Meg Cabot - Forever Princess

I flushed, feeling guilty for my outburst.

“No,” I said. “I mean, what wouldI do out in Hollywood?”

“Write,” J.P. said. “Maybe not romance novels, because frankly, I think you’re capable of much more important work—”

“You haven’t even read my book,” I reminded him, feeling hurt. We’d still never gotten to have our Stephen and Tabitha King editorial talk. And important work? Romance novels are important! To the people who like to read them, anyway.

“I know,” J.P. said, laughing. But not in a mean way. “And I’m going to, I swear, I’ve just been so swamped with the play and then finals and everything. You know how it is. And I’m sure it’s the best romance novel there is. I’m just saying, I think you could write something much weightier if you really put your mind to it. Something that could change the world.”

Weightier? What is he talking about? And haven’t I done enough for the world? I mean, I made Genovia a democracy. Well, not me personally, but I helped. And if you write something that cheers someone up when they’re feeling down, doesn’t that change the world?

And let me tell you something: I have seenA Prince Among Men now, and it is not going to change the world OR cheer anybody up. I don’t mean to sound like I’ve got sour grapes, but it’s the truth. It doesn’t even make you think except to make you think that the guy who wrote it must think pretty highly of himself.

Sorry. I didn’t mean that. That was uncalled for.

Anyway, I was like, “J.P., I don’t know. Moving to Hollywood with you isn’t something my mom or my dad is going to approve of. They both expect me to go to college.”

“Right,” J.P. said. “But taking a year off might not be such a bad idea. It’s not like you got in anywhere that great anyway.”

Ouch. See, that would have been a great opportunity for me to say, “Actually, J.P., I was kind of exaggerating when I said I didn’t get in anywhere….”

Only, of course, I didn’t. Instead, I just suggested we go into the living room and watchTrue Life: I’m Hooked on OxyContin , because I didn’t want to get in an argument.

Anyway, after watchingTrue Life , I learned something. Not just that I am never going to do drugs (obviously). But that writing is my drug. It’s the only thing I ever do that I really like.

I mean, besides kiss Michael. But I can’t do that anymore, obviously.

Thursday, May 4, 8 p.m., ladies’ room, Carnegie Hall

OH MY GOD!

I thought this concert was going to be really boring, but I was wrong.

Oh, not the music.That’s totally boring. I’ve heard it a million times coming out of the G&T supply closet (although I’ll admit, it’s kind of different to hear it coming from the center of the Carnegie Hall stage, especially seeing all these fancy people turned out in their best clothes, clutching CDs with Boris—BORIS—on the cover, all saying his name in excited voices. I mean, it’s just Boris Pelkowski. But these people seem to think he’s some kind of celebrity. Which, hello, HIGHlarious).

But the fact that everyone I know from AEHS is here, includingboth Moscovitz siblings—that’sexciting. I wasn’t expecting that.

And I know it’s wrong to be excited to see my ex-boyfriend when I’m out on a date with my current boyfriend.

However, that is not my fault. It’s MHC.

Our seats are rows and rows apart so there’s no chance of my being overpowered by eau de Michael. Unless somehow we bump into him later. Which I highly doubt is going to happen.

Anyway, Michael’s alone. He didn’t come with a date! Which may be because Micromini Midori is in Genovia.

Except that I can’t help wondering if he came solo because I said in my e-mail to him that I’d be coming.

But then I remembered what Boris said—about how the two of them are going to be living together this year. So I guess that’s why he’s here, actually. To support his friend.

Stupid me, getting my hopes up. AGAIN.

Anyway. I guess I should be getting back to my seat. I didn’t want to be rude and write while I was supposed to be looking like I was paying attention, but—

WAIT.

Oh, God.

I recognize those shoes.

Thursday, May 4, 8:30 p.m., ladies’ room, Carnegie Hall

I was right: Theywere her shoes.

I totally confronted her when she came out of her stall.

Well, confronted isn’t the right word. Iasked her about the commercial she made for my dad. Why she did it, I mean.

At first she tried to get out of it by saying it had been a birthday gift for me.

And it’s true, she had said, back in theAtom office when I turned in my story about Michael, that there was something she’d been going to give me for my birthday. And she’d said to give it to me, she’d need to come to my party. She just hadn’t said she was going to give it to meat my party. I’d assumed that part.

But…why now? Why a presentthis year? And such agreat present?

At first she looked really annoyed that I wouldn’t just let it go. Like she couldn’t believe she’d walked into the bathroom and there I was.

I guess it probablydoes seem like every single time she goes for a pee, there I am.

Well, it’s basically true. It’s like I have some kind of Lilly Moscovitz bladder radar.

And this time Kenneth wasn’t around to ask weird questions about whether or not I was still going out with J.P., and keep her from answering. For a second I thought she wouldn’t anyway.

But then she seemed to make a decision within herself. She sort of sighed and, looking a bit annoyed, went, “Fine. If you must know, Mia…my brother said I had to be nice to you.”

I just stared at her. It took a few seconds for her words to register. “Yourbrother said?…”

“That I had to be nice to you,” Lilly finished for me, sounding exasperated, as if I should have been aware of this. “He found out about the website, okay?”

I moved from staring to blinking. I was making progress. “Ihatemiathermopolis.com?”

“Right,” Lilly said. She did look a little ashamed of herself, actually. “He was really mad. I’ll admit…itwas pretty childish.”

Michael found out about ihatemiathermopolis.com? You mean…he hadn’t known? I thought everyone in the whole world had known about that stupid website.

And he’d told Lilly she had to benice to me?

“But.” I was having trouble processing so much information at once. It was like I was a desert that was finally getting rain…only there was too much of it, and I couldn’t soak it all in. Soon I’d be experiencing mud slides. And flash floods. “But…why were you so mad at me in the first place? I’ll admit, I acted like a total jerk to your brother. But I regretted it, and I tried to get back together with him. He’s the one who said no. So why were you so mad about it?” This was the part I could never figure out. “Was it…was it just because of J.P.?”

Lilly’s face darkened. “You don’t know?” she asked, sounding incredulous. “You honestly don’t know?”

I was definitely experiencing sensory overload. “No.” I shook my head. She hadn’t actually answered the question. “What am I supposed to know?”

“I have never,” Lilly said flatly, “met anyone so dense as you in my life, Mia.”

“What?” I still have no idea what she was talking about. I know I’m dense. I do! I’m a geek. She didn’t have to rub it in. She could have helped me a little. “Dense aboutwhat ?”

But at that point an old lady came into the bathroom, and I guess Lilly decided she’d said enough. She just shook her head, and walked out.

Which just leaves me here to wonder, as I have a million times before:What is it I’m supposed to know? What is it that Lilly thinks I’m so dense about?