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And Lana and Trisha and Shameeka and Tina and Ling Su and Perin and my mom and I had a blast rocking down to “Express Yourself” (“Come on, girls!”), and then Lana and Trisha made a beeline for the Princes William and Harry (of course), and J.P. and I slow danced to “Crazy for You,” and my dad and I rumbaed to “La Isla Bonita.” And even though Lilly was filming everything, which technically wasn’t allowed, I told the security force just to let her, rather than make a big deal of it. She was at least asking people beforehand if it was all right, so that part was okay—but that was all she appeared to be up to.
God only knows what she’s going to do with the film later. Probably make some kind of documentary about the exorbitant spending habits of the filthy rich—Real Princesses of New York City—and run scenes from my party side by side with scenes of people from the slums of Haiti, eating cookies made of dirt.
(Note to self: Make a huge donation to hunger organization. One in three children of the world die of hunger every day. Seriously. And Grandmère was having a fit over the SAUCE we were supposed to dip the spring rolls in.)
But Lilly lowered the camera when she came up to me—Kenneth in tow, and Michael following not far behind—and said, “Hey, Mia. This is a pretty great party.”
I totally almost choked on the piece of shrimp cocktail I was eating. Because I hadn’t been able to eat a thing all night, I’d been so busy dancing and greeting people, and Tina had just come up to me that minute with a little plate of food, going, “Mia, you’ve got to take a minute to eat something, or you’re going to pass out….”
“Oh,” I said, with my mouth full (a total Grandmère nono). “Thank you.”
I’ll admit, I was speaking to Lilly.
But my gaze had flicked right over her and was totally fixated on Michael, in his tux, behind Kenny (I mean, Kenneth). Michael just looked so…incredible, standing there with the glow of the lights of lower Manhattan behind his head, and the little bit of condensation that was in the air having settled over his broad shoulders and making the black material on them look a bit sparkly in all the twinkly party lights.
I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I know he broke up with me. I know Dr. Knutz and I worked that all out in therapy already. I know I have a boyfriend, a perfectly good boyfriend who loves me, and at that moment was over at the bar getting me a refill on my sparkling water.
I know all that.
Knowing all that and still looking at Michael and seeing him smile at me and thinking he’s the handsomest guy in the world (even though, as Lana would be quick to point out, he’s not—Christian Bale is) isn’t even the problem.
What happened next is.
Which was, Michael said, “Nice party hat you’ve got there, Thermopolis,” meaning Princess Amelie Virginie’s tiara.
“Oh,” I said, reaching up to touch it. Because I still couldn’t quite believe it—that my dad had found it, or even that he’d actually shown up to give it to me. “Thanks. I’m going to kill him for doing this. He can’t afford to take this much time out from the campaign. René is leading in the polls.”
“That guy?” Michael looked shocked. “He was always kind of a tool. How can people like him more than your dad?”
“Everyone loves a bloomin’ onion,” Boris, who was standing near Tina, said.
“Applebee’s doesn’t have bloomin’ onions,” I growled at him. “That’s Outback!”
“I don’t get why your dad wants to be prime minister so bad, anyway,” Kenneth said. “He’s always going to be prince, right? Wouldn’t he just want to sit back and relax and let some other guy do the political thing, so he can just do the fun prince stuff, like hanging out on yachts like this with…well, Ms. Martinez, it looks like?”
I looked over to where Kenneth was pointing.
And okay, yeah, my dad was slow dancing to “Live to Tell” with Ms. Martinez. The two of them looked really…snug.
But I’m eighteen now.
So, no, in fact, vomit did not rise up into my mouth.
I very maturely and very wisely turned back to the conversation at hand and said, “Actually, Kenneth, yes, my dad could very easily choose not to run for prime minister and simply be happy with his title and his normal royal duties. But he prefers to take a more active role in the shape of the future of his country, and that’s why he wants to be prime minister. And that’s why I sort of wish he hadn’t wasted his time coming here.” And now that I just saw what I saw, why I REALLY wish he hadn’t come.
Oh, well. Ms. Martinez did read my novel and let it count as my senior project.
I think she read it. Some of it, anyway.
But that’s not what happened that freaked me out so much either.
Lilly said, in my dad’s defense, “It’s nice that he came. You only turn eighteen once. And he’s not going to get to see you much after he’s elected and you head off to college.”
“He will if Mia goes to the University of Genovia,” Boris said, “like she’s planning.”
Which is when Michael’s head whipped around and he looked at me with his eyes wide and he went, “University of Genovia? Why are you going there?” Because, of course, he knows what a crummy school it is.
I could feel myself blush. Michael and I, in our e-mail conversations with each other, hadn’t discussed the fact that I’d gotten into every school I’d applied to, much less the fact that I’d lied about this to all my friends at school.
