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I sat there, not having the slightest idea what to do. The truth was, I couldn’t believe any of this was happening. I’d lost my boyfriend and my best friend all in the same week. Was such a thing even possible?
I was still sitting there, holding the phone, when it rang again. I was so sure it was Lilly calling back to apologize for hanging up on me that I answered on the first ring and said, “Look, Lilly, I am so, so sorry. What can I do to make it up to you? I’ll do ANYTHING.”
But it wasn’t Lilly. A deep, masculine voice said, “Mia?”
And my heart soared. It was Michael. MICHAEL WAS CALLING ME! I didn’t know how, since he was supposedly on a plane. But what did I care? It was MICHAEL!
“Yes,” I said, my bones turning to jelly with relief. It was MICHAEL! I practically burst into tears—but this time with happiness, not sadness.
“It’s me,” the voice said. “J.P.”
My bones went from jelly to stone. My heart crashed back down to the earth.
“Oh,” I said, desperately trying to keep my disappointment from sounding obvious. Because a princess always tries to make callers feel welcome, even if they aren’t the caller she was expecting. Or hoping for. “Hi.”
“I take it you already talked to Lilly,” J.P. said.
“Um,” I said. How could I have thought it was Michael? Michael was on a plane, flying halfway across the world from me. And why would Michael ever bother calling me again, after what I did? “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”
“I’m guessing it probably went about as well as when I tried to talk to her, just now,” J.P. said.
“Yeah,” I said. I felt numb. Was numbness a symptom of dysthmia? Not just emotional numbness, but actual PHYSICAL numbness? “She pretty much hates my guts. And I guess she has a right to. I don’t know what I was thinking back there outside of Chemistry, J.P. I am so, so sorry.”
J.P. laughed. “You don’t have to apologize to me,” he said. “I thoroughly enjoyed it.”
It was nice of him to be so chivalrous about it. But it somehow made it a little worse, in a way.
“I’m such an idiot,” I said miserably.
“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” J.P. said. “I just think you’ve had a really bad week. That’s why I’m calling. I figured you’d need cheering up, and I think I’ve got just the ticket. Literally.”
“I don’t know, J.P.,” I said dully. “I think I have dysthmia.”
“I don’t have the slightest idea what that is,” J.P. said. “But I do know that I am holding in my hand two box seat tickets to tonight’s Broadway performance of Beauty and the Beast. Would you be interested in coming with me?”
I couldn’t help gasping. Box seats, to my favorite musical of all time?
“H-how—” I stammered. “How did you—”
“Easy,” J.P. said. “My dad’s a producer, remember? So. You up for it? Show starts in an hour.”
Was he kidding? How had he known? How had he known this was EXACTLY what I needed to get my mind off what a total and complete jerk I had been to the two people I cared about most in the world (besides Fat Louie and Rocky, of course)?
“I’m up for it,” I said. “I’m totally up for it!”
“I’ll meet you outside the theater in forty-five minutes,” J.P. said. “And Mia.”
“What?”
“Just for tonight, let’s not mention either of the Moscovitzes. Deal?”
“Deal,” I said, smiling for what felt like the first time all day. “See you in a few minutes.”
I hung up the phone.
Then, before I went to change out of my school uniform and into something nice for the theater, I got up and walked over to my computer.
I clicked on my e-mail. No new messages.
