Forever Princess (20 page)

Wednesday, May 3, 11 p.m., the loft

Thanks for nothing, Tremaine Publications.

Anyway, J.P.'s play was a huge success.

Of course, he passed the senior projects committee with flying colors.

But that's not all:

Sean Penn wants to option it.

Which basically means Sean Penn—
Sean Penn
—wants to make
A Prince Among Men
into a movie.

Which I'm totally happy about. Don't get me wrong. I'm thrilled for J.P.

And there are already so many movies about my life. What's one more, right?

It's just…WHEN IS IT GOING TO BE MY TURN?

Seriously. When is someone going to recognize something
I've
done? Other than bring democracy to a small European nation, which frankly no one seems to care about.

I don't mean to whine (which I know is hilarious, because it's basically all I ever do in my journal), but for God's sake. I don't think it's fair that a guy can write a play (which is basically a huge chunk of MY life that he's more or less STOLEN), throw it up onto a stage, then get a movie deal with Sean Penn.

Whereas I slave—yes, slave—over a book for months, and I can't even get a publisher to look at it.

Come on!

And I'm going to tell you the truth: I didn't like that Sean Penn movie
Into the Wild
so much.

Yes!
I know it was critically acclaimed! I know it won all these awards! It's very sad that boy is dead and all. But I thought the movie
Enchanted
, with the singing princess and the chipmunk and the people dancing in Central Park, was cuter.

So there!

Anyway, J.P. came up and asked me how I liked
A Prince Among Men
. (“I was exploring the theme of self-discovery,” he explained to me, “a boy's journey toward manhood and the woman who helped him find his way from troubled childhood to the full realization of what it means to become a man…and eventually even to become a prince.” He didn't mention anything about exploring the theme of sexy dancing.)

I told him I liked it a lot. What else could I say? I guess if it hadn't been about me, I really would have liked it.
Except that the princess came off as this kind of kooky girl, who always needs her boyfriend to bail her out of the zany situations she gets herself into, and I don't actually think I'm like that. I don't think I need any rescuing at all, actually.

But it seemed the wrong time to give him editorial notes. And I was glad I didn't, because he seemed so pleased to hear me say I liked it. He wanted me to come out with him and Sean Penn and his parents and Stacey Cheeseman and Andrew Lowenstein so we could all talk about his movie deal. Sean Penn was taking everyone, including the senior projects committee, to Mr. Chow's for a celebratory meal.

But I said I couldn't go. I said I had to go home and study for my Psych final.

Which, I will admit, was not very friendly of me. Especially since I don't have to study for my Psych final at all. I have Psych down cold. After all, I was best friends for most of my life with a girl whose parents were psychiatrists. Then I dated her brother. And now I'm
in
therapy.

But obviously this didn't occur to J.P., because he just went, “Are you sure you don't want to come, Mia?” then kissed me when I said no and then hurried to join Sean and Andrew and Stacey Cheeseman and his parents at the theater door, where tons of paparazzi were waiting to take his photo.

Yeah. Because there were huge amounts of paps in front of the theater. As I made my own way out, they asked me how I felt about my boyfriend having written a play about me that's going to be turned into a movie directed by Sean Penn.

I said I felt great about it, making that statement officially Mia Thermopolis's Big Fat Lie Number Ten.

Although I think I'm starting to lose track.

I don't know how I'm ever going to get to sleep tonight when all I can think about is this:

P.S. No need to thank me on behalf of your father or Genovia. I only sent it because I thought it might help out your dad in the elections, and that, in turn, would make
you
happy. So you see my motives were completely selfish.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!

An excerpt from
Ransom My Heart
by Daphne Delacroix

He felt her body tense, but when she tried to back away from him, two things happened simultaneously to thwart her escape. The first was that she came up against Violet's solid flank. The mare only looked back at them, placidly chewing on some loose straw, and would not move. The second was that Hugo's arms went around her, half-lifting Finnula off the ground even as his tongue slid into her mouth.

Finnula let out a mew of protest that was quickly stifled by his own mouth…but her protest seemed short-lived. Either Finnula was a woman who appreciated a good kiss, or she liked him, at least a bit. Because a second after his mouth met hers, her head fell back against his arm, and her lips opened like a blossom. He felt her relax against him, her hands, which previously had been trying to push him away, suddenly going around his neck to press him closer.

It wasn't until he felt her tongue flick tentatively against his that he lost his careful control. Suddenly, he was kissing her even more urgently, his hands traveling down her sides, past her hips, until they lifted her full up against him.

Her firm breasts crushed against his chest, her thighs clenched tightly around his hips, Hugo molded Finnula against him, kissing her cheeks, her eyelids, her throat. The sensuous reaction he'd evoked from her amazed and excited him, and when she held his face between both her hands and rained kisses upon him, he groaned, both from the sweetness of the gesture and the fact that he could feel the heat from between her legs burning against his own urgent need.

Holding her to him with one arm, he swept open the collar of her shirt. Finnula let out another sound, this one a sigh of such longing that Hugo could not stifle a wordless cry, and he looked about for a pile of hay thick enough for them to lay in….

Thursday, May 4, Psychology final

Describe major histocompatibility complex.

This is so easy.

Oh.

My.

God.

Thursday, May 4, Psych final

What am I going to do?

Seriously. This can't be happening. I
cannot
be suffering from major histocompatibility complex for Michael. That is just…that is just
ridiculous.

On the other hand…why else have I always been so drawn to—okay, completely obsessed with—the way his neck smells?

This explains everything. He is my perfect dissimilar MHC match! No wonder I've never been able to get over him! It's not me, or my heart, or my brain…it's my
genes
, crying out in longing for their complete and total genetic opposite!

And what about J.P.? This perfectly explains why I've never been that physically attracted to him…he's never smelled like anything but dry-cleaning fluid to me. We're too MHC compatible! We're
too
close of a genetic match. We even
look
alike…the blond hair, light eyes, same build. How did that person put it, so long ago, who saw us together at the theater—
“They make a very attractive couple. They're both so tall and blond.”

No wonder J.P. and I have never even gotten past first base. Our molecules are like, REJECTION! REJECTION! DO NOT MATE!

And here I am, demanding that we do it anyway.

Well, with a condom.

But still. Offspring
could
result, down the line, if J.P. and I get married.

OH MY GOD! I wonder what kind of genetic defects
our kids would have, considering I get no olfactory vibe from him at all! They'll probably be born all aesthetically perfect—just like LANA!!!!

Which, think about it, is a serious genetic defect. Being born perfect would turn any kid into a horrible
Cloverfield
-type monster, just like Lana (well, for the first seventeen years of her life, considering how awful she was until I tamed her a bit). I mean, if you're born perfect, like Lana, you never have to learn any coping mechanisms, the way I did growing up. Because beautiful people can often coast along on their looks, never having to develop a sense of humor, or compassion for others, or anything like that. Why would they have to? They're perfect. If you're born aesthetically beautiful, the way J.P. and my kids would be, basically, you're a monster…and my genes know it.

That's why whenever J.P. kisses me, I don't get that thrill I always did when Michael kissed me…MY GENES DON'T WANT ME TO GIVE BIRTH TO GENETIC MONSTERS!!!!!

What am I going to do?????? I am scheduled to have sex in less than two days with a guy with whom I am a complete MHC match!

AND THAT IS THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF WHAT MAJOR HISTOCOMPATIBILITY COMPLEX IS ALL ABOUT!

My MHC
mis
match is someone who broke up with me almost two years ago!

And who, despite what my grandmother and best friend seem to think, does NOT love me, but really just does want to be friends.

True, J.P. and I have so
much
in common personality-wise—we both like creative writing, and
Beauty and the Beast
, and drama.

While Michael and I basically have nothing in common except a deep and abiding love for
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
and
Star Wars
(the original three movies, not the hideous prequels).

And yet I might as well admit, I have an insufferable weakness for him. Yes! I do! I cannot resist the way he smells. I am drawn to him the way the American public is drawn to Tori Spelling.

I have got to fight this. I can't allow myself to feel this way about a boy who is so incredibly wrong for me (except, of course, genetically).

But what if I'm not strong enough?

Thursday, May 4, Psych final

Mia, is it true? Is J.P.'s play really going to be a movie?

Ahhhhh! You scared me! I don't have time to talk about this now, Tina. I just figured out J.P. and I are total MHC mismatches…or, matches, really. Our children are going to be perfect genetic mutants, like Lana! And that Michael's my MHC match! That's why I've always been obsessed with how his neck smells! And why whenever I'm around him, I act like a total blithering idiot. Tina, I am a dead woman.

Mia…are you on drugs?

No—don't you see what this means? It explains EVERYTHING! Why I've never felt attracted to J.P…. Why I can't let Michael go…Oh, Tina, I'm being held hostage by my own MHC. I've got to FIGHT it. Will you help?

Do you need help? Because I could call Dr. Knutz.

No! Tina—Look. Just…never mind. I'm fine. Pretend I never said anything.

Why does everyone always think I'm crazy when I've never been saner in my life?
Can't Tina—can't everyone—see that I'm just a woman who's busy trying to take care of business? I'm eighteen now. I know what I have to do to get things done.

Or, as in this case—not done, I guess. Because there's nothing I can do about this.

Except stay far, far away from Michael Moscovitz.

I just can't believe I bought J.P. all that cologne. When it turned out cologne had nothing to do with it in the first place. It was his genes all along.

Who knew?

Well…me, I guess. I just didn't put it all together until the test today.

I guess I
have
had a lot on my mind, what with trying to get my dad elected and pick a college and all.

I blame the educational system in this country. Why did they wait until the last semester my senior year to tell me all this—about MHC, I mean? This is information that might have been useful to me, oh, I don't know, around about ninth grade, maybe!

The big question now is: How am I going to avoid smelling Michael during lunch tomorrow?

I don't know. I guess I'll just stay as far away from him as I can. I certainly won't hug him this time. If he asks for a hug, I'll just say I have a cold.

Yes! That's it. And I don't want him to catch it.

God. Genius.

I can't believe Kenneth is our class valedictorian. It should really be me. If they gave out class valedictorian for LIFE lessons, it would be.