The Diary of Darcy J. Rhone (4 page)

October 15

Omigod. I’m so depressed. Totally bombed the SAT. I got a NINE freakin’ hundred. This is a total disaster. What if I don’t get in anywhere? What then? Shit! I really didn’t think I was that dumb. I mean, even Annalise broke a thousand, and no offense to her, but she’s a total idiot. I will just die if Rachel and Ethan find out. Die. I’m seriously taking this one to the grave. And if they ask me—which I know they will—I’m going with 1105, the first two numbers of my locker combination. Because who could ever forget their locker combination??? Senior year was supposed to be the best ever, but so far it has just been a big disappointment. Except for homecoming queen—but that was always a given.

November 25

Thought I should mention that the Berlin Wall came down. Rachel’s making a huge big deal out of it—probably because Mrs. Lee, her honors European history teacher, is making a huge big deal out of it and Rachel worships Mrs. Lee. She’s even talking about being a history–political science double major in college and then going to law school. I don’t see her being a lawyer. She’s way too shy. I think it’d be better if we both just married well and had babies together. Unless I become famous, that is.

January 1, 1990

It’s the nineties! Woo hoo!!! This will be the decade of Darcy! I really hope I become famous someday. Do you think I need a stage name? Maybe Darcy Rose? Darcy Fine? Darcy Rouge? Hmmm. I have some time to think about that one.

Oh, by the way, things didn’t work out with Matt so I gave Blaine a second chance after he promised he wouldn’t obsess over basketball like he did with football. I really did miss him. I also missed being part of the “golden couple.” Nobody ever said that about Matt and me. He’s cute and all, but we really didn’t look that good together. His concert T-shirts clashed with my cute outfits.

January 20, 1990

I just watched the Golden Globes with Rachel and Annalise.
Driving Miss Daisy
beat
When Harry Met Sally
?! What a terrible call.
When Harry Met Sally
is the best movie I’ve ever seen, including
Dirty Dancing
. I mean, the orgasm scene?? Most hilarious ever. Side note: Annalise thought the
The Little Mermaid
should’ve won. Classic Annalise.

February 5

Crappy Monday. PMSing with a big case of the blues. So bored with everything and everyone. Only good news: I’ve lost three pounds since New Year’s. And I haven’t made myself puke since Rachel told me how the acid can rot the enamel off your teeth. Ewww. I mean, I hate cellulite—I
fear
cellulite more than cancer—but nothing, NOTHING is more disgusting than gross teeth. And I’m not just saying that because my dad is a dentist.

But back to my boring life. School is a drag, and every weekend it’s the same old thing. I have to choose between some dumb party where everyone gets loaded and talks shit about each other the next day—okay, I admit that I do it too, but only because I’m soo bored!—or I go out with Rachel, Ethan, and Annalise, who don’t drink at all and we just sit around talking about stupid college applications. Rachel is obsessed with getting into a good college and she carries that damn Fiske Guide with her everywhere. Of course she’s being a big snob about the whole thing and acting like nowhere in the Midwest (except Notre Dame and Northwestern) is good enough for her. She’s mostly looking at faraway schools like Duke, Brown, Princeton, and Cornell. But maybe she won’t get into any of those and will be stuck with Indiana, her safety school. I know it sounds mean, but sometimes I hope that happens. Because if it does, we will stay together. We could even room together, assuming she can get into the best sorority. Plus, she already thinks she’s better than me—I can’t imagine how snobbish she’d get if she went to the Ivy League. Ethan is just as bad, but he has always been like that. And she only gets that way when she’s around him. Just last week he mentioned his application to Tulane and I was like, “Where the hell is that?” So he rolls his eyes and goes, “New Orleans.” Like I’m an idiot for not knowing the location of some rando school. So I tried to change the subject and said, “I thought you wanted to go somewhere warm.” And he goes, “Darcy. Where do you think New Orleans is, exactly?” with that patronizing look he always gets. So I go, “You know. Up there with all the other News.” He kept staring at me so I said, “You know. New York, New Jersey. New Hampshire.” Rachel and Ethan about peed themselves laughing so hard—which really PISSED me off. I mean, I usually don’t mind being the butt of their jokes, but sometimes it’s just too much. So I got up and moved to another table because unlike them, I actually have more than three friends in the world. Rach came over a minute later and whispered an apology. She said she didn’t mean to hurt my feelings, but that I should probably know that New Orleans was in Louisiana, down by Texas. I was like, “Whatever.” It took all I had not to throw in, “Besides, I’d rather be pretty than smart.” No offense to Rachel, but a 4.0 is so not worth that frizzy hair of hers. I mean,
hello
! Rachel: meet deep conditioner. Deep conditioner: meet my best friend. And while you’re at it, introduce her to a beer. Cause that little meeting is so
beyond
overdue.

February 18

I seriously can’t stand Ethan. I’m just so sick of him trying to make me look stupid in front of people. On Friday night after the basketball game, a bunch of us were waiting for Blaine to shower. (He scored nineteen points including the game-winning shot after which he pointed right at me cheering on the sidelines and mouthed “I love you, babe.”) So anyway, at some point, I used the word infer and Ethan goes, “It’s imply, not infer,” and starts giving me this big lesson on the difference. So I said, “It’s Friday night, Ethan. Take a chill pill.” And he starts going off on how there is certain “basic knowledge” that all people should know. Like where New Orleans is. And then he starts quizzing me. He’s all “Does the sun rise in the east or the west?” Puh-lease! So I said, “The east”—and he goes, “Who is the vice president?” And I’ll admit that I blanked for one second. So he goes, “Dan Quayle!” I was like, “No shit, Sherlock.” Then he goes, “Keep diggin’, Watson.” And then, “Bet you can’t name three planets other than the one you’re on.” So I called him queer. Right in front of Tommy Bilas—who just came out of the closet. Of course, I apologized right away and said I didn’t mean
that
kind of queer. Just the lame kind of queer. Ethan just shook his head and said, “You wanna throw out some racist remarks while you’re at it?” I was like, “I’m not racist! Hello? I dated a Spaniard.” That shut him up. Who needs enemies when you’re friends with Ethan Ainsley?

March 16

Major update. I’m pretty sure my dad is having an affair. He was ordering a pizza and gave a phone number I didn’t recognize (not his work or our home). So I memorized it and called it later. Some chick answered and said, “Melanie Miller speaking.” I hung up on her. Later that night, after my mom had gone to drink a glass of wine in the bathtub, I said to my dad, all casually, “Who is Melanie Miller?” He looked at me, stunned, and said, “Why do you ask that?” And I could just tell. All the late nights doing emergency procedures started to make sense, as did the dental conference in Palm Beach. “No reason,” I said. And then, “Hey, mind if I take your Amex to the mall tomorrow? I really could use a new Dooney & Bourke bag.” He said yes quicker than he’s ever given me permission before. After that, I was positive he was up to no good. I went over to Rachel’s and balled my eyes out. But she and her mom said there’s probably a logical explanation. Something I’m not thinking of. I hope they are right. I don’t want my parents to get a divorce!!!!!

March 24

I did a phone book search for Melanie Millers. There is only one in our town. So after three days of drive-bys on Setauket Avenue, I found my dad’s BMW in her driveway. That night, he came to my room to ask me something. I just glared at him and said, “Dad. I’m kind of sick of the Dooney & Bourke. I’m thinking more along the lines of Gucci.” Then I gave him a good, long stare before he said yes. I’m so pissed and sad.

April 8

Things are going from bad to worse. I got rejected by Notre Dame. That was pretty much a given, but I thought maybe they’d let me in for the sake of diversity. I mean, everyone there is super smart and serious about school and Catholic. You’d think they’d want a few fun Protestants in the mix. But no. I made the mistake of telling Rachel I got in. The lie just sort of slipped out. I was going to be all “Psyche! Just kidding,” but she acted so shocked that I got offended and decided to stick to the lie. I don’t know what I will do if she gets in, though. Because then she will expect me to go with her, and I’ll have to make up another lie to cover it up. I guess that’s what they mean about lying being dangerous. They just start to pile up.

April 15

I disregarded my usual “I don’t break up, I trade up” rule and broke up with Blaine with no backup. I can’t take more talk about baseball (note to self: do NOT date a three-sport guy in college!), and there is literally not one single guy at school I want to date. I think I’ll ask Michael Jordan to the prom. I love the Bulls and I feel that I’m worthy of a superstar. I think I will enclose a bikini shot too. I bet he will say yes.

As for Melanie Miller, I don’t think she’ll be sleeping with my dad anymore. I called her and read this script that Rachel typed for me while she sat on another line with the phone muted. The conversation went like this:

“Hello. May I please speak to Ms. Melanie Miller.”

“This is Melanie.”

“Melanie. My name is Gwendolyn Smith and I’m calling from the Illinois Department of Health.”

Silence.

“Ms. Miller, I regret to inform you that one of your former sexual partners has tested positive for the HIV virus.”

“Who?” she asked, just as Rachel predicted.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Miller, but under recent Illinois confidentiality legislation, I cannot divulge this information. However, I do recommend you schedule an appointment with your healthcare provider as soon as possible.”

More silence.

“Ms. Miller?”

“Yes?” (In a whisper.)

“Best of luck to you. Be careful out there.”

We hung up, and I felt much better. I’m not sure if it will save my parents’ marriage, but at least it will give Melanie Miller a few sleepless nights. And my dad, too, for that matter.

April 29