Forever Princess (22 page)

Thursday, May 4, 8 p.m., ladies' room, Carnegie Hall

OH MY GOD!

I thought this concert was going to be really boring, but I was wrong.

Oh, not the music.
That's
totally boring. I've heard it a million times coming out of the G&T supply closet (although I'll admit, it's kind of different to hear it coming from the center of the Carnegie Hall stage, especially seeing all these fancy people turned out in their best clothes, clutching CDs with Boris—BORIS—on the cover, all saying his name in excited voices. I mean, it's just Boris Pelkowski. But these people seem to think he's some kind of celebrity. Which, hello, HIGHlarious).

But the fact that everyone I know from AEHS is here, including
both
Moscovitz siblings—
that's
exciting. I wasn't expecting that.

And I know it's wrong to be excited to see my ex-boyfriend when I'm out on a date with my current boyfriend.

However, that is not my fault. It's MHC.

Our seats are rows and rows apart so there's no chance of my being overpowered by eau de Michael. Unless somehow we bump into him later. Which I highly doubt is going to happen.

Anyway, Michael's alone. He didn't come with a date! Which may be because Micromini Midori is in Genovia.

Except that I can't help wondering if he came solo because I said in my e-mail to him that I'd be coming.

But then I remembered what Boris said—about how the two of them are going to be living together this year. So I guess that's why he's here, actually. To support his friend.

Stupid me, getting my hopes up. AGAIN.

Anyway. I guess I should be getting back to my seat. I didn't want to be rude and write while I was supposed to be looking like I was paying attention, but—

WAIT.

Oh, God.

I recognize those shoes.

Thursday, May 4, 8:30 p.m., ladies' room, Carnegie Hall

I was right: They
were
her shoes.

I totally confronted her when she came out of her stall.

Well, confronted isn't the right word. I
asked
her about the commercial she made for my dad. Why she did it, I mean.

At first she tried to get out of it by saying it had been a birthday gift for me.

And it's true, she had said, back in the
Atom
office when I turned in my story about Michael, that there was something she'd been going to give me for my birthday. And she'd said to give it to me, she'd need to come to my party. She just hadn't said she was going to give it to me
at
my party. I'd assumed that part.

But…why now? Why a present
this
year? And such a
great
present?

At first she looked really annoyed that I wouldn't just let it go. Like she couldn't believe she'd walked into the bathroom and there I was.

I guess it probably
does
seem like every single time she goes for a pee, there I am.

Well, it's basically true. It's like I have some kind of Lilly Moscovitz bladder radar.

And this time Kenneth wasn't around to ask weird questions about whether or not I was still going out with J.P., and keep her from answering. For a second I thought she wouldn't anyway.

But then she seemed to make a decision within herself.
She sort of sighed and, looking a bit annoyed, went, “Fine. If you must know, Mia…my brother said I had to be nice to you.”

I just stared at her. It took a few seconds for her words to register. “Your
brother
said?…”

“That I had to be nice to you,” Lilly finished for me, sounding exasperated, as if I should have been aware of this. “He found out about the website, okay?”

I moved from staring to blinking. I was making progress. “Ihatemiathermopolis.com?”

“Right,” Lilly said. She did look a little ashamed of herself, actually. “He was really mad. I'll admit…it
was
pretty childish.”

Michael found out about ihatemiathermopolis.com? You mean…he hadn't known? I thought everyone in the whole world had known about that stupid website.

And he'd told Lilly she had to be
nice
to me?

“But.” I was having trouble processing so much information at once. It was like I was a desert that was finally getting rain…only there was too much of it, and I couldn't soak it all in. Soon I'd be experiencing mud slides. And flash floods. “But…why were you so mad at me in the first place? I'll admit, I acted like a total jerk to your brother. But I regretted it, and I tried to get back together with him. He's the one who said no. So why were you so mad about it?” This was the part I could never figure out. “Was it…was it just because of J.P.?”

Lilly's face darkened. “You don't know?” she asked, sounding incredulous. “You honestly don't know?”

I was definitely experiencing sensory overload. “No.” I
shook my head. She hadn't actually answered the question. “What am I supposed to know?”

“I have never,” Lilly said flatly, “met anyone so dense as you in my life, Mia.”

“What?” I still have no idea what she was talking about. I know I'm dense. I do! I'm a geek. She didn't have to rub it in. She could have helped me a little. “Dense about
what
?”

But at that point an old lady came into the bathroom, and I guess Lilly decided she'd said enough. She just shook her head, and walked out.

Which just leaves me here to wonder, as I have a million times before:
What is it I'm supposed to know? What is it that Lilly thinks I'm so dense about?

It's true I started dating J.P. right after the two of them broke up. But she was already not speaking to me by the time that happened. So that can't be it.

Why can't Lilly just tell me what it was I was so dense about? She's the genius, not me. I hate it when geniuses expect the rest of us to be as smart as they are. It's not fair. I'm of
average
intelligence, and I always have been. I'm creative, and stuff, but I'm romance-novel-writing creative! I don't perform well on IQ tests, and certainly not SATs (obviously).

And I've NEVER been able to figure out Lilly.

And I can't figure out her brother, either. For instance, why does
Michael
care whether she starts being nice to me or not?

Oh, great. I hear clapping! I'd better get back to my seat….

Friday, May 5, midnight, the loft

I was wrong about being able to stay away from my MHC match.

Everyone went up onto the stage after Boris's fantastically successful concert (standing ovations all around) to congratulate him.

That's how I found myself standing next to J.P., talking to Tina and Boris, when Michael and Lilly came up to congratulate Boris as well.

Which wasn't a bit awkward.

Considering Lilly was Boris's ex (remember when he dropped the globe on his head over her?) and J.P. was Lilly's, and Michael was mine. Oh, and Kenny's my ex, too!

Ah, good times.

Not.

Fortunately Michael didn't try to hug me. Or say anything like, “Oh, hey, Mia, see you at lunch tomorrow.” It was kind of like he knew this wasn't something I'd discussed with my boyfriend.

Although he was perfectly cordial, and didn't storm off like he did the night of my birthday. (Why
did
he do that? It can't be because of what Tina said, because he couldn't stand to see me with J.P. Because he seemed just fine seeing me with J.P. tonight.)

Lilly, on the other hand, stonily ignored J.P.—although she cracked a little bit of a smile at me.

Tina, meanwhile, was so nervous about the whole thing (which was weird, because she was the only person there who
didn't
have an ex present) that she began talking in a
very high-pitched voice about the senior project committee—who were looking a little haggard, possibly from their night out with Sean Penn—and I had to take her by the arm and start steering her away, gently murmuring, “It's going to be okay. Shhhh. It's all over now. Boris passed with flying colors….”

“But,” Tina said, flinging a glance over her shoulder. “Why are Michael and Lilly here?
Why?
”

“Michael's friends with Boris. Remember? They're living together next year until Boris gets his single through the waiting list.”

“I need a vacation,” Tina whimpered. “I really need a vacation.”

“You're getting one,” I said. “Tomorrow's Senior Skip Day.”

“Are you really going to sleep with J.P.?” Tina wanted to know. “Are you really, Mia? Really?”

“Tina,” I whispered. “Could you say it a little louder? I don't think all of Carnegie Hall heard you.”

“I just don't think you're doing it for the right reasons,” Tina said. “Don't do it because you think you have to, or because you don't want to be the last girl in our class who is still a virgin, or because you don't want to be the only girl in your college who hasn't slept with someone. Do it because you
want
to, because you feel a burning passion to. When I look at the two of you together, I just don't think…Mia, I don't think you
want
to. I don't feel like there's any
passion
. You write about passion in your book, but I don't think you actually
feel
it. Not for J.P.”

“Okay,” I said, patting her on the arm. “I'm going to go
now. Tell Boris he did a lovely job. Bye, now.”

I got Lars and J.P., told everyone else we were leaving, stayed far enough away from Michael that I couldn't smell him, then left, dropping J.P. off at his place on our way home.

I tried really hard to feel passion as I kissed him good night.

I think I even did. I definitely felt something.

It might have been the staple from the dry cleaner the Reynolds-Abernathy family uses on the back of J.P.'s shirt collar though. I think it was scratching my finger as I tried to cling to him passionately.

Friday, May 5, 9 a.m., the loft

I don't believe it.

Mom just poked her head in here and went, “Mia. Wake up.”

And I was like, “MOM. I'm not going to school. It's Senior Skip Day. I don't care if it's not an officially sanctioned school holiday. I'm a senior. I'm skipping. Which means I don't HAVE TO GET UP.”

And she went, “It's not that. There's someone on the house line, asking for Daphne Delacroix.”

I thought she was joking. I really did.

But she swore she was serious.

So I crawled out of bed and took the phone she was holding and put it to my ear and was like, “Hello?”

“Is this Daphne?” asked a way too cheerful woman's voice.

“Um,” I said. “Sort of.” I really hadn't woken up enough to be able to deal with the situation.

“Your real name isn't Daphne Delacroix, is it?” asked the voice, laughing a little.

“Not exactly,” I said, stealing a glance at the caller ID on the handset. It said Avon Books.

Avon Books was the name on the spines of half of the historical romances I'd read while doing research for my own. It's a huge publisher of romance novels.

“Well, this is Claire French,” the cheerful voice said. “And I've just finished reading your book,
Ransom My Heart
, and I'm calling to offer you a publishing contract.”

I swear I did not think I could have heard her right. It
sounded like she said she was calling to offer me a publishing contract.

But that could not possibly be what she had said. Because people don't call and offer me book deals. Especially first thing in the morning. Ever.

“What?” I said intelligently.

“I'm calling to offer you a publishing contract,” she said. “We'd like to offer you a book deal. But we'll need to know your real name. What
is
your real name, if you don't mind telling me?”

“Um,” I said. “Mia Thermopolis.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, hi, Mia.” She then went on to say some things about money, and contracts, and due dates, and some other things I didn't understand because I was in too much of a daze.

“Um,” I finally said. “Can I have your number? I think I'm going to have to call you back.”

“Sure!” she said. And gave me her extension. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks a lot.”

Then I hung up.

I lay back in my bed and looked at Fat Louie, who was staring at me, happily purring from my pillows.

Then I screamed as loud as I could, freaking out Mom, Rocky, and, of course, Fat Louie, who darted off the bed (all the pigeons on my fire escape took off, too).

I cannot believe it:

I got an offer on my book.

And okay…it's not for a ton of money. If I were an
actual person who had to make a living doing this, I would not be able to survive—at least in New York City—for more than a couple of months on what they offered. If you really want to be a writer, clearly, you have to write
and
do some other job, too, in order to pay your rent, etc. At least when you're first starting out.

But since I'm going to be donating the money to Greenpeace anyway…who cares?

Someone wants to buy my book!!!!!

Friday, May 5, 11 a.m., the loft

I feel like I'm floating….

Seriously, I'm so happy! This has been the best day of my life. At least so far.

I really mean that. Nothing is going to ruin it. NOTHING. And NO ONE.

I won't let them.

The first thing I did, after I told Mom and Mr. G about my book deal, was call Tina. I was all, “Tina—Guess what? I got an offer on my book.”

And she was like, “WHAT???? OH MY GOD, MIA, THAT IS FANTASTIC!!!!”

So then we shrieked for, like, seriously, ten minutes. After that I hung up and called J.P. Probably I should have called him first, since he's my boyfriend. But I've known Tina longer.

The thing is, even though J.P. was happy for me, and all, he wasn't…well. He had some words of warning. Just because he loves me so much, though.

“You shouldn't accept a first offer, Mia,” he said.

“Why not?” I asked. “You did, from Sean Penn.”

“But that's different,” he said. “Sean's an award-winning director. You don't even know who this editor is.”

“Yes, I do,” I said. “I just looked her up on the Internet. She's published tons of books. She's totally legit, and so is her publishing house. It's huge. They publish all the romances. Well, a lot of them.”

“Even so,” J.P. said. “You might get a better offer from someone else. I wouldn't rush into anything.”

“Rush into anything?” I echoed. “J.P., I've had, like, sixty-five rejection letters. She's the only person who has expressed the remotest interest in my book. It's a totally fair offer.”

“If you'd just do what I said,” J.P. said, “and try to sell it under your real name, you'd get a ton more interest, and probably a much bigger advance.”

“That's just it,” I said. “She wanted to publish it without knowing who I was! That means she likes the book on its own merit. That means way more to me than money.”

“Look,” J.P. said. “Just don't accept the offer yet. Let me talk to Sean. He knows people in publishing. I bet he can get you a better offer.”

“No!” I cried. I couldn't believe how J.P. was trying to ruin this beautiful moment for me. Although it wasn't his fault. I knew he was just looking out for my best interests. But he was being a total buzz kill, as they said on
True Life.
“No way, J.P. I'm taking this offer.”

“Mia,” J.P. said. “You don't know anything about publishing. How do you know what you're getting yourself into? You don't even have an agent.”

“I have the Royal Genovian lawyers,” I reminded him. “I don't think I need to remind you that they are like a pack of rabid pit bulls. Remember what they did to that guy who tried to publish that unauthorized biography of me last year?” I didn't want to add,
And what I could have them do to you, for writing a loosely based bio-play on me?
Because I didn't want to be mean, and, of course, I'd never sic the Royal Genovian lawyers on J.P. “I'll have them look over the contract before I sign it.”

“I think you're making a mistake,” J.P. said.

“Well, I don't think I am,” I said. I wanted to cry. I really did. I knew he was only being that way because he loves me, but come on.

I got over it, though. Even though J.P. and I got into our first (albeit very minor) fight over it, I still think I'm doing the right thing. Because I called my dad and told him about it, and after he asked a lot of questions (in a sort of distracted way, because he's busy campaigning. I was sorry to bug him about something so unimportant when he has so much to do, but—well, this is important to me), he still said it was fine by him, and I could do what I wanted—so long as I didn't sign anything until I had his pit bull lawyers see it first.

So I said, “THANKS, DAD!”

Then I called Claire French and told her I accepted.

The only problem was, by the time I called back, she fully knew who I was.

She said, “This is going to sound strange, but when you said your name was Mia Thermopolis, I thought it sounded familiar, so—please don't be offended—I Googled you. You wouldn't happen to be Princess Mia Thermopolis of Genovia by any chance, would you?”

My heart totally sank.

“Um,” I said.

The thing is, even though I'm a totally habitual liar, I knew there was no point in lying to her about this. She was going to find out eventually. Like when I sent in my author photo or met her for a fancy editor-author lunch or my pit bull lawyers used the Genovian crest notary or whatever.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I am. But I didn't send my book out under my real name because I didn't want it to be published just because of my celebrity, you know? I wanted to see if people liked it based on its own merits, not because of who wrote it. I hope you can understand that.”

“Oh,” Claire said. “I completely understand! And you don't need to worry, I had no idea it was you when I read it, or when I made you the offer. The thing is, though…well, the name Daphne Delacroix…it actually sounds very fake, and the last name—Delacroix—is hard for Americans to pronounce correctly. Whereas your real name is much more recognizable and memorable. I assume you're not doing this for any sort of financial gain—”

“No,” I said, horrified. “I'm donating my author proceeds to Greenpeace!”

“Well, the truth is,” Claire said, “you'd have a lot more author proceeds to donate if you let us publish the book under your real name.”

I clutched the phone to my ear, feeling sort of stunned. “You mean…Mia Thermopolis?”

“I was thinking Mia Thermopolis, princess of Genovia.”

“Well…” My heart was beating kind of fast. I remembered what Grandmère had said, about being sure not to use my real name. She was going to hate this, I thought. She was going to hate it so much if I published a steamy romance novel under my real name!

On the other hand…everyone in school would see it. Everyone in school would see my book and go, “Oh my God. I
know
her! I went to school with her.”

And it wasn't as if Claire had bought the book knowing
it was by me…but readers would. Think of all the money that would go to Greenpeace!

“I think that would be fine,” I said.

“Great!” Claire said. “That's settled then. I look forward to working with you, Mia.”

It was the most fantastic phone call of all time. It almost made me forget that J.P. and I had sort of had a little fight and that I was going to have a very scary lunch with Michael very soon.

I'm a published author. Well, soon to be.

And no one can take that away from me. NO ONE!