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“Be back in a minute, Mr. G,” I called over my shoulder, as I raced down the hall to the room where Michael has AP English.
I didn’t have to worry about making a fool out of myself in front of Michael’s peers or anything, since none of Michael’s peers were around, it being Senior Skip Day and all. I marched into his classroom—the first time I had ever done such a thing: Usually, of course, Michael visited me in MY classroom—and went, “Excuse me, Mrs. Weinstein,” to his English teacher, “but may I have a word with Michael?”
Mrs. Weinstein—who you could tell had been anticipating a light work day, since she’d come armed with the latest Cosmo—looked up from the Bedside Astrologer and went, “Whatever, Mia.”
So I bounded over to an extremely surprised Michael and, slipping into the desk in front of his, said, “Michael, remember how you said that you’d only go to the prom if the guys in your band went, too?”
Michael couldn’t seem to fathom the fact that I was actually in his classroom for a change.
“What are you doing here?” he wanted to know. “Does Mr. G know you’re here? You’re going to get into trouble again….”
“Never mind that,” I said. “Just tell me. Did you mean it when you said you’d go to the prom if the guys from your band went, too?”
“I guess so,” Michael said. “But, Mia
, the prom got canceled, remember?”
“What if I told you,” I said, all casually, like I was talking about the weather, “that the prom was back on, and that they need a band, and that the band the prom committee has chosen is YOURS?”
Michael just stared. “I’d say… get out of town.”
“I am totally serious,” I informed him. “And I will not get out of town. Oh, Michael, please say yes, I want to go to the prom so badly—”
Michael looked surprised. “You do? But the prom is so… lame.”
“I know it’s lame,” I said, not without some feeling. “I know it is, Michael. But that does not alter the fact that I have been dreaming of going to the prom for my entire life, practically. And I really believe that I could achieve total self-actualization if you and I went to the prom together tomorrow night….”
Michael still looked like he couldn’t quite believe any of it: that his band was actually being booked for a real gig; that that gig was the school prom; and that his girlfriend had just confessed that her way up the Jungian tree of self-actualization might be speeded along if he agreed to take her to said prom with him.
“Uh,” Michael said. “Well, okay. I guess so. If you feel that strongly about it.”
I was so overcome with emotion, that I reached out and grabbed Michael’s head, just as I had grabbed Lana’s. And just as I had done with Lana, I dragged Michael’s head toward me and planted a great big kiss on him… only not between his eyebrows, like with Lana, but right square on the lips.
Michael seemed very, very surprised by this—especially, you know, that I’d done it right in front of Mrs. Weinstein. Which is probably why he turned red all the way to his hairline after I finished kissing him, and went, “Mia,” in a sort of strangled voice.
But I didn’t care if I’d embarrassed him. Because I was too happy. I went, “See ya, Mrs. Weinstein,” to Michael’s stunned-looking English teacher and skipped out of there, feeling just like Molly when Andrew McCarthy came up to her at the prom and confessed his love to her, even though she was wearing that hideous dress.
And now I am sitting here—having told Lana that Skinner Box would definitely be performing at the prom—trembling with excitement over my own good fortune.
I am going to the prom. I, Mia Thermopolis, am going to the prom. With my boyfriend and one true love, Michael Moscovitz. Michael and I are going to the prom.
MICHAEL AND I ARE GOING TO THE PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
TO THE PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!
PROM
HOMEWORK
Algebra: Who cares? Michael and I are going to the prom!!!!!
English: Prom!!!!
Biology: I’m going to the prom!!!!!!!!
Health and Safety: PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! G & T: As if
French: Vous allez au promme!!!!!!
