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But it won’t. It doesn’t. When I close my eyes and go to sleep, I keep hoping that when I open them again, it will have been a terrible nightmare.
Only it never is. Every time I wake up, I’m still in my Hello Kitty pajamas—the same ones I was wearing when Michael said he thought we should just go back to being friends—and WE’RE STILL BROKEN UP.
Mom told me I’m not dying. Even after I had her feel my clammy palms and erratic pulse. Even when I showed her the whites of my eyes, which have gone noticeably yellow. Even when I showed her my tongue, which is basically white, instead of a healthy pink. Even when I informed her that I went to wrongdiagnosis.com, and that it’s obvious I have meningitis.
In which case, Mom said, I had better get dressed so she could take me to the emergency room.
I knew then she’d called my bluff. So I just begged her to let me stay in bed for one more day. And she finally relented.
I didn’t tell her the truth: that I am never getting out of bed again.
It’s true. I mean, think about it: Now that Michael’s gone from my life, there’s no actual reason for me to get out of bed. Such as, for instance, to go to school.
It’s true. I am the princess of Genovia. I will ALWAYS be the princess of Genovia, whether I go to school or not.
So what does it matter if I go to school? I’m always going to have a job—Princess of Genovia—whether I graduate from high school or not.
And, since I’m sixteen now, no one can FORCE me to go to school.
Therefore, I’ve decided I’m not going. Ever again.
Mom said she’ll call the school and tell them I won’t be coming in today, and that she’ll call Grandmère and tell her I won’t be able to make it to princess lessons this afternoon, either. She even said she’d tell Lars he has the day off, and that I can spend one more day wallowing in my bed if I want to.
But that tomorrow, no matter what I say, I’m going to school.
To which all I have to say is, that’s what SHE thinks.
Maybe Dad will let me move to Genovia.
Monday, September 13, 5 p.m., the loft
Tina just stopped by. Mom let her in to see me.
I really wish she hadn’t.
I guess the fact that I haven’t bathed in two days must show, since Tina’s eyes got very wide when she saw me.
Still, she pretended like she wasn’t shocked by the amount of grease in my hair, or anything. She went, “Your mom told me. About Michael. Mia, I’m so sorry. When are you coming back to school? Everyone misses you!”
“Lilly doesn’t,” I said.
“Well,” Tina said, wincing. “No, that’s true. But still. You can’t stay shut up in your room for the rest of your life, Mia.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ll be back in school tomorrow.” But this was a total lie. Even as I said it, I could feel my palms getting sweaty. Just the thought of going to school made me want to hurl.
“I’m so glad,” Tina said. “I know things didn’t work out with Michael, but maybe that’s for the best. I mean, he’s so much older than you are, and you two are in such different places in your lives, you still in high school, and him in college and all.”
I couldn’t believe it. Even Tina—always my staunchest supporter where my love for Michael is concerned—was betraying me. I tried not to let my shock at this show, however.
“Besides,” Tina went on, blithely unaware of the pain she was causing me, “now you can really concentrate on writing that novel you’ve always wanted to write. And you can work harder at school and your grades and get into a really great college, where you’ll meet a really great guy who will make you forget all about Michael!”
Yeah. Because that’s what I want to do. Forget all about Michael. The only guy—the only PERSON—I’ve ever felt completely calm around.
I didn’t say that, though. Instead, I said, “You know what, Tina? You’re right. I’ll see you at school tomorrow. I promise.”
And Tina went away all happy, thinking she’d cheered me up.
But I don’t actually believe that. You know, that anything Tina said is true.
