Subject: It’s illegal to hire a hit man, right?

From: Emster@seattlegrrl.com

To: Hollyberry@britsahoy.co.uk

Date: June 11, 2005 12.34pm

I may have to kill Dru.

Hugsies,

~Em

Subject: Re: It’s illegal to hire a hit man, right?

From: Emster@seattlegrrl.com

To: Hollyberry@britsahoy.co.uk

Date: June 11, 2005 12.47pm

> OMICROD! What’s happened now? Why do you want to kill Dru? Are you done with > your classes yet? Are you excited about graduation? I so wish I was graduating, too.

> School just isn’t the same without you. No one ever gets into trouble, or sets off the

> sprinkles in the gym, or has a teacher threaten to have them deported.

Hey, that thing with Horseface Naylor was blown totally out of proportion. She didn’t actually threaten to have me deported, she just said she wished someone would deport me. There’s a big difference.

I’ve got one more test, then the classes are over, woohoo! And Grad Weekend is so going to rock–I can’t wait to see Fang. I think everyone thought it was a bit weird that we’re going to Vancouver rather than that bed and breakfast in the San Juan Islands that Miss Pushy "I have a Pilgrim Name" Resolved wanted, but boo hoo, I won, she lost, and we’re going to Vancouver in a week!

But I may still have to kill Dru.

Huggables,

~Em

Subject: Re: Yes it is illegal to hire a hit man

From: Emster@seattlegrrl.com

To: Hollyberry@britsahoy.co.uk

Date: June 11, 2005 12.58pm

> WHY DO YOU HAVE TO KILL DRU?????

Oooh, shouting in e-mail! That’s so ballsy of you. Hee! Ballsy! OK, acting adult here. Dru has gone off the deep end with this wedding thing. I thought at first all the wedding planning was kind of fun–I mean, how cool is it to go to a bridal store and try on wedding dresses (and in my case, maid of honor dresses)? But then Felix left to do his four-year military thing, and Dru just isn’t coping well. Rather than admitting that she won’t be getting married until after he gets back, she’s in some sort of bridal denial!

"Dru, I’m you’re oldest and best friend," I told her two days ago as we were doing commencement practice (shaking hands with one hand and accepting a diploma with the other). "You know I have only your best interests at heart."

"Yeah," she said, shoving a piece of paper at me. "No, Em, shake with your right, take the diploma with your left. It’s not that hard."

"You’re not using your left hand to diploma me!"

"Yes, I am. See?" She turned around so she was facing in the same direction as me.

I narrowed my eyes at her hand with the diploma. "Oh. It didn’t look right."

"That’s because it’s not, it’s left," she said, shaking the piece of paper.

"I know that, I meant, it didn’t look right that your left was right."

She blinked at me a couple of times. "Huh?"

"The right hand. It didn’t look right to me that your left hand was the right hand."

Her mouth dropped open a little bit. "Em, are you, like, on drugs? ‘Cause that just didn’t make any sense!"

"Oh, ha ha, very funny miss comedian." I snatched the diploma and stuffed it underneath my mattress.

"Well, what did you mean then?"

I opened my mouth to tell her, but I couldn’t think of a way to explain that didn’t involve a whiteboard and five colored pens. "Never mind."

"Sheesh, Em. How do you expect to become a world renowned astrophysicist before you’re twenty-five if you can’t even tell your left from your right?"

"So I got a little mixed up! So what! I have things on my mind! Important things, like why Fang doesn’t love me any more!"

She rolled her eyes and dug the pretend diploma out from the bed. "Oh, man, we’re not going to go back to ‘Fang Doesn’t Love Me Land’ again, are we? Because I’m going to need white cheddar popcorn and a six pack of Diet Coke if we are."

"He hasn’t called me in three weeks! THREE WHOLE WEEKS!"

"Oh, that’s nothing. Felix hasn’t called me in a month, and you don’t see me having a melt-down."

"That’s because he’s at boot camp and not allowed to call you! But this is different! OMIGOD! Look how upset I am! I’m speaking in exclamation points!"

She laughed and whapped me on the arm with the paper. "You’re such an idiot at times, Em. Fang e-mails you every day, and that’s more than I get from Felix. Now do it again. Right hand shake, left hand take. It’s easy as pie."

I wanted to make mean eyes at her, but I couldn’t because even I knew it was stupid to try to pretend that Fang didn’t love me. I sighed a tragic opera Camille-like sigh instead, and did the shake and take thing.

She didn’t let go of the diploma. "Em."

"What?" I asked, wondering if someone would write an opera about my sad life–only without the tuberculosis and dying part. I bet if I was dying Fang would call me.

"What are you doing?"

I looked. The diploma was in my right hand. "Gah! I’m dyslexic or something! Stress has done this to me! I can’t take it any more! Oh, no, I’m talking in exclamation points again! Double gah with antlers on!"

Dru looked at me with her head tipped on one side. "You know, you do look a bit stressed out lately."

"I am! Totally stressed!"

I know just what you need to relax," she said, grabbing her purse and turning it upside down on my bed.

"Oh, here it is," Dru said, pulling out an object from the wad o’ stuff.

I narrowed my eyes at it. "That looks suspiciously like a magazine."

She scooped everything else back into her purse, dropping it on the floor as she plopped onto the bed, patting the spot next to her. "This always makes me feel better when I get a bit stressy. Come and sit."

"That’s not what I think it is, is it?" I asked, moving cautiously toward my desk where my birthday present from Bess was kept (I can’t tell you how handy it is to have a sister who is Wiccan).

Dru smoothed the magazine cover and smiled at it. "We haven’t done this in a long time, Em."

I reached for the drawer, careful not to turn my back on her (never turn your back on someone armed with the horrible tool of destruction that Dru had). My hand felt around the drawer for the protection charm Bess had made me. "Dru, tell me it’s not what I think it is. Tell me it’s not that most horrible of all things…tell me it’s not–"

She smiled a big old piranha smile and held the magazine up so I could see the cover. "Young Bride magazine! Let’s pick out our dream wedding outfits!"

"Gah!" I yelled, spinning around to jerk the drawer out. It was empty. "Oh no, not again! Dermott! Stop hiding my stuff and give me back that charm! It’s the only thing that can save me from the horror of bride magazines!"

"Ooooooooh! Hand-painted cakes! Em, you have to see this! Oh, and there are the sweetest bridesmaids dresses I found–they would be so cool! Let me show you. You’re going to love them–you could wear them after the wedding for parties and stuff."

I sat down next to her on the bed, clutching my protection charm. "Dru, honey, sweetie…we need to have a little talk. It’s tough love time, babe."

"I know I sticky noted the page with the bridesmaid dresses," she muttered to herself, flipping through the magazine. One side of it bristled with sticky note tabs. "Maybe this is…no, that’s the pushup bra I want."

"I know you’re upset about Felix going ahead with his plan to join the army so he’ll have college paid for when he gets out. I understand that. If I was engaged and my fiancé did that, I’d have the hissy fit to end all hissy fits. But you didn’t hissy at all–and that worries me, Dru, because if anyone deserves the title of Class Drama Queen, it’s you."

She glared at me over the top of the magazine. "I am so not the one in this room who is the drama queen, Miss Talking in Exclamation Points."

I lifted my chin and tried to look down my nose at her like Brother does when those religious guys come around to the door trying to get him to join their church. "Hello! There is a big difference between stressing because your BF hasn’t called you in three weeks–that’s three, whole, entire weeks. Consecutive weeks!–and pretending that stuff that has happened hasn’t really happened."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," she said, immersing herself in the mag again. "I’m engaged. I’m getting married."

"Yeah, but not for four years! I know you want to plan your wedding, and yeah, I admit it was fun at first to think about it, but you’re obsessing about it now!"

"Look," she said, turning the magazine around so I could see a page she marked. "I know you liked the slinky red dresses for bridesmaids, but I’ve rethought the red and black color scheme and I think this is much, much better."

I stared in horror at the page. "You can’t be serious."