Every Boy's Got One

Travel Diary of Jane Harris

Travel Diary of Holly Caputo and Mark Levine

Jane Harris

Isn’t that sweet? I miss The Dude, too. If he were here right now, he’d be curled up around my feet.

And my toes would be losing all circulation because he weighs so much. But still.

I don’t understand why Julio hasn’t written, though. What if he forgot? To feed The Dude, I mean?

But how could he forget? I stuck a giant sign on his dad’s door, to remind him….

Where was I? Oh, yeah. Walking through the piazza behind Mark and Holly.

Well… while I was looking at them, and thinking how cute they are, and what a shame it was that Modelizer Cal wasn’t there with us to see them and all, I got a pang.

A PANG.

I’ll admit it. I mean, I am totally happy for Holly and in full support of this elopement scheme. Really, given the situation, I don’t see how she and Mark have any choice BUT to elope.

But seeing them together like that, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her—I felt a pang.

Because where is MY Mark? Really? Where IS he?

Because I know he’s not in Canada right now, hitting the half pipe—or the full pipe. Or even both, as in Malcolm’s case. I mean, I like Malcolm and all, and we have a blast together. But I can’t really picture him strolling through the piazza with his arm around my waist. Skateboarding through it, certainly. But having a nice glass of bianco frizzante as the sun sets? Not so much.

I’m sure he’s out there, somewhere. My Mark, I mean. He has to be, right?

But what if I never find him? Or what if I already met him, and I messed it up somehow? This would not be unusual, since I mess up everything. I mean, what if My Mark was DAVE who cheated on me with Amy Jenkins (that whore)?

Oh, God, no. Fate would never be so unkind.

Or what if My Mark was Curt Shipley, who took me to the prom in 11^th grade, and we made out in his Chevette afterwards, and then that summer, I found out he’d been making out, in that same Chevette, with Mike Morris after the fireworks on the Fourth of July?

Which means I must have turned Curt gay, because he certainly wasn’t gay BEFORE we made out.

Oh, my God. What if Curt Shipley was the man of my dreams, and I TURNED HIM GAY?????

Killing self now.

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