Forever Princess (3 page)

Wow, news travels fast around this place. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It's not like any of us seniors is actually going to do any work the last two weeks of school.

Uh-huh. Gotta support my man!

Right. Except didn't J.P. forbid you from attending all rehearsals of his play, because he wants you to be completely surprised by the show when you see it opening night? So…what's
really
going on, Mia?

Great. Dr. K was right. It's all blowing up in my face. Or starting to, at least.

Well, all right. If I'm going to start telling people the truth I might as well begin with Tina…sweet, nonjudgmental, always-there-for-me Tina, my best friend and total confidante.

Right?

Actually, I'm not sure I'm going to the prom.

WHAT? Why? Mia, are you taking some kind of feminist stand against dances? Did Lilly put you up to this? I thought you guys still weren't even speaking.

We're speaking! You know we're speaking. We're…civil to each other. I mean, we have to be, since she's the editor for the
Atom
this year. And no one has updated ihatemiathermopolis.com in almost two years. You know I think she still feels kind of bad about all that. Maybe.

Well—I guess so. I mean, she never did update it again after that day she was so awful to you in the caf. Maybe, whatever it was Lilly was so mad at you about, she got it out of her system that day.

Right. Either that, or she's just totally preoccupied with the
Atom
. And Kenny, of course. I mean, Kenneth.

I know! It's sweet Lilly's managed to stick with one guy for so long. But I honestly wish they wouldn't make out in front of me in Advanced Bio. I don't want to see that much of anyone's tongue. Especially now that she's pierced it. But none of this explains why you're not going to the prom!

Well, the truth is…J.P. hasn't actually asked me to go. And I'm fine with that because I don't want to go.

Is that all? Oh, Mia! Of course J.P. is going to ask you! I'm sure he's just been so busy with his play—and figuring out what
FANTASTIC thing he's going to give you for your birthday—he hasn't gotten around to thinking about the prom yet. Do you want me to have Boris say something to him about it?

Ack! Ack, ack, ack, ack.

Also, why me?

Oh, yes, Tina, yes, I do. Yes, I want you to have your boyfriend remind my boyfriend to ask me to the prom. Because that's super romantic, and just how I always envisioned getting my invitation to the senior prom—via someone else's boyfriend.

I see what you mean. Oh, dear, what a mess. And this was supposed to be our special time—
you
know.

Wait…

Can Tina actually be talking about…

She is. She actually
is
.

She's referring to that thing we used to talk about during our sophomore year.

You know, that losing-our-virginity-on-prom-night thing.

Doesn't Tina realize a lot of time has passed—and a lot of water gone under the bridge—since we sat in class when we were in tenth grade and fantasized about our perfect prom nights?

She can't possibly think I still feel the same way about it that I did back then.

I'm not the same person I was back then.

And I'm certainly not
with
the same person I was then.
I mean, I'm with J.P. now—

And J.P. and I…

It's too late now for J.P. to make reservations for a room for after-prom at the Waldorf. Last I heard, they had no rooms left.

Oh my God! She's serious!

It's official: I'm freaking out now.

But he can probably get a room somewhere else. I hear the W is really nice. I just can't believe he hasn't asked you! What's
wrong
with him? This just isn't like him, you know. Is everything all right between you two? You didn't have a fight or anything, did you?

I seriously can't believe this is happening. This is
way
too weird.

Should I tell her?

I can't tell her. Can I?

…No.

No, no fight. There's just been a lot of stuff going on with finals coming up and our projects and graduation and the election and my birthday and all. I think he really just forgot. And didn't you read my earlier text, Tina? I DON'T WANT TO GO TO THE PROM.

Don't be silly, of course you do. Who doesn't want to go to her senior prom? And why didn't
you
ask
him
? This isn't the 1800s. Girls can ask guys to the prom, you know. I know it's
not the same, but you two have been going out for, like, forever! You're a little more than just friends, even if you still haven't…well,
you know
…yet. I mean…you haven't…have you?

Awwww…she still calls it
You Know
! That's so cute I could die.

Still. Tina brings up some good points. Why
didn't
I ask him? When the ads for the prom started appearing in the
Atom
, why didn't I clip one out and stick it on J.P.'s locker door with
Are we going to this?
written on it?

Why didn't I just ask him, point-blank, if we were going to the prom, when everybody else was talking about it at lunch? It's true J.P.'s been distracted with his play and Stacey Cheeseman sucking so majorly in it (it would probably help if he weren't always rewriting it and giving her new lines to memorize).

I easily could have gotten a yes or no answer out of him.

And, of course, because he's J.P., it would have been a yes.

Because J.P., unlike my last boyfriend, has nothing against the prom.

The thing is, I don't need to check in with Dr. K to figure out why I didn't ask J.P. about the prom. It isn't exactly a mystery. To Tina, maybe, but not to me.

But I don't want to get into that right now.

You know, prom's not that big a deal to me anymore, T. It's really kind of lame. I actually wouldn't mind blowing it off. So why waste time shopping for some dress I might not ever wear? You guys have fun shopping without me. I have stuff to do anyway.

Stuff. When am I going to stop calling my novel “stuff”? Seriously, if there's one person in the world I can be honest about it with, it's Tina. Tina wouldn't laugh if I told her I'd written a novel…especially a
romance
novel. Tina is the person who introduced me to romance novels, who got me to appreciate them and realize how fabulously cool they are, not just as an introduction into the publishing world (although more of them are published than any other genre, so your chances of getting published are statistically higher if you write a romance as opposed to, say, a science fiction novel), but because they're the perfect story. You have a strong female protagonist, a compelling male lead, a conflict that keeps them apart, and then, after a lot of nail-biting, a satisfying conclusion…the ultimate happy ending.

Why would anyone want to write anything else, really?

If Tina knew I wrote a romance, she'd ask to read it—especially if she knew it was about something
other
than the history of Genovian olive oil presses, a subject no rational person would want to read about….

Well, except one person.

Which, really, every time I think about it, I want to start crying, because it's just about the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me. Or e-mailed me, actually, because that's how Michael sent it to me…his request to read my senior project, I mean. We only randomly e-mail a couple of times a month, anyway, keeping it strictly light and impersonal, like that first message I sent him after he broke up with me: “Hi, how are you? Things are fine, it's snowing here, isn't that weird? Well, I have to go, bye.”

I'd been shocked when he'd been all, “Your senior project's on the history of Genovian olive oil presses, circa 1254–1650? Cool, Thermopolis. Can I read it?”

You could have knocked me over with one of Lana's pom-poms. Because
no one
had asked to read my senior project. No one. Not even Mom. I thought I'd picked such a safe subject, I was safe from
anybody
asking to read it.

Ever.

And here was Michael Moscovitz, all the way in Japan (where he's been for the past two years, slaving away on his robotic arm—which I'm so sure is never going to get done, I've given up asking about it, since it doesn't seem polite to bring it up anymore, since he barely acknowledges the question), asking to read it.

I told him it was four hundred pages long.

He said he didn't care.

I told him it was single-spaced and in 9-point font.

He said he'd enlarge it when it came.

I told him it was really boring.

And he said he didn't believe anything I wrote could be boring.

That's when I stopped e-mailing him back.

What else could I do? I couldn't send it to him! Yeah, I can send it to publishers I've never even met before. But not my ex-boyfriend! Not Michael! I mean…it's got
sex
in it!

It's just…how could he
say
that? That he didn't believe anything I wrote could be boring? What was he
talking
about? Of
course
something I wrote could be boring! The history of Genovian olive oil presses,
circa 1254–1650. That's boring! That's really, really boring!

And okay, that's not what my book is really about.

But still! He doesn't know that.

How could he
say
something like that? How
could
he? That's not the kind of thing exes—or even mere friends—say to each other.

And that's all we're supposed to be now.

Anyway. Whatever.

It's not like I can show it to Tina, either, and she's my
best friend.
Although I don't know what I'm so embarrassed about, really. There are people who slap their novels all over the Internet, begging other people to read them.

But I can't do that. I don't know why. Except…

Well, I
know
why: I'm afraid Tina—not to mention Michael, or J.P., or
who
ever, really—might not like it.

Just like every single publisher I've sent it to hasn't liked it. Well, except AuthorPress.

But they want me to pay THEM to publish it! REAL publishers are supposed to pay YOU!!

Of course, Ms. Martinez claimed to like it.

But I'm not convinced she even read the whole thing.

The thing is, what if I'm wrong, and I'm a terrible writer? What if I just wasted almost two years of my life? I know everybody
thinks
I did, writing about Genovian olive oil presses.

But what if I
really
did?

Oh, no. Tina is still texting me about the prom!

Mia! Prom isn't lame! What's wrong with you? You're not going through a depression thingie again, are you?

“Depression thingie.” Great.

Okay. I can't fight Tina. I can't. She's a force too strong for me.

No! No depression thingie. Tina, I didn't mean it. I don't know what's wrong with me. Senioritis, I guess—the same thing that's keeping all of us from paying attention in class. I just meant—forget it. I'll talk to J.P. about the prom.

Do you mean it???? You really will????? You're not just saying that????

Yes, I'll ask him. I'm sorry. I just have a lot of stuff on my mind.

And you'll go shopping with us today after school?

Oh, man. I so don't want to go shopping with them today after school. Anything but that. I'd take
princess lessons
over that.

Wow. I can't believe I just wrote that.

Yeah. Sure. Why not.

YAY! We're going to have so much fun! Don't worry, we'll make you forget ALL about what's going on with your dad—eep!

Je ne ferai pas le texte dans la classe.

Je ne ferai pas le texte dans la classe.

Je ne ferai pas le texte dans la classe.

Je ne ferai pas le texte dans la classe.

Je ne ferai pas le texte dans la classe.

Je ne ferai pas le texte dans la classe.

Wow. Madame Wheeton has been on the
warpath
this month.

I swear they're going to take away all our iPhones and Sidekicks one of these days.

Except, if you ask me, the teachers all have senioritis, too, because they've been threatening for weeks, and so far nobody's actually carried out that threat.

Thursday, April 27, Psychology

Okay! So I told someone the truth about something…

And nothing earth-shattering happened (well, except that Madame Wheeton flipped out over finding us texting each other while she was trying to do her review session for the final).

I told Tina the truth about J.P. not having asked me to the prom…and my not really wanting to go anyway. And nothing earth-shattering happened. Tina didn't faint dead away.

She did try to convince me I'm wrong, of course.

But what else did I expect? Tina is such a romantic, of course she thinks the prom is the height of teen l'amour.

I know there was a time when I thought so, too. All I have to do is look through the pages of my old journals. I used to be
crazy
for the prom. I would sooner have DIED than missed it.

I guess in a way I wish I could recapture that old excitement.

But we all have to grow up one day.

And the truth is, I really don't see what the big deal is about going to a dinner (rubbery chicken and wilted lettuce under disgusting dressing) and dance (to bad music) at the Waldorf (which I've been to a million times before anyway, most notably last time where I gave a speech that may have ruined my family's reputation, not to mention my native country, for all time).

I just wish—

AHHHHH!!!! God, I
have
to get used to that thing vibrating in my pocket….

Ameliaaaaaaa—I need an updated guesssssst list from you for Mondayyyyyy. I'm quite put outtttttttt.
Everyone
I've invited has RSVP'd yesssssss, according to Vigo. Even your cousin Hankkkkkkkkkkkk is coming in from the Milan shows to attend. And I just heard from your motherrrrrrrr that your dreadful grandparents from Indianaaaaaaaaaa will be flying into town for the event. I am most upset about thisssssssss. Of course they had to be invited, but I never expected them actually to say
yesssssssssssss
. It's all most disturbing…I may need for you to disinvite a few of your guests. You know the yacht only holds three hundred comfortably. Call me immediately.—Clarisse, your grandmotherrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device

God! Why did Dad get Grandmère a BlackBerry? Is he trying to ruin my life? And who, exactly, was stupid enough to show her how to
use
it? I could kill Vigo.

Bystander effect—a psychological phenomenon in which someone is less likely to intervene in an emergency situation when other people are present and able to help than when he or she is alone. See Kitty Genovese case, in which a young woman
was brutally attacked within hearing of a dozen neighbors, but none of them called the police, each thinking someone else would do it.

HOMEWORK

World History: Whatever

English Lit: Bite me

Trig: God, I hate this class

G&T: I know Boris is playing at Carnegie Hall for his senior project, but WHY WON'T HE STOP ALREADY WITH THE CHOPIN?????

French:
J'ai mal à la tête

Psychology II: I can't believe I even bother taking notes in this class. I have lived this class.