“Prove it,” I said, my voice sounding very quiet, compared to hers. Which, considering that she was yelling her head off, was kind of no surprise. Lucky for her Mrs. Hill was in the teacher’s lounge, calling Visa to get her credit limit extended.

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Lilly wanted to know.

I thought about it. What COULD Lilly do to prove that she would never again betray my trust by making out with (or playing strip bowling with) relative strangers at some party I, or one of my family members, was hosting?

I thought about making her sing “Don’t Cha” (“Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?”) at the next pep rally, in front of the whole school. That would certainly have been entertaining, not to mention interesting, considering how Principal Gupta might react.

But then I thought of something that would be even MORE interesting.

“Tell J. P. that you love him,” I said.

I had the satisfaction of seeing all the blood drain from Lilly’s face.

“Mia,” she breathed. “I can’t. You know I can’t. We all agreed—boys like to make the first move. They don’t like it when girls say the L word first. They run from them…like startled fawns.”

I felt a little twinge of guilt. Because she was right. What I was asking her to do might very well cause J. P. to drop her like a hot potato.

But it was like there was some kind of crazy little mean elf inside me, making me say it, anyway.

“Don’t you think you’re underestimating J. P.?” I asked. “I mean, he is not like a typical boy. Does a typical boy know the score to Avenue Q by heart? Who isn’t gay, I mean?”

“No,” Lilly said hesitantly.

“Does a typical boy write poems about the school administration and his desire to bring it down?”

“Um,” Lilly said. “I guess not.”

“And does a typical boy pick all the corn out of his chili?”

“Okay,” Lilly said. “Granted, J. P. is not a typical boy. But, Mia, what you’re asking me to do…tell him that I love him…it could permanently damage—or end—my relationship with him.”

“Or,” I said, “it could unloose the lava flow of passion that you and I both know is bubbling just underneath the surface of J. P.’s cool exterior.”

Lilly blinked at me. “Have you been reading Tina’s romance novels?” she wanted to know.

I ignored that. Or the mean little elf did, really.

“If you really and truly want me to forgive you for all those times you ruined my parties,” I said, “you will tell J. P. you love him.”

Even as the words were coming out of my mouth, I couldn’t believe I was saying them. I don’t even know why I was saying them. What did I care whether or not Lilly told J. P. she loved him?

Although it would definitely cut down on her whining about his not using the L word. And I was kind of interested to see what he’d do in response. You know, in a fun, social-experiment kind of way.