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Only I knew him better now.
“I mean,” J.P. said, with a laugh. “Why would I do that? Call the paparazzi on myself?”
“Maybe,” I said, “because you like seeing yourself in the paper?”
“Mia,” he said, looking down at me with the same nervous smile on his face. “Come on. Let’s just dance. You know what? I heard a rumor we might get voted prom king and queen.”
“My foot hurts,” I said. This was a lie. But for once, I didn’t feel guilty about it. “These are new shoes. I think I have to sit down a minute.”
“Oh, no,” J.P. said. “I’ll go see if I can find you a Band-Aid. Stay here.”
So J.P. is looking for a Band-Aid.
And I’m trying to figure this out.
How could J.P.—J.P., who is so big and blond and good-looking, the guy with whom I have so much in common, the guy everyone liked so much better for me than Michael—be someone it turns out I may have nothing in common with at all?
It can’t be possible. It can’t be.
/> Except…what was Dr. Knutz talking about the other day?
His story about his horse, Sugar. The thoroughbred, who looked so good on paper, but in whose saddle he could never find a comfortable place? Dr. Knutz had to give up Sugar, because he never wanted to ride her, and it wasn’t fair to Sugar.
I get it now. I so get it.
Some people can seem perfect…everything about them can, on paper, be just right.
Until you get to know them. Really know them.
Then you find out, in the end, while they might be perfect to everyone else, they just aren’t right for you.
On the other hand…
What’s so wrong about a guy who loves his girlfriend getting a hotel room for the two of them on prom night, months in advance? Oh, big crime.
So he screwed up with the play? If I ask him to, I’m sure he’d change it. I—
Oh my God. There’s Lilly.
She’s in black from head to toe. (Well, so am I, actually. Only somehow I don’t think I look like a trained assassin, the way she does.)
She’s heading for the ladies’ room.
Okay, I think this might constitute stalking. But I’m going in after her. She dated J.P. for six months.
If anyone will know if my boyfriend’s a great big phony, she will. Whether or not she’ll even speak to me is another story.
But Dr. Knutz did say, when I figured out what the right thing to do was, I’d do it.
I really hope this is it….
Saturday, May 6, 11 p.m., the Waldorf-Astoria,
ladies’ room
Okay. I’m shaking. I have to stay in here until my knees stop trembling long enough for me to stand up again. For now I’m just going to sit here on this little velvet settee and try to write this down so it makes some kind of sense—
In any case…
