Meg Cabot - Forever Princess

J.P.’s jaw dropped a little lower. He started shaking his head. “Mia. I wrote that play for us. To let the world know how happy we are—how much I love you—”

“And that’s another thing,” I said. “If you love me so much, how come you’ve never read my book? I’m not saying it’s the greatest book in the world, but you’ve had it a week, and you still haven’t read it. You couldn’t have skimmed it, and told me what you thought? I appreciate your trying to get me this fantastic book deal, which I don’t need because I already got one on my own, but you couldn’t have glanced at it?”

“Mia.” Now J.P. was starting to look defensive. “This again? You know I’ve been busy. We had finals. And I was in rehearsal—”

“Yeah.” I folded my arms across my chest. “I know. You’ve told me. You have a lot of excuses. But I’m curious to know what your excuse is for why you lied about the hotel room.”

He took his hands out of his pockets and spread his palms, face out, toward me, in the age-old gesture of innocence. “Mia, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“The rooms in this hotel were sold out weeks ago. Seriously, J.P.” I shook my head. “There’s no way you called this week and got a room. Be honest. You made the reservation months ago, didn’t you? You just assumed you and I would be hooking up tonight.”

J.P. dropped his hands. He also dropped the pretense.

“What’s so wrong with that?” he wanted to know. “Mia, I know how you and your friends talk about prom night—andeverything that entails. I wanted to make it special for you. So that makes me a bad guy all of a sudden?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Because you weren’t honest with me about it. And, okay, J.P., I wasn’t honest with you about a lot of stuff either, like about the colleges I got into and my feelings and…well, a lot of stuff. But this was big. I mean, you lied to me about why you broke up with Lilly. You told her you loved me! That’s the whole reason she was so mad at me for so long, and you knew it, and you never told me!”

J.P. just shook his head. Shook ita lot.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “If you’ve been talking to Lilly—”

“J.P.,” I said. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe what he was saying. I couldn’t believe he was lying.To my face! I’m a liar. I’m theprincess of liars. And he was trying to lie tome ? About something that mattered this much? How dare he! “Stop lying. Lilly and I are friends again. She told meeverything . She told me you slept with her! J.P., you aren’t a virgin at all. You were never saving yourself for me. Youslept with her! And you never thought that was something you ought to mention to me? How many girlshave you slept with, J.P.? I mean, really?”

J.P.’s face was turning so red it was almost purple. Still, he kept trying to salvage the situation. As if there were anything left to salvage.

“Why would you believeher ?” J.P. cried, shaking his head some more. “After what she did to you? That website she made up? And you believe her? Mia—are you crazy?”

“No,” I said. “One thing I absolutely am not, J.P., is crazy. Lilly made up that website because she was angry. Angry at me, for not being a better friend to her. And yes…I believe her.You’re the one I can’t believe, J.P. Just how many lies have you told me since we started going out?”

He stopped shaking his head. Then he said, “Mia—”

And he looked…well, terrified is the only word I can think of to describe it.

Just then, the elevator doors opened in front of us. And Lars came over to check to make sure the car was empty. Then he asked dryly, “You two aren’t going anywhere, correct?”

J.P. said, “Actually, we—”

But I said, realizing just then where those elevators went—upstairs, to the hotel rooms—“No.”

And Lars backed away again.

And the elevator doors closed and went away.

Here’s the thing: I’m not going to say that I don’t think J.P. ever cared about me. Because I think he did. I really do.

And the truth is, I cared about J.P., too. I did. He was a good friend at a time when I needed friends. Maybe we’ll even be friends again, someday.

But not right now.

Because right now, I think a big part of the reason he liked me so much is because he wants to be a famous playwright, and he thought hanging out with me could help make him that way.

It sucks to have to admit this. That a guy really only liked me because I’m royal. How many times am I going to fall for this, anyway?

But you know what else sucks sometimes?

Actuallybeing a princess. And having people who are so fascinated by this that they can’t see the person you are behind the crown. The kind of person who wants to be judged on her own merits. The kind of person who doesn’t care if someone offers her a quarter of a million dollars for her book. She’d rather have less money if it’s from someone who really values her work.

Oh, sure. People willclaim they like you for who you are. They might even do a really good imitation of it. So good, you’ll even believe it. For a while.

The thing is, if you’re smart, there’ll be clues. It may take you a while to pick up on them.

But you will. Eventually.

And in the end, it all boils down to this:

The people who were your friends before you got the crown are the people who are going to be your best friends no matter what. Because they’re the ones who love you for you—you, in all your geekiness—and not because of what they can get out of you. Weirdly, in some instances, even the people who were your enemies before you got famous (like Lana Weinberger) can end up being better friends to you than the people you become friends with after you become famous. And even when those friends get mad at you—like Lilly was at me—you still need them, even more than ever. Because they might just be the only people who are willing to tell you the truth.

That’s just the way it is. It’s lonely on the throne.

Luckily for me, I had fabulous friends before I ever found out I was the princess of Genovia.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past four years, it’s that I better do my best to try to hold on to them.

No matter what.

Which is why I found myself giving J.P. the speech Grandmère had taught me—the one for letting suitors down gently.

“J.P.,” I said, pulling the ring he’d given me off my finger. “I care about you. I really do. And I wish you the best. But the truth is, I think we’re better off as friends. Good friends. So I want to give this back to you.”

And I lifted his hand, and put the ring back in the center of his palm, and closed his fingers around it.

He looked down at his hand with an expression of abject misery on his face.

“Mia,” he said. “I can explain why I didn’t tell you about Lilly. The thing is, I didn’t think you—”

“No,” I said. “You don’t need to say another word. Don’t feel bad.” I reached up and patted him on the shoulder.

I guess I could have felt sorry for myself because my prom had gotten totally and completely ruined. I’d gone to it with a guy who’d turned out to be a total phony.

But I remembered what my dad said about how it’s the duty of royalty always to be the stronger person, and to make everyone else feel better. And I took a deep breath and said, “You know what I think you should do? Call Stacey Cheeseman. I think she has a total crush on you.”

J.P. looked down at me as if I were nuts. “You do?”

“I totally do,” I lied. But it was a white lie. And I was pretty sure she did have a crush on him. All actresses adore their director.

“This is completely embarrassing,” J.P. said. Now he was looking down at the ring.