Fifteen-

Mimi

January 11

Well, some bonehead slipped ANOTHER anti-smoking thing under my door, which got me really annoyed. Luckily, I was just in time to fling open my apartment door and see the culprit dart away, long hippie hair flying behind her. Gemma. Of course.

Groaning and crumpling up the paper in my fist, which said “BUTT OUT” and had a No-Smoking sign on it, I chased after her. I followed her all the way down the stairs and into the basement. She finally had nowhere else to run and, frightened, whipped around to face me.

“I-uh-” she stuttered.

“Gemma, listen,” I said, grabbing her by the shoulders. “I don’t smoke. I never have and never will,”

Well, that was only partly true… but Gemma didn’t have to know that I went through a bad stage in eighth grade.

“Then how do you explain the cigarette butts right outside your door?” she asked defiantly. “I suppose they just got up and walked there themselves?”

“No!” I said in frustration. “Hilary Stump, the girl next door- it’s her! She smokes like twenty packs a day, I swear. I’ve witnessed it, okay? She’s offered me some. So put all your no smoking junk under HER door, and leave me alone, all right?” I yelled, waving the paper she’d given me in her face.

“Mr. Monopoly will take care of you!” she shrieked as I stalked away. “He will not permit smoking liars when he becomes president! I’ll make sure of it!” I stopped walking, an expression of utter confusion on my face. Seriously, why wasn’t this girl running for president herself? She was hardly the kind that liked to promote other people’s work.

I turned around and asked her, truly wondering what her reasoning was. “And Gemma, just tell me something, why aren’t you running?” I said.

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.

“It’s none of your business,” she sneered.

“Just tell me,” I demanded.

“No,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Well, why not?” I shouted. I was getting so fed up with her.

“Because…” she said in a voice that was barely a whisper. “You wouldn’t understand,”

“You’re right, I probably wouldn’t,” I said, rolling my eyes and giving up. But just before I turned to leave, I noticed that a single tear was rolling down her cheek. What was up with her?

“What is wrong?” I asked, partly still annoyed with her, partly really curious and sort of sympathetic, too. “You’re crying? What is the big deal?!”

She was silent. I sighed and used a less harsh tone of voice. “What’s the matter?” I asked, as sincerely as I could.

“I’m too young to run,” she whispered, and lowered her head.

Oh my God. Leave it to Gemma to be even more overly dramatic than Ginger on something as dumb as running for the president of the Board of Directors.

Then a thought struck me. “But you only have to be over 21,” I reminded her. “Ginger’s running. How old are you?!”

“Seventeen,” she said, head still lowered.

“And you’re living by yourself?!” I exclaimed. “That’s- that’s terrible! You shouldn’t-” But then I stopped.

I’d lived on my own when I was 17.

But I thought I was the only freak in the world like that.

“I know how it feels,” I told her quietly. Her bloodshot eyes widened. And I told her my story of how awful everything had been at home and how I couldn’t take it any more. I’d thought I’d never repeat it to anyone- that no one would ever know except Ginger and Brenda, who would undoubtedly take it to the grave, but here I was spilling to this earth-crazed maniac. I couldn’t help it. It just…came out.

When I was done, she was silent for a while. She had been listening really intently. Then she told me her story.

“Well, my parents were the opposite,” she began. “They were obsessed with making me perfect. They never stopped lecturing me about good grades and college and SATs, even when I was just in elementary school. They wouldn’t let me go vegan, even though the though of meat revolted me, and they didn’t even care about what I was interested in. I guess I ran away to prove to them that I could. So that they wouldn’t have the satisfaction of having the normal, prestigious-college-attending girl they’d always dreamed of. So, I gave up on high school and college and just got a job and moved in here. I annoy everyone, I know, so I guess no one would vote for me even if I did run for president. But I still sort of wish I could. Sorry I started crying,” she apologized, hastily wiping her eyes.

I couldn’t believe it. I had this huge, terrible thing in common with Gemma, of all unlikely people. I couldn’t be mean to her or aggravated by her ever again after hearing what she’d been through.

“Gemma,” I said, “Would you like to help us with Ginger’s campaign?”