Meg Cabot: Princess on the Brink

“But do they have to do it inJapan ?” my mouth asked. “Don’t they have mechanical engineers here in Manhattan? I’m almost sure they do. I think Ling Su’s dad is one!”

“Mia,” Michael explained, “this is the most innovative and cutting-edge robotics research group in the world. They’re based in Tsukuba, which is basically the Silicon Valley of Japan. That’s where their labs are, their research facilities. All their equipment is there…everything I need to turn my prototype into a working model. I have to go there.”

“But you’ll be back,” I said. My brain was starting to take control of my mouth again. Thank God. “For, like, Thanksgiving break and Christmas and Spring Break and all of that.” Because the wheels in my mind were spinning, and I was thinking,Well, okay, this won’t be so bad. Sure, my boyfriend will be in Japan, but I’ll still see him during vacations. It won’t be THAT different than during the school year. And this way I’ll have more time to really buckle down and maybe figure out what Mr. Hipskin is talking about in Chemistry and just what the heck is going on in Precalculus and maybe even study enough to do a little better on my math SATs, and, what the heck, maybe I’ll even stick with student government after all, and I’ll be able to finish my screenplay AND maybe a novel…

And that’s when Michael reached across the table and said, “Mia, there’s sort of a time crunch with this project. If we’re going to get it out on the market as soon as we possibly can, we can’t take time off. So…no, I won’t be home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. I probably won’t be home until next summer, by which point we should have something we can demonstrate in an actual surgical setting.”

I heard the words coming out of his mouth. I knew he was speaking English. But just like with Mr. Hipskin in Chemistry class, what Michael was saying made no sense. Next summer is ayear from now . Basically Michael was saying he was going to be gone—not see me—for a YEAR.

And okay, sure, I could fly to Japan to see him. In my dreams. Because NO WAY am I going to be able to talk my dad into letting me take the royal Genovian jet toJapan to see myboyfriend .

And no way would they let me fly commercial. All the air marshals in the world wouldn’t satisfy Grandmère—let alone my dad—that commercial air traffic is safe for royals.

That’s when I excused myself. That’s why I’m sitting here. Because none of this makes any sense.

I don’t care how good an opportunity it is.

I don’t care how much money he stands to make from this, or how many thousands of lives he might save.

Why would any guy who loves his girlfriend as much as Michael claims to love me want to be apart from her for a YEAR?

And Kevin Yang is no help on this subject. He just shrugged when I asked him this, and went, “I never understood Michael from the day he first came in here when he was ten years old. He asked for hot chili oil for my dumplings. Like they are not spicy enough!”

And Lars, who poked his head in here a minute ago to see where I disappeared to, just went, “Well, you know. Sometimes guys just have to do these things to prove themselves.”

To WHOM? Aren’tI the only one who should matter?I don’t want Michael to go to Japan for a year.

And excuse me, but it’s not like he’s going off to the Gobi Desert to do chin-ups and shoot at cardboard cutouts of terrorists like Lars did when HE decided he needed to prove himself. He’s just going to some computer lab in Japan!

And yes, I understand that his robotic arm thingie could save thousands of lives.

BUT WHAT ABOUTMY LIFE?

Okay, this totally isn’t helping.

And the sight of all these duck heads is really psychologically disturbing to me.

I mean, not as psychologically disturbing as the fact that my boyfriend is apparently moving to Japan for a year.

But almost.

I’m going back out there. I’m going to be supportive. I’m going to be happy for Michael. I’m not going to say anything about how if he really loved me, he wouldn’t go. Because I can’t be selfish. I have had Michael all to myself for nearly two years now. I can’t hog him from the rest of the world, which really does need him, and his genius.

Except.

EXCEPT WHAT AM I GOING TO DO IF I CAN’T SMELL HIS NECK????

I might die.

Tuesday, September 7, 10 p.m., the loft

I shouldn’t have done it.

I know I shouldn’t have done it.

I don’t know why I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I don’t know why I couldn’t make my lips say the things I wanted them to say, like, “Michael, I am so proud of you,” and, “This really is such a great opportunity.”

I mean, I DID say those things. Really, I did.

But then—as we were walking down that bike path by the Hudson (Lars could barely keep up, we were walking so fast…well, mostly because Lars was texting people on his Sidekick as we went, but whatever), because it was such a nice night and I wasn’t ready to go home yet, because I wanted to squeeze every minute I could out of my last few days with him—and Michael was telling me how excited he was about moving to Japan, and how they eat noodles for breakfast there, and how the shumai you buy on the street are even better than the shumai at Sapporo East—somehow the words, “But, Michael…what about US?” slipped out of my mouth, before I could stuff them back in.

Which is probably the lamest, most idiotic, Lana Weinbergerish thing a girl in my position could have said. Seriously. Pretty soon I’m going to start snapping the back of my own bra and be all, “Why are you wearing a bra, Mia? You don’t need one.”

But Michael didn’t even skip a beat. He went, “I think we’ll be fine. Of course I’m going to miss you. But I have to admit, it’s going to be a lot easier to miss you than it’s been to be around you lately.”

And I totally froze in the middle of the bike path and was like,“WHAT?”

Because I’dknown it. I’d totally known it. I’d asked him if part of why he was going had to do with me.

And it turned out I was right.

“It’s just,” he said, “that sometimes I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to deal with it.”

To which I was all, “Deal with WHAT?” Because I had NO IDEA what he was talking about.

“Being with you all the time,” he said, “and not. You know.”

I STILL didn’t get it (yes, I know I am the one who is suffering from developmental retardation and not Rocky, after all).

I was like, “Being with me all the time and not WHAT?”

And Michael finally just had to say, “Not having sex.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, that’s right. My boyfriend apparently doesn’t mind moving to Japan so much, because that is easier than being around me and not having sex.

I guess I should consider myself fortunate, since it’s clear from this that my boyfriend is a sex maniac, and I am probably lucky to be getting rid of him.

But, of course, that didn’t occur to me at the time. At the time, I was just so shocked by what he said that I had to sit down.

And the closest seat was a swing in the Hudson River Park playground.

So I sat down on a swing and looked down at my knees while Michael said, “I told you last year that I’m willing to wait.” He sat down on the swing next to mine. “And Iam willing to wait, Mia. Although to tell you the truth I’m not really sure how you think the whole prom night thing is going to work since I am not going to your senior prom, because I already graduated and my prom days are over, and it’s totally lame for girls to bring their college boyfriends to the prom. But whatever. The fact remains that your senior prom isn’t for two more years. And two years is a long time for us to keep—well, doing what we’re doing. I’m getting really tired of taking so many cold showers.”