoe that stepped on an actual prince's toes. you may have seen the photo in the american papers. if so, please save me a
puh-leeze.'
yeah, puh-leeze.
'as i was saying, we are about to enter france. mom's sitting a few seats in front of us with mr. [douche]. fortunately they've both dozed off. before that, though, they were arguing. well, talking in these soft, agitated voices.
i hope they work something out. mr. d has become impossible. if he flakes out one more time, expect mom on the first Concorde flight home.
which, actually, might not be so bad.
mom has been impossible too.'
i thought someone…mallory?…said that stacey realized having her mom on the trip wasn't such a big deal? i guess that was a straight up bullshit lie.
stacey has a sudden change of heart, writing:
'come to think of it, cancel that last remark. if mom left, i'd have to face mr. anderson tomorrow all by myself…'
these girls, man, these girls.
luckily we dive right in to the next day, with mr. anderson standing in the doorway of mrs. mcgill's hotel room saying, "you must be stacey. am i ever glad to see you."
stacey describes mr. anderson as 'old -- white-haired and wrinkled -- but tall and strong-looking.' but...you aren't going to trade in your daddy issues for grandpa issues and start crushing on the guy, now, right stacey?
right, stacey?!?
mrs. mcgill grabs the doorknob and opens the door all the way, inviting mr. anderson in. and man, i honestly can't help it, but every time i write out "mr. anderson" i can't help but think of 'the matrix.'
mrs. mcgill introduces herself to mr. anderson -- now i'm having trouble even typing the name -- and says, "we're so sorry you had to go through this trip without your suitcase!"
'"well, i needed to buy some new clothes anyway," mr. anderson said with a chuckle. "haven't done any shopping since my wife passed away."'
ouch.
stacey tells us that it's sunday, because she thinks we care, and then states the obvious -- maureen didn't take the next Concorde home. she actually has the day off from her official chaperoning duties after royally guilt tripping mr. douche so hard that he insisted on her taking a day off. no kidding, stacey says: 'yup. she'd made mr. [douche] feel so guilty on the trip, he had insisted on it.' good for her though, to be honest. stacey says this put her mom in a good mood for the first time this entire trip. fuck, man, poor maureen.
she then proceeds to cream herself over the little they've seen of paris so far, which included a walk along the river seine, dinner at a bistro and, of course, their magical hotel that somehow has a perfect view of the eiffel tower from every single room.
sure it does, stacey.
she says she's 'totally, totally in love' with paris. yeah? you gonna give paris a handy under the bistro table at dinner while your mom and friends awkwardly look on, pretending not to know what the hell is happening? or is that honour reserved for the hordes of random dudes from your school, "hot" student teachers, manipulative lifeguards, any guy you happen to meet on vacation (hey, what happens in sea city, new york, vermont, etc, stays in sea city, new york, vermont, etc, am i right, stace??), and sam thomas?
she says she was looking forward to their meeting with mr. anderson because she wanted to 'ask him a million questions about world war II. well, maybe a dozen.' then she gets real with us, 'frankly, i couldn't wait to hand over those ashes and go sightseeing.' that sounds more like the selfish stacey we know. i hope she does the most touristy shit imaginable, to show what a hypocrite she is for ragging on her friends doing touristy shit in new york.
SMS must've blown a lot of money on this trip, because maureen's hotel room sounds fucking huge: 'mom's hotel room was a suite with a bedroom, a sitting room, and a small kitchen.' that's got to have cost a pretty penny, i mean, this hotel is apparently huge, brand spanking new and has all of those impossible-without-the-use-of-magic views of the eiffel tower, so…how much do ya think maureen's suite alone went for? i wonder if the parents had to kick in some funds for this extravagant school trip their kids are on or if the school paid for it in full themselves? this shit blows my mind. i bet the school motto is: Only the Best for SMS!
maureen starts setting out tea and pastries that she'd ordered from room service and stacey follows mr. anderson into the sitting room. she notices that he walks with a limp and so informs us of this fact. maureen offers to go get his suitcase, but stacey wants to play the hero so she runs to get it before her mother can.
'mr. anderson opened the suitcase and lifted out the container of ashes.
"thought you'd lose me, eh, old buddy?" he said with a smile.
he was talking to the can. trés weird.'
i see you're back to being a bitch, stacey. i'll have you know that text edit just autocorrected your name to "tacky" and it couldn't have been more correct. bitching to the readers about how "weird" it is that this poor guy is talking to his dead friend is just straight up fucked. is it weird that claudia talks to a portrait of mimi, too? or is it okay because she's a member of the BSC? you girls and your fucking double standards. i talk to my mother quite regularly even though she's been dead for just over ten years now, it helps me cope when things are rough. does that make me weird, stacey? you know what? i don't even care. fuck you and your judgemental opinions, people mourn in their own ways and it's not your place to pass judgement on them for how they deal with it.
'"you must be relieved," mom said. "i know how important this is to you."
"i wasn't worried," mr. anderson said confidently. "if dennis and i could make it through d-day at omaha beach, we could survive a little luggage mix-up."
i thought about the pictures i had seen of d-day. the men trudging through the sea with full battle gear. warships rocking on the water, planes buzzing overhead.
"so…you were in that?" i asked.
"hard to believe a feeble old guy could invade france, eh?" mr. anderson burst out laughing.
open mouth, insert foot.'
i imagine the mouths of BSC members must taste permanently of rancid feet, considering how often they say stupid, insensitive shit to people.
'i felt myself turning red. "i meant, it must have been awful. were you hurt?"'
i don't know whether or not to say this was a "nice save" on stacey's part. i'm in a pretty fucking unforgiving mood today, so it could go either way.
'"nahh, not too bad," mr. anderson said. "dennis and i were lucky. some of our pals weren't. the invasion didn't go as well as planned, you know. terrible weather, choppy and treacherous water. thousands of us had to jump off the troopships in water up to our necks, loaded down with weapons and supplies. the germans had planted mines. there were craters underwater, from bombs that had fallen. if you stepped in one of those, down you went. for good. tanks and trucks and jeeps were sticking out of the water, half sunk, their crews trapped inside."'
that's really fucking scary and sad.
maureen says, "thank goodness you made it to shore." yeah, no kidding, maureen, but getting of the troopship and making it to shore wasn't even half the battle.
'"it wasn't much better there," mr. anderson said softly. "gunners were shooting at us from the beach. and if you survived that, well, then all you had to do was sweep across a continent and win a war on enemy territory."
he gave a weary, hollow laugh.
i tried to imagine what he had looked like back then. as a young man in uniform. dodging enemy fire.
it was impossible.
but he was here to visit normandy. surely he must have brought some mementos.'
actually, he's here to scatter his friends remains, you dumbshit. but whatever.
so stacey asks him if he has any pictures of himself and his friend, from the war. oh, yeah, everyone was just taking selfies during combat, stace, that's how they won the war -- by taking better selfies than the germans!
'mr. anderson reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a black-and-white photo, worn and yellowed at the edges.
it was a faded image of two men -- one blond, with a wide grin; the other dark-haired and movie-star handsome. the blond guy was holding hands with a young woman who looked elated.
"the good looking guy is denis," mr. anderson said with a sad smile. "but i'm the one with the beautiful young woman. we were married for fifty-three years before she passed away."'
of course at least one of them would have to be "movie-star handsome," right? to keep stacey interested in the story.
moving along, maureen says that his wife is/was "lovely." and he tells them that the photo was taken at the liberation of paris, eighty days after normandy. then he adds that the city looks "just the same now as it did then." really? it's hard to imagine many places have managed to go that untouched over such a long period of time.
'"in all those years, you haven't come back?" i asked.
"dennis and i always said we'd make it back to the beach someday," mr. anderson said, putting the photo away. "i guess we're finally doing it. i never thought it would be like this, though."
an awkward silence filled the room.'
yeah, i can see how it would be hard to know what to say. maybe he appreciates being able to talk about it with someone, now his wife and his friend are gone, but still…it seems like one of those situations where it'd be hard to know what to say. i mean, it IS really hard to know what to say when someone has lost somebody, which is probably why "i'm sorry for your loss" and things like that are such common, cliched responses. as much as it started grating on me to hear that over and over after my mother died, i know that most of the time, there isn't really anything anyone can say, or do. other than be there if you need them and take their cues from you, as much as possible, i guess.
mr. anderson stands up and tells them that he doesn't want to delay their plans and he has a long trip ahead of him, since he figures it takes three hours or so to get to normandy. so stacey decides it's time to hijack this man's grief, whether he wants her to or not:
'"can i come along?"
the words jumped out of my mouth. i hadn't even been thinking about that.
mom looked at me as if she were afraid i'd lost my mind.
mr. anderson seemed pretty surprised too. "well, i sure wouldn't mind the company."
"anastasia mcgill," mom said, raising a skeptical eyebrow, "you want to give up a day of paris in order to go to normandy?"
"i'll have plenty of time in paris. this is important!" it really was. i'd never been so sure of myself.
mr. anderson was smiling at mom. "of course, i hope that mrs. mcgill would come too."
oh, sure.
fat chance.
i was kissing the trip goodbye.'
uh, why not? do you really think you're so much better of a person than your mother is? she was probably questioning you and your motives because you're typically such a vapid, selfish, spoiled little shit, that she can't imagine you'd actually care about anything or anyone but yourself. which is a legitimate reason to be questioning you on this. though maybe she should've waited until mr. anderson had left the room to ask. but still.
'mom took a deep breath. "i'll call mr. [douche]," she said. "if he knows i won't be around, he'll definitely live up to his promise."'
so that's how they take a three hour drive in mr. anderson's rental car. stacey tells us they knew they were close when the signs pointed to "the d-day beaches at normandy: utah, omaha, gold, juno, and sword." she says each beach seemed to have a monument and a museum. when she notices all of the cars and buses "clogging" the access road, her heart sinks and she wonders, 'was this a tourist trap?' for real, stacey? you're really fucking complaining right now? this isn't about you. if you start getting pouty and whiney about this, so help me god, i will reach through the pages of this book and throttle you.
and also, what the hell did you think? that you were going to some super exclusive, members only club? is that why you're so fucking butthurt about other people daring to go somewhere you have--willingly, i might add--decided to go? shut the fuck up.
luckily she doesn't get a chance to whine because mr. anderson follows another sign, which i'm assuming leads them away from the "tourists" so stacey can feel special again, and they get out of the car and walk to the american cemetery outside omaha beach.
'the breath caught in my throat. nine thousand graves stretched almost to the horizon in perfect lines.
"so many young men," mom said softly.
"this is less than half of the american deaths during the invasion," mr. anderson whispered.
we passed silently among the graves. mr. anderson's eyes scanned the names, as if he were looking for friends.'
duh, he probably was, stacey.
'he clutched the canister of ashes tightly.
afterward we walked the beach itself. the sand was full of tourists, snapping photos and chatting.
mr. anderson moved ahead of us, always looking out to sea.
"stacey." my mom touched my arm.
we both stopped walking.'
good, they're actually giving him some privacy. thank you, maureen!
and we get an illustration! i was wondering when we'd get another one…
the chapter ends soon after and there's literally nothing in it to snark, so i'll just write it out. it's pretty sad, yo:
'mr. anderson was heading for a section of the beach diagonally to our right. i don't know if he had recognized the place where he and dennis had landed, or if it was just a quiet, fairly private spot.
whatever the reason, he stood there for a long time without moving.
then he carefully took off his shoes and socks, rolled up his pants, and walked into the water.
he must have walked a hundred yards, but when he stopped, the water was only up to his knees.
at that distance, i couldn't see what he was doing.
but when he trudged back, the canister was open.
and empty.'
CHAPTER NINETEEN
kristy
thank heavens. that last chapter was fucking sad and i need something funny/worth snarking. plus, as i've said, this screwed up love story is the only thing making this book worth reading anymore. finally a ray of sunshine in this grim fucking book!
i can't wait to continue this tale of forbidden love between robot and boy, so…
ugh, yet another entry where it's two people writing. bolded font will indicate abby is writing. abby sure loves to hijack her friend's entries.
'sunday
oh, paris!
home of the croissant. and the baguette. and chocolate mousse.
and frogs' legs and cooked snails.
trés gross, abby!
anyway, guys, it's a cool place to eat.
i'll let you know if there's anything much to see…'
oh yeah, i'm sure you'll really struggle to find anything worth seeing in paris. *rolls eyes dramatically* <--i don't have a gif where the eye roll is quite as dramatic as i need it to be right now. i'm rolling my eyes so hard at you, kristen amanda. so very hard.
wait! after some searching, we have a winner!
haha.
and also, YAY! we finally get to see paris!
'"what do you mean, small potatoes?" michel whined. "it's the largest art museum in the world!"
i hated his accent. i hated the way he contradicted me. i hated his clothes and his cologne.'
that is a LOT of hate, there, kristen. methinks the lady doth protest too much. and also, cologne? god damn it, what is it with the thirteen year old boys in these fucking books and wearing cologne? in the case of most of the thirteen year old boys i knew growing up, you'd be fucking lucky if they bothered to wear deodorant! none of them wore fucking cologne. WHATEVER, ANN.
and yeah, you would hate anyone who dared to contradict you. maybe michel is good for you, then, kristy. you need people around you who aren't just helpless, robotic yes-men and yes-women to tone down that out of control ego of yours! in the real world, you would have people contradicting you from time to time. michel would probably level you the fuck out.
'but most of all i hated the fact that he would not leave me alone. i couldn't even enjoy the louvre museum without him tagging along.
'"hey, stacey has taken me to the met in new york," i said. "i just happen to think it's a cooler place. okay?"'
ugh, yeah, always with the "america, FUCK YEAH!" attitude on this trip, huh kristy?
#KRISTYTHOMAS #THEULTIMATEPATRIOT #KRISTYFORPRESIDENT
she just can't bring herself to admit that anything outside of the US could possibly be better in any way.
'"you're impossible!" michel said. "we have seen the mona lisa--"
"boring face, bad colours--"
"the venus de milo--"
"no arms! what a gyp."'
you, my friend, are a philistine. and also, wow, this is the second snark i'm working on where there have been slurs about gypsies. there was a crack about gypsies in my snark of 'dawn: portrait of a teenage runaway' too. how is it that this is seen as being okay?
'"and all that incredible etruscan pottery--"
"what's an etrusc, anyway?"'
here ya go, kristen, get your learn on.
'the truth? the louvre was great. unbelievably awesome. but i couldn't admit that to michel the pest.'
wow, kristy. just…WOW. you're a special kind of fucked up, aren't you?
michel has had enough with her bullshit and i don't blame him.
'"i am leaving," michel declared. "you are hopeless."'
okay, now say it again, but this time use some contractions so you don't sound as disturbingly stilted as karen brewer. thanks.
'"good riddance!"
he went to the left. i went to the right.
i saw a crowd in front of me. but not one familiar face. i walked farther and looked around the next corner. nothing.
i ran back to where i'd left michel. michel was wandering around, looking lost.
"where's everybody else?" i asked.
"i was hoping you'd know," michel said.
"great, michel. just great. we're lost."'
guess you're stuck with each other now, huh? HAHA!
'michel glanced at his watch. "let's go outside and wait for them."
"which entrance? this place is humongous!" i thought for a moment. "i know! we came here by subway--metro--whatever they call it. they'll have to go back to the station. we can wait there."
"fine."'
so they run out the nearest exit. kristy says that the station was easy to find, adding that it looks like a miniature museum. okay there, kristy. the two stubborn, lost, dopes wait for an hour, which kristy says is 'way past the time the group was supposed to leave.' oops. where the fuck did everyone go? did they not notice that they were missing two students? THE FUCK?! must've been mr. douche's group, he doesn't notice dick.
michel tries to crack jokes to lighten to mood and cheer them up, but kristy is so intent on being completely butthurt that she refuses to talk to him or even look at him. wow. what a bitch. it's not like it's his fault you guys got separated from the group and then fucking abandoned in the middle of a foreign country on your own.
kristy says she heard what she describes as 'horrible screeching noises', adding, 'i thought a cat was being tortured nearby.' she turns to find that the source of this unholy racket is michel playing the harmonica. BULLSHIT. that's not what a fucking harmonica sounds like, you dimwitted troll! i used to have a harmonica when i was a kid and even my shitty no skill playing didn't sound like a tortured cat or horrible screeching.
'"what are you doing?" i said.
clink! went a coin someone had thrown to him.
michel grinned. "if we stay here long enough, we can earn our own plane fare back."
"you think this is funny don't you?" i said. "we are lost in a foreign city, michel! mr. d is probably calling the police. he's going to have to stop the tour. see what you've done? you've ruined this vacation for everyone!"'
so i was right, it WAS mr. douche's group! and also, of fucking course she would pin all the blame on michel.
'"are you saying this is my fault?"
"yes! if you hadn't distracted me at the museum, this wouldn't have happened!"
"you were provoking me!"
"i was not!"
"you were too!"'
proving that they are still children with this "was not!" "were too!" display, i see. good to know kristy has the maturity level of her average four year old sitting charge. i know if i were a parent, i'd feel super confident hiring her to watch my kids.
'"look," i said. "we're wasting time here. we have to do something."
michel shrugged. "wasn't there a plan b, in case we got lost?"
i thought back to a little speech our chaperones had given us at the hotel.
"right," i said to michel, "in case we separate from the group, we should meet at the eiffel tower at five o'clock. but that's four hours from now!"'
so…lemme get this straight, the students were told that if they got separated from the group and their chaperones, they were to meet at the eiffel tower hours later? so…they were just expected to be able to navigate a foreign city on their own? at the age of thirteen (and younger, since there are eleven year olds on the trip as well)? wow, that sure sounds safe! because children aren't potential targets at all, especially not scared, lost children! pfft, they'll be fine! fuck 'em!
SMS fucking blows my mind.
so while kristy is alternating between shitting herself and blaming michel for their predicament, michel heads over to the nearest pay phone.
'before i could say anything, he was madly tapping out a number and speaking french to someone on the other end.
then a second number and more french. "c'est tout!" he announced as he finally hung up. "i find out the number of the hotel. then i called the hotel and left a message that you and i are going to follow plan b."
"and what are we supposed to do until five o'clock?"
michel grinned. "a beautiful day. paris. four hours of freedom. you. me. we'll think of something."'
but kristy is not so much swooning as fuming.
'trapped. tricked.
i couldn't go off by myself. i'm not stupid.
but there were other options. just because we were with each other, we didn't have to be together.'
i think you must be the most stubborn person i've ever read about, kristy. i bet your personal motto is, "it's my way, or the highway." when she dies, her headstone will read: "i did it my way."
and she sure did! this girl has been known to cut off her nose to spite her face. to the point where she almost lost her cult, sorry, club in the first book i ever snarked -- kristy's worst idea. she's got to learn to chill the fuck out and go with the flow a little or she's gonna miss out on a lot of good things in life. she sacrifices more than she knows for the sake of her megalomaniacal need for ultimate power and control.
they go to a patisserie, which kristy informs us is a pastry shop. as they stand in line kristy dictates the rules of this engagement, "i don't know you, and we will sit at separate tables." jesus christ, cue sid vicious again!
'"suit yourself." michel turned away from me. he said something in french to the girl behind the counter, and she loaded up his plate. i was drooling just looking at it.
when it was my turn, i said, "i'll have what he had."
"eh?" the girl said.
i pointed to the pastries behind the glass case. "this stuff. an assortment."
she shrugged and started speaking in rapid fire french.
meanwhile michel was sitting by himself stuffing his face.'
HAHA! SUCKS TO BE YOU, KRISTY!
also, while trying to find a funny eating gif, i found this, which is fucking priceless:
kristy walks over to him and she tells us that she hated having to ask for help but she had no choice. she asks michel if he'll translate for her. and what happens next is kind of hilarious:
'"eh?" he replied. "do i know you young lady?"
the counter girl started laughing.
so did a few of the customers in line.
then some customers at the tables.
"come, i will serve you," said the counter girl in perfect english.
a prank!
he had told her to pretend she didn't know english.
i was seeing red.
i have never felt so embarrassed in my life.
who did he think he was?'
um, someone who is sick of putting up with your shitty treatment? who has been nothing but nice to you for the most part, yet gotten nothing but bullshit from you in return? someone with a pretty damned obvious -- at least to me -- crush on you? as hard as it is to believe anyone would after being treated the way you treat him, but hey, there are people who get off on a challenge. or he could be a masochist. either way, the guy likes you, kristy. and you are too much of a robot disguised as a teenaged girl to admit to even yourself that you like him too.
so, how does kristy retaliate after this humiliating ordeal which must've lasted all of sixty fucking seconds?
'calmly i picked up a cream puff from michel's plate. i gave it a good look.
then i dropped it in his lap and headed for the door.'
*slow clap*
nicely played, kristen. you sure showed him.
'"hey! wait!" he shouted, following me out.
a few customers were applauding. even that didn't make me feel better.
michel caught up to me on the crowded sidewalk. he had a powdery white stain on his pants. but i wasn't laughing.
i could barely unclench my teeth to speak. "why did you do that to me?"
"i'm sorry," michel said. "really. it was a stupid joke. i just -- well, you said you didn't want to know me, and i guess that was a way to get you to sit next to me."
bonk.
that response hit me over the head. it made absolutely no sense.'
YES IT DOES. HE'S TRYING TO TELL YOU HE LIKES YOU AND WANTED YOU TO SIT WITH HIM AND STOP BEING A JERK!
'"but you -- do you --" i sputtered. "you don't--"
like me, i wanted to say. but it would have sounded idiotic. michel hated me. he had to.'
why does he have to? because for some fucked up reason you're doing your damnedest to make sure he hates you? you must be very, very afraid of letting people get close to you unless you can control and dominate them to the point where they are too terrified to leave. ya know, i 100% blame your father for that. you have some deep seated abandonment issues that have warped and fucked up your whole personality and worldview, kristy. it's very fucking sad.
'still, he was looking at me with this sad, sorry expression. was he faking? was this another practical joke? i couldn't tell.'
add massive, pathological trust issues to the list. as well as a complete inability to read or empathize with other human beings. which isn't surprising, since she can't even connect with, or recognize, her own emotions, to the point where the simple act of crying confuses the fuck out of her.
kristy, i could analyze your behaviour for days. seriously. you'd be a psychoanalyst's wet dream. it kind of worries me that i've put so much brain power into trying to decode the personality and behaviour of a fictional character, to be honest. and that i've probably looked deeper into it than ann or the ghostwriters ever bothered to. kristy, get the fuck out of my head!
back to the book, before my brain short circuits.
kristy doesn't know what to make of any of this, so instead of talking to michel and getting a damned clue, she turns and walks the fuck away.
'"wait! how are you going to communicate with the parisians?" he was right behind me.
"sign language. i don't know."
"but it's dangerous to be alone!" i could feel his hand touching my arm.'
DAMN RIGHT IT IS!
'i whirled around. "you're dangerous. i don't trust you. i don't like you. now get lost before i scream!"'
wow. now that was a complete overreaction if i ever saw one.
'as soon as the words left my mouth, i wanted to pull them back. i was screaming. people were staring at us.
michel recoiled. that's the only way i can describe it. it was as if i hit him.
"i -- i'm sorry," michel said quietly. "i didn't mean to hurt your feelings. i thought -- you know, all our arguments, the insults -- i thought we were just kidding around. i thought we were just having fun together. i wouldn't dream of hurting you kristy."
my head was spinning. i felt dizzy and angry and hurt and happy all at the same time. my arms were tense. my throat was tense.
i tried to look michel in the eye. i tried to say something. but i couldn't.
michel lowered his head. "okay. look. i could never forgive myself if something bad happened to you. my dad is french and i've been to paris several times, so i can be useful to you, kristy. let's make a deal. we can pretend to be friends, like an acting exercise. i promise not to play pranks or jokes. you promise not to insult me."'
SAY YES KRISTY!! SAY YES!!
'i am brave. i am strong. i can handle myself.
but i did not want to be alone. not in a strange foreign city, where people drive like maniacs and speak french.
pretend?
he. is. my. friend. i said to myself.
this was not going to be easy. not by a long shot.'
sometimes the bravest things we can do, the ones that bring us the most personal growth, are also the hardest, kristy. you said you were brave, so prove it to yourself by taking a step into "dangerous" territory.
'i looked into his eyes. they were deep brown, like polished wood. i guess i hadn't really noticed them before.
he smiled. that made him look a little less revolting.
i figured i could stand it. for a few hours.'
YAY!
it's not much, but it's a start!
'"which way should we go?" i grumbled.
"the tuileries?"
"whatever."
we walked into this huge public garden, with flowers surrounded by low, trimmed hedges. lots of kids were running around. they made me think of baby-sitting, and stoneybrook. both of which i was missing like crazy.'
it's just the withdrawal kicking in, kristy. don't worry, the trip will be over soon and then you can go home and snort another line of sweet, sweet baby-sitting.
'a little girl handed michel a flower. her mom scolded her, but michel just smiled.
i smiled too. (not at him. with him.)'
uh huh, sure, kristy.
'one of the moms (or nannies, i couldn't really tell) smiled and said something to michel in french. he blushed.
"what?" i asked.
michel shrugged. "she said we were a lovely couple."
i made a face. i took two long sidesteps away from him. unfortunately i nearly fell over a hedge.'
that's what happens when you try and walk away from fate, kristy. karma comes along and kicks you in the ass for it.
'michel burst out laughing. so did the moms and nannies.
part of me wanted to kick michel. part of me just wanted to run away. part of me wanted to--
but i didn't. i started laughing too.'
aw! it must be love. and not stacey mcgill style luv, but actual love.
or a crush. i'll take a crush.
'"let's get out of here," i said, brushing myself off.
michel knew just where to go. i don't remember all the places -- an ancient egyptian monument, a palace that contained a science museum, an apartment-sized building arch called l'arc de triomphe -- but they were cool.
so was michel. he was growing on me, i guess.'
they go to another patisserie, but this time he orders for her.
'"thanks," i said between bites of croissant as we walked along this grand, tree-lined boulevard called the champs-élysées (pronounced something like shonz-ellie-zay.)'
oh christ, kristy, you just had to blow the romantic scene with a jessi ramsey style lesson in french pronunciation, didn't you? BOOOO!!
'michel's face lit up. "a kind word! zut alors!"
"whatever," i replied. "it's good food."
"are you saying this as yourself? or is this still an acting exercise?" michel asked, giving me this eager, puppy-dog look.
i let out a sudden laugh and nearly sprayed champs-élysées with half-chewed croissant chunks. which made me break into a coughing fit.'
EW! i'm sure the parisians would love that.
'"uh-oh." michel darted behind me. he put his arms around my waist and started doing the heimlich maneuver.
"don't you dare!" i blurted out.
we were standing against an old brick building near a public phone. i wasn't coughing anymore, but michel still had me in a front-to-back hug.'
OOooooOOOOOOOOoooh!
'"are you okay?"
"fine." i smiled. a little. my acting was getting much better.'
yeah, sure, it's your acting, kristy. ya know, not the hug. or the feeling of his teenaged junk all pressed up against you.
'michel seemed to notice where his arms were for the first time. he dropped them and began inching toward the phone. "well. uh, maybe i should call the hotel? in case the group has returned."'
don't think it's so much that he realized where his arms were, but that something suddenly came up, if you know what i mean.
'quickly he picked up the receiver and made a call. when he returned, he was grinning. "mr. d left a message saying he'd gotten our message. he'll meet us at the eiffel tower at five."
i glanced at my watch. "it's only four."
"a walk by the river seine, ma chérie?" michel held out his arm, like someone in an old movie.
it was goony. but hey, we were acting right?'
YOU JUST KEEP TELLING YOURSELF THAT KRISTY!
'besides, i love rivers. they are so peaceful.
i took his arm. "si," i said.
"oui," he corrected me.
arm in arm, we walked along the river to the eiffel tower. and soon i forgot that michel was michel and i was me.
i guess we had sort of become our characters.'
*cue giddy squealing*
whatever you need to tell yourself right now, kristy, just keep telling yourself, because I LOVE THIS. if i had a TARDIS i'd go back to the mid-late nineties and fist fight ann into keeping this relationship going, if need be. i think michel could've been wonderful for kristy.
'as we rode up the crowded elevator of the tower, my character felt tired. so she rested her head against michel's character's shoulder.
more people were smiling at us. a woman actually called us a "cute pair" -- in english.
oh, well. she was entitled to her opinion.
as we strolled onto the observation deck, the traffic noise seemed far away. the city stretched out below us, on either side of the seine. i thought i detected a faint bakery scent on the warm summer breeze.'
ooh! we get another illustration!
meh, he looks more like bart than i imagined he would, what with the baseball cap and oversized shirt, but still, not a bad looking kid.
'"they're here," michel said softly.
i looked straight down. a tour bus was pulling up to the curb.
"end of acting exercise, huh?" i said.
"we have a few more minutes."
michel put his arm around my shoulder.
i let it stay there. my character didn't mind it at all.'
okay, i know i told you to tell yourself whatever you had to, to keep this going, kristy, but the weird insistence on "my character, his character"/refusal to admit that you, yourself are having any of these feelings, is starting to creep me out just a tad and is almost bordering on dissociation.
but uh, yay for "your character" enjoying some huggies. god knows on the cover of "kristy + bart = ?" you looked thoroughly disgusted when bart's arm was around your shoulder. could michel be your first real crush?
EXHIBIT A:
(exhibit b is obviously the illustration above, where kristy actually looks carefree and happy with michel)
quite the turn around.
'mr. [douche] was waiting for us anxiously as we emerged from the elevator.
"are you all right?" he asked.
"fine," michel and i said at the same time.
as we approached the bus, abby, stacey, jessi, Mal and a few berger students came running off. michel went off with his friends. i had a big hug fest with mine.'
can't even handle being separated for a few damned hours. they act like kristy spent seven years stranded on a island and they're finally being reunited or something.
'stacey was giving me a sly grin. "so, how was it?"
i shrugged. "i'm a big girl. i can handle being lost."
"yeah, but lost with the guy you absolutely hate the most?" abby said. "that must have been awful."'
see, even abby knows what's up. she knows that kristy's insane hatred of michel is merely a cover for her true feelings.
kristy and michel, sitting in a tree
F-U-C-K-I-N-G…
ahem.
'they were teasing me.
but i didn't care.
i just smiled. "hey, i'm a good actress."'
HAHAHAHA SURE YOU ARE KRISTY.
and with that, a tear, because the fun chapter is over and next up is boring mary anne.
#SADFACESFOREVER
CHAPTER TWENTY
mary anne
or: how to alienate the readers with BORING BULLSHIT.
cuz, let's be real, unless this mary anne chapter is about anyone other than mary anne, boredom is pretty much guaranteed. she doesn't even have a plot in this book for fuck sake.
'monday
i'm just getting used to play-ground camp.
i'm getting used to buddy barrett's crazy antics.'
uh shouldn't you be used to buddy by now? you've been baby-sitting him for like, twenty fucking years already! WHATEVER MARY ANNE.
'i'm getting used to the freeze-tag games in which kids try to crack each other up with their poses.'
you should be used to this kind of stuff by now, too, what with all the baby-sitting you do instead of having a real life. don't act like this shit is all new to you, mary anne. i ain't buying it!
'and i'm definitely getting used to working side by side with dawn.'
also something you've done a million times.
NEXT!
'there's only one thing i can't get used to…'
…WHUT? WHUT MARY ANNE? her entry just trails the fuck off. wow, kristy will be PISSED.
'"okay, ms. garcia called to say she'll be late," jerry announced. "that means i'm in charge. so wake up -- ten minutes till the kids are here! i need two volunteers for softball!"'
so…mary anne can't get used to jerry being Head Douche instead of kristy? i still don't understand.
logan is the first to volunteer, because he loves to massively suck up to other dudes. i mean, because he loves sports. mary anne follows suit, which makes exactly zero fucking sense. WHY would MARY ANNE volunteer for SPORTS? ohhhh, because logan did. that's the only reason. cokie volunteers after mary anne and since jerry is the biggest douchebag on the playground right now, he decides to go with logan and cokie, leaving mary anne in the dust, weeping like a baby i'm sure:
jerry asks for volunteers for playground monitors, while cokie grins evilly at mary anne, 'as if she'd won something.' mary anne internally bitches about how sick of cokie she is and how much she's 'ruining the camp experience' for her. which makes me roll my eyes.
because mary anne doesn't have a spine, and her friends suck, janine stands up for her out of nowhere:
'"excuse me, jerry," janine said. "mary anne had her hand up."'
GO JANINE!!
'"hand?" jerry repeated. "uh, janine, this isn't an honours classroom. you have to yell to get what you want. playground monitors?"
janine had been sitting at the picnic bench. now she stood up. "what did you say?"
jerry gave her a weary look. "playground mon--"
"no. before that. the comment about an honours classroom. that was unfair and insulting."'
YESSS!! STAND UP FOR YOURSELF!!
'whoosh. away flew my thoughts about cokie.
i could not believe this was janine talking. i looked at claudia. her jaw was open in shock.
"can this wait, janine?" jerry said. "we now have eight and a half minutes."
"no," janine said firmly. "i was pointing out that cokie railroaded mary anne. listening to me would have taken very little time. by verbally abusing me, you are causing this argument. therefore, you are wasting time."
"go, girl!" claudia shouted.'
i second that!
'"well -- why --" jerry sputtered. "okay, fine. mary anne, you do softball."
"hey, that's unfair!" cokie yelped.
"cokie, you hate softball," bruce schermerhorn said.
cokie glared at me. "mary anne hates it even worse. she was just volunteering so she could be with logan. weren't you, mary anne?"
"well, i--" i hate confrontation. especially when other people are around. i wanted to crumple up and cry.
this was supposed to be fun. this was my summer vacation.'
since when is working on your vacation fun anyway? you sacrificed your "fun summer vacation" when you decided to spend it working. whatever, mary anne.
'"don't listen to her, mary anne," claudia said. "cokie, you are so out of line."
"can we please get started?" jerry asked. "cokie, you and dawn do playground duty--"
"no," i blurted out.'
uh…mary anne? you got what you wanted, what the fuck more can you ask for?
'i couldn't take this.
cokie had been right. yes, i do hate softball. and yes, i was volunteering just to be near logan. well, and to keep cokie away from logan.
but that was the problem. her behaviour was forcing me to make decisions. i wasn't free to think for myself.
which was just plain wrong.'
let's get back to janine standing up for herself. you blithering about cokie for the umpteenth time is a fucking waste, because you never retain your damned spine. and the mary anne/logan/cokie love triangle got old decades ago.
'"cokie can coach softball," i said.
logan was slashing the air horizontally with down turned palms, as if to say no!
cokie grinned triumphantly. then she turned and saw logan.
her face fell. "oh," she said dully. "i can see i'm not wanted."
"will you guys please grow up?" jerry pleaded.'
oh lord, why oh why does jerry the super douche have to say something i actually agree with? i don't want to agree with this asshole.
'"my feelings exactly," cokie said, storming away. "i hate being around babies. i quit."'
right now, cokie is closer to being like a real thirteen year old than any member of the BSC.
'"come back here!" jerry yelled.
"oh, stuff it, michaels," cokie replied.
jerry threw down his clipboard. "terrific. i'm losing a counsellor. you see what you started, janine?"'
FUCK YOU, JERRY!
'janine's eyes widened. i thought she was going to cry.
she took a deep breath. she looked straight at jerry and said, "stuff it, michaels."'
WOOHOO!!
'claudia let out a hoot.
i almost did too.
janine turned away and jogged after cokie, stopping her by the playground entrance. janine talked to her calmly, with a concerned, respectful expression.
jerry's face looked ashen. "well, uh, let's get to work."
logan smiled at me. i smiled back.'
logan and bruce run to the equipment shed to get shit ready and dawn and mary anne head over to the playground. dawn, who, as we all know, gets off on drama, says, "this is the most exciting day so far, and the kids aren't even here yet." go cream yourself over other people's pain and suffering somewhere else, dawn, you creepy emotional vampire.
so, janine manages to convince cokie to stay, i guess, because the two of them go to greet the first kids as they arrive and cokie actually takes one of the little dewitt's by the hand and they skip over to the hopscotch area together. wow, janine must've worked some real magic on cokie-i-hate-babies-mason. colour me impressed!
'janine was beaming. "jerry?" she called out. "the gate hinge is coming loose. can you find a screwdriver?"
jerry muttered something and walked inside.
i could see a tiny smile forming on janine's face.
claudia ran to her from the arts and crafts area, and gave her a big kiss, and ran back.'
AWW!! SUPER HAPPY SISTER TIME!! why can't they be like this all the time? or at least more often? i love it when they get along!
the chapter ends with mary anne telling us readers that she was very impressed.
good…for…you?
but yay for the chapter being over! i'm so glad the stoneybrook chapters are usually short.
stay tuned for part seven, which should hopefully be posted soon! next up i'm snarking 'stacey's movie.'
thanks for all the awesome comments on parts one, two, three, four and five! i'm so glad you guys have enjoyed this snark! i'm going to try to get the last part up ASAP, since it's already done.
sorry i'm not back-back yet, there's still a lot going on at home with my kitty and other things that are taking up a lot of time, but fingers crossed shit'll slow down soon!
now, onto part six!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
stacey
damn it, i was hoping we'd get a kristy chapter. i need to read more of this epic saga of 'love that dare not speak it's name'! it's the only thing keeping me going in this book of shark jumping, ego stroking and boring bullshit. i could weep real human tears right now.
sadness. all is sadness.
stacey's entry is written by her AND abby, so bolded font will indicate that abby is writing.
'saturday,
hello from the channel -- the new, improved, underground way to cross the english channel!
guys, it is the ultimate ride. it leaves new york city metro north tunnels in the dust. it's clean. it's bright. and the eurostar (that's the name of the train) feels as if it's gliding on a cloud.
they should hire me to write ads!
i am sitting next to abby right now. she wants to say hi.
hi, everybody! before i forget, here's a fundraising idea for the BSC: an auction of THE shoe that stepped on an actual prince's toes. you may have seen the photo in the american papers. if so, please save me a
puh-leeze.'
yeah, puh-leeze.
'as i was saying, we are about to enter france. mom's sitting a few seats in front of us with mr. [douche]. fortunately they've both dozed off. before that, though, they were arguing. well, talking in these soft, agitated voices.
i hope they work something out. mr. d has become impossible. if he flakes out one more time, expect mom on the first Concorde flight home.
which, actually, might not be so bad.
mom has been impossible too.'
i thought someone…mallory?…said that stacey realized having her mom on the trip wasn't such a big deal? i guess that was a straight up bullshit lie.
stacey has a sudden change of heart, writing:
'come to think of it, cancel that last remark. if mom left, i'd have to face mr. anderson tomorrow all by myself…'
these girls, man, these girls.
luckily we dive right in to the next day, with mr. anderson standing in the doorway of mrs. mcgill's hotel room saying, "you must be stacey. am i ever glad to see you."
stacey describes mr. anderson as 'old -- white-haired and wrinkled -- but tall and strong-looking.' but...you aren't going to trade in your daddy issues for grandpa issues and start crushing on the guy, now, right stacey?
right, stacey?!?
mrs. mcgill grabs the doorknob and opens the door all the way, inviting mr. anderson in. and man, i honestly can't help it, but every time i write out "mr. anderson" i can't help but think of 'the matrix.'
mrs. mcgill introduces herself to mr. anderson -- now i'm having trouble even typing the name -- and says, "we're so sorry you had to go through this trip without your suitcase!"
'"well, i needed to buy some new clothes anyway," mr. anderson said with a chuckle. "haven't done any shopping since my wife passed away."'
ouch.
stacey tells us that it's sunday, because she thinks we care, and then states the obvious -- maureen didn't take the next Concorde home. she actually has the day off from her official chaperoning duties after royally guilt tripping mr. douche so hard that he insisted on her taking a day off. no kidding, stacey says: 'yup. she'd made mr. [douche] feel so guilty on the trip, he had insisted on it.' good for her though, to be honest. stacey says this put her mom in a good mood for the first time this entire trip. fuck, man, poor maureen.
she then proceeds to cream herself over the little they've seen of paris so far, which included a walk along the river seine, dinner at a bistro and, of course, their magical hotel that somehow has a perfect view of the eiffel tower from every single room.
sure it does, stacey.
she says she's 'totally, totally in love' with paris. yeah? you gonna give paris a handy under the bistro table at dinner while your mom and friends awkwardly look on, pretending not to know what the hell is happening? or is that honour reserved for the hordes of random dudes from your school, "hot" student teachers, manipulative lifeguards, any guy you happen to meet on vacation (hey, what happens in sea city, new york, vermont, etc, stays in sea city, new york, vermont, etc, am i right, stace??), and sam thomas?
she says she was looking forward to their meeting with mr. anderson because she wanted to 'ask him a million questions about world war II. well, maybe a dozen.' then she gets real with us, 'frankly, i couldn't wait to hand over those ashes and go sightseeing.' that sounds more like the selfish stacey we know. i hope she does the most touristy shit imaginable, to show what a hypocrite she is for ragging on her friends doing touristy shit in new york.
SMS must've blown a lot of money on this trip, because maureen's hotel room sounds fucking huge: 'mom's hotel room was a suite with a bedroom, a sitting room, and a small kitchen.' that's got to have cost a pretty penny, i mean, this hotel is apparently huge, brand spanking new and has all of those impossible-without-the-use-of-magic views of the eiffel tower, so…how much do ya think maureen's suite alone went for? i wonder if the parents had to kick in some funds for this extravagant school trip their kids are on or if the school paid for it in full themselves? this shit blows my mind. i bet the school motto is: Only the Best for SMS!
maureen starts setting out tea and pastries that she'd ordered from room service and stacey follows mr. anderson into the sitting room. she notices that he walks with a limp and so informs us of this fact. maureen offers to go get his suitcase, but stacey wants to play the hero so she runs to get it before her mother can.
'mr. anderson opened the suitcase and lifted out the container of ashes.
"thought you'd lose me, eh, old buddy?" he said with a smile.
he was talking to the can. trés weird.'
i see you're back to being a bitch, stacey. i'll have you know that text edit just autocorrected your name to "tacky" and it couldn't have been more correct. bitching to the readers about how "weird" it is that this poor guy is talking to his dead friend is just straight up fucked. is it weird that claudia talks to a portrait of mimi, too? or is it okay because she's a member of the BSC? you girls and your fucking double standards. i talk to my mother quite regularly even though she's been dead for just over ten years now, it helps me cope when things are rough. does that make me weird, stacey? you know what? i don't even care. fuck you and your judgemental opinions, people mourn in their own ways and it's not your place to pass judgement on them for how they deal with it.
'"you must be relieved," mom said. "i know how important this is to you."
"i wasn't worried," mr. anderson said confidently. "if dennis and i could make it through d-day at omaha beach, we could survive a little luggage mix-up."
i thought about the pictures i had seen of d-day. the men trudging through the sea with full battle gear. warships rocking on the water, planes buzzing overhead.
"so…you were in that?" i asked.
"hard to believe a feeble old guy could invade france, eh?" mr. anderson burst out laughing.
open mouth, insert foot.'
i imagine the mouths of BSC members must taste permanently of rancid feet, considering how often they say stupid, insensitive shit to people.
'i felt myself turning red. "i meant, it must have been awful. were you hurt?"'
i don't know whether or not to say this was a "nice save" on stacey's part. i'm in a pretty fucking unforgiving mood today, so it could go either way.
'"nahh, not too bad," mr. anderson said. "dennis and i were lucky. some of our pals weren't. the invasion didn't go as well as planned, you know. terrible weather, choppy and treacherous water. thousands of us had to jump off the troopships in water up to our necks, loaded down with weapons and supplies. the germans had planted mines. there were craters underwater, from bombs that had fallen. if you stepped in one of those, down you went. for good. tanks and trucks and jeeps were sticking out of the water, half sunk, their crews trapped inside."'
that's really fucking scary and sad.
maureen says, "thank goodness you made it to shore." yeah, no kidding, maureen, but getting of the troopship and making it to shore wasn't even half the battle.
'"it wasn't much better there," mr. anderson said softly. "gunners were shooting at us from the beach. and if you survived that, well, then all you had to do was sweep across a continent and win a war on enemy territory."
he gave a weary, hollow laugh.
i tried to imagine what he had looked like back then. as a young man in uniform. dodging enemy fire.
it was impossible.
but he was here to visit normandy. surely he must have brought some mementos.'
actually, he's here to scatter his friends remains, you dumbshit. but whatever.
so stacey asks him if he has any pictures of himself and his friend, from the war. oh, yeah, everyone was just taking selfies during combat, stace, that's how they won the war -- by taking better selfies than the germans!
'mr. anderson reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a black-and-white photo, worn and yellowed at the edges.
it was a faded image of two men -- one blond, with a wide grin; the other dark-haired and movie-star handsome. the blond guy was holding hands with a young woman who looked elated.
"the good looking guy is denis," mr. anderson said with a sad smile. "but i'm the one with the beautiful young woman. we were married for fifty-three years before she passed away."'
of course at least one of them would have to be "movie-star handsome," right? to keep stacey interested in the story.
moving along, maureen says that his wife is/was "lovely." and he tells them that the photo was taken at the liberation of paris, eighty days after normandy. then he adds that the city looks "just the same now as it did then." really? it's hard to imagine many places have managed to go that untouched over such a long period of time.
'"in all those years, you haven't come back?" i asked.
"dennis and i always said we'd make it back to the beach someday," mr. anderson said, putting the photo away. "i guess we're finally doing it. i never thought it would be like this, though."
an awkward silence filled the room.'
yeah, i can see how it would be hard to know what to say. maybe he appreciates being able to talk about it with someone, now his wife and his friend are gone, but still…it seems like one of those situations where it'd be hard to know what to say. i mean, it IS really hard to know what to say when someone has lost somebody, which is probably why "i'm sorry for your loss" and things like that are such common, cliched responses. as much as it started grating on me to hear that over and over after my mother died, i know that most of the time, there isn't really anything anyone can say, or do. other than be there if you need them and take their cues from you, as much as possible, i guess.
mr. anderson stands up and tells them that he doesn't want to delay their plans and he has a long trip ahead of him, since he figures it takes three hours or so to get to normandy. so stacey decides it's time to hijack this man's grief, whether he wants her to or not:
'"can i come along?"
the words jumped out of my mouth. i hadn't even been thinking about that.
mom looked at me as if she were afraid i'd lost my mind.
mr. anderson seemed pretty surprised too. "well, i sure wouldn't mind the company."
"anastasia mcgill," mom said, raising a skeptical eyebrow, "you want to give up a day of paris in order to go to normandy?"
"i'll have plenty of time in paris. this is important!" it really was. i'd never been so sure of myself.
mr. anderson was smiling at mom. "of course, i hope that mrs. mcgill would come too."
oh, sure.
fat chance.
i was kissing the trip goodbye.'
uh, why not? do you really think you're so much better of a person than your mother is? she was probably questioning you and your motives because you're typically such a vapid, selfish, spoiled little shit, that she can't imagine you'd actually care about anything or anyone but yourself. which is a legitimate reason to be questioning you on this. though maybe she should've waited until mr. anderson had left the room to ask. but still.
'mom took a deep breath. "i'll call mr. [douche]," she said. "if he knows i won't be around, he'll definitely live up to his promise."'
so that's how they take a three hour drive in mr. anderson's rental car. stacey tells us they knew they were close when the signs pointed to "the d-day beaches at normandy: utah, omaha, gold, juno, and sword." she says each beach seemed to have a monument and a museum. when she notices all of the cars and buses "clogging" the access road, her heart sinks and she wonders, 'was this a tourist trap?' for real, stacey? you're really fucking complaining right now? this isn't about you. if you start getting pouty and whiney about this, so help me god, i will reach through the pages of this book and throttle you.
and also, what the hell did you think? that you were going to some super exclusive, members only club? is that why you're so fucking butthurt about other people daring to go somewhere you have--willingly, i might add--decided to go? shut the fuck up.
luckily she doesn't get a chance to whine because mr. anderson follows another sign, which i'm assuming leads them away from the "tourists" so stacey can feel special again, and they get out of the car and walk to the american cemetery outside omaha beach.
'the breath caught in my throat. nine thousand graves stretched almost to the horizon in perfect lines.
"so many young men," mom said softly.
"this is less than half of the american deaths during the invasion," mr. anderson whispered.
we passed silently among the graves. mr. anderson's eyes scanned the names, as if he were looking for friends.'
duh, he probably was, stacey.
'he clutched the canister of ashes tightly.
afterward we walked the beach itself. the sand was full of tourists, snapping photos and chatting.
mr. anderson moved ahead of us, always looking out to sea.
"stacey." my mom touched my arm.
we both stopped walking.'
good, they're actually giving him some privacy. thank you, maureen!
and we get an illustration! i was wondering when we'd get another one…
the chapter ends soon after and there's literally nothing in it to snark, so i'll just write it out. it's pretty sad, yo:
'mr. anderson was heading for a section of the beach diagonally to our right. i don't know if he had recognized the place where he and dennis had landed, or if it was just a quiet, fairly private spot.
whatever the reason, he stood there for a long time without moving.
then he carefully took off his shoes and socks, rolled up his pants, and walked into the water.
he must have walked a hundred yards, but when he stopped, the water was only up to his knees.
at that distance, i couldn't see what he was doing.
but when he trudged back, the canister was open.
and empty.'
CHAPTER NINETEEN
kristy
thank heavens. that last chapter was fucking sad and i need something funny/worth snarking. plus, as i've said, this screwed up love story is the only thing making this book worth reading anymore. finally a ray of sunshine in this grim fucking book!
i can't wait to continue this tale of forbidden love between robot and boy, so…
ugh, yet another entry where it's two people writing. bolded font will indicate abby is writing. abby sure loves to hijack her friend's entries.
'sunday
oh, paris!
home of the croissant. and the baguette. and chocolate mousse.
and frogs' legs and cooked snails.
trés gross, abby!
anyway, guys, it's a cool place to eat.
i'll let you know if there's anything much to see…'
oh yeah, i'm sure you'll really struggle to find anything worth seeing in paris. *rolls eyes dramatically* <--i don't have a gif where the eye roll is quite as dramatic as i need it to be right now. i'm rolling my eyes so hard at you, kristen amanda. so very hard.
wait! after some searching, we have a winner!
haha.
and also, YAY! we finally get to see paris!
Click to view'"what do you mean, small potatoes?" michel whined. "it's the largest art museum in the world!"
i hated his accent. i hated the way he contradicted me. i hated his clothes and his cologne.'
that is a LOT of hate, there, kristen. methinks the lady doth protest too much. and also, cologne? god damn it, what is it with the thirteen year old boys in these fucking books and wearing cologne? in the case of most of the thirteen year old boys i knew growing up, you'd be fucking lucky if they bothered to wear deodorant! none of them wore fucking cologne. WHATEVER, ANN.
and yeah, you would hate anyone who dared to contradict you. maybe michel is good for you, then, kristy. you need people around you who aren't just helpless, robotic yes-men and yes-women to tone down that out of control ego of yours! in the real world, you would have people contradicting you from time to time. michel would probably level you the fuck out.
'but most of all i hated the fact that he would not leave me alone. i couldn't even enjoy the louvre museum without him tagging along.
'"hey, stacey has taken me to the met in new york," i said. "i just happen to think it's a cooler place. okay?"'
ugh, yeah, always with the "america, FUCK YEAH!" attitude on this trip, huh kristy?
#KRISTYTHOMAS #THEULTIMATEPATRIOT #KRISTYFORPRESIDENT
she just can't bring herself to admit that anything outside of the US could possibly be better in any way.
'"you're impossible!" michel said. "we have seen the mona lisa--"
"boring face, bad colours--"
"the venus de milo--"
"no arms! what a gyp."'
you, my friend, are a philistine. and also, wow, this is the second snark i'm working on where there have been slurs about gypsies. there was a crack about gypsies in my snark of 'dawn: portrait of a teenage runaway' too. how is it that this is seen as being okay?
'"and all that incredible etruscan pottery--"
"what's an etrusc, anyway?"'
here ya go, kristen, get your learn on.
'the truth? the louvre was great. unbelievably awesome. but i couldn't admit that to michel the pest.'
wow, kristy. just…WOW. you're a special kind of fucked up, aren't you?
michel has had enough with her bullshit and i don't blame him.
'"i am leaving," michel declared. "you are hopeless."'
okay, now say it again, but this time use some contractions so you don't sound as disturbingly stilted as karen brewer. thanks.
'"good riddance!"
he went to the left. i went to the right.
i saw a crowd in front of me. but not one familiar face. i walked farther and looked around the next corner. nothing.
i ran back to where i'd left michel. michel was wandering around, looking lost.
"where's everybody else?" i asked.
"i was hoping you'd know," michel said.
"great, michel. just great. we're lost."'
guess you're stuck with each other now, huh? HAHA!
'michel glanced at his watch. "let's go outside and wait for them."
"which entrance? this place is humongous!" i thought for a moment. "i know! we came here by subway--metro--whatever they call it. they'll have to go back to the station. we can wait there."
"fine."'
so they run out the nearest exit. kristy says that the station was easy to find, adding that it looks like a miniature museum. okay there, kristy. the two stubborn, lost, dopes wait for an hour, which kristy says is 'way past the time the group was supposed to leave.' oops. where the fuck did everyone go? did they not notice that they were missing two students? THE FUCK?! must've been mr. douche's group, he doesn't notice dick.
michel tries to crack jokes to lighten to mood and cheer them up, but kristy is so intent on being completely butthurt that she refuses to talk to him or even look at him. wow. what a bitch. it's not like it's his fault you guys got separated from the group and then fucking abandoned in the middle of a foreign country on your own.
kristy says she heard what she describes as 'horrible screeching noises', adding, 'i thought a cat was being tortured nearby.' she turns to find that the source of this unholy racket is michel playing the harmonica. BULLSHIT. that's not what a fucking harmonica sounds like, you dimwitted troll! i used to have a harmonica when i was a kid and even my shitty no skill playing didn't sound like a tortured cat or horrible screeching.
'"what are you doing?" i said.
clink! went a coin someone had thrown to him.
michel grinned. "if we stay here long enough, we can earn our own plane fare back."
"you think this is funny don't you?" i said. "we are lost in a foreign city, michel! mr. d is probably calling the police. he's going to have to stop the tour. see what you've done? you've ruined this vacation for everyone!"'
so i was right, it WAS mr. douche's group! and also, of fucking course she would pin all the blame on michel.
'"are you saying this is my fault?"
"yes! if you hadn't distracted me at the museum, this wouldn't have happened!"
"you were provoking me!"
"i was not!"
"you were too!"'
proving that they are still children with this "was not!" "were too!" display, i see. good to know kristy has the maturity level of her average four year old sitting charge. i know if i were a parent, i'd feel super confident hiring her to watch my kids.
'"look," i said. "we're wasting time here. we have to do something."
michel shrugged. "wasn't there a plan b, in case we got lost?"
i thought back to a little speech our chaperones had given us at the hotel.
"right," i said to michel, "in case we separate from the group, we should meet at the eiffel tower at five o'clock. but that's four hours from now!"'
so…lemme get this straight, the students were told that if they got separated from the group and their chaperones, they were to meet at the eiffel tower hours later? so…they were just expected to be able to navigate a foreign city on their own? at the age of thirteen (and younger, since there are eleven year olds on the trip as well)? wow, that sure sounds safe! because children aren't potential targets at all, especially not scared, lost children! pfft, they'll be fine! fuck 'em!
SMS fucking blows my mind.
so while kristy is alternating between shitting herself and blaming michel for their predicament, michel heads over to the nearest pay phone.
'before i could say anything, he was madly tapping out a number and speaking french to someone on the other end.
then a second number and more french. "c'est tout!" he announced as he finally hung up. "i find out the number of the hotel. then i called the hotel and left a message that you and i are going to follow plan b."
"and what are we supposed to do until five o'clock?"
michel grinned. "a beautiful day. paris. four hours of freedom. you. me. we'll think of something."'
but kristy is not so much swooning as fuming.
'trapped. tricked.
i couldn't go off by myself. i'm not stupid.
but there were other options. just because we were with each other, we didn't have to be together.'
i think you must be the most stubborn person i've ever read about, kristy. i bet your personal motto is, "it's my way, or the highway." when she dies, her headstone will read: "i did it my way."
and she sure did! this girl has been known to cut off her nose to spite her face. to the point where she almost lost her cult, sorry, club in the first book i ever snarked -- kristy's worst idea. she's got to learn to chill the fuck out and go with the flow a little or she's gonna miss out on a lot of good things in life. she sacrifices more than she knows for the sake of her megalomaniacal need for ultimate power and control.
they go to a patisserie, which kristy informs us is a pastry shop. as they stand in line kristy dictates the rules of this engagement, "i don't know you, and we will sit at separate tables." jesus christ, cue sid vicious again!
'"suit yourself." michel turned away from me. he said something in french to the girl behind the counter, and she loaded up his plate. i was drooling just looking at it.
when it was my turn, i said, "i'll have what he had."
"eh?" the girl said.
i pointed to the pastries behind the glass case. "this stuff. an assortment."
she shrugged and started speaking in rapid fire french.
meanwhile michel was sitting by himself stuffing his face.'
HAHA! SUCKS TO BE YOU, KRISTY!
also, while trying to find a funny eating gif, i found this, which is fucking priceless:
kristy walks over to him and she tells us that she hated having to ask for help but she had no choice. she asks michel if he'll translate for her. and what happens next is kind of hilarious:
'"eh?" he replied. "do i know you young lady?"
the counter girl started laughing.
so did a few of the customers in line.
then some customers at the tables.
"come, i will serve you," said the counter girl in perfect english.
a prank!
he had told her to pretend she didn't know english.
i was seeing red.
i have never felt so embarrassed in my life.
who did he think he was?'
um, someone who is sick of putting up with your shitty treatment? who has been nothing but nice to you for the most part, yet gotten nothing but bullshit from you in return? someone with a pretty damned obvious -- at least to me -- crush on you? as hard as it is to believe anyone would after being treated the way you treat him, but hey, there are people who get off on a challenge. or he could be a masochist. either way, the guy likes you, kristy. and you are too much of a robot disguised as a teenaged girl to admit to even yourself that you like him too.
so, how does kristy retaliate after this humiliating ordeal which must've lasted all of sixty fucking seconds?
'calmly i picked up a cream puff from michel's plate. i gave it a good look.
then i dropped it in his lap and headed for the door.'
*slow clap*
nicely played, kristen. you sure showed him.
'"hey! wait!" he shouted, following me out.
a few customers were applauding. even that didn't make me feel better.
michel caught up to me on the crowded sidewalk. he had a powdery white stain on his pants. but i wasn't laughing.
i could barely unclench my teeth to speak. "why did you do that to me?"
"i'm sorry," michel said. "really. it was a stupid joke. i just -- well, you said you didn't want to know me, and i guess that was a way to get you to sit next to me."
bonk.
that response hit me over the head. it made absolutely no sense.'
YES IT DOES. HE'S TRYING TO TELL YOU HE LIKES YOU AND WANTED YOU TO SIT WITH HIM AND STOP BEING A JERK!
'"but you -- do you --" i sputtered. "you don't--"
like me, i wanted to say. but it would have sounded idiotic. michel hated me. he had to.'
why does he have to? because for some fucked up reason you're doing your damnedest to make sure he hates you? you must be very, very afraid of letting people get close to you unless you can control and dominate them to the point where they are too terrified to leave. ya know, i 100% blame your father for that. you have some deep seated abandonment issues that have warped and fucked up your whole personality and worldview, kristy. it's very fucking sad.
'still, he was looking at me with this sad, sorry expression. was he faking? was this another practical joke? i couldn't tell.'
add massive, pathological trust issues to the list. as well as a complete inability to read or empathize with other human beings. which isn't surprising, since she can't even connect with, or recognize, her own emotions, to the point where the simple act of crying confuses the fuck out of her.
kristy, i could analyze your behaviour for days. seriously. you'd be a psychoanalyst's wet dream. it kind of worries me that i've put so much brain power into trying to decode the personality and behaviour of a fictional character, to be honest. and that i've probably looked deeper into it than ann or the ghostwriters ever bothered to. kristy, get the fuck out of my head!
back to the book, before my brain short circuits.
kristy doesn't know what to make of any of this, so instead of talking to michel and getting a damned clue, she turns and walks the fuck away.
'"wait! how are you going to communicate with the parisians?" he was right behind me.
"sign language. i don't know."
"but it's dangerous to be alone!" i could feel his hand touching my arm.'
DAMN RIGHT IT IS!
'i whirled around. "you're dangerous. i don't trust you. i don't like you. now get lost before i scream!"'
wow. now that was a complete overreaction if i ever saw one.
'as soon as the words left my mouth, i wanted to pull them back. i was screaming. people were staring at us.
michel recoiled. that's the only way i can describe it. it was as if i hit him.
"i -- i'm sorry," michel said quietly. "i didn't mean to hurt your feelings. i thought -- you know, all our arguments, the insults -- i thought we were just kidding around. i thought we were just having fun together. i wouldn't dream of hurting you kristy."
my head was spinning. i felt dizzy and angry and hurt and happy all at the same time. my arms were tense. my throat was tense.
i tried to look michel in the eye. i tried to say something. but i couldn't.
michel lowered his head. "okay. look. i could never forgive myself if something bad happened to you. my dad is french and i've been to paris several times, so i can be useful to you, kristy. let's make a deal. we can pretend to be friends, like an acting exercise. i promise not to play pranks or jokes. you promise not to insult me."'
SAY YES KRISTY!! SAY YES!!
'i am brave. i am strong. i can handle myself.
but i did not want to be alone. not in a strange foreign city, where people drive like maniacs and speak french.
pretend?
he. is. my. friend. i said to myself.
this was not going to be easy. not by a long shot.'
sometimes the bravest things we can do, the ones that bring us the most personal growth, are also the hardest, kristy. you said you were brave, so prove it to yourself by taking a step into "dangerous" territory.
'i looked into his eyes. they were deep brown, like polished wood. i guess i hadn't really noticed them before.
he smiled. that made him look a little less revolting.
i figured i could stand it. for a few hours.'
YAY!
it's not much, but it's a start!
'"which way should we go?" i grumbled.
"the tuileries?"
"whatever."
we walked into this huge public garden, with flowers surrounded by low, trimmed hedges. lots of kids were running around. they made me think of baby-sitting, and stoneybrook. both of which i was missing like crazy.'
it's just the withdrawal kicking in, kristy. don't worry, the trip will be over soon and then you can go home and snort another line of sweet, sweet baby-sitting.
'a little girl handed michel a flower. her mom scolded her, but michel just smiled.
i smiled too. (not at him. with him.)'
uh huh, sure, kristy.
'one of the moms (or nannies, i couldn't really tell) smiled and said something to michel in french. he blushed.
"what?" i asked.
michel shrugged. "she said we were a lovely couple."
i made a face. i took two long sidesteps away from him. unfortunately i nearly fell over a hedge.'
that's what happens when you try and walk away from fate, kristy. karma comes along and kicks you in the ass for it.
'michel burst out laughing. so did the moms and nannies.
part of me wanted to kick michel. part of me just wanted to run away. part of me wanted to--
but i didn't. i started laughing too.'
aw! it must be love. and not stacey mcgill style luv, but actual love.
or a crush. i'll take a crush.
'"let's get out of here," i said, brushing myself off.
michel knew just where to go. i don't remember all the places -- an ancient egyptian monument, a palace that contained a science museum, an apartment-sized building arch called l'arc de triomphe -- but they were cool.
so was michel. he was growing on me, i guess.'
they go to another patisserie, but this time he orders for her.
'"thanks," i said between bites of croissant as we walked along this grand, tree-lined boulevard called the champs-élysées (pronounced something like shonz-ellie-zay.)'
oh christ, kristy, you just had to blow the romantic scene with a jessi ramsey style lesson in french pronunciation, didn't you? BOOOO!!
'michel's face lit up. "a kind word! zut alors!"
"whatever," i replied. "it's good food."
"are you saying this as yourself? or is this still an acting exercise?" michel asked, giving me this eager, puppy-dog look.
i let out a sudden laugh and nearly sprayed champs-élysées with half-chewed croissant chunks. which made me break into a coughing fit.'
EW! i'm sure the parisians would love that.
'"uh-oh." michel darted behind me. he put his arms around my waist and started doing the heimlich maneuver.
"don't you dare!" i blurted out.
we were standing against an old brick building near a public phone. i wasn't coughing anymore, but michel still had me in a front-to-back hug.'
OOooooOOOOOOOOoooh!
'"are you okay?"
"fine." i smiled. a little. my acting was getting much better.'
yeah, sure, it's your acting, kristy. ya know, not the hug. or the feeling of his teenaged junk all pressed up against you.
'michel seemed to notice where his arms were for the first time. he dropped them and began inching toward the phone. "well. uh, maybe i should call the hotel? in case the group has returned."'
don't think it's so much that he realized where his arms were, but that something suddenly came up, if you know what i mean.
'quickly he picked up the receiver and made a call. when he returned, he was grinning. "mr. d left a message saying he'd gotten our message. he'll meet us at the eiffel tower at five."
i glanced at my watch. "it's only four."
"a walk by the river seine, ma chérie?" michel held out his arm, like someone in an old movie.
it was goony. but hey, we were acting right?'
YOU JUST KEEP TELLING YOURSELF THAT KRISTY!
'besides, i love rivers. they are so peaceful.
i took his arm. "si," i said.
"oui," he corrected me.
arm in arm, we walked along the river to the eiffel tower. and soon i forgot that michel was michel and i was me.
i guess we had sort of become our characters.'
*cue giddy squealing*
whatever you need to tell yourself right now, kristy, just keep telling yourself, because I LOVE THIS. if i had a TARDIS i'd go back to the mid-late nineties and fist fight ann into keeping this relationship going, if need be. i think michel could've been wonderful for kristy.
'as we rode up the crowded elevator of the tower, my character felt tired. so she rested her head against michel's character's shoulder.
more people were smiling at us. a woman actually called us a "cute pair" -- in english.
oh, well. she was entitled to her opinion.
as we strolled onto the observation deck, the traffic noise seemed far away. the city stretched out below us, on either side of the seine. i thought i detected a faint bakery scent on the warm summer breeze.'
ooh! we get another illustration!
meh, he looks more like bart than i imagined he would, what with the baseball cap and oversized shirt, but still, not a bad looking kid.
'"they're here," michel said softly.
i looked straight down. a tour bus was pulling up to the curb.
"end of acting exercise, huh?" i said.
"we have a few more minutes."
michel put his arm around my shoulder.
i let it stay there. my character didn't mind it at all.'
okay, i know i told you to tell yourself whatever you had to, to keep this going, kristy, but the weird insistence on "my character, his character"/refusal to admit that you, yourself are having any of these feelings, is starting to creep me out just a tad and is almost bordering on dissociation.
but uh, yay for "your character" enjoying some huggies. god knows on the cover of "kristy + bart = ?" you looked thoroughly disgusted when bart's arm was around your shoulder. could michel be your first real crush?
EXHIBIT A:
(exhibit b is obviously the illustration above, where kristy actually looks carefree and happy with michel)
quite the turn around.
'mr. [douche] was waiting for us anxiously as we emerged from the elevator.
"are you all right?" he asked.
"fine," michel and i said at the same time.
as we approached the bus, abby, stacey, jessi, Mal and a few berger students came running off. michel went off with his friends. i had a big hug fest with mine.'
can't even handle being separated for a few damned hours. they act like kristy spent seven years stranded on a island and they're finally being reunited or something.
'stacey was giving me a sly grin. "so, how was it?"
i shrugged. "i'm a big girl. i can handle being lost."
"yeah, but lost with the guy you absolutely hate the most?" abby said. "that must have been awful."'
see, even abby knows what's up. she knows that kristy's insane hatred of michel is merely a cover for her true feelings.
kristy and michel, sitting in a tree
F-U-C-K-I-N-G…
ahem.
'they were teasing me.
but i didn't care.
i just smiled. "hey, i'm a good actress."'
HAHAHAHA SURE YOU ARE KRISTY.
and with that, a tear, because the fun chapter is over and next up is boring mary anne.
#SADFACESFOREVER
CHAPTER TWENTY
mary anne
or: how to alienate the readers with BORING BULLSHIT.
cuz, let's be real, unless this mary anne chapter is about anyone other than mary anne, boredom is pretty much guaranteed. she doesn't even have a plot in this book for fuck sake.
'monday
i'm just getting used to play-ground camp.
i'm getting used to buddy barrett's crazy antics.'
uh shouldn't you be used to buddy by now? you've been baby-sitting him for like, twenty fucking years already! WHATEVER MARY ANNE.
'i'm getting used to the freeze-tag games in which kids try to crack each other up with their poses.'
you should be used to this kind of stuff by now, too, what with all the baby-sitting you do instead of having a real life. don't act like this shit is all new to you, mary anne. i ain't buying it!
'and i'm definitely getting used to working side by side with dawn.'
also something you've done a million times.
NEXT!
'there's only one thing i can't get used to…'
…WHUT? WHUT MARY ANNE? her entry just trails the fuck off. wow, kristy will be PISSED.
'"okay, ms. garcia called to say she'll be late," jerry announced. "that means i'm in charge. so wake up -- ten minutes till the kids are here! i need two volunteers for softball!"'
so…mary anne can't get used to jerry being Head Douche instead of kristy? i still don't understand.
logan is the first to volunteer, because he loves to massively suck up to other dudes. i mean, because he loves sports. mary anne follows suit, which makes exactly zero fucking sense. WHY would MARY ANNE volunteer for SPORTS? ohhhh, because logan did. that's the only reason. cokie volunteers after mary anne and since jerry is the biggest douchebag on the playground right now, he decides to go with logan and cokie, leaving mary anne in the dust, weeping like a baby i'm sure:
jerry asks for volunteers for playground monitors, while cokie grins evilly at mary anne, 'as if she'd won something.' mary anne internally bitches about how sick of cokie she is and how much she's 'ruining the camp experience' for her. which makes me roll my eyes.
because mary anne doesn't have a spine, and her friends suck, janine stands up for her out of nowhere:
'"excuse me, jerry," janine said. "mary anne had her hand up."'
GO JANINE!!
'"hand?" jerry repeated. "uh, janine, this isn't an honours classroom. you have to yell to get what you want. playground monitors?"
janine had been sitting at the picnic bench. now she stood up. "what did you say?"
jerry gave her a weary look. "playground mon--"
"no. before that. the comment about an honours classroom. that was unfair and insulting."'
YESSS!! STAND UP FOR YOURSELF!!
'whoosh. away flew my thoughts about cokie.
i could not believe this was janine talking. i looked at claudia. her jaw was open in shock.
"can this wait, janine?" jerry said. "we now have eight and a half minutes."
"no," janine said firmly. "i was pointing out that cokie railroaded mary anne. listening to me would have taken very little time. by verbally abusing me, you are causing this argument. therefore, you are wasting time."
"go, girl!" claudia shouted.'
i second that!
'"well -- why --" jerry sputtered. "okay, fine. mary anne, you do softball."
"hey, that's unfair!" cokie yelped.
"cokie, you hate softball," bruce schermerhorn said.
cokie glared at me. "mary anne hates it even worse. she was just volunteering so she could be with logan. weren't you, mary anne?"
"well, i--" i hate confrontation. especially when other people are around. i wanted to crumple up and cry.
this was supposed to be fun. this was my summer vacation.'
since when is working on your vacation fun anyway? you sacrificed your "fun summer vacation" when you decided to spend it working. whatever, mary anne.
'"don't listen to her, mary anne," claudia said. "cokie, you are so out of line."
"can we please get started?" jerry asked. "cokie, you and dawn do playground duty--"
"no," i blurted out.'
uh…mary anne? you got what you wanted, what the fuck more can you ask for?
'i couldn't take this.
cokie had been right. yes, i do hate softball. and yes, i was volunteering just to be near logan. well, and to keep cokie away from logan.
but that was the problem. her behaviour was forcing me to make decisions. i wasn't free to think for myself.
which was just plain wrong.'
let's get back to janine standing up for herself. you blithering about cokie for the umpteenth time is a fucking waste, because you never retain your damned spine. and the mary anne/logan/cokie love triangle got old decades ago.
'"cokie can coach softball," i said.
logan was slashing the air horizontally with down turned palms, as if to say no!
cokie grinned triumphantly. then she turned and saw logan.
her face fell. "oh," she said dully. "i can see i'm not wanted."
"will you guys please grow up?" jerry pleaded.'
oh lord, why oh why does jerry the super douche have to say something i actually agree with? i don't want to agree with this asshole.
'"my feelings exactly," cokie said, storming away. "i hate being around babies. i quit."'
right now, cokie is closer to being like a real thirteen year old than any member of the BSC.
'"come back here!" jerry yelled.
"oh, stuff it, michaels," cokie replied.
jerry threw down his clipboard. "terrific. i'm losing a counsellor. you see what you started, janine?"'
FUCK YOU, JERRY!
'janine's eyes widened. i thought she was going to cry.
she took a deep breath. she looked straight at jerry and said, "stuff it, michaels."'
WOOHOO!!
'claudia let out a hoot.
i almost did too.
janine turned away and jogged after cokie, stopping her by the playground entrance. janine talked to her calmly, with a concerned, respectful expression.
jerry's face looked ashen. "well, uh, let's get to work."
logan smiled at me. i smiled back.'
logan and bruce run to the equipment shed to get shit ready and dawn and mary anne head over to the playground. dawn, who, as we all know, gets off on drama, says, "this is the most exciting day so far, and the kids aren't even here yet." go cream yourself over other people's pain and suffering somewhere else, dawn, you creepy emotional vampire.
so, janine manages to convince cokie to stay, i guess, because the two of them go to greet the first kids as they arrive and cokie actually takes one of the little dewitt's by the hand and they skip over to the hopscotch area together. wow, janine must've worked some real magic on cokie-i-hate-babies-mason. colour me impressed!
'janine was beaming. "jerry?" she called out. "the gate hinge is coming loose. can you find a screwdriver?"
jerry muttered something and walked inside.
i could see a tiny smile forming on janine's face.
claudia ran to her from the arts and crafts area, and gave her a big kiss, and ran back.'
AWW!! SUPER HAPPY SISTER TIME!! why can't they be like this all the time? or at least more often? i love it when they get along!
the chapter ends with mary anne telling us readers that she was very impressed.
good…for…you?
but yay for the chapter being over! i'm so glad the stoneybrook chapters are usually short.
stay tuned for part seven, which should hopefully be posted soon! next up i'm snarking 'stacey's movie.'