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

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

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

But then I remembered something Grandmère had once assured me of: No one has ever died of embarrassment—never, not once in the whole history of time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, right. The school paper.

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

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

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

“Ow,” I said.

Wow! A word!

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

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

Yes! It speaks!

“I’m great,” Michael said.

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Dr. Moscovitz,” I said, in the world’s smallest voice. “How are you?”

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

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

“No,” Michael said. “That’s okay. There’s plenty of time for that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh my God.

I fully thought I was going to be sick all over Kenneth’s shiny dress shoes.

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

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

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

I just blinked at him in confusion. “Yes,” I said.

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

And she didn’t try to stop him.

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

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

I have to take them to Nobu, where they say we’re going to sample every type of sushi on the menu.

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

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

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

And I really don’t want the guy who just got an honorary master’s degree in science from Columbia (and who’s had his hand down my shirt on numerous occasions) reading my sex scenes.

Talk about embarrassing.

 

Saturday, April 29, 7 p.m., the loft

I decided that Dr. K is right.

I really have to stop lying so much. I mean, if I’m going to meet Michael tomorrow for this newspaper interview thing (which there’s no way I can get out of, because if I don’t do it then I have to admit that Iwasn’t there today to interview him for theAtom , and there is absolutelyno way I’m fessing up that I wasreally there to ask him for a CardioArm…or, worse, to spy on him with my giggling girlfriends), then I’m going to have to give him a copy of my senior project.

I’m just going to have to. There’s no way I can get around it. He totally remembered—don’t ask me how, when he’s obviously the busiest man in the universe.

And if I’m going to come clean with my ex-boyfriend regarding the truth about my senior project, well, that means I have to tell the truth about it to the people in my life who are more important than he is. Such as, my best friend, and my actual boyfriend.

Because otherwise, it’s just not fair. I mean, for Michael to know the truth aboutRansom My Heart , but not Tina or J.P.?

So I decided that I’m just going to bite the bullet and give ALL of them a copy. This weekend.

In fact, I e-mailed Tina hers just now. I’ve got nothing but free time tonight, since J.P. is at rehearsal, and I’m babysitting Rocky while Mom and Mr. G are at a community meeting to discuss NYU’s rampant expansionism and what they can do to stop it before the only people who can afford to live in the Village are twenty-year-old Tisch film students with trust funds.

I sent Tina a copy of my manuscript with this message:

Dear T,

I hope you won’t be mad, but remember when I said my senior project was about Genovian olive oil presses, circa 1254–1650? Well, I was sort of lying. Actually, my senior project was a four-hundred-page medieval romance novel calledRansom My Heartset in 1291 England about a girl named Finnula who kidnaps and holds for ransom a knight just back from the Crusades, so she can get money for her pregnant sister to buy hops and barley to make beer (a common practice in those days).

However, what Finnula doesn’t know is that knight is really the earl of her village. And Finnula has some secrets the earl doesn’t know, as well.

I’m sendingRansom My Heartto you now. You don’t have to read it or anything (unless you want to). I just hope you’ll forgive me for lying. I feel really stupid for that. I don’t know why I did it, I guess because I was embarrassed because I wasn’t sure if it was any good. Plus, there are a lot of sex scenes in it.

I really hope you’ll still be my friend.

Love,

Mia

I haven’t heard back from her, but that’s because the Hakim Babas usually have dinner all together this time of day, and Tina’s not allowed to check her messages at the table. It’s a family rule that even Mr. Hakim Baba follows now that his doctor warned him about his high blood pressure.

I kind of feel sick—sick and excited at the same time. About sendingRansom My Heart to Tina, I mean. I can’t imagine what she’s going to say. Will she be mad at me for lying to her? Or stoked, because romance novels are her favorite thing in the whole world? It’s true she prefers contemporary romance novels, and usually ones with sheiks in them.

But it’s possible she might like mine. I put a ton of references to the desert in it.

More importantly, what’s J.P. going to say about it when I tell him? I mean, he knows I love writing, and that I want to be an author someday.

But I’ve never actually mentionedromance writing to him before.

Well, I guess I’m going to find out what he thinks soon enough. I’m sending him a copy, too.

Although, who knows when he’ll actually open it up and read it. His play rehearsals have been known to go on until midnight.

And now Rocky is begging me to watch Dora the Explorer with him. I understand that millions of kids love Dora and have learned to read or whatever from her show. But I wouldn’t mind if Dora fell off a cliff and took her little pals with her.

 

Saturday, April 29, 8:30 p.m.