Forever Princess

“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 writeand 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 onTrue 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. Iknow 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!

Friday, May 5, 12:15 p.m., the loft

M—Fashion 911, here to the rescue. You need to wear your Chip & Pepper jeans and your pink and black Alice + Olivia sequined top with that purple motorcycle jacket we picked out at Jeffrey and those super cute Prada platforms with the fringy things. Got it? Don’t overdo it on the makeup because I think he likes the natural type (whatever) and not chandelier earrings this time, go for studs, oooooh what about those cute little cherries I got you for your birthday? So appropriate for you HA HA HA!

—————————————

Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device

No! I think that’s all too much! By the way I’m getting my book published!

It’s not too much, just do what I say, don’t forget to curl your eyelashes, YAY ONPUT IT IN MY CANDYHOLE ! What color are you wearing to prom?

—————————————

Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device

I don’t know yet, Sebastiano is sending over a couple things. The Prada platforms are too much. I think I’ll go with boots. It’s not calledPut It in My Candyhole , I told you.

NO! IT IS MAY. NO BOOTS AT LUNCH. You may compromise with adorable velvet flats.

—————————————

Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device

Okay, you’re right about the flats. THANK YOU! I HAVE TO GO!!!! I’m late. I’m so nervous!!!!

Don’t worry. Trisha and I are going to be taking a boat out and may row by to check on you.

—————————————

Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device

NO! LANA!!! NO!!!! DO NOT COME BY!!! If you do, I will never speak to you again.

BYE!!! Have fun!

—————————————

Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device

Friday, May 5, 12:55 p.m., limo on the way to Central Park

I will stay away from Michael.

I will not hug him.

I will not even shake his hand.

I will not do anything that could, in any way, result in my smelling him, and losing control of myself, and doing something I might regret.

Not that it matters, because he doesn’t like me that way. Anymore. He thinks of me as just a friend.

But I mean, I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of him.

And anyway, I have a boyfriend. Who really, really loves me. Enough to want what’s best for me.

So, in conclusion:

Stay away from Michael—Check.

Do not hug him—Check.

Don’t even shake his hand—Check.

Do not do anything that could result in smelling him—Check.

Got it. I think I’m good. I can do this. I can totally do this. This is cinchy. We’re just friends. And it’s just lunch. Friends have lunch all the time.

Since when do friends give each other million-dollar pieces of medical equipment, though?

Oh, God.I can’t do this.

We’re here. I think I’m going to be sick.

An excerpt fromRansom My Heart by Daphne Delacroix

Finnula had been kissed before, it was true.

But the few men who’d tried it had lived to regret it, since she was as swift with her fists as she was with a bow.

Yet there was something about these particular lips, pressing so intently against hers, that caused nary a feeling of rancor within her.

He was an excellent kisser, her prisoner, his mouth moving over hers in a slightly inquisitive manner—not tentatively, by any means, but as if he was asking a question for which only she, Finnula, had the answer. It wasn’t until Finnula felt the intrusion of his tongue inside her mouth that she realized she’d answered that question, somehow, though she hardly knew how. Now there was nothing questioning at all in his manner; he’d launched the first volley and realized that Finnula’s defenses were down. He attacked, showing no mercy.

It was then that it struck Finnula, as forcibly as a blow, that this kiss was something out of the ordinary, and that perhaps she was not in as much control of the situation as she would have liked. Though she struggled against the sudden, dizzying assault on her senses, she could no sooner free herself from the hypnotic spell of his lips than he’d been able to break the bonds with which she’d tied him. She went completely limp in his arms, as if she were melting against him, except for her hands, which, as if of their own volition, slipped around his brawny neck, tangling in the surprisingly soft hair half-buried beneath the flung-back hood of his cloak. What was it, she wondered dimly, about the introduction of this man’s tongue into her mouth that seemed to have a direct correlation to a very sudden and very noticeable tightening sensation between her thighs?

Tearing her mouth away from his and placing a restraining hand against his wide chest, Finnula brought accusing eyes up to his face and was startled by what she saw there. Not the derisive smile or the mocking eyes she’d become accustomed to, but a mouth slack with desire and green eyes filled with…with what? Finnula could not put a name to what she saw within those orbs, but it frightened as much as it thrilled her.

She had to put a stop to this madness, before things went too far.

“Have you lost your reason?” she demanded, through lips that felt numb from the bruising pressure of his kiss. “Release me at once.”

Hugo lifted his head, his expression as dazed as a man who’d just roused from sleep. Blinking down at the girl in his arms, he gave every indication of having heard her, and yet his hand, still anchored upon her breast, tightened, as if he had no intention of releasing her. When he spoke, it was with a hoarse voice, his intonations slurred.

“I rather think it isn’t my reason I’ve lost, Maiden Crais, but my heart,” he rasped.

Friday, May 5, 4 p.m., limo on the way to therapy

I suck.

I am a horrible, terrible, awful person.

I don’t deserve to be in J.P.’s presence, let alone wear his ring.

I don’t know how it happened! How Ilet it happen.

Also, it was completely my fault. Michael had nothing to do with it.

Well, maybe he hada little bit to do with it.

But mostly it was me.

I’m the world’s worst, most disgusting girl.

And I know now that Grandmère and IDO come from the same bloodline. Because I’m just as bad as she is!

Maybe all of this really is from hanging out so much with Lana. Maybe she’s rubbed off on me!

Oh, God. I wonder if I have to give back my Domina Rei membership now? Surely a Domina Rei wouldn’t have done what I did?

It all started out so innocently, too. I got to the Boathouse, and Michael was there, waiting for me. And he looked fantastic (no big surprise), in a sport coat (but no tie), with his dark hair kind of messy like he’d just gotten out of the shower.

And the very first thing that happened—thevery first thing!—was that he came over to lean down to greet me with a kiss on the cheek.

And even though I tried to back away, crying, “Oh, no, I have a cold!”

He just laughed, and said, “I like your germs.”

And that’s when it happened. Well, the first time. I got a great big whiff of him, his fresh cleanMichael smell, all those dissimilar molecules smacking me in the olfactory senses all at the same time. I swear, it was so much I nearly fell over, and Lars had to reach out and lay a hand on my elbow and go, “Are you all right, Princess?”

No. The answer was no, I was not all right. I nearly got knocked out. Knocked out by desire! Desire for forbidden dissimilar molecules!

But I managed to pull myself together, and laughed like nothing had happened. (But something had! Something had happened! Somethingvery, very bad!)

Then we were being led to our sun-dappled table (Lars took up a seat at the bar so he could keep one eye on some sporting event, and one eye on me. Oh, why, Lars, why? Why did you sit so far off????), and Michael was chatting away, I had no idea about what, I was still all dazed by the pheromones or whatever that were tweet-tweeting around my head, and we had a table RIGHT BY THE LAKE, so I had to start keeping an eagle eye out for Lana and Trisha, in case they happened to row by.

But also I think I was dazzled by the sun twinkling on the water, it was all so beautiful and fresh and not like we were in New York at all, but in…well, Genovia, or something.

I swear, I felt as if I were on drugs.

Finally Michael was like, “Mia, are you all right?” and I shook my head like Fat Louie does when I’ve scratched his ears too much, and I went, laughing all nervously, “Yes, yes, I’m fine, I’m sorry, I’m just a little distracted.” But I couldn’t tell him WHY I was so distracted, of course.

Then at the last minute I remembered my excellent news, and I gushed, “I got a phone call this morning from an editor—she wants to publish my book.”

“That’s great!” Michael said, his face breaking out into this big smile. That wonderful smile that I remembered from back in my freshman year, when he used to slip into Algebra to help me with Mr. G’s assignmentsduring class, and I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. “We’ve got to celebrate!”

So then he ordered sparkling water, and he toasted my success, and I was totally embarrassed, so I toasted his success back (I mean, honestly, my romance novel isn’t going to save any lives, but as he pointed out, while his CardioArm is saving a patient’s life, the family members of that patient could very well be sitting in the waiting room keeping happy and calm by reading my book. Which is a very good point), and we sat there sipping Perrier on the water in the middle of a Friday afternoon in Central Park in New York City.

Until the bright rays of the afternoon sun caught on the diamond in the ring J.P. had given me, which I forgot to take off. Anyway, the resulting reflection sent an explosion of little rainbows all over Michael’s face, making him blink.

I was mortified, and said, “I’m sorry,” and slipped the ring off and put it in my bag.

“That’s some rock,” Michael said, with a teasing smile. “So are you guys, like, engaged now?”

“Oh, no,” I said. “It’s just a friendship ring.” Mia Thermopolis’s Big Fat Lie Number Eleven.

“I see,” Michael said. “Friendships have gotten a lot more…expensive than when I was at AEHS.”

Ouch.

But then Michael changed the subject. “And where’s J.P. going to college next year?”

“Well,” I said carefully. “Sean Penn’s optioned this play J.P. wrote, so he’s thinking about heading out to Hollywood next year, and doing college later.”

Michael looked very interested to hear that. “Really? So you guys would be doing the long-distance thing.”

“Well,” I said. “I don’t know. We’re talking about me going with him….”

“To Hollywood?” Michael sounded totally incredulous. Then he apologized. “Sorry. You just…I mean, you’ve just never struck me as the Hollywood type. Not that you aren’t glamorous enough now. Because you totally are.”

“Thanks,” I said, completely embarrassed. Fortunately the waiter had brought our salads by then, so I was able to distract myself by saying no, thank you, to ground pepper.

“But I know what you mean,” I went on, when the waiter went away. “I’m not really sure what I’d do all day in Hollywood. J.P. said I could write. But…I always thought if I put off college for a year, it would be to go out in one of those little boats that put themselves between the whaling ships and the humpbacks, or something. Not hang around on Melrose. You know?”

“Somehow I don’t see your parents giving the seal of approval to either of those plans,” Michael said.

“And then there’s that,” I said, with a sigh. “I have some things I need to figure out. And not a whole lot of time left to do it. The parental units want a decision on where I’m going by the election.”

“You’ll do the right thing,” Michael said confidently. “You always do.”

I just stared at him. “How can you even say that? I so do not.”

“Yes, you do,” he said. “In the end.”

“Michael, I screw everything up,” I said, laying down my fork. “You, more than anyone, should know that. I completely ruined our relationship.”

“No, you didn’t,” he said, looking shocked. “I did.”

“No,I did,” I said. I couldn’t believe we were finally saying these things…these things I’d been thinking for so long, and saying to other people—my friends, Dr. Knutz—but never to the one person to whom they really mattered…Michael. The person to whom I ought to have said them, ages ago. “I never should have made such a big deal over the Judith thing—”

“And I ought to have told you about it from the beginning,” Michael interrupted.

“Even so,” I said. “I acted like a complete and utter psycho—”

“No, Mia, you didn’t—”

“Oh my God,” I said, holding up my hand to stop him with a laugh. “Can we please not try to rewrite history? I did. You were right to break up with me. Things were getting too intense. We both needed a breather.”

“Yeah,” Michael said. “Abreather . You weren’t supposed to go and get engaged to someone else in the meantime.”

For a second after he said it, I couldn’t inhale. I felt as if all the oxygen in the room had been sucked out of it, or something. I just stared at him, not sure I’d heard him correctly. Had he really said…was it possible he’d really…?

Then he laughed, and, as the waiter came back to pick up his empty salad plate (I’d barely touched mine), said, “Just kidding. Look, I knew it was a risk. I couldn’t have expected you were going to wait around for me forever. You can get engaged—or, what is it? Right, friendship-ringed—to whomever you want. I’m just glad you’re happy.”

Wait. What was happening?

I didn’t know what to do or say. Grandmère had prepared me for tons of situations—from dealing with thieving maids to escaping from embassies during coups d’etat.

But honestly, nothing could have prepared me for this.

Was my ex-boyfriend really intimating that he wanted to get back together?

Or was I reading too much into things? (It wouldn’t be the first time.)

Fortunately just then our main courses came, and Michael steered the conversation back to normal ground like nothing had happened. Maybe nothinghad happened. Suddenly we were talking about whether or not Joss Whedon will ever make aBuffy the Vampire Slayer feature film and how much Karen Allen rocks and Boris’s concert and Michael’s company and Dad’s campaign. For two people with relatively nothing in common (because, let’s face it, he’s a robotic-surgical-arm designer. I’m a romance writer…and a princess. I love musicals and he hates them. Oh, and we have totally dissimilar DNA) we have never, ever run out of things to say to each other.

Which is completely weird.

Then, without my knowing quite how, we got to Lilly.

“Has your dad seen the commercial she made for him?” Michael asked.

“Oh,” I said, smiling. “Yes! It was wonderful. I couldn’t believe it. Was that…did you have something to do with that?”

“Well,” Michael said, smiling too. “She wanted to do it. But…I might have encouraged her a little. I can’t believe you two still aren’t friends again, after all this time.”

“We aren’tnot friends,” I said, remembering what Lilly had told me about how he’d said she had to be nice to me. “We just…I don’t know what happened, really. She never would tell me.”

“She’d never tell me, either,” Michael said. “You really have no idea?”

I flashed back to an image of Lilly’s face as we sat in G&T that day she told me J.P. had broken up with her. I’d always wondered if that had been it. Could this whole thing have been over a boy? Is that what I was being sodense about?

But that would be so stupid. Lilly wasn’t the type of person to let something as dumb as a boy get in the way of a friendship. Not with her best friend.

“I really,” I said, “have no idea.”

The dessert menus came, and Michael insisted on ordering one of each dessert, so we could try them all (because this was a celebration), while he told me stories about the cultural differences in Japan—how one takeout restaurant delivered meals in actual china bowls that he’d place outside his door when he was finished eating, and the restaurant would come back to pick them up, which takes recycling to another level—and some of the embarrassments he’d suffered because of them (karaoke ballad singing, which his Japanese coworkers had taken very seriously, high among them).

And as he talked, it became clear that he and Micromini Midori? Not a couple. He mentioned her boyfriend, who is apparently a karaoke champion in Tsukuba, several times.

Then I started giggling in a different way when, after all the desserts came, I noticed two girls in a boat in the center of the lake, arguing fiercely with each other, and rowing in circles, not getting anywhere. Lana’s plan of spying on me completely and utterly failed.

It was later, after the check came—and Michael paid, even though I said I wanted to takehim out, to thank him for the donation to the hospital—that thingsreally started to fall apart.

Well, maybe they’d been falling apart all afternoon—steadily crumbling—and I just hadn’t been paying attention. Things have a tendency to do that in my life, I’ve noticed. It was when we were standing outside the Boathouse, and Michael asked what I had to do for the rest of the day, and I admitted that—for once—I had nothing to do (until my therapy appointment, but I didn’t mention that. I’ll tell him about therapy someday. But not today), that everything disintegrated like one of the madeleines we’d been nibbling on.

“Nothing to do until four? Good,” Michael said, taking my arm. “Then we can keep on celebrating.”

“Celebrating how?” I asked stupidly. I was trying to concentrate on not smelling him. I wasn’t really paying attention to anything else. Like where we were going.

“Have you ever been in one of these?” he asked.

That’s when I saw that he had led me over to one of those cheesy horse carriages that are all over Central Park.

Well, okay, maybe they’re not cheesy. Maybe they’re romantic and Tina and I talk about secretly wanting to ride in them all the time. But that’s not the point.

“Of course I’ve never been in one of these,” I cried, acting horrified. “They’re so touristy! And PETA is trying to get them banned. And they’re for people who are on dates.”

“Perfect,” Michael said. He handed the carriage driver, who was wearing a ridiculous (by which I mean, fantastic) old-timey outfit with a top hat, some money. “We’ll go around the park. Lars, get up front. And don’t turn around.”

“No!” I practically screamed. But I was laughing. I couldn’t help it. Because it was so ludicrous. And so something I’ve always wanted to do, but never told anyone (except Tina, of course), for fear of being ridiculed. “I amnot getting in there! These things are cruel to horses!”

The carriage driver looked offended.

“I take excellent care of my horse,” she said. “Probably better than you take care of your pets, young lady.”

I felt bad then—plus, Michael gave me a look, like—See, you hurt her feelings. Now youhaveto get in.

I didn’t want to. I really didn’t!

Not because it was stupid and touristy and I was afraid someone would see me (of course I didn’t care about that, because secretly it’s something I’ve always longed to do). But because—it was a romantic horse-and-buggy ride! With someone who wasn’t my boyfriend!

Worse, with someone who was my ex-boyfriend! And whom I’d sworn I wasn’t going to get close to today.

But Michael looked so sweet standing there with his hand out all expectantly, and his eyes so kind, like,Come on. It’s just a cheesy carriage ride. What could happen?

And at the time, all I could think was that he was right. I mean, what harm could one buggy ride around the park do?

Also, I looked all around, and I didn’t see any paparazzi.

And the red velvet bench in the back of the carriage looked roomy enough. We could definitely both fit on it and not touch or anything. Like, I could easily sit there and not run the risk of smelling him.

And really, in the end, how romantic could a cheesy touristy buggy ride be to a jaded New Yorker like myself? Despite J.P.’s portrayal of me inA Prince Among Men as a kook who is constantly in need of rescuing (which is completely inaccurate), I’m actually very tough. I’m going to be a published author!

So, rolling my eyes and pretending to be allI’m so over this , I laughingly let Michael help me into the carriage and sat down on the lumpy bench. Meanwhile, Lars climbed up beside the lady in the top hat, and she started the horse, and we got going with a lurch….

And it turned out I was wrong.

The bench wasnot that big.

And I’mnot that jaded of a New Yorker.

Even now, I can’t really say how it happened. And it seemed to happen pretty much right away, too. One minute Michael and I were sitting calmly beside each other on that bench, Not Kissing, and the next…we were in each other’s arms. Kissing. Like two people who had never kissed before.

Or, rather, like two people who used to kiss a lot, and really liked it, and then had been deprived of kissing each other for a very long time. And then, suddenly, were reintroduced to kissing, and remembered they liked it. Quite a bit.

And so they started doing it again. A lot. Like a couple of kiss-starved maniacs, who had been in a kissing desert for approximately twenty-one months.

We basically made out from, like, Seventy-second Street, all through the park, and up to Fifty-seventh. That’s, like, twenty blocks, give or take a few.

YES. WE KISSED FOR TWENTY BLOCKS. IN BROAD DAYLIGHT. IN AN OLD-TIMEY HORSE CARRIAGE!

Anyone could have seen us. AND TAKEN PICTURES!!!!

I have no idea what came over me. One minute I was enjoying the clip-clop of the horse hooves and the beautiful scenery of the lush green leaves of the park. And the next…

And yes, I will admit it did seem like Michael was sitting AWFULLY close to me on that benchy thing at first.

And, okay, I did sort of notice his arm went around me when the carriage first lurched forward. But that was only natural. I thought it was sweet. It was the kind of thing a friend—a guy friend—might do for a girl friend.

But then Michael didn’t take his arm away.

And then I got another whiff of him.

And it was all over. I knew it was all over, but I turned my head to tell him—in a polite way, of course, the way a princess would—not to bother, that I’m with J.P. now and that it’s hopeless, I won’t do anything to hurt or betray J.P. because he was there for me when I was at my most despairing, and Michael should just give it up, if that was what he intended. Which it probably wasn’t. But just in case.

But somehow those words never came out of my mouth.

Because when I turned my head to tell Michael all that, I saw that he was looking at me, and I couldn’t help looking back, and something in his eyes—I don’t know. It was like there was a question there. I don’t know what the question was.

Okay. I guess I do.

In any case, I’m pretty sure I answered it when he brought his lips down over mine.

And, like I said, we kept on kissing, passionately, for twenty-something blocks instead. Or whatever. Math’s not my best subject.

Actually, as long as I’m confessing everything, I should admit there was more than kissing. There was a little—discreet—below-the-neck action as well. I really hope Lars did what Michael asked and didn’t turn around.

Anyway, when the carriage stopped, I finally came to my senses. I guess it was the fact there was no more clip-clopping sound. Or maybe it was just the final lurch that practically threw us both off the bench.

That’s when I was like, “Oh my God!” and stared up at Michael, all horrified, realizing what I’d just done.

Which was make out with a boy who wasn’t my boyfriend. For a really long time.

I guess the most horrifying part was how much I’d liked it. Which was a lot. A whole lot. That major histocompatibility complex thing? It does NOT mess around.

And I could tell Michael had felt the same way.

“Mia,” he said, looking down at me with his dark eyes filled with something I was almost afraid to put a name to, and his chest going all up and down like he’d just been running. His hands were in my hair. He was cradling my head. “Youhave to know. You have to know I lo—”

But I smashed my hand over his mouth just like I’d done to Tina. My hand that used to have the three-carat diamond ring on it. From another boy.

I said,“DO NOT SAY IT.”

Because I knew what he was going to say.

That’s when I said, instead, “Lars, we’re leaving.Now .”

And Lars hopped down from the top of the carriage and helped me from the bench. And the two of us went to my waiting limo.

And I climbed inside. And I totally did not look back.

Not even once.

And there’s a message on my phone from Michael, but I’m not looking at what it says. I’m NOT.

Because I can’t do this to J.P. Ican’t .

Oh my God, though. I love Michael so much.

Oh, thank God. We’re here.

Dr. Knutz and I have alot to talk about today.

Friday, May 5, 6 p.m., limo home from Dr. Knutz’s office

When I walked into Dr. Knutz’s office, Grandmère was there. AGAIN.

I demanded to know why. WHY she keeps insisting on violating my doctor-patient confidentiality. And okay, today was supposed to be my last therapy session ever, but still. Just because I’d invited her to join me a few times before didn’t mean she could keep showing up to my appointments ALL the time.

She tried to use the excuse that this is the only place she knows she can find me. (Too bad she didn’t look out her window at the Plaza a little while ago, she could have seen her granddaughter going around Central Park in a horse-and-carriage in a lip-lock with a boy who is not her boyfriend.)

Which I supposed (then) was a reasonable excuse. But that still didn’t make it RIGHT, and I told her that.

Of course, she fully ignored me. She said she needed to know if it was true I’m getting a romance novel published and if so how I could do this to the family and why didn’t I just shoot her if I wanted to kill her, and get it over with? Why did I have to do it this way, by slowly humiliating her in front of all her friends? Why couldn’t I be more like Bella Trevanni Alberto who is such a perfect granddaughter (I swear if I have to hear thisone more time …)?

Then she started in about Sarah Lawrence (again) and how she knows I have to pick a college by election day (also PROM), and if I’djust pick Sarah Lawrence (the college she would have gone to if she’d bothered going to college), then everything would be all right.

I let out a shriek of frustration and stormed right past Grandmère and straight into Dr. Knutz’s office without waiting to hear any more. Because really, how ridiculous can that woman be? Besides, I was in crisis mode, what with this thing with Michael. I don’t have time for Grandmère’s histrionics.

Anyway, Dr. Knutz listened calmly to what had just happened—with me and Grandmère, I mean—and said he was sorry, and that obviously, since this was my last session, it wouldn’t happen again, but that he’d speak to Grandmère if I wanted. For what good that will do.

Then he listened to me describe what had just happened with Michael.

And his response was to ask me if I’d given any thought to the story he’d told me last week about his horse, Sugar.

“Because as I was explaining, Mia,” Dr. Knutz went on, “sometimes a relationship that seems perfect on paper doesn’t always work out in reality, just like Sugar looked like a perfect horse on paper, but in real life, we just didn’t click.”

SUGAR! I pour my heart out about my romantic travails (and pain-in-the-butt grandmother), and Dr. Knutz still can’t talk about anything but his stupid horses.

“Dr. K,” I said. “Can we talk about something else besides horses for a minute?”

“Of course, Mia,” he said.

“Well,” I said. “My parents have told me I have to pick out a college to go to by Dad’s election—and my prom. And I can’t decide. I mean, it seems as if every school that let me in only did so because I’m a princess—”

“But you don’tknow that to be true,” Dr. Knutz said.

“No, but with my SAT scores, it’s pretty obvious—”

“We’ve discussed this before, Mia,” Dr. Knutz said. “You know you’re supposed to be concentrating on not obsessing over things you have no control over. What, in fact, are you supposed to do instead?”

I raised my gaze to the painting behind his head, of a herd of stampeding mustangs. How many hours have I gazed at that painting over the past twenty-one months, wishing it would fall on his head? Not enough to hurt him. Just enough to startle him.

“Accept the things I cannot change,” I said. “And pray for the courage to change the things I can, as well as the wisdom to know the difference.”

The thing is…I know this is good advice. It’s called the Serenity Prayer, and it really does put things in perspective (it’s supposed to be for recovering alcoholics, but it helps recovering freakoutaholics, like me, as well).

But honestly, it’s something I could have toldmyself.

What’s becoming more clear to me every day now is that I’ve graduated. Not just from high school and princess lessons, but from therapy, too. Not that I’m self-actualized or anything, because Lord knows, I’m not…I don’t believe anyone can ever achieve self-actualization anymore. Not and still be a thinking, learning human being.

I’ve just realized the truth, which is: No one can help me. My problems are just too weird. Where am I going to find a therapist with experience helping an American girl who finds out she is, in fact, a princess of a small European country, who also has a mother who married her Algebra teacher, a father who can’t commit to romantic relationships at all, a best friend who won’t speak to her, an ex-boyfriend she can’t stop kissing in a Central Park carriage, a boyfriend who wrote a play revealing intimate details about them, and a grandmother who is certifiably insane?

Nowhere. That’s where.

I have to solve my own problems from now on. And you know what? I’m pretty sure I’m ready.

But I didn’t want Dr. Knutz to feel bad, because he had helped me a lot, in the past. So I said, “Dr. Knutz. Would you mind looking at a text message with me?”

“Not at all,” he said.

So we opened Michael’s message together.

It said:

Mia,

I’m not sorry.

And I’ll wait.

Love,

Michael

Wow.

Also…wow.

Even Dr. Knutz agreed. Although I doubt Michael’s note made his heart pound faster—Mi-chael, Mi-chael, Mi-chael—the way it did mine.

“Oh, my,” Dr. Knutz said, about Michael’s text. “That’s very direct. So. What will you do?”

“Do?” I said sadly. “I’m not going todo anything. I’m going out with J.P.”

“But you aren’t attracted to J.P.,” Dr. Knutz said.

“I am, too!” I said. How didhe know that? I’d never admitted that. To him, anyway. “Or, at least…Well, I’m working on it.”

Science. The problem is, it’s science. Which I’ve never been very good at.

But there are ways to beat science. That’s what scientists, like Kenneth Showalter, do. All day long. Find ways to beat science. I have to beat this thing with Michael. Because I can’t hurt J.P. Ican’t. He’s been too kind to me.

“Mia,” Dr. Knutz asked, with a sigh. “Are we not actually done here?”

Uh…yeah. We totally are.

“I can’t break up with a perfectly nice guy,” I said, wondering if I was going to have to explain my dad’s theory about me being a tease, “just because my old boyfriend wants to get back together with me.”

“You not only can, but must, if you’re still in love with that old boyfriend,” Dr. Knutz said. “It isn’t fair to the perfectly nice guy, otherwise.”

“Oh!” I dropped my face into my hands. “Look, I know, okay? I don’t know what to do!”

“You do,” Dr. Knutz said. “And you’ll do it, when the time is right. Speaking of time…ours is up.”

AAAAARGH!!!!

And what is he talking about, I’ll know what to do when the time is right? I have no idea what to do!

Actually, I do: I want to move to Japan and have food in real plates delivered to my door, living under an assumed name (Daphne Delacroix).

Friday, May 5, 9:30 p.m., the loft

Tina just called. She wanted to know how my lunch date with Michael went. She’s called a few times before, actually, but I didn’t pick up (J.P.’s called a few times, too). I just couldn’t face speaking to either of them. The shame, you know? How could I possibly tell her?

And how can I possibly ever speak to J.P. again? I know I’ll have to, eventually. But…not now.

Anyway, I didn’t tell her now when I spoke to her, either. I just went, “Oh, lunch was fine,” all breezy and casual. I didn’t say a word about old-timey carriages or making out for blocks on end or anything about below-the-neck fondling.

GOD! I’m such a slut!

“Really?” Tina said. “That’s so great! So…what about MHS?”

“MHC, you mean? Oh, fine, fine. All under control.”

A slut and a LIAR!

“Well…” Tina sounded like she couldn’t believe it. “That’s great, Mia! So, you and Michael really can just be friends, then.”

“Sure,” I said. Mia Thermopolis’s Big Fat Lie Number Twelve. “No problem.”

“That’s great,” Tina said. “It’s just that…”

“What?” I said. Oh, no. What had she heard? Had Lana and Trisha finally gotten their rowing under control and followed us? I’d gotten a text from Lana that just said,)(&$#! Which I took to mean Lana had had too much sake at Nobu, a usual event on a Friday.

“Well, I was talking to Boris,” Tina said. “And did you know, he was telling me that the whole time Michael was in Japan—you’re going to laugh when you hear this, I suppose—he had Boris kind of…well, keeping an eye on you. You know, while you guys were in Gifted and Talented together? I can’t believe Boris didn’t tell me before. But he said Michael said not to say anything to me. They’re better friends than I thought, I guess. Anyway, Boris says he thinks Michael’s seriously in love with you, and always has been. That he never stopped loving you, even after you guys broke up. I guess he just thought it wasn’t fair to ask you to wait for him while he was away, trying to prove himself to your dad, or whatever, you know? God, it’s just…it’s so romantic.”

I had to move the phone away from my face, because I’d started to cry. And I was afraid Tina would hear my sniffling.

“Yeah,” I said. “Thatis romantic.”

“Not like Boris was spying on you, or anything,” Tina said. “I mean, I’ve never told him any of the stuff you and I have talked about. Anyway, Boris told me the reason Michael left your birthday party the other night when J.P. pulled out that ring was exactly why I said…because he couldn’t stand seeing you get engaged-to-be-engaged to another guy. Boris didn’t say Michael said this, but I don’t think Michael likes J.P. very much. On account of him being jealous, because J.P.’s with you now. Isn’t that just the sweetest thing you ever heard?”

Tears were totally streaming down my face. But I pretended like they weren’t.

“Uh-huh,” I said. “Sweet!”

“But he didn’t say anything about that at lunch?” Tina asked. “You guys didn’t talk about it at all?”

“Nope,” I said. “I mean, Tina…I’m with J.P. now. I would never do that to him.”

Liar!

“Gee,” Tina said. “Well, of course not. You’re not that kind of girl!”

“Nope,” I said. “I gotta go. I’m gonna hit the hay early to get my beauty sleep for the prom.”

“Oh, sure,” Tina said. “Me too! Well, see you tomorrow!”

“See you,” I said, and hung up.

Then I bawled like a baby for, like, ten whole minutes, until Mom came into my room looking all bewildered, and was like, “What’s the matter now?”

And I just went, “Hold me, Mommy.”

And even though I’m eighteen and a legal adult, I crawled into my mom’s lap and stayed there for, like, ten minutes, until Rocky came over and went, “YOU’RE not the baby! I am!”

And Mom said, “She gets to be the baby sometimes.”

So then Rocky thought about it, and finally said, “Okay,” and patted me on the cheek and said, “Good baby.”

Somehow, this made me feel better.

At least a little bit.

Saturday, May 6, midnight, the loft

I just got the following e-mail from J.P.

Mia,

I’ve tried to call you a few times, but you aren’t picking up. I know you’re probably really mad at me, but just, please, listen to what I have to say…. I know you asked me notto, but I spoke to Sean anyway about your book.Please don’t be mad. I only did it because I love you, and I want what’s best for you.

And when you hear what Sean just called and told me, I think you’re going to be pleased that I spoke to him: He’s good friends with the president of Sunburst Publishing (you know, they do all those novels that get reviewed inThe New York Times that you never read, the ones that got turned into movies starring all Sean’s friends). And they would LOVE to publish your book (providing they can do so under HRH Princess Amelia Renaldo of Genovia). Sean says they’d be willing to offer a quarter of a million dollars for it.

Isn’t that fantastic, Mia? Don’t you think you should reconsider that other offer you got? I mean, it’s a tiny percentage of that.

Anyway, I just thought I’d try to help. Sweet dreams, and…I can’t wait until tomorrow night.

I love you,

J.P.

So.

The thing is, I probablyshould take Sunburst Publishing’s offer. That quarter of a million dollars…that’s a ton more money that I could donate to Greenpeace. But…Sunburst Publishing has never evenread my book. They have no idea if it’s any good. They’re just offering to publish it because of who I am.

And that’s just not how I want to get a publishing contract. That’s like…writing a play about your girlfriend, the princess. In a way.

I know baby seals and the rain forests are going to suffer because of my selfishness, but…

I just can’t do it. I CAN’T.

I suck. I suck more than any human being on the planet.

Saturday, May 6, 10 a.m., the loft

All I could think about all night long was J.P. and the baby seals I’m not saving by not taking Sunburst Publishing’s money.

And Michael, of course.

I don’t think I slept for more than a few hours. It was terrible.

I woke with a splitting headache and still no idea what I’m going to do about the two of them, to find exit polls in Genovia showing my dad totally tied with René in today’s election for prime minister.

Almost all the news outlets I’ve seen credit Lilly’s commercial (although they don’t name her, of course) and the donation of new state-of-the-art medical equipment to the Royal Genovian Hospital as reasons for Dad’s sudden boost in the polls.

I seriously can’t believe it if it’s true. TheMoscovitzes saved the prime ministry for my dad?

And yet…

Has there ever been anything either of them hasn’t been able to accomplish if they’ve set their mind to it?

No. Not really. It’s scary, actually.

The polls close at noon our time (which is six Genovia time). So we’ve got two more hours to go. Mr. G is making waffles (regular ones this time, not heart-shaped) while we wait for the call.

I’m keeping everything I have crossed for luck.

There’s no way René can win. I mean…noway . Not even Genovians can be that stupid.

Oh, wait. Did I just write that?

Tonight is the prom. I know I have to go…I can’t get out of it.

And yet there’s never been anything I’ve less wanted to do in my entire life.

And that includes becoming a princess.

Saturday, May 6, noon, the loft

The polls are closed.

Dad just called.

It’s officially too close to tell.

I wish I hadn’t eaten so many waffles. I feel totally sick.

Saturday, May 6, 1 p.m., the loft

Grandmère is here. She brought Sebastiano and all the dresses I’m supposed to choose from for the prom as her excuse for why she showed up.

But you can tell she’s here because she just didn’t want to wait alone in her condo at the Plaza for the results.

I know how she feels.

Rocky is thrilled, of course. He’s all, “Gwandmare, Gwandmare,” and blowing her air kisses the way she taught him. She’s pretending to catch them, and clutch them to her heart.

I swear, when she’s around babies, Grandmère is a totally different person.

We’re all just sitting here waiting for the phone call.

This is excruciating.

Saturday, May 6, 6 p.m., the loft

Still no word from Dad.

I finally told them all I had to go. Get ready, I mean. Paolo was coming by with all his equipment to give me the perfect blowout. Plus, I had to shave my legs and do all the other stuff you have to do to get beautified before an evening out…purifying mud mask, Crest Whitestrips, Bioré pore strips, etc. (I didn’t even want to think about what might be coming after my evening out tonight.)

Every twenty minutes or so I poked my head out of my room and asked if they’d heard anything, though.

But Dad didn’t call. I can’t tell if this is a good sign or a bad sign. The vote shouldn’t be this close. Should it?

Finally I was ready to choose a dress. I had my hair done—Paolo put the front up in the diamond and sapphire clips Grandmère had given me for my birthday, but left the back hanging loose in a sort of flip—and everything was clean and moisturized and polished and shaved and smelled nice.

Not that it matters, really, because I’ve already decided no one is going to get close enough to inspect any of those parts of me. I mean, I have enough problems as it is—I don’t need sex compounding them.

Actually, I was trying very hard not to think about what was going to happenafter the prom—or what I was getting myself into. I mean, the whole after-prom thing just had this big DO NOT ENTER sign over it in my brain. I had decided the only way to get through this night was to take it—literally—one minute at a time. I had even e-mailed J.P. back and said, “Thanks!” for his Sunburst Publishing offer.

I didn’t say that I’d already taken the other offer, or decided against taking his, or anything like that. It just didn’t seem worth arguing about. We were going to have a nice, worry-free evening at our senior prom, I’d decided.

Because I owed him that much, at least.

Everything was going to be okay. No one had to know I’d spent a big chunk of yesterday making out with my ex-boyfriend in an old-timey horse carriage. Except my ex-boyfriend and bodyguard and the horse-carriage driver.

Who I really, really hoped wouldn’t turn out to have recognized me and gone running to TMZ about it.

I tried on a bunch of Sebastiano’s dresses and did a little mini fashion show for Grandmère, Mom, Mr. G, Rocky, Lars, Sebastiano, and Ronnie from next door, who’d come over (and kept going, “Girl, you lookpop pin’ fresh!” and, “I can’t believe how much you’ve grown since you were just a knock-kneed little thing in overalls and Ralph Nader buttons!”).

In the end, everyone agreed on this short tight black lace kind of retro eighties cocktail number, which isn’t very princessy or very promlike, but sort of suited the fact that I’m a girl who yesterday totally cheated on her boyfriend (even though, of course, nobody knows that but me and Lars, and possibly the carriage driver).

If kissing counts as cheating. Which technically I really don’t think it does. Especially if it’s with your ex.

We won’t even get into the below-the-neck fondling part.

So now I’m just waiting for J.P. to show and pick me up. And then we’ll be off to the Waldorf to fulfill all my prom night dreams of rubbery chicken and dancing to lame music. Just like I always said I didn’t want to be doing tonight. Yay! I can so wait.

Wait, someone’s knocking on the door to my room. That can’t be…Oh. It’s Mom.

Saturday, May 6, 6:30 p.m., the loft

I should have known Mom wouldn’t let me go off to as momentous an occasion as my senior prom without a meaningful speech. She’s given me one at every other turning point in my life. Why would the prom be any exception?

This one was about how just because I’ve been going out with J.P. for almost two years, I shouldn’t feelobligated to do anything Idon’t feel like doing . That boys sometimes put pressure on girls, claiming that they haveneeds , and that if girls really loved them they’d help them fulfill those needs, but that boys won’t really explode or go insane if those needs aren’t met.

Not that J.P. is that kind of boy, Mom hastened to explain. But you never know. He might turn into one. The prom does funny things to boys.

I had to try really hard to keep a straight face the whole time she was talking, because I took Health in tenth grade so I already know boys won’t explode if they don’t have sex. There was also the small fact that what she was talking about was SO NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN IN A MILLION YEARS.

Except, of course, the day before yesterday, it actually kind of sort of was, since having sex with J.P. after the prom had been my idea in the first place.

So, she did have a point. Not, of course, that I was going to have sex with himanymore . At least, if there was the slightest chance that I could get out of it, which, of course, there was. By just saying no. Which I had every intention of doing.

Although I really didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

I really wished I could ask her how I could do that, but then, of course, she’d know I’d been thinking about Doing It, and there was no way on God’s green earth I was bringing THAT up, even though, of course, she was.

Then Mom went on to say that the prom does funny things to girls, too, and that although she knew that I’m a very different kind of girl thanshe’d been whenshe’d been a teen (back in the eighties, when no one had ever heard of abstinence, and Mom had lost her virginity at the age of fifteen to a boy who’d later gone on to marry a Corn Princess), she hoped that if I got carried away tonight—though she’d prefer it if I didn’t—I’d at least practice safe sex.

“Mo-o-om,” I said, cringing with embarrassment. Because this is the only appropriate response to such a statement.

“Well,” Mom said. “Give us parents some credit, Mia. When you come straggling home after breakfast the day after the prom, we all know where most of you have been, and it isn’t an all-night bowling alley.”

Busted!

“Mom,” I said, in a different voice. “I—er—uh—okay. Thanks.”

Thank GOD the buzzer just went off. Here he is.

And here I go.

Saved by the bell.

Literally.

Or not.

I really don’t know, actually.

I can do this. I can totally do this.

Saturday, May 6, 9 p.m., the Waldorf-Astoria, ladies’ room

I can’t do this.

Don’t get me wrong, J.P. is being totally sweet. He even got me a corsage—just like he said he would—to wear on my wrist.

Fortunately Grandmère remembered to get J.P. a boutonniere (I never thought I’d be so grateful to her), since I completely forgot. Mom got a lot of pictures of me pinning it onto his lapel.

Which wasn’t too embarrassing, or anything.

I guess shecan be like normal moms, when she wants to.

Anyway, we got here—I managed to act pretty normal on the ride over, not giving away that I’d been making out with my ex-boyfriend yesterday—and the room is beautiful. The Waldorf-Astoria ballroom is gorgeous, with its huge high ceilings and lusciously set, foofy tables and sumptuous decor and thick carpets. The prom committee outdid themselves with the welcome signs and the AEHS memorabilia and the DJ and whatnot.

And J.P. istotally into it. I mean, I thoughtI used to be into it, back when I was a freshman and I lived and breathed prom,prom , PROM!

But J.P.loves it. He wants to dance every single dance. He ate every bit of his chicken (rubbery, just as I suspected) and he ate mine, too (I’m a flexatarian, but notthat flex). He brought his digital camera, and he’s taken 8,000 pictures—we’re all at a big table together, Lana and her date (a Westpointer, in full uniform), and Trisha and Shameeka with theirs, and Tina and Boris, and Perin and Ling Su and some guys they dug up somewhere for the benefit of their parents. Every five minutes, J.P. is like, “Smile!”

Which isn’t so bad. But as we were coming in, he made me stop and pose for the paparazzi with him outside the hotel (which…I’m trying to understand. I mean, first Blue Ribbon…then my party…then his play…now the prom. Is it just me or is it like TMZ has LoJack on my boyfriend?).

But that’s not the worst part. Not by a long shot. Oh, no. The worst part is, the boys at the table were all bragging about what hotel rooms they’d gotten for after prom (which, no offense, but except for J.P. and maybe Boris, I happen to know the GIRLS all made the hotel room reservations), and showing off their keys, and J.P. whipped his Waldorf key out like it was nothing—right in front of everybody.

I wanted to die. I mean, I don’t even know Lana’s, Trisha’s, and Shameeka’s dates! Can we not show alittle discretion? Especially since—

Wait a minute.

Howdid J.P. get a room at the Waldorf when Tina said the hotel was sold out so many weeks ago? And J.P. only called this past week?

Saturday, May 6, 10 p.m., Waldorf-Astoria, table ten

I just marched back up to our table and asked J.P. about the hotel reservation.

And he told me, “Oh, I called, and they had a room. It was no problem. Why?”

But when I asked Tina what she thought about it later, after J.P. had gone to get me some punch, she said, “Well, I guess…maybe…they had a cancellation?”

But wouldn’t they have had a waiting list?

And how could J.P. have been at the top of the waiting list, callingthat day ?

Something just didn’t seem right about his answer. It’s not that I don’t trust J.P. But that…that seemed weird to me.

So I went to my source for all evil and duplicitous scheming (now that Lilly is basically out of my life): Lana.

She stopped sucking face with her date long enough to go, “Duh. He must have made the reservationmonths ago. He was obviously planning on getting with you tonight all along. Now go away, can’t you see I’m busy?”

But that can’t possibly be true. Because J.P. and I never even discussed the possibility of having sex tonight—until I texted him about it the other day. We’ve never even gotten to second base before! Why would he assume I’d want to have sex on prom night? He didn’t evenask me to go to the prom until last week. I mean, isn’t making a reservation for a hotel room on our prom night without even having asked me to go to the prom a little bit…presumptuous?

So. Yeah. I started freaking out. Just a little. About that. I mean, could J.P. really have been planning, all this time, for us to have sex tonight? When we’ve never eventalked about it?

The thing is…I can tell by his play and all that he’s planning on marrying me and becoming a prince someday. He even called his playA Prince Among Men . So…it’s not like he doesn’t plan for the future. He’s even gotten me a gigantic ring.

And maybe it isn’t an engagement ring.

But it’s the next closest thing.

And that’s not all. When we were dancing just now, I said, just casually commenting, really, because it’s something I’ve been thinking about since my close call with the carriage ride yesterday, “J.P., do you think it’s weird how everywhere you and I go together, the paparazzi show up? Like tonight, for instance?”

And J.P. said, “Well, it’s good press for Genovia, don’t you think? Your grandmother’s always saying every time you appear in the papers, it’s like a free tourism ad for your country.”

And I said, “I guess. But it’s just strange because they show up so randomly. Like when I went to Applebee’s the other night with Mamaw and Papaw, I was terrified the paps were going to show up and get a shot of me. And that would have ruined Dad’s chances in the election. Can you imagine if TMZ or whoever had gotten a shot of me eating in an Applebee’s? But they didn’t.”

And they didn’t show up yesterday, when I was in the old-timey horse carriage with Michael. But I didn’t add that part out loud. Obviously.

“I just don’t get how sometimes they know where I’m going to be, and sometimes they don’t,” I went on. “I know Grandmère’s not tipping them off. She’s evil, but she’s notthat evil—”

J.P. didn’t say anything. He just kept holding me close and dancing.

“In fact,” I said. “They mostly only seem to show up when I’m with…you.”

“I know,” J.P. said. “It’s so annoying, isn’t it?”

Yeah. It is. Because it only started happening, really, when I started going out with J.P. My very first date with J.P., when we went to seeBeauty and the Beast together. That was the first time the press got a shot of us, coming out of the theater, looking like a couple, even though we weren’t.

I’d always wondered who’d called and told them we were there together. And every other subsequent date we’d gone on, many of which there’d been no way they could have known about in advance—like when we’d gone to Blue Ribbon Sushi the other night. How had they known about that, a casual sushi date around the corner from my house? I go out to eat around the corner from my house all the time, and the paps never show up.

Unless J.P. is there.

“J.P.,” I said, looking up at him in the blue and pink party lights. “Areyou the one who’s been calling the paps and telling them where they can find us?”

“Who, me?” J.P. laughed. “No way.”

I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was that laugh…which sounded just slightly nervous. Maybe it was the fact that after all this time, he still hadn’t read my book. Maybe it was the fact that he’d put that sexy dancing scene in his play, for everyone to laugh at. Or maybe it was the fact that his character, J.R., seemed to want to be a prince so very, very badly.

But somehow, I just knew:

That “No way” was J.P. Reynolds-Abernathy IV’s Big Fat Lie Number One. Actually, make that Number Two. I think he was lying about the hotel room reservation, too.

I couldn’t stop staring at him, gazing down at me with that nervous smile on his lips.

This, I thought, wasn’t the J.P. I knew. The J.P. who didn’t like it when they put corn in his chili and who kept a creative writing journal that was a Mead composition notebook exactly like all of mine and who’d been in therapy for way longer than I had. This was some different J.P.

Except it wasn’t. This was the exact same J.P.

Only I knew him better now.

“I mean,” J.P. said, with a laugh. “Why would I do that? Call the paparazzi on myself?”

“Maybe,” I said, “because you like seeing yourself in the paper?”

“Mia,” he said, looking down at me with the same nervous smile on his face. “Come on. Let’s just dance. You know what? I heard a rumor we might get voted prom king and queen.”

“My foot hurts,” I said. This was a lie. But for once, I didn’t feel guilty about it. “These are new shoes. I think I have to sit down a minute.”

“Oh, no,” J.P. said. “I’ll go see if I can find you a Band-Aid. Stay here.”

So J.P. is looking for a Band-Aid.

And I’m trying to figure this out.

How could J.P.—J.P., who is so big and blond and good-looking, the guy with whom I have so much in common, the guy everyone liked so much better for me than Michael—be someone it turns out I may have nothing in common with at all?

It can’t be possible. Itcan’t be.

Except…what was Dr. Knutz talking about the other day?

His story about his horse, Sugar. The thoroughbred, who looked so good on paper, but in whose saddle he could never find a comfortable place? Dr. Knutz had to give up Sugar, because he never wanted to ride her, and it wasn’t fair to Sugar.

I get it now. I so get it.

Some people canseem perfect…everything about them can, on paper, be just right.

Until you get to know them.Really know them.

Then you find out, in the end, while they might be perfect to everyone else, they just aren’t right foryou.

On the other hand…

What’s so wrong about a guy who loves his girlfriend getting a hotel room for the two of them on prom night, months in advance? Oh, big crime.

So he screwed up with the play? If I ask him to, I’m sure he’d change it. I—

Oh my God. There’s Lilly.

She’s in black from head to toe. (Well, so am I, actually. Only somehow I don’t think I look like a trained assassin, the way she does.)

She’s heading for the ladies’ room.

Okay, I think this might constitute stalking. But I’m going in after her. She dated J.P. for six months.

If anyone will know if my boyfriend’s a great big phony, she will. Whether or not she’ll even speak to me is another story.

But Dr. Knutzdid say, when I figured out what the right thing to do was, I’d do it.

I really hope this is it….

Saturday, May 6, 11 p.m., the Waldorf-Astoria,

ladies’ room

Okay. I’m shaking. I have to stay in here until my knees stop trembling long enough for me to stand up again. For now I’m just going to sit here on this little velvet settee and try to write this down so it makes some kind of sense—

In any case…

I guess I finally know why Lilly was so mad at me for so long.

I walked into the bathroom and there she was putting bright red lipstick on in the mirror.

It looked exactly like blood.

She glanced at my reflection and sort of raised her eyebrows.

But I wasn’t going to back off, even though my heart was pounding.Grant me the courage to change the things I can.

I checked to make sure we were the only people in the room. We were. And then I went, to her reflection, before I could lose my nerve, “Is J.P. a total fake, or what?”

She very calmly put the lid back on her lipstick and slipped it into her evening clutch. Then she said with an expression of total disgust, turning around to look me in the eye, “Took you long enough.”

I won’t say it was like she plunged a knife into my chest, or anything dramatic like that. Because the part of me that used to think I loved J.P. had stopped thinking that as soon as I spilled the hot chocolate on Michael last week, and I realized that whole loving J.P. thing had just been wishful thinking. I mean, I guess Icould have trained myself to fall in love with J.P. eventually, if Michael Moscovitz had never come back from Japan and then been so nice to me and made me realize I’d never fallen out of love with him.

But that will never happen now.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked Lilly. I wasn’t mad, really. Too much time had passed—and water gone under the bridge—for me to be mad. I was just curious, more than anything.

“Oh, what,” Lilly said, letting out a sarcastic laugh, “you’rethe one who started going out with him the day he dumped me, practically—dumped me foryou , by the way.”

“He did not dump you for me,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s not how it happened.”

“I beg your pardon,” Lilly said. “I was there, you were not. I think I would know. J.P. most assuredly dumped me because, as he said, and I quote, he was hopelessly in love with you. I didn’t mention that part, did I, the day I told you about our breakup?”

I stared at her, feeling color creep up my face. “No—”

“Well, that’s what he told me. That he was dumping me like a hot potato the minute it looked like things were over with you and Michael because now he, quote, had a chance with you, unquote. But I told him there was no way in hell my best friend would ever give him the time of day, because you would never do something like go out with the guy who’d broken my heart.” Her look of disgust deepened. “Oh, but…I guess I was wrong about that, wasn’t I?”

I was so shocked I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t believe it.J.P.? J.P. had told Lilly he loved me…before he and I had even started going out? J.P. had dumped Lilly because I’d become available?

That was worse—way worse—than calling the paps on me, and telling them where I’d be having dinner.

Or getting a publisher to agree to print my book without even having read it.

“Don’t try to deny it, Mia,” Lilly went on, her upper lip curling. “Not five minutes after I told you about our breakup—our next class period, practically—I saw you two kissing.”

“That was a mistake!” I cried. “He turned his head at the last minute!” On purpose, I knew now, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

But then, I shouldn’t have been flinging my arms around boys in the hallway, anyway.

“Oh, and it was amistake that you two went out on a date the same night my brother left for Japan?” she asked, with a sneer.

“It wasn’t a date,” I said. “We went as friends.”

“That’s not how the press saw it,” Lilly said, shaking her head.

“The press?” I inhaled, a single, horrified breath as the truth finally sunk in…after twenty-one long months. “Oh, God. He called them that night. The night we went to seeBeauty and the Beast . That’s why the paparazzi showed up. J.P. called them himself.”

“Oh, NOW you finally realize it.” Lilly shook her head. Now that the blindfold had been lifted from my eyes at last, she’d stopped looking so disgusted. “He played us both. He only went out with me because it was a way to be closer to you…although I’m not entirely sure whatsleeping with me had to do with you—”

“Oh my God!” That’s when all the bones in my body turned into jelly and I had to sit down before I fell down. I collapsed onto one of the velvet couches the Waldorf-Astoria hotel staff had helpfully supplied for this purpose, and sunk my head into my hands.

Also, I would just like to add,I knew it! I knew they Did It! Way back in the beginning of eleventh grade, I knew it.

“Lilly!” I cried. “You told me you never slept with him! I specifically asked you, and you said he could have taken advantage, and he never did!”

“Yeah,” Lilly said, sinking down beside me and slumping against the wall. Her face was devoid of expression. “Well, I lied. I still hadsome pride, I guess. And anyway, it’s not like I didn’t get something out of it, too. I was totally warm for the guy’s form. I just would have appreciated it if, in the end, he wouldn’t have turned out to be lusting for my best friend the whole time.”

“Oh my God,” I said, again. I was having a whole lot of trouble picturing J.P. and my best friend—Lilly—doing…well.That .

Also, what about all those times J.P. said he was a virgin, just like me? About how he was so glad he’d waited for the right girl, and how that girl was me? J.P. Reynolds-Abernathy IV’s Big Fat Lie Number Four. Or was it Five, now? Wow, he was going to start beatingmy lying record soon.

“Lilly,” I said. My heart felt like it was twisting in my chest, I felt so bad. Not for myself. For Lilly. I understood now. Everything…even about ihatemiathermopolis.com. This didn’t make it right.

But it made it more understandable.

“I’m so, so sorry,” I said, reaching out to take her hand, with its black-painted nails. “I had no idea. And…well, about the other thing. Him dumping you for me. I had no idea about that, either. Honestly, though…why didn’t you justtell me?”

“Mia, come on.” Lilly shook her head. “Why should I have had to? As my best friend, shouldn’t my ex have been off-limits? You should have known better. And what were you doing, breaking up with my brother over that dumb Judith Gershner thing in the first place? That was just so…psychotic. Most of the beginning of last year,you were psychotic.”

I bit my lower lip. “Yeah,” I said. “I know. But the things you did didn’t help, you know.”

“I know,” Lilly said. When I glanced at her, I saw there were tears in her eyes. “I guess I was pretty psychotic, too. I…well, I loved him, you know. And he dumped me foryou . And I…I was just soangry with you. And you were being so stupidly blind about who he really was. But…you seemed happy. And by then I had Kenny, andI was happy…and well, I figured maybe now that he had you, J.P. would be better…how do you apologize for something like that…what I did?”

She looked at me and shrugged helplessly. I looked back at her, my own eyes filled with tears, as well.

“But, Lilly,” I said, sniffling a little. “I missed you. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” Lilly said back. “Even though I kind of hated your guts for a while.”

This made me sniffle harder.

“I hated your guts, too,” I said.

“Well,” Lilly said, the tears sparkling like jewels in the corners of her eyes. “Weboth acted like idiots.”

“Because we let a boy come between our friendship?”

“Two boys,” Lilly said. “J.P.and my brother.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe we should agree never to do that again.”

“Agreed,” Lilly said, and snagged my pinky with hers. We pinky swore. Then, sobbing a little, we hugged.

And it’s weird. She doesn’t smell like her brother.

But she smells really good, just the same. She smells like something that reminds me of…well, of home.

“Now,” Lilly said, wiping tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands, when she let go of me. “I have to get back to the party, before Kenny blows something up.”

“Okay,” I said, with a shaky laugh. “I’ll be right out. I just need…I just need a minute.”

“See you later, POG,” Lilly said.

I can’t even tell you how good it felt to hear her call me that. Even though I used to hate it. I couldn’t help laughing as I wiped away my own tears.

And she got up and left, just as two girls who looked only kind of familiar to me came in and went, “Oh my God, aren’t you, like, Mia Thermopolis?”

And I was like, “Yeah.” What now? Seriously. I don’t know how much more I can take.

And they went, “You better get back out there. People are looking for you. Everyone is saying they’re going to name you prom queen. They’re just, like, waiting for you to come back out so they can start the ceremony.”

So. Yeah. Looks like I’m prom queen.

Sadly, if J.P. is prom king, he’s in for a big surprise.

Sunday, May 7, midnight, limo on the way downtown

I walked out of the ladies’ room and sure enough, they were calling out the names of the Albert Einstein High School prom king and queen: J.P. Reynolds-Abernathy IV and Mia Thermopolis.

I’m not even kidding.

How did I go from the geekiest girl in the whole school my freshman year to prom queen my senior year? I don’t get it.

I guess turning out to be a princess might have helped.

But I don’t think that had all that much to do with it, really.

J.P. came through the crowd and found me and smilingly took my hand and steered me up to the stage where the lights were shining so brightly down on us. Everyone was screaming. Principal Gupta handed him a plastic scepter and put a rhinestone tiara on my head. Then she made a speech about positive moral values and how we exemplified them, and how everyone should look up to us.

Which was a pretty big joke, if you consider what we’d both planned on doing after the prom. Oh, and what I’d been doing in an old-timey horse carriage yesterday with my ex.

Then J.P. grabbed me and dipped my body back and kissed me, and everyone cheered.

And I let him because I didn’t want to embarrass him by having Lars taser him right there in front of the entire senior class.

Although that’s really what I felt like doing.

Except if you think about it, it’s not like I’m all that morally superior to him. I mean, I’m wearing his ring, and I’m not a bit in love with him. At least, anymore. And I lie all the time, too.

Except that my lies were to make people feel better.

His lies? Not so much.

But at least I intend to do something about it.

Anyway, right after our kiss, a lot of balloons came down from the ceiling and the DJ put on a super fast punk version of The Cars’ “Let the Good Times Roll,” and everyone started dancing like mad.

Except for me and J.P.

That’s because I pulled him off the stage and said, “We need to talk.”

Only I had to shout it to be heard above the music.

I don’t know what J.P. thought I said, but he went, “Great, yeah, okay, let’s go.”

I guess he was in a really good mood on account of being made prom king. Our whole way out of the ballroom, we kept getting congratulated by all the girls, and J.P. kept getting high-fived by all the guys—when he wasn’t getting chest-bumped, like by Lana’s Westpointer date—for his mad prom king skills. That made our progress out the doors to the lobby, where it was quieter, very slow.

But we finally made it.

“Look, J.P.,” I said, dragging the plastic tiara off my head. It was really uncomfortable and I’m sure had ruined my pretty hairdo. But I didn’t care. I checked to make sure Lars was nearby. He was, sticking his fingers in his ears to check his hearing, which he apparently feared had been damaged by the din inside the ballroom. “I’m really sorry about this.”

The thing is, Dad had only said I had to go to the prom with J.P. And as far as I was concerned, the prom was over now. I mean, they’d crowned the king and queen. So, I felt like that meant the evening was complete.

Which meant, as far as J.P. was concerned, I was done.

“Sorry about what?” J.P. had walked me over toward a bank of elevators. I had no idea why at the time, because the hotel exit was on the ground floor, and so was the ballroom. But later, I figured it out. “This is actually the perfect time to leave. That music was driving me crazy. I don’t know what’s wrong with a little Josh Groban. And there’s no better time to go than with everybody wanting more, right? How’s your foot? Does it still hurt? Look—” He dropped his voice. “Shouldn’t you tell Lars he can go now? I can take it from here.” He smiled knowingly, then stabbed the elevator button UP.

I had no idea what he was doing. Or what he was talking about. At least, not then. I was completely focused on what I had to do.

“It’s just,” I said. I didn’t want to hurt him. Grandmère had given me a speech to use for letting down suitors gently.

But honestly. What he’d done to Lilly? That was unforgivable. And I didn’t see any reason to let him down gently.

“I think it’s time we were honest with each other,” I said. “Reallyhonest. I know it’s you who’s been calling the paparazzi every time we go out. I can’t prove it, but it’s pretty obvious. I don’t know why you do it. Maybe you think it’s good publicity for your future career as a writer or something. I don’t know. But I don’t like it. And I’m not going to put up with it anymore.”

J.P. looked down at me with a shocked expression on his face. He said, “Mia. What are you talking about?”

“And the thing with the play?” I shook my head. “J.P., you wrote an entire play about me. How could you do that—drag my personal life, like the thing with the sexy dancing, out into the public like that—and let Sean Penn make a movie out of it? If you really loved me, you’d never do something like that. I once wrote a short story about you, but that was before I got to know you, and once I did get to know you, I had all the copies of it destroyed, because it’s not fair to take advantage of people that way.”

J.P.’s jaw dropped a little lower. He started shaking his head. “Mia. I wrote that play for us. To let the world know how happy we are—how much I love you—”

“And that’s another thing,” I said. “If you love me so much, how come you’ve never read my book? I’m not saying it’s the greatest book in the world, but you’ve had it a week, and you still haven’t read it. You couldn’t have skimmed it, and told me what you thought? I appreciate your trying to get me this fantastic book deal, which I don’t need because I already got one on my own, but you couldn’t have glanced at it?”

“Mia.” Now J.P. was starting to look defensive. “This again? You know I’ve been busy. We had finals. And I was in rehearsal—”

“Yeah.” I folded my arms across my chest. “I know. You’ve told me. You have a lot of excuses. But I’m curious to know what your excuse is for why you lied about the hotel room.”

He took his hands out of his pockets and spread his palms, face out, toward me, in the age-old gesture of innocence. “Mia, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“The rooms in this hotel were sold out weeks ago. Seriously, J.P.” I shook my head. “There’s no way you called this week and got a room. Be honest. You made the reservation months ago, didn’t you? You just assumed you and I would be hooking up tonight.”

J.P. dropped his hands. He also dropped the pretense.

“What’s so wrong with that?” he wanted to know. “Mia, I know how you and your friends talk about prom night—andeverything that entails. I wanted to make it special for you. So that makes me a bad guy all of a sudden?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Because you weren’t honest with me about it. And, okay, J.P., I wasn’t honest with you about a lot of stuff either, like about the colleges I got into and my feelings and…well, a lot of stuff. But this was big. I mean, you lied to me about why you broke up with Lilly. You told her you loved me! That’s the whole reason she was so mad at me for so long, and you knew it, and you never told me!”

J.P. just shook his head. Shook ita lot.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “If you’ve been talking to Lilly—”

“J.P.,” I said. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe what he was saying. I couldn’t believe he was lying.To my face! I’m a liar. I’m theprincess of liars. And he was trying to lie tome ? About something that mattered this much? How dare he! “Stop lying. Lilly and I are friends again. She told meeverything . She told me you slept with her! J.P., you aren’t a virgin at all. You were never saving yourself for me. Youslept with her! And you never thought that was something you ought to mention to me? How many girlshave you slept with, J.P.? I mean, really?”

J.P.’s face was turning so red it was almost purple. Still, he kept trying to salvage the situation. As if there were anything left to salvage.

“Why would you believeher ?” J.P. cried, shaking his head some more. “After what she did to you? That website she made up? And you believe her? Mia—are you crazy?”

“No,” I said. “One thing I absolutely am not, J.P., is crazy. Lilly made up that website because she was angry. Angry at me, for not being a better friend to her. And yes…I believe her.You’re the one I can’t believe, J.P. Just how many lies have you told me since we started going out?”

He stopped shaking his head. Then he said, “Mia—”

And he looked…well, terrified is the only word I can think of to describe it.

Just then, the elevator doors opened in front of us. And Lars came over to check to make sure the car was empty. Then he asked dryly, “You two aren’t going anywhere, correct?”

J.P. said, “Actually, we—”

But I said, realizing just then where those elevators went—upstairs, to the hotel rooms—“No.”

And Lars backed away again.

And the elevator doors closed and went away.

Here’s the thing: I’m not going to say that I don’t think J.P. ever cared about me. Because I think he did. I really do.

And the truth is, I cared about J.P., too. I did. He was a good friend at a time when I needed friends. Maybe we’ll even be friends again, someday.

But not right now.

Because right now, I think a big part of the reason he liked me so much is because he wants to be a famous playwright, and he thought hanging out with me could help make him that way.

It sucks to have to admit this. That a guy really only liked me because I’m royal. How many times am I going to fall for this, anyway?

But you know what else sucks sometimes?

Actuallybeing a princess. And having people who are so fascinated by this that they can’t see the person you are behind the crown. The kind of person who wants to be judged on her own merits. The kind of person who doesn’t care if someone offers her a quarter of a million dollars for her book. She’d rather have less money if it’s from someone who really values her work.

Oh, sure. People willclaim they like you for who you are. They might even do a really good imitation of it. So good, you’ll even believe it. For a while.

The thing is, if you’re smart, there’ll be clues. It may take you a while to pick up on them.

But you will. Eventually.

And in the end, it all boils down to this:

The people who were your friends before you got the crown are the people who are going to be your best friends no matter what. Because they’re the ones who love you for you—you, in all your geekiness—and not because of what they can get out of you. Weirdly, in some instances, even the people who were your enemies before you got famous (like Lana Weinberger) can end up being better friends to you than the people you become friends with after you become famous. And even when those friends get mad at you—like Lilly was at me—you still need them, even more than ever. Because they might just be the only people who are willing to tell you the truth.

That’s just the way it is. It’s lonely on the throne.

Luckily for me, I had fabulous friends before I ever found out I was the princess of Genovia.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past four years, it’s that I better do my best to try to hold on to them.

No matter what.

Which is why I found myself giving J.P. the speech Grandmère had taught me—the one for letting suitors down gently.

“J.P.,” I said, pulling the ring he’d given me off my finger. “I care about you. I really do. And I wish you the best. But the truth is, I think we’re better off as friends. Good friends. So I want to give this back to you.”

And I lifted his hand, and put the ring back in the center of his palm, and closed his fingers around it.

He looked down at his hand with an expression of abject misery on his face.

“Mia,” he said. “I can explain why I didn’t tell you about Lilly. The thing is, I didn’t think you—”

“No,” I said. “You don’t need to say another word. Don’t feel bad.” I reached up and patted him on the shoulder.

I guess I could have felt sorry for myself because my prom had gotten totally and completely ruined. I’d gone to it with a guy who’d turned out to be a total phony.

But I remembered what my dad said about how it’s the duty of royalty always to be the stronger person, and to make everyone else feel better. And I took a deep breath and said, “You know what I think you should do? Call Stacey Cheeseman. I think she has a total crush on you.”

J.P. looked down at me as if I were nuts. “You do?”

“I totally do,” I lied. But it was a white lie. And I was pretty sure she did have a crush on him. All actresses adore their director.

“This is completely embarrassing,” J.P. said. Now he was looking down at the ring.

“No, it’s not,” I said, patting him on the shoulder some more. “Now, are you going to call her?”

“Mia,” J.P. said, his expression stricken. “I’m sorry. But I thought if you knew the truth about Lilly, you’d never—”

I held up my hand to indicate he should say no more. Really, you would think a man of the world such as he would know better than to keep trying to get me back when I had made it so clear I was done.

I wondered how much of his reluctance to call Stacey was rooted in the fact that she isn’t really that famous. Yet.

But I decided this thought was ungenerous of me. I’m really trying to be more princesslike in my thoughts and actions.

I also wasn’t trying to let my gleefulness over the situation show. You know, that even though my prom was a total bust, I’d gotten my best friend back, and I hadn’t been a bit in love with my prom date, with whom I was breaking up, in the first place.

I tried to keep a solemn expression on my face as I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him.

“Good-bye, J.P.,” I whispered.

Then I hurried away before there was any chance he could start begging, which is so unattractive in a suitor (well, so Grandmère says. It hasn’t happened to me…yet. But I had a feeling it was about to).

And as I was hurrying, I flipped open my cell phone and made a quick call to the Royal Genovian lawyers. Their offices weren’t open yet, because it was only seven in the morning, Genovia time.

But I left a message asking them to put a cease and desist on J.P.’s play, or whatever they had to do in order to prevent it from ever getting made into a movie, or even a Broadway show.

I mean, I know I was princessy and gracious during our breakup. And I do completely forgive what J.P. did to me.

But for what he did to Lilly? He’s going down.

He really ought to have remembered that several of my ancestresses are known for strangling and/or chopping off the heads of their enemies.

It was as I was putting my phone away that I crashed right into Michael.

Yes,Michael.

I was totally flabbergasted, of course. What wasMichael doing at the AEHS prom?

“Oh my God,” I cried. “What areyou doing here?”

“What do youthink I’m doing here?” he demanded, rubbing his shoulder where I’d banged into him, handheld plastic tiara prongs first.

“How long have you been standing there?” I was seized with a sudden panic he might have overheard what J.P. and I had been discussing, vis-à-vis Lilly. On the other hand, if he had, surely there’d have been a murder already. J.P.’s, to be exact. “Wait…what did you hear?”

“Enough to make me feel nauseous,” Michael said. “Nice move with the call to the lawyers, by the way. And is that really how you guys talk to each other?” His voice rose into a falsetto. “You know what I think you should do? Call Stacey Cheeseman. I think she has a total crush on you.” He lowered his voice again. “Cute. What does that remind me of, exactly? Hold on. Wait, I know…Seventh Heaven—”

I grabbed his arm and dragged him around the corner, well out of earshot of J.P. (who hadn’t yet noticed a thing, because he’d already gotten on the phone with Stacey).

“Seriously,” I said, dropping Michael’s arm when we were far enough away. “What are you doing here?”

Michael grinned. He looked so cute in his black Skinner Box T-shirt with his messed up hair, and his jeans fitting him just right. I couldn’t help remembering all that making out we’d done yesterday. It came back as such a visceral memory, it was almost like a punch.

Of course, that might have been because I’d also gotten a big whiff of him when I’d crashed into him. That major histocompatibility complex is strong stuff. Strong enough to knock a girl out, practically.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Lilly told me a couple of days ago I was supposed to show up here and meet you by the elevators at around midnight. She said she had a feeling you were going to need, er, my assistance. But you seemed to be handling the situation just fine, if that whole ceremonial giving-back-of-the-ring thing was any indication.”

I could feel myself turning bright red, realizing what Lilly must have meant. Having overheard my conversation with Tina in the girls’ bathroom at school about my getting a hotel room with J.P. tonight, Lilly had sent her brother down here to stop me from doing something she knew I’d regret…

Only she hadn’t told him exactlywhat he was supposed to be stopping me from doing. Thank God.

Lilly reallywas a friend, after all. Not that I’d ever doubted it. Well, very much.

“So are you going to tell me why Lilly felt my presence was so urgently needed here tonight, anyway?” Michael wanted to know, as he wrapped an arm around my waist.

“You know,” I said quickly. “I think it’s because she knew I always wanted to spend my senior prom with you.”

Michael just laughed. Sort of sarcastically.

“Lars,” he called over the top of my head, to my bodyguard. “Tell me the truth. Do I need to go back over there and turn J.P. Reynolds-Abernathy the Fourth into cream of wheat?”

Lars, to my total mortification, nodded, and said, “In my opinion, most definitely.”

“Lars!” I cried, starting to panic. “No. No! Michael, it’s over. J.P. and I just broke up. You don’t have to hit anybody.”

“Well, I think maybe I do,” Michael said. He wasn’t teasing, either. There was no smile on his face as he said, “I think maybe the earth would be a better place if somebody had turned J.P. Reynolds-Abernathy the Fourth into cream of wheat a long time ago. Lars? Do you agree with me?”

Lars looked at his watch and said, “It’s midnight. I don’t hit anyone after midnight. Bodyguard-union regulations.”

“Fine,” Michael said. “You hold him down, and I’ll hit him.”

This was terrible!

“I have a better idea,” I said, taking Michael by the arm again. “Lars, why don’t you take the rest of the night off? And Michael, why don’t we go back to your place?”

Just as I’d hoped, this completely distracted Michael from his Kill J.P. Death Mission. He stared down at me in shock for nearly five seconds.

Then he said, “That sounds like a completely excellent idea.”

Lars shrugged. What else could he do? I’m eighteen and a legal adult now.

“I am fine with this idea, too,” he said.

And that’s how I ended up in this limo, speeding downtown to SoHo, and to Michael’s loft.

And now Michael has suggested that I stop writing in my journal, and pay attention to him for a little while.

You know what? This sounds like a completely excellent idea to me, too.

An excerpt fromRansom My Heart by Daphne Delacroix

“Finnula,” he said, again, and this time she recognized the need in his voice. It matched the need she felt in her own heart, in the thrum of her own pulsing veins. “I know I gave you my word I wouldn’t touch you, but—”

Finnula wasn’t at all certain how what happened next transpired. It seemed as if one minute she was standing looking up at him, wondering if he’d ever stop talking and just do it, for heaven’s sake…

And the next, she was in his arms. She didn’t know if he’d moved or she had.

But suddenly, her arms were around his neck, drawing his head down toward hers, her fingers tangled in his soft hair, her lips already parted to receive his.

Those strong golden arms, the ones she’d longed to have round her, imprisoned her, clasping her so close to his broad chest that she could hardly breathe. Not that she could catch her breath anyway, since he was kissing her so deeply, so urgently, as if she might at any moment be torn away from him. He seemed to fear that they’d be interrupted again. Only Finnula realized, with a satisfaction that surely would have shocked her brother, had he known of it, that they had all night long. Accordingly, she lengthened the kiss, conducting a leisurely exploration of those arms she’d so admired. Why, they really were every bit as perfect as she’d imagined.

Abruptly, Hugo lifted his head, and looked down at her with eyes that had gone an even deeper green than the emerald around Finnula’s neck. She was panting from lack of breath, her chest rising and falling quickly, color bright over her high cheekbones. She saw the question in his glance, and understood it all too well. He didn’t know that she had already made her decision, that it had been irrevocably made for her the second she’d seen him without that beard, and her heart—or something very like her heart, anyway—had been lost for good.

Well, maybe her decision had been made the second that bolt had slid into place. What did it matter? They were strangers in a strange—well, strange enough—place. No one would ever know of it. Now was no time for his oddly misplaced sense of chivalry.

“Notnow,”she growled, knowing full well why he’d stopped kissing her, and what his questioning look implied. “God’s teeth, man, it’s too late—” Whatever Hugo had been planning to say, her impatient cry silenced him upon the subject forever. Tilting her body back in his arms, Hugo rained kisses upon her cheeks and the soft skin beneath her ears, his mouth tracing a fiery path down the column of her throat to the neckline of her gown. Finnula, still anxious for the taste of his lips on hers, drew his head toward hers again, then gasped as his fingers closed over first one firm breast, and then the other.

The sensation of his mouth devouring hers, his hands on her straining breasts, was threatening to overwhelm Finnula. It was everything she’d suspected it would be…only so much more. The room seemed to sway around her, as if she’d drunk too much ale, and Hugo remained the only stationary, solid mass within her line of vision. She clung to him, wanting something…she was only just beginning to understand what that something was.

Then, when his knee slipped between her weakening legs, and she felt his hard thigh against the place where her legs joined together, the resulting spasm that shot through her was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

Suddenly, she understood.Everything.

Sunday, May 7, 10 a.m., Michael’s loft

I HAVE MY SNOWFLAKE NECKLACE BACK.

It turns out when I dropped it in that hotel room that horrible night so long ago, Michael found it where it fell.

And he’s kept it ever since.

Because (he says) he’s never stopped loving me and thinking of me and hoping…

…just like I was hoping, that tiny ember I was keeping alive inside.

It turns out Michael was keeping one alive inside, too. He knew things had gone horribly wrong between us, but he thought time apart—for both of us to come into our own—might help.

He never thought another man would come along and split us permanently asunder. (Okay, he didn’t put it quite like that, but it sounds more dramatic than saying he never thought I’d start going out with J.P. Reynolds-Abernathy IV.)

And that’s when hedid ask Boris to keep an eye on me (notspy on me. Just keep him informed).

Michael thought (because of what Boris reported back to him) that J.P. and I were madly in love. And I guess for a time, we might have looked that way. To an outsider (especially to Boris, who doesn’t understand actual live human beings, including—and perhaps especially—his girlfriend).

But still, Michael wouldn’t give up hope. That’s why he kept the necklace—just in case.

It wasn’t until Michael saw me at the Columbia event that day and I acted so shy that he says he began to dare to dream that maybe Boris was wrong.

But then when J.P. gave me the ring for my birthday, he knew drastic measures were called for.That’s why he’d left my party—to get busy making arrangements to send my dad the CardioArm (and also, as he put it, “Because I knew I had to leave before I wiped the floor with that guy’s face”).

It’s all just so romantic! I can’t wait to tell Tina.

Someday. Not now, though. For now, I’m keeping it a secret, just for Michael and me to share—at least for a little while.

He told me if I want, he’ll get me a diamond snowflake necklace as a replacement for the old silver one I have on now. But I said no way.

I love this one, just the way it is.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!

Anyway, I don’t want to go into too much detail about what happened between us here in his loft last night, because it’s private—too private even for this journal. Because what if it were to fall into the wrong hands?

But I do want to say something important, and that is this:

If Dad thinks I’m spending this summer in Genovia, he’s totally nuts.

Oh my God,DAD ! I forgot to check and see how the election is going!

Sunday, May 7, 1:30 p.m., limo on the way to

Central Park

Okay, so Dad WON THE ELECTION!

Yeah, I’m still not sure how that happened. I accused Michael, on top of all the many other wonderful things he’s done for me lately, of rigging the Genovian voting machines.

But he swears that, although he is a computer genius, he is not capable of rigging voting machines in a small European country many thousands of miles from where he lives.

Besides, in Genovia they use Scantron.

It actually turned out Dad won by a significant majority. The problem was that they’re unaccustomed to voting there, so it took them a long time to count them all. Voter turnout was quite a bit higher than expected.

And then René couldn’t believe he didn’t win, and demanded a recount.

Poor René. It’s okay, though. Dad’s promised a place for him on the cabinet. Probably something to do with tourism. Which I think is very decent of Dad.

I found all this out from Dad on the phone. It wasn’t a transatlantic call, though. He was phoning from Grandmère’s. Dad’s back here for my graduation ceremony. Which is in half an hour.

It’s too bad he doesn’t fly commercially because he could really rack up the frequent flyer miles with all the time he’s put in, jetting between New York City and Genovia this past week. I’ve already spoken to him about his carbon footprint.

Anyway, everyone acted totally cool when I showed up at the loft wearing my prom clothes with Michael in tow. Like, nobody said anything to embarrass me, like, “Oh, hey, Mia, how was it at the all-night bowling alley?” or “Mia, didn’t you leave the house last night with adifferent guy?”

Mom seemed pretty pleased to see Michael, actually. She knows how much I’ve always loved him, and she can tell how happy Michael makes me, which, in turn, makesher happy.

And she never made it much of a secret that she couldn’t stand J.P. At least she doesn’t have to worry aboutMichael being a chameleon.He has an opinion about everything.

And he’s not shy about expressing it, either,especially when it’s opposite of my own, since that gets us arguing, which gets us…well, in the mood for kissing. That’s major histocompatibility complex for you.

Sadly, I’m not sure Rocky actually remembers Michael at all. Which makes sense, since the last time he saw him was almost two years ago, and Rocky’s barely three.

But Rocky seems to really like him. He right away showed Michael his drums, and how adept he is at pulling out tufts of Fat Louie’s fur if Fat Louie doesn’t run away fast enough.

Anyway, we’re all headed uptown to the graduation ceremony now, where we’re going to meet Dad and Grandmère. I’ve got on the dress everyone chose for me to wear today (another one of Sebastiano’s creations, exactly like the one I wore last night, only pure white) under my graduation gown. I’m trying to ignore the 80,000 text and phone messages I’ve gotten from Tina and Lana, most of which, I’m pretty sure, have to do with where I disappeared to last night. Well, okay, Lana’s are probably all about her Westpointer.

But, come on. A girl’s got to havesome privacy.

One of my text messages, I see, is from J.P. But I’m not opening it with Michael in the car.

Another one is from Lilly. But whatever. I’m going to see all these people in, like, five minutes! So whatever it is, they can just tell me in person.

And now I have to go, because Rocky’s discovered the buttons that control the moonroof. My little brother has a lot in common with his cousin Hank.

Sunday, May 7, 2:30 p.m., Sheep Meadow, Central Park

Oh my God, Kenny—I mean, Kenneth—is giving the most boring valedictorian speech I have ever heard. All valedictorian speeches are boring (at least, the ones I’ve heard).

But this one takes the cake. Seriously, it’s about dust particles, or something. Or maybe not dust particles. But some kind of particles. Who even cares? It’s so hot up on these bleachers.

And no one is paying the slightest bit of attention to him. Lana is actually sleeping. Even Lilly, the valedictorian’s own girlfriend, is texting someone.

I just want to get out of here so I can go have cake. Hello? Is that so wrong?

Yeah. I guess it is.

Ack—someone is texting me….

Mia, what is going on? I’ve been texting you all morning. Is everything all right? I saw J.P. last night with STACEY CHEESEMAN! They went up the elevators together. Where were U????

Oh, hey, T! It’s all good! J.P. and I broke up. But it was 100% mutual. I actually went over to Michael’s last night.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That’s what I said!!!!!!!!!!!!

OMG that is so romantic!!!! I’m so happy for you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I know! Me too. I love him so much!!!! And he loves me!!!!!!!!!!! And everything is perfect. Except I wish this stupid speech would be over so we could all go eat cake.

Yeah, me too. The only thing is, this morning on my way here I could have sworn I saw Stacey Cheeseman making out withAndrew Lowenstein at a Starbucks downtown. But no way right, ’cause she’s with J.P. now. Right?

Um. Right!

Oh, another text—

Hey, POG. I saw you leave the hotel last night with my brother.

It’s Lilly!!!!

Is that a problem? He said you sent him!!!!

It’s cool. But you better not break his heart again. Or this time I really WILL break your face.

Nobody’s heart is going to get broken this time around, Lilly. We’re all grown up now.

Ha. Not likely. But…I’m glad you’re back, POG.

Awwww…

Glad tobe back, Lilly.

Uh-oh…here’s the message from J.P.

Mia. Just wanted to say again how sorry I am about…well, everything. Even though the word “sorry” seems so inadequate. I hope you meant it when you said we could be friends. Because nothing would mean more to me. And thanks, too, for suggesting I call Stacey. You were right—she really is a wonderful person. And you don’t have to worry about the play. Sean’s company called this morning and it looks like there’s a problem with the option. Something to do with some lawyers. So I guess he won’t be producing it after all. But don’t worry, I’ll be all right. I have another idea for a play, a really great one about a playwright who is in love with an actress, only she—well, it’s complicated—I’d love to talk to you about it if you get a chance, you know how valuable I find your editorial input. Call me. J.P.

Really. You just have to laugh. Because what else can you do?

OMG, why won’t this guy shut up? I’m totally getting a sunburn sitting out here. If I get freckles, I’m suing this stupid school. Wait a minute…Geek, where did you disappear to last night? You look like you had SEX! Don’t try to deny it! OMG, the geek had SEX! HA HA HA! Isn’t it FUN, geek?????

—————————————

Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device

Sunday, May 7, 4 p.m., Tavern on the Green, table twelve

Everyone is making speeches and taking pictures and carrying on about how this is a day we’ll never forget.

It’s certainly a day Lana’s never going to forget…that’s because Mrs. Weinberger (at my urging, though I’ll never tell Lana, of course) presented Lana with the thing her heart most desired as a graduation present:

That’s right, the Weinbergers tracked down Bubbles, Lana’s pony that they gave away so many years ago, and gave it back to her. Bubbles was waiting for Lana in the Tavern on the Green parking lot when we all walked up here for our post-graduation reception.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone scream so joyously.

Or so loudly.

It’s a day Kenneth’s not going to forget, either. That’s because his parents just handed him an envelope containing a letter from Columbia. He’s been taken off the waiting list.

So, it looks like he and Lilly won’t be separated by a state anymore. They’ll only be separated by a dorm—if that. There was a lot of joyous hugging and screaming over by that table, too.

At first I was kind of afraid to go over to where the Moscovitzes were sitting, even though Michael was totally hanging out with my parents. But I was shy about how the Drs. Moscovitz were going to feel about me. It was true I’d already seen them at the reception at Columbia, but that seemed so long ago, and, I don’t know, things seemed different now, on account of what had gone on last night (and this morning, too)!

But, of course, they didn’t know about that. And Michael had been brave in coming over to my house (not to mention, hanging out with Dad and Grandmère now). So the least I could do was return the favor.

So I did.

And, of course, it turned out fine. The Drs. Moscovitz—not to mention Nana—were totally delighted to see me. Because I’d made their son happy. And so that made them happy.

What was scary was when J.P. came over to our table with his parents to say hello. Now THAT was awkward.

“Well, Prince Phillipe,” Mr. Reynolds-Abernathy said, all sadly, shaking my dad’s hand. “Looks like our kids won’t be going to Hollywood together after all.”

But, of course, my dad had NO idea what he was talking about, because he’d never been let in on that plan (thank God) in the first place.

“Excuse me?” Dad said, looking totally confused.

“Hollywood?” Grandmère cried, looking appalled.

“Right,” I said quickly. “But that was before I decided on Sarah Lawrence.”

Grandmère sucked in so much air, it was a wonder there was any left for the rest of us to breathe.

“Sarah Lawrence?” she cried, in joyous wonder.

“Sarah Lawrence?” Dad echoed. It was one of the schools he’d thrown out, way back in ninth grade, as one of his top choices for me. But in a million years, I’m pretty sure he never thought I’d actually take him up on it.

But, as it happens, like Michael said, Sarah Lawrence is one of the colleges that don’t count SAT scores toward its entrance requirements. And it’s got a strong writing program. And it’s really close to New York City. Just in case I have to pop back into Manhattan to visit Fat Louie or Rocky.

Or smell my boyfriend’s neck.

“That’s a great choice, Mia,” Mom said, looking super happy. Of course, she’s been looking super happy ever since she noticed the diamond ring on my left hand was gone, and I’d come home from the prom with Michael, and not J.P.

But I think she really is happy about Sarah Lawrence, too.

“Thanks,” I said.

But no one was happier than Grandmère.

“Sarah Lawrence,” Grandmère kept murmuring. “Iwas to go to Sarah Lawrence. If I hadn’t married Amelia’s grandfather. We’ve got to start planning how we’ll decorate her room. I think buttercup yellow walls.I was to have buttercup yellow walls…”

“Okay, then,” Michael said to me, eyeing Grandmère as she waxed on about buttercup yellow walls. “Wanna dance?”

“Do I ever,” I said, relieved to have an excuse to leave the table.

Which is how we ended up on the dance floor with my mom and Mr. G, dancing with Rocky and having a blast together, as usual; Lilly and Kenneth, doing some kind of new wave dance they seem to have invented themselves, even though the music was sort of slow; Tina and Boris, just holding each other, and gazing into each other’s eyes, the height of romance, as one would expect, since it was Tina and…well, Boris; and…my dad and Ms. Martinez.

“No,” I said, coming to a standstill when I saw this. “Just…no.”

“What?” Michael looked around. “What’s the matter?”

I should have expected it. I mean, they’d been dancing together at my birthday party, but I thought that had been a one-time thing.

It was at that point that my dad said something to Ms. Martinez and she slapped him across the face, then stalked off the dance floor.

I don’t think anyone could have been more stunned than my dad…except maybe my mom, who started laughing.

“Dad!” I exclaimed, horrified. “What did yousay to her?”

My dad came over, rubbing the side of his face but looking more intrigued than actually hurt.

“Nothing,” he said. “I didn’t say anything to her. Well, nothing more than I usually say when I dance with a beautiful woman. It was a compliment, actually.”

“Dad,”I said. When would he ever learn? “She isn’t a lingerie model. She’s myformer English teacher .”

“She’s intoxicating,” Dad said thoughtfully, gazing after her.

“Oh my God.” I groaned, and buried my face in Michael’s neck. I could see clearly what was going on. It was all too obvious. Not again! “Tell me this is not happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening,” Michael said. “He’s following her, calling after her…Did you know her first name was Karen?”

“I think I’m about to become more than well acquainted with that fact,” I said, still keeping my face in his neck and inhaling deeply.

“Yeah, now he’s heading across the parking lot after her…She’s trying to hail a taxi to get away but…oh, he’s stopped her. They’re talking. Oh, wait. She’s taking his hand…So, are you going to call her Ms. Martinez after they get married like you do Mr. Gianini, or do you think you’ll ever be able to call her Karen?”

“Seriously. What is wrong with my family?” I asked, with a groan.

“The same thing that’s wrong with everybody’s family,” Michael said. “It’s made up of human beings. Hey, quit sniffing me a minute and lift your head up.”

I lifted my head and looked at him. “Why?” I asked.

“So I can do this,” he said. And kissed me.

And as we were kissing, and the late-afternoon sun was pouring in all around us, and the other couples were swirling around us on the dance floor, laughing, I realized something. Something I think might be really important:

This princess thing, which four years ago I was convinced was going to be the ruination of my life, had turned out to be just the opposite. It’s actually taught me things, some of them very important. Like how to stand up for myself, and be my own person. How to get what I want out of life, on my own terms. And never to sit by my grandmother while crab is being served, since it’s her favorite dish, and she simply can’t eat it and talk at the same time, and half of it will end up all over whoever she’s sitting next to.

It’s taught me something else, too.

And that’s that as you get older, you lose things, things you don’t necessarily want to lose. Some things as simple as…well, your baby teeth when you’re a little kid, as they make way for your adult teeth.

But as you age, you lose other, even more important things, like friends—hopefully only bad friends, who maybe weren’t as good for you as you once thought. With luck, you’ll be able to hang on to your true friends, the ones who were always there for you…even when you thought they weren’t.

Because friends like that are more precious than all the tiaras in the world.

I’ve also learned that there are the things youwant to lose…like that hat you throw into the air on graduation day. I mean, why would you want to hold on to it? High school sucks. People who say those were the best four years of your life—those people are liars…. Who wants the best years of their lives to be inhigh school ? High school is somethingeverybody should be ready to lose.

And then there are the things you thought you wanted to lose, but didn’t…and now you’re glad you didn’t.

A good example of this would be Grandmère. She drove me crazy for four years (and not just because of the crab thing). Four years of princess lessons, and nagging, and insanity. I swear, there were moments during some of those years when I gladly would have beat in her face with a shovel.

But in the end, I’m glad I didn’t. She taught me a lot, and I don’t just mean how to use appropriate flatware. In a way, she’s the one—well, with Mom and Dad’s help, of course…not to mention Lilly, and all my friends, really—who taught me how to appreciate this royalty thing—another thing I wanted desperately to lose, but didn’t….

And, yes, in the end…I’m glad.

I mean, yeah, it sucks sometimes, being a princess.

But I know now there are ways I can work it so I can help people, and maybe, in the end, even make the world a better place. Not in huge ways, necessarily. Sure, I’m not going to invent a robotic surgical arm that’s going to save people’s lives.

But I’ve written a book that might, like Michael said, make someone whose loved one is being operated on by that arm forget about how scared she is while she’s in the waiting room.

Oh, and I brought democracy to a country that’s never known it.

And okay, these are small things. But one baby step at a time.

Still, the most important reason I’m glad I turned out to be a princess, and that I’m going to stay one forever?

If I hadn’t, I highly doubt I’d have gotten this majorly happy ending.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This series would not have been possible without the help of people too numerous to name, but I’d like to try to thank a few of them, specifically:

Beth Ader, Jennifer Brown, Barb Cabot, Bill Contardi, Sarah Davies, Michele Jaffe, Laura Langlie, Abigail McAden, Amanda Maciel, Benjamin Egnatz, everyone at HarperCollins Children’s Books who worked so hard on behalf of Princess Mia and her friends, and, most especially of all, the readers, who stuck by her until the end. A royal thank-you to you all!

About the Author

MEG CABOTis the author of the bestselling, critically acclaimed Princess Diaries books, which were made into the wildly popular Disney movies of the same name. Her other books for teens includePANTS ON FIRE, JINX, and the manga series Avalon High: Coronation. She also writes books for adults, includingBIG BONED andQUEEN OF BABBLE GETS HITCHED. She is still waiting for her real parents, the king and queen, to restore her to her rightful throne. Meg lives in Key West with her husband and a one-eyed cat named Henrietta as well as various backup cats.

To read Meg’s blog and catch up on all the latest news about her books, visit her online atwww.megcabot.com.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

PRAISEFOR MEG CABOT’S

NEW YORK TIMESBESTSELLING SERIES

The Princess Diaries:

“Like reading a note from your best friend. Cabot has a fine grasp of teen dialect, an off-the-wall sense of humor that will have readers laughing out loud, and a knack for creating fully realized teen and adult characters that readers will miss when the story ends.”—ALABooklist

VOLUMEII:Princess in the Spotlight:

“Cabot writes with a deft touch for humor as well as the convincing voice of a 14-year-old. Mia emerges as a vibrant girl who may become a good princess no matter how much she dislikes the prospect.”—Kirkus Reviews

VOLUMEIII:Princess in Love:

“Cabot has secured Mia’s position as teen readers’ new best friend.”—ALABooklist

VOLUMEIV:Princess in Waiting:

“Mia is as amusing as ever, with her tart observations on life and her spunky personality.”—Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

VOLUMEV:Princess in Pink:

“Starting a new Princess Diaries book is like opening a box of chocolates.”—KLIATT

VOLUMEVI:Princess in Training:

“Mia is a funny heroine whose world is always entertaining.”

—SLJ

VOLUMEVII:Party Princess:

“Cabot adroitly interweaves comic absurdity with weightier topics in a topsy-turvy mix that recalls adolescence itself.”

—Entertainment Weekly

VOLUMEVIII:Princess on the Brink:

“Sure to please old and new fans,Princess on the Brink will leave readers clamoring for more.”—TeensReadToo.com

VOLUMEIX:Princess Mia:

“The story is still as fresh and interesting as ever. Cabot provides a believable and satisfying ending that leaves us proud of Princess Mia and wanting more.”—Children’s Literature

Books by

MEG CABOT

The Princess Diaries

THE PRINCESS DIARIES,VOLUME II:

Princess in the Spotlight

THE PRINCESS DIARIES,VOLUME III:

Princess in Love

THE PRINCESS DIARIES,VOLUME IV:

Princess in Waiting

Valentine Princess:

A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK(VOLUME IV AND A QUARTER)

THE PRINCESS DIARIES,VOLUME IVAND A HALF :

Project Princess

THE PRINCESS DIARIES,VOLUME V:

Princess in Pink

THE PRINCESS DIARIES,VOLUME VI:

Princess in Training

The Princess Present:

A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK(VOLUME VI AND A HALF)

THE PRINCESS DIARIES,VOLUME VII:

Party Princess

Sweet Sixteen Princess:

A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK(VOLUME VII AND A HALF)

THE PRINCESS DIARIES,VOLUME VIII:

Princess on the Brink

THE PRINCESS DIARIES,VOLUME IX:

Princess Mia

THE PRINCESS DIARIES,VOLUME X:

Forever Princess

ILLUSTRATED BY CHESLEY MCLAREN:

Princess Lessons:

A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK

Perfect Princess:

A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK

Holiday Princess:

A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK

ALL-AMERICAN GIRL

READY OR NOT:AN ALL-AMERICAN GIRL NOVEL

TEEN IDOL

HOW TO BE POPULAR

PANTS ON FIRE

AVALON HIGH

AVALON HIGH:CORONATION #1:THE MERLIN PROPHECY

AVALON HIGH:CORONATION #2:HOMECOMING

JINX

NICOLA AND THE VISCOUNT

VICTORIA AND THE ROGUE

THE MEDIATOR BOOKS:

THE MEDIATOR1:SHADOWLAND

THE MEDIATOR2:NINTH KEY

THE MEDIATOR3:REUNION

THE MEDIATOR4:DARKEST HOUR

THE MEDIATOR5:HAUNTED

THE MEDIATOR6:TWILIGHT

THE1-800-WHERE-R-YOU BOOKS:

1:WHEN LIGHTNING STRIKES

2:CODE NAME CASSANDRA

3:SAFE HOUSE

4:SANCTUARY

5:MISSING YOU

THE BOY NEXT DOOR

BOY MEETS GIRL

EVERY BOY’S GOT ONE

SIZE12IS NOT FAT

SIZE14IS NOT FAT EITHER

BIG BONED

QUEEN OF BABBLE

QUEEN OF BABBLE IN THE BIG CITY

QUEEN OF BABBLE GETS HITCHED

Credits

Jacket design by Ray Shappell

Lock design by Torborg Davern

Copyright

PRINCESS DIARIES, VOL. X: FOREVER PRINCESS. Copyright © 2009 by Meg Cabot, LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Microsoft Reader December 2008 ISBN 978-0-06-176144-7

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

About the Publisher

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HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

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United Kingdom

HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

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United States

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New York, NY 10022

http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com