That cheered me up. I'd had another – um – discussion about my "Journal." I was very stubborn: if it was my journal, then it was my journal. There...might be spelling errors to be corrected (there weren't), but otherwise it was mine. And I was still reading the Keneally, and getting ever more irritated by the behavio(u)r of the authoritative British. [That "(u)" is for you, Mr. Simmonds!]My dad's a patriot, I guess, but he's friendly to everyone. Rachel's part Japanese. There are aboriginal. When the doorbell rang downstairs, I followed behind Blaine sluggishly, just to get a look at the guy she’d be leaving with. They greeted each other with a series of overzealous kisses, but I didn’t really react. Like I said, Blaine didn’t have much self-control. Part of me couldn’t blame her, either. Mark really wasn’t bad looking. He was sort of…gorgeous. I hid at the top of the stairs instead of facing them together, and stared. He seemed a lot older than Blaine, probably in his early. More

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