So I sat down on a swing and looked down at my knees while Michael said, “I told you last year that I’m willing to wait.” He sat down on the swing next to mine. “And Iam willing to wait, Mia. Although to tell you the truth I’m not really sure how you think the whole prom night thing is going to work since I am not going to your senior prom, because I already graduated and my prom days are over, and it’s totally lame for girls to bring their college boyfriends to the prom. But whatever. The fact remains that your senior prom isn’t for two more years. And two years is a long time for us to keep—well, doing what we’re doing. I’m getting really tired of taking so many cold showers.”
I TOTALLY couldn’t look at him after that. I could feel my face turning bright red. Fortunately it was getting dark out so I don’t think he noticed. I mean, the streetlamps were starting to turn on. We were the only ones on the swings, so it wasn’t like anyone could overhear us. Lars was pretending to be very interested in the view of the river a few dozen yards away—but really he was scoping on all the pretty in-line skaters—so there was no danger of him eavesdropping.
Still. It was totallyembarrassing .
I mean, I guess I knew where Michael was coming from. I always did wonder what he did, you know, after a heavy-duty make-out session, about the whole…well, what-was-going-on-in-his-pants issue.
Now I guess I know.
“It’s just,” Michael went on, as over in the sandbox, some little kids ran around, trying to throw sand on each other, while their mothers gossiped on a bench not far away, “that it’s not easy, Mia. I mean, it seems like it’s easy for you—”
“It’s not easy for me,” I interrupted. Because it’s NOT easy for me. I mean, there are lots of times when I think about how great it would be to just, you know, rip his clothes off and have my way with him. I’ve even gotten to a point now where the idea of letting him rip my clothes off ME is starting to have its appeal, whereas before the thought of him seeing me naked made my mouth go dry.
Only…where is this clothes-ripping-off supposed to happen? In my room, with my mom in the next room? In HIS room, with HIS mom in the next room? In his dorm room, with my bodyguard in the hallway, and his roommate busting in at any moment?
And what about birth control? And what about the fact that once you Do It, that’s ALL you want to do when you get together? I mean, good-byeStar Wars movie marathons. Hello, edible body paint.
Whatever. I’ve readCosmo . I know the score.
“Right,” Michael said. “Anyway, given all that, I just think my spending a year abroad might not be the worst idea.”
I couldn’t believe it had come to this. Seriously. Suddenly I just—well, I couldn’t stop myself. I started crying.
And I couldn’t stop.
Which was HORRIBLE of me, because, OF COURSE, his going was a GOOD THING. I mean, if his robot arm thingie can really do everything all these people are thinking it could do—if Columbia University is willing to let him go off to Japan and work for some company and get course credit while doing so—well, crying about it wasn’t a very princessy thing for me to do, was it?
But I never said I was very good at being princessy.
“Mia,” Michael said, coming off his swing and kneeling in the sand in front of mine, and taking my hands in his. He was sort of laughing. I guess I’d be laughing, too, if some girl was crying as hard as I was. Seriously. It was like I was one of those little kids in the sandbox, who’d fallen down and skinned my knee. The moms over on the bench even looked at me in alarm, thinking the sound was coming from one of their kids. When they saw it was just me, they started whispering together—probably because they recognized me fromInside Edition (“The romantic life of Princess Mia of Genovia took another tumble the other night, as longtime boyfriend, Columbia student Michael Moscovitz, announced he was moving to Japan, and the princess responded by crying on a park swing”).
“This is agood thing, Mia,” Michael said. “Not just for me, but forus. It’s my chance to prove to your grandmother, and all those people who think I’m a big nobody and not good enough for you, that I actuallyam somebody, and might possibly even be worthy of you someday.”
“You’retotally worthy of me,” I wailed. The truth is, of course, I’m not worthy ofhim . But I didn’t say that out loud.
“A lot of people don’t think so,” Michael said.
And I couldn’t exactly say that wasn’t true, because he’s right: It seems like every other weekUs Weekly runs some article about who I should be dating instead of Michael. Prince William was high on the list last week, but Wilmer Valderrama usually makes a token appearance every other month or so. There’ll be a picture of Michael coming out of class or something, next to a picture of James Franco or whoever, and then they’ll put, like, a 2 percent over Michael’s picture, to show that only 2 percent of the readers polled think I should be with Michael, and then a 98 percent over James Franco, showing that everyone else thinks I should be with some guy who never did anything in his life except stand in front of a camera and say a bunch of words somebody else wrote, and then maybe have a swordfight that was choreographed for him.
And, of course, my grandmother’s feelings on the matter are so well known, they are almost legendary.
“The fact is, Mia,” Michael said, his dark eyes looking very intently up into my not-dark ones. “As much as you might like to pretend it isn’t true, you’re a princess. You’re going to be a princessforever . You’re going to rule a country someday. You already know what your destiny is. It’s all laid out for you. I don’t have that. I still have to figure out who I am and how I’m going to leave my mark on the world. And if I’m going to be with you, it’s going to have to be a pretty big mark, because everyone thinks a guy has to be pretty special in order to be with a princess. I’m just trying to live up to everyone’s expectations.”
“Myexpectations should be the only ones that matter,” I said.
“They’re the ones that matter most,” Michael said, squeezing my hands. “Mia, you know I’d never be happy just being your consort—walking one step behind you all the time. And I know you’d never be happy if that’s all I was, either.”
I winced at the reminder of the Genovian parliament’s hideous rules for whomever I marry—my so-called consort, who will have to rise the moment I rise, not lift his fork until I’ve lifted mine, not engage in any sort of risk-taking behavior (such as racing, either car or boat, mountain-climbing, skydiving, et cetera) until such time as an heir has been provided, give up his right, in the event of annulment or divorce, to custody of any children born during the marriage…and also give up the citizenship of his native country in favor of citizenship of Genovia.
“It’s not that I wouldn’t be willing to do any of that stuff,” Michael went on. “I’d be fine with it if I knew that…well, that I’d accomplished something with my life, too…not ruling a country, maybe. But something like…well, something like I have the opportunity to do now. Make a difference. The wayyou ’ll be making a difference someday.”
I blinked down at him. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand. Idid understand. Michael was right. He isn’t the kind of guy who could be happy walking one step behind me all his life—unless he had his own thing. Whatever that thing was.
I just didn’t understand why his own thing had to be all the way in JAPAN.
“Listen,” Michael said, squeezing my hands again. “You better quit crying. Lars looks like he’s ready to come over.”
“That’s his job,” I pointed out, sniffling. “He’s supposed to protect me from…from…getting hurt!”
And the realization that this was a hurt not even a six-foot-five guy with a gun could protect me from just made me sniffle harder.