Princess Diaries Series: Forever Princess Part 9

And she's never happy.

Okay, I better go meet those guys. I think Lars might actually shoot me if I make him wait any longer. I- Hey, those shoes look really familiar.

Oh, no.

Sat.u.r.day, April 29, 4:00 p.m., limo home Oh, yes.

Lilly. It was Lilly.

In the stall next to mine.

She totally recognized my platform Mary Janes. My new Prada ones, not the old ones I had from two years ago, which she so mercilessly savaged on her website.

She was like, "Mia? Is that you in there? I thought I saw Lars in the hallway...."

What could I do? I couldn't say it wasn't me. Obviously.

So I came out and there she was, looking totally confused, like, What are you doing here?

Fortunately the whole time I was sitting in the audience I'd totally had a chance to make up a story for what I would say if this happened.

Mia Thermopolis's Big Fat Lie Number Six.

"Oh, hi, Lilly." I was so Ms. Casual. Even though I had given myself a complete MAC makeover and blowout and was in my best Nanette Lepore top and black lace-trimmed leggings, I acted like the whole thing was no big deal. "Gretchen Weinberger couldn't make it today so she gave me her press pa.s.s and asked me to cover the story of Michael's donation for her." I even pulled Gretchen's press pa.s.s out of my bag to prove my colossal lie. "I hope that's okay with you."

Lilly just stared at the press pa.s.s. Then she looked up at me (because I still tower over her by about six inches, especially in my platforms, even though she was wearing heels).

Honestly, I didn't like the way she was looking at me. Like she didn't believe me.

Too late, I remembered the way Lilly could always tell when I was lying (because my nostrils flare).

However, I've been practicing lying in front of the mirror, and also in front of Grandmere, to stop this from happening, because people being able to tell you're lying is a total detriment to one's future career as a princess, or whatever you want to be, really, as white lies are really crucial to all professions ("Oh, no, you have much longer than six months to live, actually").

And Grandmere says I've gotten much better about it (J.P., too. Well, obviously. Otherwise he'd have known when I said I hadn't gotten into any of the colleges I said I hadn't gotten into. Not to mention any of the other multiple lies I've told him. I could kill Lilly for having told him about the nostril thing. Sometimes I wonder if there's anything else she told him about me that he hasn't told me she told him).

I was pretty sure Lilly couldn't tell I was lying. But just to be sure, I added, "I hope you don't mind I'm here. I tried to stay out of your way and in the background as much as possible. I know this is a special day for you and your family, and I...I think it's really great about Michael."

This last part wasn't a lie, so I didn't need to worry about my nostrils. Not even a little bit.

Lilly narrowed her eyes at me. For once she hadn't smeared them all over with black kohl. I knew she'd done this out of deference for Nana Moscovitz, who thinks kohl is s.l.u.tty.

I thought she was going to hit me. I really did.

"You're really here to cover the story for the Atom?" she asked, in a hard voice.

I have never concentrated on my nostrils more in my entire life.

"Yes," I said. And anyway, it isn't a lie, because I plan on going home now and writing a four-hundred-word story about this whole thing and submitting it Monday morning. After throwing up about nine hundred times.

Lilly's mean-eyed gaze didn't change.

"And did you really mean that about my brother, Mia?" she asked.

"Of course I do," I said.

This, too, was the truth.

Just as I'd suspected, Lilly was totally staring at my nose. When she didn't see my nostrils move, she seemed to relax a little.

What she said next shocked me so much, I momentarily lost the ability to speak.

"It was really great of you to come. In Gretchen's place, I mean," she said, sounding a hundred percent sincere. "And I know the fact that you came will mean a lot to Michael. And since you're here, you can't leave without coming to say hi to him."

That's when I nearly threw up my oatmeal again. What?

"Uh," I said, backing up so fast, I almost collided with this old lady who was coming out of another bathroom stall. "No, thanks. That's okay! I think I have enough for the story for the Atom. This is family time for you guys. I don't want to intrude. In fact, my ride is waiting, so I have to go."

"Don't be an idiot," Lilly said, reaching out and grabbing my wrist. Not in a nice, friendly, Come on kind of way. But in a You're busted, and you're coming with me, young lady kind of way. I'll admit it. I was a little scared. "You're a princess, remember? You can tell your ride when it's time to go. As your editor, I'm telling you, you need a direct quote from Michael for the paper. And he'd be hurt if he found out you were here and didn't say hi. And," she said, giving my wrist an ominous squeeze, along with a glare that could have frozen molten lava, "you're not hurting him again, Mia. Not on my watch."

Me, hurt him? h.e.l.lo? Did I need to remind her that her brother was the one who dumped me?

And okay, I acted like a complete jacka.s.s and completely deserved to be dumped. But still.

What was going on here, anyway? Was this some kind of continuation of the revenge for whatever it was I did to her last year? Was she going to drag me into that room and then do or say something horrible to humiliate me in front of everyone-especially her brother?

If so, it wasn't like I had any choice but to let her pull me back into the crowded pavilion. Her grip on my wrist was like iron.

But...what if this wasn't about revenge? What if Lilly was over whatever it was she'd been so mad at me about for two years? Maybe it was worth the risk.

Because in spite of everything-even ihatemiathermopolis.com-I missed having Lilly as a friend. At least, when she wasn't trying to get revenge on me for things I'd supposedly done to her.

I saw Lars look up in surprise as we came out of the ladies' room together, and his eyes widen-he knows perfectly well Lilly and I aren't exactly bosom buddies anymore. And I guess seeing the way she had hold of my wrist was probably a bit of a tip-off to him that I wasn't exactly going with her of my own volition.

Still, I shook my head at him to let him know he shouldn't go for his taser. This was my own mess, and I was going to take care of it. Somehow.

I also saw Tina down the hall notice us, and throw us a startled look. Lilly, thank G.o.d, didn't see her. Tina's jaw dropped when she spied the way Lilly's hand was clamped over my wrist, which I suppose did not look exactly friendly-ish. Tina thrust her cell phone to her ear and mouthed, "Call me!"

I nodded. Oh, I was going to call Tina, all right.

Call her and give her a piece of my mind for getting me into this mess in the first place (though I suppose it was my big plan to Do The Princessy Thing that got me here, really).

The next thing I knew, Lilly was dragging me across the Simon and Louise Templeman Patient Care Pavilion toward the stage where Michael and their parents and Nana Moscovitz and Kenny-I mean, Kenneth-and the other employees of Pavlov Surgical were still standing, drinking champagne.

I felt like I was going to die. I really did.

But then I remembered something Grandmere had once a.s.sured me of: No one has ever died of embarra.s.sment-never, not once in the whole history of time.

Which I am living proof of, having a grandmother like mine.

So at least I had the a.s.surance I would escape from all of this with my life.

"Michael," Lilly started bellowing, when we were halfway across the stage. She'd dropped my wrist and taken my hand-which felt so weird. Lilly and I used to hold hands all the time when we were crossing the street together back when we were kids, because our mothers made us, thinking somehow this would ensure we wouldn't get run over by an M1 bus (instead, it basically meant we'd both get plowed down). Lilly's hand had always been sweaty and sticky with candy back then.

Now it felt smooth and cool. A grown-up's hand, really. It was strange.

Michael was busy talking to a whole group of people-in j.a.panese. Lilly had to say his name two more times before he finally looked over and saw us.

I wish I could say when Michael's dark eyes met mine, I was completely cool and collected about seeing him again after all this time, and that I laughed airily and said all the right things. I wish I could say after having pretty much single-handedly brought democracy to a country I happen to be princess of, and written a four-hundred-page romance novel, and gotten into every college to which I applied (even if it's just because I'm a princess), that I handled meeting Michael for the first time again after throwing my snowflake necklace in his face almost two years ago with total grace and aplomb.

But I totally didn't. I could feel my whole face start to heat up when his gaze met mine. Also, my hands began to sweat right away. And I was pretty sure the floor was going to come swinging up and smack me in the face, I suddenly felt so light-headed and dizzy.

"Mia," Michael said, in his deep Michael-y voice, after excusing himself from the people he'd been talking to. Then he smiled, and my light-headedness increased by about ten million percent. I was positive I was going to pa.s.s out.

"Um," I said. I think I smiled back. I have no idea. "Hi."

"Mia's here representing the Atom," Lilly explained to Michael, when I didn't say anything more. I couldn't say anything more. It was all I could do just to keep from falling over like a tree that had been gnawed on by a beaver. "She's doing a story on you, Michael. Aren't you, Mia?"

I nodded. Story? Atom? What was she talking about?

Oh, right. The school paper.

"How are you doing?" Michael asked me. He was talking to me. He was talking to me in a friendly, nonconfrontational manner.

And yet no words would formulate in my head, much less come out of my mouth. I was mute, just like Rob Lowe's character in the TV movie of Stephen King's The Stand. Only I wasn't as good-looking.

"Why don't you ask Michael a question for your story, Mia?" Lilly poked me. Poked me. In the shoulder. And it didn't not hurt.

"Ow," I said.

Wow! A word!

"Where's Lars?" Michael asked, with a laugh. "You better watch out, Lil. She generally travels with an armed escort."

"He's around here somewhere," I managed to get out. Finally! A sentence. Accompanied by a shaky laugh. "And I'm fine, thanks for asking before. How are you doing, Michael?"

Yes! It speaks!

"I'm great," Michael said.

Right then his mother came up and said, "Honey, this man over here is with The New York Times. He wants to talk to you. Can you just-" Then she saw me, and her eyes went totally huge. "Oh. Mia."

Yeah. As in: Oh. It's You. The Girl Who Ruined Both My Children's Lives.

I seriously don't think it was my imagination, either. I mean, it would take an imagination the size of Tina's to turn it into: Oh. It's You. The Girl for Whom My Son Has Secretly Been Pining Away the Past Two Years.

Which, having seen Micromini Midori, I knew wasn't the case.

"Hi, Dr. Moscovitz," I said, in the world's smallest voice. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, sweetheart," Dr. Moscovitz said, smiling and leaning over to kiss my cheek. "I haven't seen you in so long. It's lovely you were able to come."

"I'm covering the event for the school paper," I explained hastily, knowing even as I said it how incredibly stupid it sounded. But I didn't want her to think I'd come for any of the real reasons I'd actually come. "But I know he's busy. Michael, go talk to the Times-"

"No," Michael said. "That's okay. There's plenty of time for that."

"Are you kidding me?" I would have liked to have reached out and pushed him toward the reporter, but we're not going out anymore, so touching isn't allowed. Even though I really would have liked to put my hand on that suit coat sleeve, and felt what was underneath it. Which is really shocking, because I have a boyfriend. "It's the Times!"

"Maybe you two could get together for coffee or something tomorrow," Lilly said casually, just as Kenneth-ha! I finally remembered!-came sauntering up. "For, like, a private interview."

What was she doing? What was she saying? It was like Lilly had suddenly forgotten how much she hated me. Or Evil Lilly had been replaced, when no one was looking, by Good Lilly.

"Hey," Michael said, brightening. "That's a good idea. What do you say, Mia? Are you around tomorrow? Want to meet at Caffe Dante, say, around one?"

Before I knew what I was doing, buoyed by popular sentiment, I was nodding, and saying, "Yes, one tomorrow is fine. Okay, great, see you then."

And then Michael was walking away...only to turn at the last minute and say, "Oh, and bring that senior project of yours. I still can't wait to read it!"

Oh my G.o.d.

I fully thought I was going to be sick all over Kenneth's s.h.i.+ny dress shoes.

Lilly must have noticed, since she poked me in the back (again, not very gently), and asked, "Mia? Are you all right?"

Michael was out of earshot by then, talking to the Times reporter, and his mom had drifted off to talk to his dad and Nana Moscovitz. I just looked at Lilly miserably and said the first thing that popped into my head, which was, "Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?"

Lilly opened her mouth and started to say something, but Kenneth put his arm around her and glared at me and went, "Are you still going out with J.P.?"

I just blinked at him in confusion. "Yes," I said.

"Then never mind," Kenneth said, and swung Lilly away from me like he was mad at me, or something.

And she didn't try to stop him.

Which is weird because Lilly isn't exactly the type of girl to let a guy tell her what to do. Even Kenneth, who she really likes. More than likes, I'm pretty sure.

Anyway, that was the end of my big first meeting with Michael after almost two years. I got down off the stage with as much dignity as I could (it helps when you have a bodyguard to escort you), and we headed to the limo where the girls were waiting, and they demanded every detail, which I was able to give them as I wrote this (although I left out a few details in the version I told them, of course).

I have to take them to n.o.bu, where they say we're going to sample every type of sus.h.i.+ on the menu.

But I don't know how I'm going to be able to concentrate on appreciating the subtle flavors of Chef Matsuhisa when the whole time I'm going to be all, What am I going to do about showing my book to Michael?

Seriously. Not to sound common-as Grandmere would say-but I am pretty much screwed right now.

Because I can't give my book to Michael. He invented a robotic arm that saves people's lives. I wrote a romance novel. One of these things is not like the other.

And I really don't want the guy who just got an honorary master's degree in science from Columbia (and who's had his hand down my s.h.i.+rt on numerous occasions) reading my s.e.x scenes.

Talk about embarra.s.sing.