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But that can’t be possible, right? I mean, she’s MY mom, not HIS.
Still. She even made ME call Lilly and tell her to find alternative transportation to school this morning. She refused to do it for me, even though I begged, because I was afraid Michael might see it was me on the caller ID, and pick up instead.
I feel bad leaving Lilly in the lurch without a ride, but NO WAY can I face Michael this morning. And I know he will TOTALLY be waiting in front of their building for me, because he left me an e-mail to that effect this morning, which said:
SKINNERBX: I still don’t understand what I did wrong. How is my having slept with someone before I even knew you liked me a crime? I don’t get it.
I guess I can see why you’re upset about the Japan thing, but I don’t know how many times I have to explain that one of the reasons I’m doing this is for US before it sinks in. Lilly said Boris said something about clarinetists at lunch the other day, so I guess that’s where that came from, but I still don’t understand it. But if you want to see other people while I’m gone, I guess I’m fine with that. Maybe it would even be a good thing.
Look, we have to talk, okay? I’ll be waiting with Lilly out front before school. Maybe we could grab a coffee?
I HAD to call Lilly (on her cell, so there was no chance of getting Michael by mistake) and was all, “Lilly? I can’t come pick you up today.”
“POG?” Lilly sounded suspicious. “Is that you?”
“Y-yes,” I said.
“Wait—are you CRYING?”
“Y-yes,” I said. Because I was.
“WHAT is going on?” Lilly wanted to know. “What did you do to my brother? I’ve never seen him like this. Did you really dump him? Because he says you did.”
“He—he—”
But it was hopeless. I couldn’t speak. I was crying too hard.
“Jesus, Mia,” Lilly said, actually seeming concerned about me for once in her life. “You sound even worse than he does. WHAT IS GOING ON?”
“I c-can’t talk right now,” I said. Because I literally couldn’t talk, I was crying so hard.
“Fine,” Lilly said. “But, Mia…seriously, I don’t know what this is about, but you’re breaking his heart. The only reason I’m not coming over there and kicking your ass for it is because I can tell your heart isn’t doing so well, either. But seriously, you have to talk to him. Just talk to him. I’m sure whatever it is, you two can work it out, if you just TALK. Okay?”
I couldn’t reply, though. I was crying too hard.
If I could have said something, though, I’d have said, “It’s too late, Lilly. There’s nothing left to say.”
Because there isn’t.
I miss him so much. And he hasn’t even left yet.
Friday, September 10, Intro to Creative Writing
ME, A PRINCESS???? YEAH, RIGHT.
A Screenplay by Mia Thermopolis
(second draft)
Scene 12
INT/DAY—The Palm Court at the Plaza Hotel in New York City. A flat-chested girl with upside-down-yield-sign-shaped hair (14-year-old MIA THERMOPOLIS) is sitting at an ornately set table across from a bald man (her father, PRINCE PHILLIPE). We can tell by MIA’s expression that her father is telling her something upsetting.
PRINCE PHILLIPE
You’re not Mia Thermopolis anymore, honey.
MIA
