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Honestly, I don’t care if I ever see him again. I have a boyfriend. A perfectly wonderful boyfriend who is, even now, planning a completely romantic way to ask me to the prom that won’t involve painting a brown horse white. Probably.

I’m going to bed now, and I’m going to go to sleep right away, and NOT lie awake half the night thinking about Michael being back in Manhattan and having asked to read my book.

I’mnot.

Watch me.

 

Friday, April 28, Homeroom

Uck, I feel awful, and I look terrible, I was up all night freaking out about Michael being back in town!

And, to make things worse, I skipped theAtom staff meeting this morning before school. I know Dr. K would highly disapprove, because a brave woman, such as Eleanor Roosevelt, would have gone.

But I didn’t feel very Eleanor Roosevelt this morning. I just didn’t know if Lilly was going to assign someone to cover Michael’s donation of one of his CardioArm’s to the Columbia University Medical Center or not. It seems like she would. I mean, he’s an AEHS grad. An AEHS grad inventing something that’s saving children’s lives and then donating it to a major local university would constitute news….

I couldn’t run the risk that Lilly might assignme to be the person to cover the story in the last issue. Lilly isn’t actively doing stuff to antagonize me—we’re totally staying out of each other’s way.

But she might have done it anyway, just out of a perverse sense of irony.

And I do notwant to see Michael. I mean, not as a high school reporter covering the story of his brilliant comeback. That would probably kill me.

Plus, what if he asks about my senior project?????

I know it’s highly unlikely he remembers. But it could happen.

Plus, my hair is doing that weird flippy thing in the back this morning. I totally ran out of phytodefrisant.

No, the next time I see Michael, I want my hair to look good, and I want to be a published author. Oh, please, God, make both these things happen!

And I know, okay, I already helped a small European country achieve democracy. And that is amajor accomplishment. It’s ridiculous of me to want to be a published author by the age of eighteen (which gives me approximately three days, a totally unrealistic goal), as well.

But I worked so hard on that book! I poured almost two years of my life into that book! I mean, first there was all the research—I had to read, like, five hundred romance novels, so I’d know how to write one myself.

Then I had to read fifty billion books on medieval England, so I could get the setting and at least some of the dialogue and stuff right in mine.

Then I had to actually write it.

And Iknow one small historical romance novel isn’t going to change the world.

But it would be lovely if it made a few people as happy reading it as it made me when I was writing it.

Oh, God, why am I obsessing about this when I don’t even care? I’ve already got a wonderful boyfriend who tells me constantly that he loves me and takes me out all the time and who everyone in the entire universe says is perfect for me.

And, all right, he forgot to ask me to the prom. And then there’s thatother thing .

But I don’t even want to go to the prom anyway, because the prom is for children, which I’m not, I’ll be eighteen in three days, at which point I’ll legally be an adult….

Okay. I need to get a grip.

Maybe Hans can go get me another chai latte. I don’t think my first one took this morning. Except Dad says I have to stop sending my limo driver out on personal errands. But what else am I supposed to do? Lars totally refuses to duck out and get me hot foamy drinks, even though I’ve explained to him it’shighly unlikely anyone is going to kidnap me between the time he leaves for Starbucks and the time he gets back.

No one has mentioned the CardioArm story yet, and I’ve seen Tina, Shameeka, Perin, and, of course, J.P.

Maybe it hasn’t broken anywhere but international business CNN.com.

Please, God, let it not break anywhere else.

 

Friday, April 28, third-floor stairwell

I just got a 911 text from Tina telling me to grab a bathroom pass and meet her here!

I can’t imagine what could have happened! It has to be serious because we’ve really been good about not skipping lately, considering the fact that we’ve all gotten into college and there’s basically no reason to attend classes anymore, except to admire what kind of shoes we’re buying to wear for commencement.

I really hope she and Boris haven’t had a fight. They’re so cute together. He does get on my nerves sometimes, but you can tell he just adores T. And he asked her to the prom in the cutest way, by presenting her with a prom ticket attached to a single half-blown red rose with a Tiffany’s box dangling from it.

Yes! It wasn’t even from Kay Jewelers, which has always been Tina’s favorite. Boris decided to upgrade. (Good for him. Her attachment to Kay’s was starting to get kind of sad.)

And inside the box was another box, a velvet ring box. (Tina said she nearly had a heart attack when she saw it.)

And inside that was the most gorgeous emerald ring (apromise ring, not an engagement ring, Boris hastened to assure her). And inside the band of the ring were Tina’s and Boris’s initials entwined, and the date of the prom.

Tina said she’d have nearly thrown up a lung if such a thing were physically possible, she was that excited. She came into school on Monday and showed the ring to all of us. (Boris gave it to her at dinner at Per Se, which is, like, the most expensive restaurant in New York right now. But he can afford it because he’s recording an album, just like his idol, Joshua Bell. His ego hasn’t beentoo inflated ever since. Especially since he also got asked to play a gig at Carnegie Hall next week, which is going to be his senior project. We’re all invited. J.P. and I are going as a date. Except I’m bringing my iPod. I’ve already heard everything in Boris’s repertoire, like, nine hundred million times, thanks to his playing it in the supply closet in the Gifted and Talented room. I can’t believe anyone would paymoney to hear him, to be honest, but whatever.)

Tina’s dad wasn’t too thrilled about the ring. But he was plenty thrilled about the shipment of frozen Omaha steaks Boris had sent to him. (That part wasmy suggestion. Boris so owes me.)

So Mr. Hakim Baba might even come around to the idea of Boris being part of the family one day. (Poor man. I feel so bad for him. He’ll have to listen to that mouth breathing every time he sits down with his daughter and her boyfriend for a meal.)

Oh, here she comes—she’s not crying, so maybe it’s—

 

Friday, April 28, Trig

Yeah. Okay. So it wasn’t about Boris.

It was about Michael.

I should have known.

Tina has her phone set to receive Google alerts about me. So this morning she got one when theNew York Post ran an item about Michael’s donation to the Columbia University Medical Center (only, because it was thePost and not CNN international business news, the primary focus of the story was that Michael used to go out with me).

Tina’s so sweet. She wanted me to know that he was back in town before someone else told me. She was afraid I might hear it from a paparazzo, just like my dad was.

I let her know I already knew.

This was a mistake.

“Youknew ?” Tina cried. “And didn’t tell me right away? Mia, how could you?”

See? I can’t do anything right anymore. Every time I tell the truth, I get in trouble!

“I just found out myself,” I assured her. “Last night. And I’m okay with it. Really. I’m over Michael. I’m with J.P. now. It’s completely cool with me that Michael’s back.”