Meg Cabot - Princess in the Spotlight

     “I did,” I said. The excitement in the air was contagious.

     Then the line started moving. Michael and Kenny’s friends from the Computer Club, who made up the rest of the bloody platoon, started marching and going, “Hut, two, three, four. Hut, two, three, four.”

     Well, they can’t help it. They’re in the computer club, after all.

     It wasn’t until the movie started that I began to realize something weird was going on. I very cleverly maneuvered myself in the aisle so that I would end up sitting next to Michael. Lars was supposed to be on my other side.

     But somehow Lars got pushed out, and Kenny ended up on my other side.

     Not that it mattered . . .then. Lars just sat behind me. I hardly noticed Kenny, even though he kept trying to talk to me, mostly about Bio. I answered him, but all I could think about was Michael. Did he really think I looked stupid? When should I mention that I happen to know that he is Jo-C-rox? I had this little speech all rehearsed. I was going to be like, Hey, seen any good cartoons lately?

     Lame, I know, but how else was I supposed to bring it up?

     I could hardly wait for the movie to be over so I could spring my offensive.

     Rocky Horror,even if you can’t wait for it to end, is pretty fun. Everybody just acts like a lunatic. People were throwing bread at the screen, and putting up umbrellas when it rained in the movie, and dancing the Pelvic Thrust. It really is one of the best movies of all time. It almost beats outDirty Dancing as my favorite, except, of course, there’s no Patrick Swayze.

     Except I forgot there aren’t really any scary parts. So I didn’t actually get a chance to pretend to be scared so Michael could put his arm around me, or anything.

     Which kind of sucks, if you think about it.

     But hey, I got to sit by him, didn’t I? For like two hours. In the dark. That’s something, isn’t it? And he kept laughing and looking at me to see whether or not I was laughing, too. That counts, right? I mean, when someone keeps checking to see whether you think the same things are funny that he does? That totally counts for something.

     The only problem was, I couldn’t help noticing that Kenny was doing the same thing. You know, laughing and then looking at me to see if I was laughing, too.

     That should have been my next clue.

     After the movie, we all went out to breakfast at Round the Clock. And this is where things got even more weird.

     I had been to Round the Clock before, of course—where else in Manhattan can you get pancakes for two dollars?—but never quite this late, and never with a bodyguard. Poor Lars was looking a little worse for wear by that time. He kept ordering cup after cup of coffee. I was jammed in at this table between Michael and Kenny—funny how that kept happening—with Lilly and Boris and the entire Computer Club all around us. Everyone was talking really loud and at the same time, and I was having a really hard time figuring out how I was ever going to bring up the cartoon thing, when all of a sudden, Kenny said, right in my ear, “Had any interesting mail lately?”

     I am sorry to say that it was only then that the truth dawned.

     I should have known, of course.

     It hadn’t been Michael.Michael wasn’t Jo-C-rox.

     I think a part of me must have known that all along. I mean, it really isn’t like Michael to do anything anonymously. He just isn’t the type not to sign his name. I guess I’d been suffering from a bad case of wishful thinking, or something.

     A REALLY bad case of wishful thinking.

     Because of course Jo-C-rox was Kenny.

     Not that there’s anything wrong with Kenny. There totally isn’t. He is a really, really nice guy. I mean, I really like Kenny Showalter. Really, I do.

     But he’s not Michael Moscovitz.

     I looked up at Kenny after he’d made that comment about having any interesting mail lately, and I tried to smile. I really did.

     I said, “Oh, Kenny. Are you Jo-C-rox?”

     Kenny grinned.

     “Yes,” Kenny said. “Didn’t you figure it out?”

     No. Because I am a complete idiot.

     “Uh-huh,” I said, forcing another smile. “Finally.”

     “Good.” Kenny looked pleased. “Because you really do remind me of Josie, you know. OfJosie and the Pussycats, I mean. See, she’s lead singer in a rock group, and she solves mysteries on the side. She’s cool. Like you.”

     Oh, my God.Kenny. My Bio partner,Kenny. Six-foot-tall, totally gawky Kenny, who always gives me the answers in Bio. I’d forgotten he’s like this huge Japanese anime fan. Of course he watches the Cartoon Network. He’s practically addicted to it.Batman is like his favorite thing of all time.

     Oh, someone shoot me. Someone please shoot me.

     I smiled. I’m afraid my smile was very weak.

     But Kenny didn’t care.

     “And you know, in later episodes,” Kenny said, encouraged by my smile, “Josie and the Pussycats go up into space. So she’s also a pioneer into space exploration.”

     Oh, God, make this be a bad dream. Please make this be a bad dream, and let me wake up and have it not be true!

     All I could do was thank my lucky stars that I hadn’t said anything to Michael. Could you imagine if I’d gone up to him and said what I’d planned to? He’d have thought I’d forgotten to take my medication, or something.

     “Anyway,” Kenny said. “You want to go out sometime, Mia? With me, I mean?”

     Oh, God. I hate that. I really hate that. You know, when people go “Do you want to go out with me sometime?” instead of “Do you want to go out with me next Tuesday?” Because that way you can make up an excuse. Because then you can always go, “Oh, no, on Tuesday I have this thing.”

     But you can’t go, “No, I don’t want to go out with you EVER.”

     Because that would be too mean.

     And I can’t be mean to Kenny. I like Kenny. I really do. He’s very funny and sweet and everything.

     But do I want his tongue in my mouth?

     Not so much.

     What could I say? “No, Kenny? No, Kenny, I don’t want to go out with you ever, because I happen to be in love with my best friend’s brother?”

     You can’t say that.

     Well, maybe some girls can.

     But not me.

     “Sure, Kenny,” I said.

     After all, how bad could a date with Kenny be? What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. That’s what Grandmère says, anyway.

     After that, I had no choice but to let Kenny put his arm around me—the only one he had, the other being tightly secured beneath his costume to give him the appearance of having been severely injured in a land mine explosion.

     But we were all jammed in so closely at that table that Kenny’s arm, as it went around my shoulders, jostled Michael, and he looked over at us. . . .

     And then he looked over at Lars, really fast. Almost like he—I don’t know . . .

     Saw what was going on, and wanted Lars to put a stop to it?

     No. No, of course not. It couldn’t be that.

     But it is true that when Lars, who was busy pouring sugar into like his fifth cup of coffee that night, didn’t look up, Michael stood and said, “Well, I’m beat. What do you say we call it a night?”

     Everyone looked at him like he was crazy. I mean, some people were still finishing their food and all. Lilly even went, “What’s with you, Michael? Gotta catch up on your beauty sleep?”

     But Michael totally took out his wallet and started counting out how much he owed.

     So then I stood up really fast and said, “I’m tired, too. Lars, could you call the car?”

     Lars, delighted finally to be leaving, whipped out his cell phone and started dialing. Kenny, beside me, started saying stuff like, “It’s a shame you have to go so early,” and “So, Mia, can I call you?”

     This last question caused Lilly to look from me to Kenny and then back again. Then she looked at Michael. Then she stood up, too.

     “Come on, Al,” she said, giving Boris a tap on the head. “Let’s blow this juke joint.”

     Only of course Boris didn’t understand. “What is a juke joint?” he asked. “And why are we blowing it?”

     Everyone started digging around for money to pay the bill . . .which was when I remembered that I didn’t have any. Money, I mean. I didn’t even have a purse to put money in. That was the one part of my wedding ensemble Grandmère had forgotten.

     I elbowed Lars and whispered, “Have you got any cash? I’m a little low at the moment.”

     Lars nodded and reached for his wallet. That’s when Kenny, who noticed this, went, “Oh, no, Mia. Your pancakes are on me.”

     This, of course, completely freaked me out. I didn’t want Kenny to pay for my pancakes. Or Lars’s five cups of coffee, either.

     “Oh, no,” I said. “That isn’t necessary.”

     Which didn’t have at all the desired effect, since Kenny said, all stiffly, “I insist,” and started throwing dollar bills down on the table.

     Remembering I’m supposed to be gracious, being a princess and all, I said, “Well, thank you very much, Kenny.”

     Which was when Lars handed Michael a twenty and said, “For the movie tickets.”

     Only then Michael wouldn’t take my money—okay, it was Lars’s money, but my dad totally would have paid him back—either. He looked totally embarrassed, and went, “Oh, no. My treat,” even after I strenuously insisted.

     So then I had to say, “Well, thank you very much, Michael,” when all I really wanted to say was, “Get me out of here!”

     Because with two different guys paying for me, it was like I’d been out on a date with both of them at once!

     Which, I guess, in a way, I had.

     You would think I would be very excited about this. I mean, considering I’d never really been out even withone guy before, let alonetwo at the same time.

     Except that it was totally and completelynot fun. Because, for one thing, I didn’t actually want to be going out with one of them at all.