Meg Cabot - Princess Mia

Still. I had kind of hoped…I mean, this is the longest she’s not spoken to me. Ever.

I just can’t believe it’s basically over between us.

And because of a BOY.

Tina just IMed me, though. At least I still have Tina.

ILUVROMANCE: Mia! How ARE you? I barely got to talk to you at school today. Are you feeling better?

FTLOUIE: Yes, thanks!

Whatever. I lie all the time anyway.

ILUVROMANCE: I’m so glad! You looked so sad at school.

FTLOUIE: Well. Yeah. I guess that’s kind of to be expected, considering I’ve lost the love of my life and all.

ILUVROMANCE: I know. I’m so, so sorry. Hey, I know what might cheer you up! Some retail therapy! I mean, you did grow an inch and gained a whole size! You need new clothes! Do you want to go shopping tomorrow? My mom’ll take us. You know how she loves to shop!!!

Which is so totally what I get for ever having agreed to go shopping with Lana. Because Tina’s mom is practically a shopping GENIUS, being a former model and all.And she knows all the designers.

FTLOUIE: Oh, I’d love to! But I have to do something with my grandmother.

The lies just keep mounting and mounting. But whatever. I can’t tell TINA I’m doing something with LANA WEINBERGER. She’d never understand it. Even if I explained about the do-one-thing-every-day-that-scares-you thing. And the thing about Domina Rei.

ILUVROMANCE: Oh. Okay. Well, what are you doing tomorrow night, then? Want to come over? My parents are going out and I have to babysit, but we can watch some DVDs or something.

For some reason—well, okay, I guess because I’m depressed—this invitation almost made me cry. I mean, Tina is just so sweet.

Also, it sounded like something I could handle, emotionally. As opposed to going out with the guy I’d recently been accused of being in love with by the media. When the truth is, I’ve only ever loved one guy, and he is currently in Japan, sending me random e-mails about how hard it is to find egg sandwiches there.

Yeah. Nice.

FTLOUIE: I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.

Except lie in my own bed and watch TV.

But my TV got taken away. So I can’t even do that.

ILUVROMANCE: Yay! I was thinking we should re-examine the Drew Barrymore oeuvre. Her less recent works, likeEver After andThe Wedding Singer .

FTLOUIE: That sounds PERFECT. I’ll bring the popcorn.

I really don’t feel guilty about not telling Tina about Michael’s e-mail…or about the fact that I’m in therapy. Because I’m just not ready to talk about those things with anybody yet.

Maybe someday I will be.

But first? I’m going to take a really long nap.

Because I’m exhausted.

Saturday, September 18, 10 a.m., Henri Bendel luxury department store

What am I doing here?

I don’t belong in a store like this. Stores like this are for FANCY people.

And okay, I’m a princess. Which is admittedly pretty fancy.

But I am currently wearing a pair of my MOM’s jeans, because none of my own fit me.

People who are wearing MOM jeans do not belong in stores like these, which are all golden and sparkly and filled with attractive model types carrying bottles of perfume who come up to you and go, “Trish McEvoy?”

And when you go, “No, my name is Mia—” they spritz you with something that smells like Febreze, only fruitier.

I’m not kidding. This is not the Gap. It’s more of the kind of store Grandmère hangs out in. Only more crowded. Because usually when Grandmère shops, she calls ahead and has the store opened up for her after hours so she can shop without having to rub elbows with any commoners.

Mom about had a coronary when I told her where I was going this morning—and why I needed to borrow her jeans.

“You’re going shopping with WHOM????”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said. “It’s something I have to do. For therapy.”

“Your therapist is making you go shopping withLana Weinberger ?” Mom exchanged glances with Mr. G, who was refilling Rocky’s cereal bowl with Cheerios, and who had gotten so distracted by our conversation that he’d accidentally caused Cheerios to overflow from the bowl and all the way down the sides of Rocky’s booster chair. Which delighted Rocky no end. “This is supposed to help ALLEVIATE your depression?”

“It’s a long story,” I said to her. “I’m supposed to do something every day that scares me.”

“Well,” Mom said, handing over her Levi’s. “Shopping with Lana Weinberger would scare me.”

Mom’s right. What am I doing here? Why did I listen to Dr. K, anyway? What does HE know about the long, torrid history between Lana and me? Nothing! He’s never even seen the movies of my life! He doesn’t know all the heinous things she’s done to me and my friends in the past! He has no way of knowing that this whole shopping thing is probably a trick! That Carrot Top is the only one who is going to show up! That making me come here and stand among the perfume spritzers waiting for Carrot Top is Lana’s idea of a grand, final joke—

Oh. Here she comes.

More later.

Saturday, September 18, 3 p.m., bathroom at Nobu 57

For reasons that are completely beyond me, Lana Weinberger and her clone, Trisha Hayes, are actually being nice to me.

Well, the reasons aren’tcompletely beyond me. Lana already told me why she’s being so nice to me: “Because I’m finally over the Josh thing. It wasn’t your fault.”

When I pointed out—as politely as possible—that she hated me well before her boyfriend ever dumped her to date me (then went back to her when I, in turn, dumpedhim ), she said, while we were sorting through size 36Cs (I’m a 36C!!!! Not a 34B anymore!!!! Lana insisted on my getting measured by an actual intimate apparel expert, and the expert confirmed what I’ve been suspecting, that I’ve grown a whole cup size and an inch around as well!), “Well, it wasn’tyou so much I hated as that jerky friend of yours.”

To which Trisha added, “Yeah, how can you like that Lilly girl, anyway? She’s so full of herself.”

I wanted to burst out laughing at that. Because, hello, the Evil Death Twins, calling LILLY full of herself?

But I started thinking about it, and it IS kind of true. Lilly CAN be a little judgmental and bossy.

But that’s why I like her! I mean, at least she HAS opinions about stuff. Stuff that matters, anyway. Most of the rest of the people in our class don’t care about anything except who wins onAmerican Idol and what Ivy League school they get into.

Or, in Lana’s case, which shade of lip gloss looks best on her.

But I didn’t say anything in Lilly’s defense because the truth is, even though I miss her and all—though not so much that it hurts sometimes, the way I do Michael—I need to figure out how to get out of this hole I’m in without the help of the Moscovitzes. Because as recent developments prove, neither Lilly nor Michael is going to be around to help me when I need them. I’ve got to learn to stand on my own two feet, without Lilly OR Michael to lean on as emotional crutches.

So I didn’t say anything when Lana and Trisha were (mildly) badmouthing Lilly. The truth was, I could see their point. It’s not like Lilly’s ever tried to put herself in Lana’s size 8 Manolos and see what it’s like to be Lana.

But I have.

And the view from Lana’s size 8s? It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

Don’t get me wrong, she’s gorgeous and every guy in the store who wasn’t gay (of which there were approximately two) followed her around with his gaze like he couldn’t help it.

And she’s a SUPER MEGA EXCELLENT shopper—I mean, I would never in my life have tried on a pair of True Religion jeans. Just because Paris Hilton wears them, and even though I don’t know Paris personally, she doesn’t seem to do a lot for charities or the environment, that I know of.