I’m going to brush my teeth one more time, though, just to be safe.

Mr. G and Rocky are putting on a drum recital for Mamaw and Papaw.

Please, let me get out of here without developing a cluster headache.

 

Sunday, April 30, 12:55 p.m., Caffe Dante,

MacDougal Street

My hands are sweating so much. This kind of weakness is insufferable, especially in a member of the House of Renaldo. We’re all feminists. Even Dad. He has the endorsement of NOWG, National Organization of the Women of Genovia, after all. Even Grandmère is a member.

Speaking of Grandmère, she’s e-mailed me, like, FOUR times today about the party and/or Dad’s election. I’ve deleted each one. I don’t have time to read her insane messages! And why can’t she learn to e-mail properly? I realize she’s four hundred years old, and I have to respect my elders (even though if you ask me, she is in no way deserving of my respect). But still, she could let go of the R button once she’s pressed it the first time.

Where IS Michael? Lars and I are here. And I realize we’re five minutes early. (I wanted to get rid of the paparazzi if I had to, but there’s none here, strangely. I also wanted to have the first choice of seat so I could make sure I got the best lighting. Lana assures me this is vitally important in boy/girl meetings, even of the Friends Only variety. Also, I wanted to snag a table close by for my bodyguard, yet far enough away that he wasn’t breathing down our necks, no offense, of course, Lars, if you’re reading this over my shoulder, which, don’t lie, I know you do when the battery on your Treo runs down.) So where is—

Oh, God. There he is. He’s looking around for us.

He looks SO good. Even better than yesterday, because today he’s wearing jeans and they’re fitting him SO PERFECTLY in all the right places.

Wow. I’m turninginto Lana.

And he’s also wearing a totally nice black short-sleeved Polo shirt and I’m just going to come right out and say that everything we suspected lay under the sleeves of his suit jacket yesterday REALLY DOES. As in, muscles. Not hideous bulked up steroidy ones, either.

But Lana was not far off in her Christian BaleBatman assessment.

And I know I have a boyfriend. I am merely observing this in my capacity as an investigative journalist.

!!!!!

He’s seen me!!!!! He’s coming!!!!!

I’m dying now, good-bye.

Interview with Michael Moscovitz for theAtom , as recorded by Mia Thermopolis on Sunday, April 30, via iPhone (to be transcribed later)

Mia:So, it’s okay if I record this?

Michael(laughing): I said it was.

Me:I know, but I need to record you saying it. I know it’s stupid.

Michael(still laughing): It’s not stupid. It’s just kind of weird. I mean, to be sitting here being interviewed by you. First of all, it’s you. Second of all…well, you were always the celebrity.

Mia:Well, now it’s your turn. And thanks again, so much, for doing this. I know how busy you must be, and I want you to know I really appreciate you taking the time out to meet with me.

Michael:Mia…of course.

Mia:Okay, so first question: What inspired you to invent the CardioArm?

Michael:Well, I saw a need in the medical community and felt I had the technical knowledge to fill it. There’ve been other attempts in the past to create similar products, but mine is the first to incorporateadvanced imaging technology. Which I can explain to you if you want, but I don’t think you’re going to have room for it in your article, if I remember how long the stories are in theAtom .

Mia(laughing): Uh, no, that’s okay—

Michael:And, of course, you.

Mia:What?

Michael:You asked what my inspiration was for inventing the CardioArm. Part of it was you. You remember, I told you before I left for Japan, I wanted to do something to show the world I was worthy of dating a princess. I know it sounds dumb now, but…that was a big part of it. Back then.

Mia:R-right. Back then.

Michael:You don’t have to put that in the article if it embarrasses you, though. I can’t imagine you’d want your boyfriend reading that.

Mia:J.P.? No…no, he’d be fine with that. Are you kidding? I mean, he knows about all that. We tell each other everything.

Michael:Right. So he knows you’re here with me?

Mia:Um. Of course! So where was I? Oh, right. What was it like to live in Japan for so long?

Michael:Great! Japan’s great. Highly recommend it.

Mia:Really? So are you planning on…Oh, wait, that question’s later…Sorry, my grandmother woke me up really early this morning and I’m all disorganized.

Michael:How is the Dowager Princess Clarisse?

Mia:Oh, not her. The other one. Mamaw. She’s in town for my birthday party.

Michael:Oh, right. I wanted to thank you for the invitations to your party.

Mia:…the invitations to myparty ?

Michael:Right. Mine arrived this morning. And my mom said hers and Dad’s and Lilly’s came last night. That was really nice of you, to let bygones be bygones with Lilly. I know she and Kenny are planning on going tomorrow night. My parents, too. I’m going to try to make it, as well.

Mia(under breath):Grandmère!

Michael:What was that?

Mia:Nothing. Okay…so what did you miss most about America while you were gone?

Michael:Uh…you?

Mia:Oh, ha ha. Be serious.

Michael:Sorry. Okay. My dog.

Mia:What did you like best about Japan?

Michael:Probably the people. I met a lot of really great people there. I’m going to miss some of them—the ones I haven’t brought over here with the rest of my team—a lot.

Mia:Oh. Really? I mean…so you’re moving permanently back to America now?

Michael:Yeah, I have a place here in Manhattan. Pavlov Surgical will have its corporate offices here, though the bulk of the manufacturing will be done out of Palo Alto in California.

Mia:Oh. So—

Michael:Can I askyou a question now?

Mia:Um…sure.

Michael:When am I going to get to read your senior project?

Mia:See, I knew you were going to ask me that—

Michael:So, if you knew, where is it?

Mia:I have to tell you something.

Michael:Uh-oh. I know that look.

Mia:Yeah. My project’s not about the history of Genovian olive oil presses, circa 1254–1650.

Michael:It’s not?

Mia:No. It’s actually a four-hundred-page medieval historical romance novel.

Michael:Sweet. Hand it over.

Mia:Seriously. Michael—you’re just being nice. You don’t have to read it.

Michael:Haveto? If you don’t think I want to read it now, you’re high. Have you been smoking some of Clarisse’s Gitanes? Because I’m pretty sure I got high once on the secondhand smoke from those.

Mia:She had to quit smoking. Look, if I e-mail you a copy, will you just promise to not start reading it until I’ve left?Michael: What, now? You mean this minute? To my phone? I completely and totally swear.

Mia:Okay. Fine. Here it is.

Michael:Outstanding. Wait. Who’s Daphne Delacroix?

Mia:You said you wouldn’t read it!

Michael:Oh my God, you should see your face. It’s the same color red as my Converse.

Mia:Thanks for pointing that out. Actually, I changed my mind. I don’t want you to have a copy anymore. Give me your phone, I’m deleting it.

Michael:What? No way. I’m reading this thing tonight. Hey—cut it out! Lars, help, she’s attacking me!

Lars:I’m only supposed to intervene if someone is attacking her, not if the princess is attacking someone else.

Mia:Give it to me!

Michael:No—

Waiter:Is there a problem here?

Michael:No.

Mia:No.

Lars:No. Please excuse them. Too much caffeine.

Mia:Sorry, Michael. I’ll pay for dry cleaning….

Michael:Don’t be stupid…are you stillrecording this?

End recording.

 

Sunday, April 30, 2:30 p.m., a bench in

Washington Square Park

Yeah, so, that didn’t work out so well.

And it got even worse when I was saying good-bye to Michael—after I’d tried, then failed, to wrestle his iPhone away from him so I could delete that copy of my book I’d so stupidly sent him—and we got up to leave, and I stuck out my hand to shake his hand good-bye, and he looked at it and said, “I think we can do a little better than that, can’t we?”

And held out his arms to give me a hug—an obviouslyfriendly hug, I mean, it was nothing more than that.

And I laughed and said, “Of course.”

And I hugged him back.

And I accidentally smelled him.

And it all came rushing back. How safe and warm I’d always felt in his arms, and how every time he’d held me like that, I’d never wanted him to let go. I didn’t want him to let go of me there, right in the middle of Caffe Dante, where I was just interviewing him for theAtom , not on a date or anything. It was so stupid. It was so awful. I mean, I had to practicallyforce myself to let go of him, to stop breathing in his Michael-y smell, which I hadn’t smelled in so long.

What iswrong with me?

And now I can’t go home, because I don’t think I can deal with running into any of my various family members from Indiana (or Genovia) who might be there. I just have to sit out here in the park and try to forget what a complete idiot I was back there (while Lars stands guard to protect me from the drug dealers who keep asking me to “Smoke? Smoke?” and the homeless people who want to know if I can give them “a five dollars” and the packs of touring NYU kids with their parents, who keep going, “Oh my God, is that—It is! It’s Princess Mia of Genovia!”) and hope eventually I’ll go back to normal and my fingers will stop shaking and my heart will stop beatingMi-chael, Michael, Mi-chael like I’m back in freaking ninth grade again.

I really hope that hot chocolate washes out of his jeans.

Also, I would just like to ask the gods or anyone else who might be listening…why can’t I conduct myself in a grown-up fashion around guys I used to date and with whom I broke up and whom I should be completely and one hundred percent OVER?

It was just so…weirdsitting so close to him again. Evenbefore I could smell him. And I get that we’re just friends now—and, of course, I know I have a boyfriend, and Michael’s got a girlfriend (probably—I never did get a straight answer about this).

But he’s just so…I don’t know! I can’t explain it! He sort of emanates this…touchablequality.

And, of course, I knew I couldn’t touch him (before I did touch him…which he ASKED me to do. He couldn’t have known what that hug would do to me. Did he know? No, he couldn’t have. He isn’t a sadist. Not like his sister).

But being there in the café with him, it was like…well, it was like no time had gone by. Except, of course, a lot of time had gone by. Only in the best way, you know? Like, even though I might have sounded stupid on the tape (I just played it back. I sounded like a complete idiot), I didn’tfeel stupid while I was saying it—not the way I used to when I was younger around Michael. I think it’s because…well, a lot of stuff has happened since I was last in Michael’s company, and I just feel more confident about things (okay, well…about men) than I used to. Recent hug-related freak-out aside.

For instance—now that I played the tape back, I realize Michael was kind of flirting with me! Just a little.

But that’s okay. It’smore than okay, actually.

Oh, no. Did I just write that?

Not that it matters, because I’m pretty sure he thinks the only reason I was there was because I’m doing an article for theAtom (although some reporter I am, since I didn’t even ask him all my questions, once I got so preoccupied wrestling him over his phone).

Wrestling! In a restaurant! Like a seven-year-old! Great. When am I ever going to learn to act like a grown-up? I really thought I’d reached the point of being able to maintain a somewhat dignified demeanor in a public place.

And then I wrestled my ex-boyfriend in a café over his iPhone! And spilled hot chocolate over him!

Then I smelled him.

I think I lost one of my chandelier earrings, too.

Thank God no paparazzi showed to get photos ofthat .

Which is kind of odd, if you think about it. That none of them was around, since they seem to show up everywhere else I go.

Whatever.

Anyway, I guess it was…sweet? Michael, I mean, and his reaction to my telling him I wrote a romance novel. Even though I completely regret sending it to him.

He said he’s going to read it! Tonight!

Of course, J.P. said the same thing. But J.P. also told me I shouldn’t sell myself short. Michael didn’t say anything like that.