And then I told her the condition.

Which, of course, Grandmere hadn't brought up. The condition, I mean. No, the condition was a little princess-of-Genovia manoeuvring all of my own.

But hey. I learned from a master.

'So,' I said in conclusion, in an almost friendly way, as if Lana and I were buddies, and not sworn mortal enemies, like Alyssa Milano and the Source of All Evil. 'Take it, or leave it.'

Lana didn't hesitate. Not even a second. She went, 'OK.'

Just like that. 'OK.'

And suddenly, it was like I was Molly Ringwald. I'm not kidding, either.

I cannot explain, not even to myself, why I did what I did next. I just did it. It was like for a moment I was possessed by the spirit of some other girl, a girl who actually gets along with people like Lana. I reached out, grabbed Lana's head, pulled it towards me and gave her a great big kiss, smack in the middle of her eyebrows.

'Ew, gross,' Lana said, backing away fast. 'What is wrong with you, freak?'

But I didn't care that Lana had called me a freak. Twice. Because my heart was singing like those little birds who fly around Snow White's head when she's hanging out by the wishing well. I went, 'Stay right here,' and ran out of my seat. . .... much to the surprise of Mr. G, who had just come into the room, his Starbucks Grande in hand.

'Mia,' he said bewilderedly as I darted past him. 'Where are you going? The second bell just rang.'

'Be back in a minute, Mr. G,' I called over my shoulder as I raced down the hall to the room where Michael has AP English.

I didn't have to worry about making a fool of myself in front of Michael's peers or anything, since none of Michael's peers

were around, it being Senior Skip Day and all. I leaped into his classroom - the first time I had ever done such a thing: usually, of course, Michael visited me in MY classroom - and went, 'Excuse me, Mrs. Weinstein,' to his English teacher, 'but may I

have a word with Michael?' Mrs. Weinstein - who you could tell had been anticipating a light work day, since she'd come armed with the latest Cosmo - looked up from the Bedside Astrologer and went, 'Whatever, Mia.'

So I bounded over to an extremely surprised Michael and, slipping into the desk in front of his, said, 'Michael, remember

how you said that you'd only go to the prom if the guys in your band went, too?'

Michael couldn't seem to fathom the fact that I was actually in his classroom for a change.

'What are you doing here?' he wanted to know. 'Does Mr. G know you're here? You're going to get into trouble again . . .'

'Never mind that,' I said. 'Just tell me. Did you mean it when you said you'd go to the prom if the guys from your band went, too?'

'I guess so,' Michael said. 'But, Mia, the prom got cancelled, remember?'

'What if I told you,' I said all casually, like I was talking about the weather, 'that the prom was back on, and that they need a band, and that the band the Prom Committee has chosen is YOURS?'

Michael just stared. 'I'd say ... get out of town.'

'I am totally serious,' I informed him. 'And I will not get out of town. Oh, Michael, please say yes, I want to go to the

prom so badly . . .'

Michael looked surprised. 'You do? But the prom is so ... lame.'

'I know it's lame,' I said, not without some feeling. 'I know it is, Michael. But that does not alter the fact that I have been dreaming of going to the prom for my entire life, practically. And I really believe that I could achieve total self-actualization

if you and I went to the prom together tomorrow night. . .'

Michael still looked like he couldn't quite believe any of it - that his band was actually being booked for a real gig; that that gig was the school prom; and that his girlfriend had just confessed that her way up the Jungian tree of self-actualization might be speeded along if he agreed to take her to said prom with him.

'Uh,' Michael said. 'Well, OK. I guess so. If you feel that strongly about it.'

I was so overcome with emotion, that I reached out and grabbed Michael's head, just as I had grabbed Lana's. And just as

I had done with Lana, I dragged Michael's head towards me and planted a great big kiss on him . . . only not between his eyebrows, like with Lana, but right square on the lips.

Michael seemed very, very surprised by this - especially, you know, that I'd done it right in front of Mrs. Weinstein. Which is probably why he turned red all the way to his hairline after I finished kissing him, and went, 'Mia,' in a sort of strangled voice. But I didn't care if I'd embarrassed him. Because I was too happy. I went, 'See ya, Mrs. Weinstein,' to Michael's stunned-looking English teacher and skipped out of there, feeling just like Molly when Andrew McCarthy came up to her

at the prom and confessed his love to her, even though she was wearing that hideous dress.

And now I am sitting here - having told Lana that Skinner Box would definitely be performing at the prom -trembling with excitement over my own good fortune. I am going to the prom. I, Mia Thermopolis, am going to the prom. With my boyfriend and one true love, Michael Moscovitz. Michael and I are going to the prom.

MICHAEL AND I ARE GOING TO THE PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

TO THE PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!

PROM!













Friday, May 9, 7 p.m., the Loft




I really do not have time for all of this bickering between my mom and Grandmere. Don't these women know I have more important things to worry about? I AM GOING TO THE PROM TOMORROW WITH MY BOYFRIEND. I am

supposed to be getting plenty of rest and anointing my body with precious unguents right now, not refereeing fights between

the post-menopausal and the hormonally-challenged.

WHY CAN'T YOU BOTH SHUT UP??????????? I want to scream at them.

But that, of course, wouldn't be very princesslike.

I am going to put on my headphones and try to drown out the noise with the mix Michael made for my birthday party.

Perhaps the dulcet tones of The Flaming Lips will calm my fractious nerves.

Homework

Algebra: Who cares? Michael and I are going to the prom!!!!!

English: Prom!!!!

Biology: I'm going to the prom!!!!!!!!

Health and Safety: PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gifted and Talented: As if

French: Nous Allans Au Promme!!!!!!

World Civ.: WORLD PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!







PROM!









Friday, May 9, 7:02 p.m.


Not even The Flaming Lips can drown out Grandmere's strident tones. Am switching to Kelly Osbourne.

Friday, May 9, 7:04 p.m.


Success! Finally, I can hear myself think.

Michael just emailed to let me know that he and the band would probably be up all night practising for their first big gig. But it

is fully all right for the GUY to show up at the prom with dark circles under his eyes (look at that guy who ended up at the

Time Zone dance with Melissa Joan Hart in Drive Me Crazy}. It's just not OK for the GIRL to look less than petal smooth and daisy fresh.

The guys in the band aren't exactly stoked about the whole playing-at-the-prom thing. In fact, rumour has it Trevor even said, 'Oh, man, can't we just stick forks in our eyes, instead?'

But Michael says he told him a gig is a gig, and that beggars can't be choosers.

Michael signed off on his email with this:

See you tomorrow night. Love, M


Tomorrow night. Oh yes. Tomorrow night, my love, when I enter the prom on your arm, and see the jealous gazes of all of

my peers. Well, just Lana, because she's the only freshman besides me who is going. Except for Shameeka. Only she would never look at me jealously, because she is my friend.

Oh, and Tina. Because it turns out Tina is going to the prom, too. Because of course Boris is in Michael's band, and since he

is going to be there, he is allowed to bring one guest, and he chose Tina, because she, as he put it at lunch today, 'is my new muse, and sole reason for living.'

Oh, how thrilled Tina looked to hear those words uttered from the lips of her new love! I swear, she practically choked on her Fruitopia. She beamed across the table at Boris, and though I never thought I would write these words, I swear they are true:

Boris almost looked handsome as he basked beneath the hearthglow of her affection.

Seriously. Like, even his underbite didn't look that pronounced. And his chest kind of puffed out.

Either that, or he's been working out or something.

AHHHHH! The phone! Oh please God let it be my dad to say the strike is over and he's sending the limo down to pick Grandmere up ...




Friday, May 9, 7:10 p.m.



It wasn't my dad. It was Michael, to ask if I agree with the line-up of songs Skinner Box plans on playing tomorrow. It

includes many old prom standbys, such as The Moldy Peaches' 'Who's got the Crack' and Switchblade Kittens' 'All Cheerleaders Die', in addition to edgier stuff such as 'Mary Kay' by Jill Sobule and 'Call the Doctor' by Sleater-Kinney.

This is not to mention Skinner Box's original songs, such as 'Rock Throwing Youths' and 'Princess of my Heart'.

I did feel compelled to suggest Michael substitute 'Rock Throwing Youths' with something a little less controversial, like

'When It's Over' by Sugar Ray or 'She Bangs' by Ricky Martin, but he said he would sooner show up in the middle of Times Square wearing nothing but a cowboy hat (oh, how I wish he would!). So I suggested some old school Spoon or White

Stripes instead.

Then Michael went, 'What is all that shouting in the background?'

'Oh,' I said airily. 'That's just Grandmere and my mom arguing. Grandmere keeps insisting that my mom let her smoke in the Loft, but Mom says it's not good for me, or for the baby. Grandmere just accused my mother of being a fascist. She says

when she had Hitler and Mussolini over to the palace for tea at the height of World War Two, they both let her smoke, and

if it was good for those guys, it should be good enough for my mom.'

'Uh, Mia,' Michael said. 'You do realize that your grandmother just turned sixty-five.'

'Yeah,' I said, remembering Grandmere's birthday with all too much clarity: she had insisted on me going back to Genovia

with her to celebrate it, only I had had midterms (THANK GOD) and so was unable to. Don't think I didn't hear about

THAT ad nauseam for weeks.

'Well, Mia,' Michael said. 'I know maths is not your strong point, but you do know that your grandmother could only have

been about five years old during the height of World War Two. Right? I mean, she couldn't have had Hitler and Mussolini for tea at the Genovian Palace, because she wouldn't have even been living there yet, unless she married your grandfather when

she was like, four.'

I was stunned into total and complete silence by that one. I mean, can you believe it? My own grandmother has been lying

to me MY WHOLE LIFE. All Grandmere ever tells me about is how she saved the palace from being shelled by the Nazi hordes by having Hitler over for soup or something. All this time, I've thought about how brave she was, and what a diplomat, stopping the imminent military incursion into Genovia with SOUP and her charming (well, back then, maybe) smile.

AND NOW I FIND OUT IT'S NOT EVEN TRUE????????????????????????

Oh, my God. She's good. Really good.

Although - and I never thought I would say this - it's sort of hard to be mad at her.

Because . . . well. . .

She did save the prom.











Friday, May 9, 7:30 p.m.



Tina just called. She is kevelen over getting to go to the prom. It is, she says, like a dream come true. I told her I couldn't

agree more. She asked me how I thought we'd come to be so lucky.

I told her: Because we are both kind and pure of heart.









Friday, May 9, 8:00 p.m.


Oh, my God. I never thought I would say this, but poor Lilly.

Poor, poor Lilly.

She just found out that Boris is taking Tina to the prom. She overheard Michael and I talking a little while ago. Lilly is on