Meg Cabot: Sweet Sixteen Princess

If a girl tells a guy that she loves him, and the guy says Thank you, that means he's just not used to that level of intimacy, doesn't it?"

"Sure," Michael says. "Or that he's not that into her. You got a second?"

"J. P. is TOTALLY into you," I assured Lilly, who looked like she was about to kill Michael. "Seriously. Stay here, I'll be right back—"

Then, skating away with Michael, I said, "Why'd you have to say that? She just told J. P. she loves him, and all he said was Thank you!"

"Huh," Michael said, pulling me to the far side of the rink. "Bummer for her. Open your present now."

"My present?" All thoughts of Lilly and her romantic travails left me. "Michael, I thought this party was my present! It's so fantastic . . . the snow, the skating, you and me . . . how did you know this was exactly what I wanted?"

"Because I know you," Michael said, leading me off the ice until we stood in front of a huge box I hadn't noticed before. And I do mean huge. It was taller than me, practically. "Open it."

I opened the enormous cardboard box, and found, standing inside it—

"A Segway Human Transporter!" I shrieked. "Uh," Michael said quickly. "Not really. I mean, it's a human transporter, but not a Segway. We promised to make each other gifts from now on, remember? So I made you a self-balancing scooter- it's just like a Segway, with the same safety features, redundancy and fool proofing, but it's not the actual—"

"Oh, Michael!" I cried, throwing my arms around his neck. I seriously felt like crying, I was so happy.

Especially when "(I've Had) The Time of My Life," from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, came on over the sound system, and I looked out across the rink and saw my mom skating with Mr. G . . . and Tina skating with Boris . . . and Lars skating with Janine (don't ask me where she'd come from) . . .

and Shameeka skating with What's-His-Name . . .

and Perin skating with Ling Su (I'll think about that

one later) . . . and Dr. Moscovitz skating with Dr. Moscovitz, even though they were arguing over the collective unconscious

. . . and even my dad skating with Ronnie (I'm sure Ronnie will tell him she used

to be a man, sometime). . . .

But, best of all, J. P. skating with Lilly, and not running from her like a startled fawn, in spite of her having told him that she loved him.

"Come on, Michael," I said, pulling him back out onto the ice. "Let's have the time of our lives." And so we did.