Princess in Waiting (19 page)

but, whatever,

he's no Michael. I mean, he's never even seen
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
and he thinks Bill Gates is a

pretty swell guy.

While we were dancing, though, this incredible thing happened. Rene went, 'Who is this blonde girl who

keeps staring at us? Do you know her?'

I looked over to see who he was talking about, and sure enough, Lana was dancing nearby with some

old guy who must

have been a friend of her father's. She looked extremely pained, like the old guy was talking to her about

his investment portfolio or something, and, I have to admit, the looks she was throwing in my direction

were pretty envious.

Well, I guess, to a girl like Lana, I was in an enviable position. I looked like a snowdrop, and I was

dancing with the handsomest guy in the room. Too bad I was in love with somebody else.

So then, I don't know what came over me, but I actually sort of started feeling sorry for Lana. I mean,

she's so shallow.

She can't see past how somebody looks. She never bothers to stop and try to see the person they might

be inside.

I don't know, maybe being the daughter of a plastic surgeon makes her insecure, or something. But it's

like, if you don't

look or dress a certain way, Lana won't even give you the time of day.

And yeah, I knew that on Monday she was going to be going around school, telling everybody she could

get to listen about how she saw me with another guy. But by that time Michael and I would be broken up

anyway. So what did it matter?

So for the second time in two days, I did something because I felt sorry for someone whom I'd formerly

considered pretty much an enemy. I looked up at Rene and said, 'Yeah, I know her. Her name is Lana.

She goes to my school. When this

dance is over, you should ask her for the next one.'

Rene looked dubious. 'Really?'

'Trust me,' I said. 'It'll be the thrill of her life to dance with a handsome prince.'

'But not so much for you, eh,' Rene said, still wearing his cynical smile.

'Rene,' I said. 'No offence. But I already met my prince, long before I ever met you. The only problem is,

if I don't get out

of here soon, I don't know how much longer he's going to be my prince, because I already missed the

movie we were supposed to see together, and pretty soon it's going to be too late even for me to stop by

. . .'

'Never fear, Your Highness,' Rene said, twirling me around. 'If fleeing the ball before the clock strikes

twelve is your

desire, I will see to it that your wish is fulfilled.'

I looked at him kind of dubiously. I actually needed to get out of the ball by nine, not twelve, if I still

wanted to make it to Michael's at a decent hour. Also, I couldn't tell whether or not Rene was joking.

'Um,' I said. 'OK.'

And that's how I ended up in this bathroom. Rene told me to hide, and that he'd get Lars to flag down a

cab, and once he'd

got one, and the coast was clear, Rene would knock three times, signalling that Grandmere was too

otherwise occupied to notice my defection. Then, Rene promised, he'd tell her I must have eaten a bad

truffle, since I'd looked queasy, and Lars

had taken me home.

It doesn't matter, of course. Any of this, I mean. Because I am just going to end up at Michael's in time

for him to dump me. Maybe he'll feel bad about it, you know, after I give him his birthday present. Then

again, maybe he'll just be glad to be rid

of me. Who knows? I've given up trying to figure out men. They are a breed apart.

Oops, there's Rene's knock. Gotta go.

To meet my fate.

Friday, January 22,11 p.m.

The Moscovitzes' Bathroom

Oh, my God, I am FREAKING OUT.

Now I know how Jane Eyre must have felt when she returned to Thornfield Hall to find it all burnt to the

ground and

everyone telling her everybody inside of it was killed in the fire.

Only then she finds out Mr. Rochester didn't die, he just lost his sight and his hand and his crazy wife and

everything,

and Jane's like super happy, because, you know, in spite of what he tried to do to her, she loves him.

That's how I feel right now. Super happy. Because I fully don't think Michael is going to break up with

me after all!!!!

I was sure he was going to when I was standing outside the Moscovitzes' apartment, you know, with my

finger on the buzzer.

I was standing there going,
Why am I even doing this? I am fully just walking into heartbreak. I

should turn around

and have Lars flag down another cab and just go back to the loft.
I hadn't even bothered changing

out of my stupid

ball gown, because what was the point? I was just going to be on my way home in a few minutes

anyway, and I could

change there.

So I'm standing there in the hallway, and Lars is behind me going on about his stupid boar hunt in Belize,

because that is all

he talks about any more, and I hear Pavlov, Michael's dog, barking because someone is at the door, and

I'm going, inside

my head,
OK, when he breaks up with me, I am NOT going to cry, I am going to remember

Rosagunde and Agnes,

and I am going to be strong like they were strong . . .

And then Michael opened the door. He looked kind oftaken aback by my apparel, I could tell. I thought

maybe it was because he hadn't counted on having to break up with a snowdrop. But there was nothing I

could do about that, though

I did remember at the last minute that I was still wearing my tiara, which I suppose might intimidate, you

know, some boys.

So I took it off and went, 'Well, I'm here,' which is a foolish thing to say, because, well, duh, I was

standing there, wasn't I?

But Michael kind of seemed to recover himself. He went, 'Oh, hey, come in, you look . . . you look really

beautiful,' which

of course is exactly what a guy who is about to break up with you would say, you know, to kind of

bolster your ego before

he grinds it beneath his heel.

But, whatever, I went in, and so did Lars, and Michael went, 'Lars, my mom and dad are in the living

room watching

Dateline,
if you want to join them,' which Lars totally did, because you could tell he didn't want to hang

around and

listen to the Big Breakup.

So then Michael and I were alone in the foyer. I was twirling my tiara around in my hands, trying to think

of what to say.

I'd been trying to think what to say the whole way down in the cab, but I hadn't been very successful.

Then Michael went, 'Well, did you eat yet? Because I've got some veggie burgers . . .'

I looked up from the parquet floor tiles, which I had been examining very closely, since it was easier than

looking into

Michael's peat-bog eyes, which always suck me in until I feel like I can't move any more. They used to

punish criminals

in ancient Celtic societies by making them walk into a peat bog. If they sank, you know, they were guilty,

and if not, they

were innocent. Only you always sink when you walk into a peat bog. They uncovered a bunch of bodies

from one in Ireland not too long ago, and they, like, still had all their teeth and hair and stuff. They were

totally preserved. It was way gross.

That's how I feel when I look into Michael's eyes. Like I'm trapped in peat bog. Only I don't mind,

because it's warm and

nice and cosy in there . . .

And now he was asking me if I wanted a veggie burger. Do guys generally ask their girlfriends if they

want a veggie burger

right before they break up with them? I wasn't very well versed in these matters, so the truth was, I didn't

know.

But I didn't think so.

'Um,' I said, intelligently. 'I don't know.' I thought maybe it was a trick question. 'If you're having one, I

guess.'

So then Michael went, 'OK,' and gestured for me to follow him, and we went into the kitchen, where

Lilly was sitting, using

the granite countertop to lay out her story-boards for the episode of
Lilly Tells It Like It Is
she was

filming the next day.

'Jeez,' she said, when she saw me. 'What happened to you? You look like you swapped outfits with the

Sugar Plum Fairy.'

'I was at a ball,' I explained.

'Oh,' Lilly said, 'of course. The ball. Well, if you ask me, the Sugar Plum Fairy got the better deal. But

I'm not supposed

to be here. So don't mind me.'

'We won't,' Michael assured her.

And then he did the strangest thing. He started to cook.

Seriously. He was
cooking.

Well, OK, not really cooking, more like reheating. Still, he fully got out these two veggie burgers he'd

gotten from Balducci's, and put them on some buns, and then put the buns on these two plates. And then

he took some fries that had been in the oven on a tray and put them on to the two plates, as well. And

then he got ketchup and mayo and mustard out of the fridge, along with two cans of Coke, and he put all

that stuff on a tray, and then he walked out of the kitchen, and before I could ask Lilly what in the name

of all that was holy was going on, he came back, picked up the two plates, and went, to me, 'Come on.'

What could I do, but follow him?

I trailed after him into the TV room, where Lilly and I had viewed so many cinematic gems for the first

time, such as

Valley Girl
and
Bring It On
and
Attack of the Fifty-Foot Woman
and
Crossing Delancey.

And there, in front of the Moscovitzes' black leather couch, which sat in front of their thirty-two-inch

Sony TV, sat two

little folding tables. On to these tables, Michael lowered the plates of food he'd prepared. They sat there,

in the glow

of the
Star Wars
title image, which was frozen on the TV screen, obviously paused there.

'Michael,' I said, genuinely baffled. 'What
is
this?'

'Well, you couldn't make it to the Screening Room,' he said, looking as if he couldn't quite believe I

hadn't figured it out

on my own yet. 'So I brought the Screening Room to you. Come on, let's eat. I'm starved.'

He might have been starved, but I was stunned. I stood there looking down at the veggie burgers - which

smelt divine

going, 'Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You aren't breaking up with me?'

Michael had already sat down on the couch and stuffed a few fries in his mouth. When I said that, about

breaking up,

he turned around to look at me like I was demented. 'Break up with you? Why would I do that?'

'Well,' I said, starting to wonder if maybe he was right, and I really
was
demented. 'When I told you I

couldn't make it

tonight you . . . well, you seemed kind of distant. . .'

'I wasn't distant,' Michael said. 'I was trying to figure out what we could do instead of, you know, going

to the movie.'

'But then you didn't show up for lunch . . .'

'Right,' Michael said. 'I had to call and order the veggie burgers and get Maya to go to the store and get

the rest of the stuff. And my dad had loaned our
Star Wars
DVD to a friend of his, so I had to call him

and make him get it back.'

I listened in astonishment. Everyone, it seemed - Maya, the Moscovitzes' housekeeper; Lilly; even

Michael's parents - had been in on Michael's scheme to recreate the Screening Room right in his own

apartment.

Only I had been in ignorance of his plan. Just as he had been in ignorance of my belief that he was about

to break up with me.

'Oh,' I said, beginning to feel like the world's number one biggest dork. 'So ... you don't want to break

up?'

'No, I don't want to break up,' Michael said, starting to look mad now - probably the way Mr.

Rochester looked when he heard Jane had been hanging out with that St. John guy. 'Mia, I love you,

remember? Why would I want to break up with

you? Now come and sit down and eat before it gets cold.'

Then I wasn't
beginning
to feel like the world's biggest dork: I
totally
felt like it.

But at the same time, I felt incredibly, blissfully happy. Because Michael had said the L word! Said it right

to my face!

And in a very bossy way, just like Captain Von Trapp or the Beast or Patrick Swayze!

Then Michael hit the play button on the remote, and the first chords of John Williams's brilliant
Star Wars

theme filled the

room. And Michael went, 'Mia, come on. Unless you want to change out of thaat dress first. Did you

bring any normal clothes?'

Still, something wasn't right. Not completely.

'Do you just love me like a friend?' I asked him, trying to sound cynically amused, you know, the way

Rene would, in

order to keep the truth from him - that my heart was pounding a mile a minute. 'Or are you
in
love with

me?'

Michael was staring over the back of the couch at me. He looked like he couldn't quite believe his ears. I

couldn't believe

my own. Had I really just asked him that? Just come out and asked him?

Apparently - judging from his incredulous expression, anyway - I had. I could feel myself starting to turn