But obviously this didn’t occur to J.P., because he just went, “Are you sure you don’t want to come, Mia?” then kissed me when I said no and then hurried to join Sean and Andrew and Stacey Cheeseman and his parents at the theater door, where tons of paparazzi were waiting to take his photo.

Yeah. Because there were huge amounts of paps in front of the theater. As I made my own way out, they asked me how I felt about my boyfriend having written a play about me that’s going to be turned into a movie directed by Sean Penn.

I said I felt great about it, making that statement officially Mia Thermopolis’s Big Fat Lie Number Ten.

Although I think I’m starting to lose track.

I don’t know how I’m ever going to get to sleep tonight when all I can think about is this:

P.S. No need to thank me on behalf of your father or Genovia. I only sent it because I thought it might help out your dad in the elections, and that, in turn, would makeyou happy. So you see my motives were completely selfish.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!

An excerpt fromRansom My Heart by Daphne Delacroix

He felt her body tense, but when she tried to back away from him, two things happened simultaneously to thwart her escape. The first was that she came up against Violet’s solid flank. The mare only looked back at them, placidly chewing on some loose straw, and would not move. The second was that Hugo’s arms went around her, half-lifting Finnula off the ground even as his tongue slid into her mouth.

Finnula let out a mew of protest that was quickly stifled by his own mouth…but her protest seemed short-lived. Either Finnula was a woman who appreciated a good kiss, or she liked him, at least a bit. Because a second after his mouth met hers, her head fell back against his arm, and her lips opened like a blossom. He felt her relax against him, her hands, which previously had been trying to push him away, suddenly going around his neck to press him closer.

It wasn’t until he felt her tongue flick tentatively against his that he lost his careful control. Suddenly, he was kissing her even more urgently, his hands traveling down her sides, past her hips, until they lifted her full up against him.

Her firm breasts crushed against his chest, her thighs clenched tightly around his hips, Hugo molded Finnula against him, kissing her cheeks, her eyelids, her throat. The sensuous reaction he’d evoked from her amazed and excited him, and when she held his face between both her hands and rained kisses upon him, he groaned, both from the sweetness of the gesture and the fact that he could feel the heat from between her legs burning against his own urgent need.

Holding her to him with one arm, he swept open the collar of her shirt. Finnula let out another sound, this one a sigh of such longing that Hugo could not stifle a wordless cry, and he looked about for a pile of hay thick enough for them to lay in….

 

Thursday, May 4, Psychology final

Describe major histocompatibility complex.

This is so easy.

Major histocompatibility complex is the gene family found in most mammals that is responsible for reproductive success. These molecules, which are displayed on cell surfaces, control the immune system. They have the capacity to kill pathogens, or malfunctioning cells. In other words, MHC genes help the immune system to recognize and destroy invaders. This is especially useful in the selection of potential mates. MHC has recently been shown to play a crucial role, via olfaction (or sense of smell), in this capacity. It has been proven that the more diverse, or different, the MHC of the parent, the stronger the immune system of the child. Interestingly, MHC-mate dissimilar selection tendencies have been categorically determined in humans. The more dissimilar a male’s MHC to a female (this was without deodorant or cologne), the “better” he tended to smell to her in clinical studies. These studies have been duplicated time and again, with the same results. Mice and fish have shown similar—

Oh.

My.

God.

 

Thursday, May 4, Psych final

What am I going to do?

Seriously. This can’t be happening. Icannot be suffering from major histocompatibility complex for Michael. That is just…that is justridiculous.

On the other hand…why else have I always been so drawn to—okay, completely obsessed with—the way his neck smells?

This explains everything. He is my perfect dissimilar MHC match! No wonder I’ve never been able to get over him! It’s not me, or my heart, or my brain…it’s mygenes , crying out in longing for their complete and total genetic opposite!

And what about J.P.? This perfectly explains why I’ve never been that physically attracted to him…he’s never smelled like anything but dry-cleaning fluid to me. We’re too MHC compatible! We’retoo close of a genetic match. We evenlook alike…the blond hair, light eyes, same build. How did that person put it, so long ago, who saw us together at the theater—“They make a very attractive couple. They’re both so tall and blond.”

No wonder J.P. and I have never even gotten past first base. Our molecules are like, REJECTION! REJECTION! DO NOT MATE!

And here I am, demanding that we do it anyway.

Well, with a condom.

But still. Offspringcould result, down the line, if J.P. and I get married.

OH MY GOD! I wonder what kind of genetic defects our kids would have, considering I get no olfactory vibe from him at all! They’ll probably be born all aesthetically perfect—just like LANA!!!!

Which, think about it, is a serious genetic defect. Being born perfect would turn any kid into a horribleCloverfield -type monster, just like Lana (well, for the first seventeen years of her life, considering how awful she was until I tamed her a bit). I mean, if you’re born perfect, like Lana, you never have to learn any coping mechanisms, the way I did growing up. Because beautiful people can often coast along on their looks, never having to develop a sense of humor, or compassion for others, or anything like that. Why would they have to? They’re perfect. If you’re born aesthetically beautiful, the way J.P. and my kids would be, basically, you’re a monster…and my genes know it.

That’s why whenever J.P. kisses me, I don’t get that thrill I always did when Michael kissed me…MY GENES DON’T WANT ME TO GIVE BIRTH TO GENETIC MONSTERS!!!!!

What am I going to do?????? I am scheduled to have sex in less than two days with a guy with whom I am a complete MHC match!

AND THAT IS THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF WHAT MAJOR HISTOCOMPATIBILITY COMPLEX IS ALL ABOUT!

My MHCmis match is someone who broke up with me almost two years ago!

And who, despite what my grandmother and best friend seem to think, does NOT love me, but really just does want to be friends.

True, J.P. and I have somuch in common personality-wise—we both like creative writing, andBeauty and the Beast , and drama.

While Michael and I basically have nothing in common except a deep and abiding love forBuffy the Vampire Slayer andStar Wars (the original three movies, not the hideous prequels).

And yet I might as well admit, I have an insufferable weakness for him. Yes! I do! I cannot resist the way he smells. I am drawn to him the way the American public is drawn to Tori Spelling.

I have got to fight this. I can’t allow myself to feel this way about a boy who is so incredibly wrong for me (except, of course, genetically).

But what if I’m not strong enough?

 

Thursday, May 4, Psych final

Mia, is it true? Is J.P.’s play really going to be a movie?

Ahhhhh! You scared me! I don’t have time to talk about this now, Tina. I just figured out J.P. and I are total MHC mismatches…or, matches, really. Our children are going to be perfect genetic mutants, like Lana! And that Michael’s my MHC match! That’s why I’ve always been obsessed with how his neck smells! And why whenever I’m around him, I act like a total blithering idiot. Tina, I am a dead woman.

Mia…are you on drugs?

No—don’t you see what this means? It explains EVERYTHING! Why I’ve never felt attracted to J.P…. Why I can’t let Michael go…Oh, Tina, I’m being held hostage by my own MHC. I’ve got to FIGHT it. Will you help?

Do you need help? Because I could call Dr. Knutz.

No! Tina—Look. Just…never mind. I’m fine. Pretend I never said anything.

Why does everyone always think I’m crazy when I’ve never been saner in my life?Can’t Tina—can’t everyone—see that I’m just a woman who’s busy trying to take care of business? I’m eighteen now. I know what I have to do to get things done.

Or, as in this case—not done, I guess. Because there’s nothing I can do about this.

Except stay far, far away from Michael Moscovitz.

I just can’t believe I bought J.P. all that cologne. When it turned out cologne had nothing to do with it in the first place. It was his genes all along.

Who knew?

Well…me, I guess. I just didn’t put it all together until the test today.

I guess Ihave had a lot on my mind, what with trying to get my dad elected and pick a college and all.

I blame the educational system in this country. Why did they wait until the last semester my senior year to tell me all this—about MHC, I mean? This is information that might have been useful to me, oh, I don’t know, around about ninth grade, maybe!

The big question now is: How am I going to avoid smelling Michael during lunch tomorrow?

I don’t know. I guess I’ll just stay as far away from him as I can. I certainly won’t hug him this time. If he asks for a hug, I’ll just say I have a cold.

Yes! That’s it. And I don’t want him to catch it.

God. Genius.

I can’t believe Kenneth is our class valedictorian. It should really be me. If they gave out class valedictorian for LIFE lessons, it would be.

 

Thursday, May 4, Lunch

Dad just called with more Moscovitz news.

This time it was about Lilly.

Seriously, I should stop purchasing food here, since I’m only going to end up dropping it on the floor. Although since tomorrow is Senior Skip Day…I guess this is the last day I’m going to have this particular problem.

“Do you remember how she was filming everyone at your party?” Dad asked, when I picked up the phone, convinced this time Grandmère reallyhad keeled over.

“Yeah…” I was picking bits of salad out of my hair. Everybody else was giving me the evil eye, picking bits of salad out of their own hair. Though it wasn’t my fault, really, I’d dropped my Fiesta Taco Bowl.

“Well, she’s crafted a campaign commercial from the footage. It began airing on Genovian television last night at midnight.”

I groaned. Everyone looked politely inquisitive—except J.P. He got a call on his own cell phone at that exact moment.

“It’s Sean,” he said apologetically. “I’ve got to take this. I’ll be right back.” He got up to go take the call outside, away from the din of the caf.

“How bad’s the damage?” I asked. Dad’s numbers had gotten a little better since Michael’s donation, and the press Dad had received because of it.

But René was still leading in the polls.

“No,” Dad said. He sounded strange. “You don’t understand, Mia. Her commercial’s insupport of me. Not against me.”

“What?” I asked him breathlessly. “Whatdid you say?”

“That’s right,” Dad said. “I just thought you should know. I’ve e-mailed you a link to it. It’s really lovely, actually. I can’t imagine how she accomplished it. You said she has her own show in Korea, or something? I suppose she had her people there put it together, and then they had someone over here—”

“Dad,” I said, my chest feeling tight. “I’ve got to go….”

I hung up, then went straight to my e-mail. Scrolling through all the hysterical messages from Grandmère about what I was going to wear to the prom and then the next day, to graduation (like it even matters, since I’ll have my graduation gown on over whatever it is), I found Dad’s e-mail and clicked on it. The link to Lilly’s commercial was there, and I clicked on that. The ad began to play.

And he was right. Itwas lovely. It was a sixty-second clip featuring all the celebrities from my party—the Clintons, the Obamas, the Beckhams, Oprah, Brad and Angelina, Madonna, Bono, and more—all saying sweet, very sincere-sounding things about my dad, about stuff he’d done for Genovia in the past, and how Genovian voters ought to support him. Interspersed between the brief celebrity endorsements were gorgeous shots of Genovia (which I realized Lilly had taken during her many trips with me there), of the blue sparkling waters of the bay, the green cliffs above it, the white beaches, and the palace, all looking pristine and untouched by touristy schlock.