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“Mm-hm.”
“Did your gazes meet before he pulled you into a passionate embrace, giving you the kiss of your life?” she asks breathlessly.
“Chloe, this is not your fantasy. This is what actually happened.”
“Can’t a girl dream? Tell me he's an amazing kisser.”
“There was no kissing.”
She sounds deflated when she says, “No kissing.”
“No, and I can assure you there will never be any kissing with Prince McHorrible.”
“Prince McHorrible? How old are you?”
“It was the first name that came to mind, and besides, you call him Prince McHottie.”
“The world calls him Prince McHottie because he’s super hot and he’s a prince.”
“The hot part is debatable,” I grumble.
“So, if you didn’t kiss him, what did you do with the delectable Alexander in the closet?”
“I punched him. In the face.” I feel weirdly proud of this fact, as well as deeply mortified. It’s an unusual combination.
“You did what?!” She squeals so loudly, I’m forced to pull the phone from my ear for fear she may burst an ear drum. “Why did you go and do something like that?”
“It was in self-defense.”
“Because he was trying to kiss you?”
“Can you drop that, please?”
“The photos of him show a red, swollen nose. Are you telling me that’s your handiwork?”
“I’m not proud of it,” I tell her, even if I am a little proud. Have I mentioned the guy’s a jerk?
“Madeline Josephine Turner, I cannot believe you punched Prince McHottie in the nose.”
“Can you keep your voice down? No one knows about this.”
“Prince McHottie does,” she singsongs.
“To be fair to me, I didn't know it was him. It was dark and I freaked out and hit him before he had the chance to do anything to me, and then I took off, only I was wearing these stupid high heels with a floor-length dress and I tripped and landed on the carpet.”
I conveniently leave out the part about Alexander trying to come to my aid as I landed flat on my face. It doesn't fit my rhetoric about him, and anyway, who knows whether he was actually going to help me? I was so freaked out, I had no idea what he was going to do.
“He is such a great guy,” she says dreamily.
There’s no getting through to her. “How the heck do you get that from what I just told you?”
“He came to talk with you after you attacked him. That makes him super nice.”
“He had to. It was my presentation ball.”
“Did he flirt with you?”
“A little,” I reply. “But I think it was more of a reflex because I'm female.” I roll my eyes.
