Princess on the Brink (17 page)

I can’t believe this. How stupid I’ve been, I mean.

Dad tried to tell me. EVERYONE tried to tell me. But I was just so STUPID—

But I can fix this. I KNOW I can. I just have to get to him before he gets on the plane, and I’ll tell him—

Well, I don’t know what I’ll tell him. But I’ll figure it out when I see him. If I can just smell his neck one more time, I know—I KNOW—everything will be all right.

And that I’ll know what to tell him when I see him.

IF I can get to him before he gets on the plane. Because it’s the middle of the afternoon and my dad’s got the limo over at the UN, which means Lars and I have to take a cab, only we can’t find one because they’ve all seemed to have disappeared, which is ALWAYS what happens when you really need one, which is why shows like
Sex and the City
can be so bogus sometimes, because those girls ALWAYS get a cab, and the fact is, there are just way more people who need cabs than there are cabs and

WHAT AM I GOING TO SAY TO HIM????

God, I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. How stupid and blind and dumb and ignorant and judgmental and WHAT DOES IT MATTER???? Seriously, what does any of it MATTER, when I love him, and I’ll never love anyone else, and it’s not like he cheated on me and WHY AREN’T THERE ANY CABS????

I tore out of Grandmère’s suite without even saying good-bye. I just yelled, “We’re leaving!” to Lars and bolted.
He ran after me, looking confused. It wasn’t until we ran into the lobby that I finally got Lilly on her cell, and was like, “WHAT AIRLINE?”

And Lilly was like, “What are you talking about?”

“WHAT AIRLINE IS MICHAEL FLYING ON?” I screamed.

“Continental,” she said, sounding confused. “Wait—Mia, where are you? We have Assembly—you have to give your speech! Your speech for student council president!”

“I can’t,” I yelled. “This is more important. Lilly, I have to see him—”

I was crying again. But I didn’t even care. I’ve been crying so much, it’s basically my natural state now. Which means maybe I’m not a nihilist after all. Because nihilists don’t cry. “Lilly. I just want to tell him—I just want to—” Except, of course, I still don’t even KNOW what I want to tell him. “Just tell me what time his plane is leaving—please?”

Something in my voice must have convinced her I was sincere.

“Six o’clock,” Lilly said, her tone softening. “But he probably already left for the airport. You have to check in, like, three hours early for international flights. Something I realize someone who only flies by royal Genovian jet wouldn’t know.”

So he was already at the airport.

But I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I hung up and ran outside and told Lars to flag down a cab.

Then I called my dad on his emergency number.

“Mia?” he whispered when he picked up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said. “Was it Mom?”

“Nothing’s wrong? Mia, this is my emergency line—I’m in the middle of the General Assembly—the committee for disarmament and international security is speaking right now. I know you’re going through a hard time right now dealing with the loss of your boyfriend, but unless you’re actually bleeding, I’m hanging up.”

“Dad, don’t! I need to know,” I said urgently. “The person you said you loved—the person you let go without a fight. Was it Mom?”

“What are you talking about?”

“WAS IT MOM? Was Mom the person you loved and regret letting go without a fight? It was, wasn’t it? Because she said she never wanted to get married, and you HAD to get married in order to provide an heir to the throne. You didn’t know you’d end up getting cancer and I’d be your only kid. And you didn’t know you’d never meet anyone you loved as much as her. So you let her go without a fight, didn’t you? It was her. It’s
always
been HER.”

There was silence for a moment on my dad’s end of the phone. Then he said, “Don’t tell her,” very quietly.

“I won’t, Dad,” I said. Because of my tears I could barely see Lars out on the curb with the Four Seasons doorman, both of them frantically waving their arms at cabs that were all currently filled with passengers. “I promise. Just tell me one more thing.”

“Mia, I really have to go—”

“Did you ever used to smell her neck?”

“What?”

“Mom’s neck. Dad, I have to know…. Did you ever used to smell it? Did it smell really good to you?”

“Like freesia,” Dad said faintly. “How did you know that? I never told anyone that.”

Mom’s neck smells nothing like freesia. Mom’s neck smells of Dove soap and turpentine. Oh, and coffee, because she drinks so much of it.

Except to Dad. Dad can’t smell any of that. Because for him, Mom was the One.

Just like Michael is my One.

“Dad,” I said. “I gotta go. Bye.”

I hung up just as Lars yelled, “Princess! Here!”

A cab! At last! I’m saved!

I don’t believe this. It doesn’t seem possible. But there’s no mistake: We’re in Ephrain Kleinschmidt’s taxicab.

Yes. The same Ephrain Kleinschmidt in whose taxicab I wept so many bitter tears the other night.

Ephrain took one look at me in the rearview mirror and went, “YOU!”

Then he tried to hand me his Kleenex again.

“No Kleenex!” I yelled. “JFK!!! Take us to JFK, as fast as you can!”

“JFK?” Ephrain balked. “I’m about to go off duty!”

That’s when Lars showed him his sidearm. Well, really, he was just reaching for his wallet, saying there was an extra twenty in it if Ephrain got us to the airport in under twenty minutes.

But I’m pretty sure the Glock spoke more than the twenty.

Ephrain didn’t hesitate. He put the pedal to the metal. Well, at least until we got to the first traffic light.

This is excruciating. We’re never going to make it.

Except that we HAVE to. I can’t let Michael go—not without a fight. I can’t end up like my dad, with no one special in my life, dating supermodel after supermodel, because I allowed the person I really loved to slip through my fingers!

And sure, it’s possible that when I get to the airport, Michael will be like, “Get away.” Because, let’s face it—I screwed up. Not that I didn’t have a right to be hurt by
what Michael did.

But I guess I should maybe have been a little bit more understanding and a little less judgmental.

Everyone TRIED to tell me. Mom. Tina. Lilly. Dad.

But I wouldn’t listen.

Why didn’t I listen?

And WHY did I kiss J.P.???? WHY WHY WHY?????

All I can do is try to explain. That it didn’t mean anything—that J.P.’s just a friend. That I’m a horrible, terrible person, and that I deserve to be punished.

Only not by Michael’s never speaking to me again. ANYTHING but that.

And even if Michael is like, “Get away,” at least maybe I’ll be able to sleep tonight. Because I’ll have tried. I’ll have
tried
to make things right.

And maybe just knowing I tried will be enough.

Lars was just like, “Princess. I don’t think we’re going to make it.”

That’s because we’re currently stuck behind a stalled tractor-trailer on the bridge.

“Don’t say that, Lars. We’re going to make it. We HAVE to make it.”

“Maybe you should call him. To let him know we’re on our way. So he doesn’t go through security right away.”

“I can’t CALL him.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’ll never pick up if he sees it’s me. After what he saw me do outside Chemistry?”

Lars raised his eyebrows. “Oh,” he said. “Right. I for
got about that. But what if he’s already gone through security?” Lars wanted to know. “You won’t be able to get through without a ticket.”

“Then I’ll buy a ticket.”

“To JAPAN? Princess, I don’t think—”

“I won’t actually GO to Japan,” I assured him. “I’ll just go to the gate to find him.”

“You know I can’t let you go alone.”

“I’ll buy a ticket for you, too.” Fortunately I have my emergency-only royal Genovian black American Express card on me. I’ve never actually used it before. But this IS what my dad gave it to me for: emergencies.

And this is an emergency, all right.

“I think you should just call him,” Lars said. “He might pick up. You never know.”

I looked Lars dead in the eye. “Would you?” I asked. “If it were you?”

“Er,” he said. “Well, no. Probably not.”

“Hey.” Ephrain Kleinschmidt glared at us in the rearview mirror. Ephrain had gotten out from behind the tractor-trailer and was making serious time along the highway now. “I’m not turning around. We’re almost there.”

“I’m not calling him, Lars,” I said. “Not unless I have to. I mean, Arwen wouldn’t
call
Aragorn.”

“Who?”

“Princess Arwen. She wouldn’t
call
Aragorn
.
Something like this requires a BIG GESTURE, Lars. I’m no Arwen. I haven’t saved any hobbits from peril or outraced any Ringwraiths. I already have a lot of strikes against me—I acted like a snotty jerk, I kissed another guy, AND I
haven’t made any particularly valuable contributions to society…not like Michael will, when his robotic surgical arm revolutionizes heart surgery as we know it. I’m just a princess.”

“Wasn’t this Arwen just a princess?” Lars wanted to know.

“Yes. But her hair didn’t look as stupid as mine does right now.”

Lars looked at my head. “True.”

I couldn’t even get offended. Because when you’re already at rock bottom, nothing hurts anymore.

“Plus,” I added, “Arwen never tried to keep Aragorn from completing his quest, the way I tried to keep Michael from completing his. Arwen played a crucial role in the destruction of the One Ring. What have I ever done?”

“You built houses for the homeless,” Lars pointed out.

“Yeah, so did Michael.”

“You got parking meters installed in Genovia.”

“Big whoop.”

“You saved the Genovian bay from killer algae.”

“No one cares about that but the fishermen.”

“You got recycling bins installed all over the school.”

“And bankrupted the student government in doing so. Face it, Lars: I’m no Melinda Gates—donating millions of dollars to help eradicate malaria, the biggest health crisis facing the globe, causing over a million children to die needlessly every year, just from a lack of a three-dollar mosquito net. I’m really going to have to start working on becoming something special if I’m going to hang on to Michael. I mean, if he’ll even take me back after this.”

“I think Michael likes you the way you are,” Lars said, grabbing the handle of the passenger door to keep from sliding over and crushing me as Ephrain Kleinschmidt swerved into the exit lane.

“He DID,” I said. “Before I blew it by dumping him. And kissing his sister’s ex-boyfriend right in front of him.”

“True,” Lars said.

Which is, in a way, one of the reasons I love Lars so much. You don’t have to worry about him saying anything just to make you feel better. He always tells the truth. As he sees the truth, anyway.

“What airline?” Ephrain Kleinschmidt wanted to know.

“Continental,” I said. I had to hang on to the safety strap to keep from being hurled from one side of the backseat to the other. “Departures!”

Ephrain put his foot on the accelerator.

Can’t write anymore. Fear for my life.

Well. That really didn’t work out the way I’d hoped it would.

I’d really hoped that what would happen was, I’d walk into the airport and see Michael standing in the security line. I would call his name and he would turn around and see me, and duck out of the security line and come over, and I would tell him how sorry I was for being such a total ass, and he would forgive me instantly and wrap me in his arms and kiss me and I would smell his neck and he would be so moved he’d decide to stay in New York.

Well, I wasn’t actually hoping for that last part. Well, I mean, of course I WAS. But I didn’t really think it would HAPPEN. I would have settled for just his forgiving me.

But it turned out none of it happened. Because Michael’s flight was taking off as we got to the ticket counter.

We were too late.

I
was too late.

Now Michael’s gone. He’s on his way to another country—another CONTINENT—another HEMISPHERE.

And I’ll probably never see him again.

Of course, I did the only sensible thing I could, under the circumstances: I sat down on the airport floor and cried.

Lars had to half drag, half carry me to the limo stand, where we’re waiting for Hans and my dad to come pick us up. Because Lars says over his dead body is he ever getting in another taxicab.

At least there’s a bench here, so I can sit on it and cry,
instead of on the ground.

I just don’t understand how any of this happened. A week ago—five days ago—I was so filled with hope and excitement. I didn’t even know what pain was. Not real pain.

And now it’s like my whole world has come collapsing down around my ears. And some of it I didn’t have anything to do with—like Michael’s decision to go to Japan.

But a lot of it is my own fault.

And for what?

How am I going to go on without him? Seriously?

Oh. The limo’s here.

I’m going to see if we can go through the McDonald’s drive-through on the way home. Because I think the only thing that might make me feel even slightly better is a Quarter Pounder.

With cheese.

When I got home, Mom and Mr. G were just getting ready to order dinner. Mom took one look at me and was like, “Bedroom.
Now
,” because Rocky had pulled all the pots and pans from the kitchen cupboards and was banging on them (a trait he no doubt inherited from his father, whose drum set still has a prominent place in our living room).

So I dragged myself into my bedroom and collapsed onto my bed, startling Fat Louie, who was so surprised when I landed on him, he actually hissed at me.

But I didn’t care. I think I have dysthmia, or chronic depression, since I have all the symptoms:

• Emotional numbness
  
• Perpetual, low-level melancholy
  
• Feeling of merely going through the motions of everyday life with very little enthusiasm or interest
  
• Negative thinking
  
• Anhedonic (unable to savor or enjoy anything; except cheeseburgers)
  

“Your father tells me you were sent home from school in the middle of the afternoon,” Mom said, after shutting the door, so that the sound of at least some of the banging was lessened. “And I understand from Lars that you went to the airport to try to say good-bye to Michael.”

“Yeah,” I said. Seriously, I have zero privacy. I can’t do ANYTHING without the whole world finding out about
it. I don’t know why I even try to keep anything secret. “I did.”

“I think that was the right thing to do,” Mom said. “I’m proud of you.”

I just stared at her. “I missed him. His flight had left already.”

Mom winced. “Oh. Well. You can still call him.”

“Mom,” I said. “I can’t call him.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course you can.”

“Mom. I can’t call him. I kissed J.P. And Michael saw me do it.”

Now it was Mom’s turn to stare at me. “You kissed your best friend’s boyfriend?”

“Actually,” I said, “Lilly and J.P. broke up today. So he’s her ex-boyfriend. But yes.”

“And you did this in front of Michael.”

“Yes.” I’m not sure the Quarter Pounder with cheese was actually the best idea. “I didn’t mean to, though. It just sort of…happened.”

“Oh, Mia,” Mom said with a sigh. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I don’t know,” I said, tears tickling my nose. “I’ve completely ruined everything with him. He’ll never forgive me. He’s probably glad to be rid of me. Who wants a crazy girlfriend?”

“You’ve been crazy since Michael met you,” Mom said. “It’s not like you’ve gotten any noticeably crazier.”

The thing is, I knew she was
trying
to be encouraging.

“Thanks,” I said, through my tears.

“Look,” she went on. “Frank and I are ordering from Number One Noodle Son. Do you want anything?”

I thought about it. The Quarter Pounder really wasn’t sitting all that well. Maybe what I needed was some more protein, to help keep it down.

“I guess some General Tso’s chicken,” I said. “And orange beef. And maybe some fried dumplings. And how about some spare ribs? You guys always look like you’re really enjoying those.”

But my mom, instead of looking happy that she didn’t have to order a vegetarian entrée that no one but me was going to eat, looked concerned.

“Mia,” she said. “Are you really sure you want to—”

But I guess something in my face made her change her mind about finishing that statement, since she just shrugged and said, “All right. Whatever you want. Oh, and Lilly called. She wants you to call her back. She said it’s important.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”

Mom opened my bedroom door—
BANG! Giggle. BANG! BANG!
—and left. I stared at the ceiling for a while. On Michael’s ceiling, in his bedroom back at the Moscovitzes’ apartment, there are glow-in-the-dark constellations. I wondered if he’d put glow-in-the-dark constellations on the ceiling of his new bedroom. In Japan.

I leaned down and picked up the phone and dialed Lilly’s number. Dr. Moscovitz picked up. She said, “Oh, hello, Mia,” in a not-very-warm voice.

Yes. My boyfriend’s mother hates me now.

Well, she has a right to.

“Dr. Moscovitz,” I said. “I’m sorry about—well, everything. I’m a huge jerk. I understand if you hate me.”

Dr. Moscovitz’s voice warmed up a tiny bit.

“Oh, Mia,” she said. “I could never hate you. Look, these things happen. I—well, you and Lilly will work it out.”

“Right,” I said, feeling fractionally better. Maybe I didn’t have dysthmia after all. I mean, if I could actually feel something. Besides bad. “Thanks.”

Except…did she say “you and
Lilly
”? She must have meant “you and Michael.”

“Um,” I said. “Is Lilly there, Dr. Moscovitz? I’m returning her call.”

“Of course, Mia,” Dr. Moscovitz said. And she called for Lilly, who picked up the phone and said, without preamble, “YOU KISSED MY BOYFRIEND????”

I stared at the phone, totally confused. “What?”

“Kenny Showalter says he saw you kiss J.P. outside your Chemistry classroom today,” Lilly snarled.

Oh, God. Oh. My. God.

The Quarter Pounder with cheese moved up my throat a little more as complete and total panic gripped me.

“Lilly,” I said. “It wasn’t—look. It wasn’t what Kenny thinks—”

“So you’re saying you DIDN’T kiss my boyfriend outside your Chemistry classroom?” Lilly demanded.

“N-no,” I stammered. “I’m not. I did kiss him. But just as a friend. And besides, technically, J.P. is your EX-boyfriend.”

“You mean like you’re
technically
my ex-best friend?”

I gasped. “Lilly! Come on! I told you! J.P. and I are just friends!”

“What kind of friends KISS each other?” Lilly demanded. “On the mouth?”

Oh my God.

“Lilly,” I said. “Look. We’ve both had a really bad day. Let’s not take it out on each other—”

“I haven’t had a particularly bad day,” Lilly snapped. “I mean, sure, my boyfriend dumped me. But I also got elected as the new student council president of Albert Einstein High School.”

I actually sat up upon hearing this. “You DID?”

“That’s right,” Lilly said, sounding very self-satisfied. “When you ducked out of school on account of your little tummyache, Principal Gupta said you disqualified yourself from the race.”

“Oh, Lilly,” I breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Lilly said. “I asked Principal Gupta what would happen if no one ran—you know, to the student council. And she said Mrs. Hill would just have to preside over it. Well, you know how THAT would turn out: We’d be selling candles from here to Spring Break. So I asked Principal Gupta if I could run in your place, and she said, seeing as how there were no other candidates, she didn’t see why not. So I gave your speech. You know, the one about all the things people should do in the event of catastrophes? I guess I embellished a bit. Nothing TOO much. Just, you know, a few bits about supervolcanoes and asteroids…nothing major. People were too afraid NOT to
vote for me. They held the vote last period. And I won. Well, over fifty percent, anyway. I KNEW this freshman class would respond to fear, and fear alone. It’s all they’ve ever known, after all.”

“Wow,” I said. “That’s great, Lilly.”

“Thanks,” Lilly said. “Although I don’t know what I’m telling YOU for, since you didn’t help in any way. You are not my vice president, by the way. Perin is. I don’t need a boyfriend stealer as my vice president, OR as a friend.”

“Lilly,” I said. “I did NOT steal your boyfriend. I told you, I only kissed him because—well, I don’t know why I kissed him. I just did. But—”

“You know what, Mia?” Lilly snapped. “I don’t want to hear it. Why don’t you save it for someone who cares? Like J.P., for instance.”

“J.P. doesn’t like me that way, Lilly,” I couldn’t help snapping back. “And you know it!”

“Do I?” Lilly asked, with an evil laugh. “Well, maybe I know something you don’t know, then.”

“What are you
talking
about?” I demanded. “Come on, Lilly, this is stupid. We’ve been friends too long to let a GUY come between us—”

“Yeah?” Lilly said. “Well, maybe we’ve been friends long enough, then. Good-bye, POG.”

Then I heard a click. Lilly hung up on me.

I couldn’t believe it. Lilly
hung up
on me.

I sat there, not having the slightest idea what to do. The truth was, I couldn’t believe any of this was happening. I’d lost my boyfriend and my best friend all in the same week. Was such a thing even possible?

I was still sitting there, holding the phone, when it rang again. I was so sure it was Lilly calling back to apologize for hanging up on me that I answered on the first ring and said, “Look, Lilly, I am so, so sorry. What can I do to make it up to you? I’ll do ANYTHING.”

But it wasn’t Lilly. A deep, masculine voice said, “Mia?”

And my heart soared. It was Michael. MICHAEL WAS CALLING ME! I didn’t know how, since he was supposedly on a plane. But what did I care? It was MICHAEL!

“Yes,” I said, my bones turning to jelly with relief. It was MICHAEL! I practically burst into tears—but this time with happiness, not sadness.

“It’s me,” the voice said. “J.P.”

My bones went from jelly to stone. My heart crashed back down to the earth.

“Oh,” I said, desperately trying to keep my disappointment from sounding obvious. Because a princess always tries to make callers feel welcome, even if they aren’t the caller she was expecting. Or hoping for. “Hi.”

“I take it you already talked to Lilly,” J.P. said.

“Um,” I said. How could I have thought it was Michael? Michael was on a plane, flying halfway across the world from me. And why would Michael ever bother calling me again, after what I did? “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“I’m guessing it probably went about as well as when I tried to talk to her, just now,” J.P. said.

“Yeah,” I said. I felt numb. Was numbness a symptom of dysthmia? Not just emotional numbness, but actual PHYSICAL numbness? “She pretty much hates my guts. And I guess she has a right to. I don’t know what I was thinking
back there outside of Chemistry, J.P. I am so, so sorry.”

J.P. laughed. “You don’t have to apologize to me,” he said. “I thoroughly enjoyed it.”

It was nice of him to be so chivalrous about it. But it somehow made it a little worse, in a way.

“I’m such an idiot,” I said miserably.

“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” J.P. said. “I just think you’ve had a really bad week. That’s why I’m calling. I figured you’d need cheering up, and I think I’ve got just the ticket. Literally.”

“I don’t know, J.P.,” I said dully. “I think I have dysthmia.”

“I don’t have the slightest idea what that is,” J.P. said. “But I do know that I am holding in my hand two box seat tickets to tonight’s Broadway performance of
Beauty and the Beast.
Would you be interested in coming with me?”

I couldn’t help gasping. Box seats, to my favorite musical of all time?

“H-how—” I stammered. “How did you—”

“Easy,” J.P. said. “My dad’s a producer, remember? So. You up for it? Show starts in an hour.”

Was he
kidding
? How had he
known
? How had he known this was EXACTLY what I needed to get my mind off what a total and complete jerk I had been to the two people I cared about most in the world (besides Fat Louie and Rocky, of course)?

“I’m up for it,” I said. “I’m totally up for it!”

“I’ll meet you outside the theater in forty-five minutes,” J.P. said. “And Mia.”

“What?”

“Just for tonight, let’s not mention either of the Moscovitzes. Deal?”

“Deal,” I said, smiling for what felt like the first time all day. “See you in a few minutes.”

I hung up the phone.

Then, before I went to change out of my school uniform and into something nice for the theater, I got up and walked over to my computer.

I clicked on my e-mail. No new messages.

But that was okay. I wasn’t expecting any. I didn’t actually
deserve
any.

I clicked on Michael’s last e-mail to me—the one I hadn’t answered. Then I clicked REPLY.

Then I thought for a while.

Then, finally, in the blank space, I wrote:

Michael. I’m sorry.

Then I clicked SEND.