by Meg Cabot
Ever since I’ve woken up, all I can think about is what that reporter said…about Dad losing in the polls and it being all my fault.
I know it’s not true. I mean, yes, it’s true we’re having an election.
But the fact that Dad is losing isn’t my fault.
And then, naturally, my mind keeps turning back to what Grandmère said, back in Dr. Knutz’s office. About how if we could get our hands on one of Michael’s CardioArms, Dad might stand a better chance against René.
Except I know how wrong it is to think that way. The reason we need a CardioArm is because it would make the lives of the citizens of Genovia so much easier.
A CardioArm at the Royal Genovian Hospital wouldn’t stimulate the economy or bring tourists to Genovia or even help Dad in the polls or anything like that, like Grandmère seems to believe.
But it would help Genovians who are sick not to have to travel to hospitals outside of our country to get medical care, because instead, they could easily get noninvasive heart surgery right inside our own borders. They’d save time and expense.
Plus, like the article said, they’d heal faster, because of the CardioArm’s precision.
I’m not saying if we got one, people would be more likely to vote for Dad. I’m just saying, getting one would be the right thing to do—the princessy thing to do—for my own people.
And I’m not saying by going to the thing today, I want to get back together with Michael. I mean, if he’d even have me, which he fully wouldn’t, because he’s moved on, as is illustrated by the fact that clearly, he’s been in Manhattan for a while now, and hasn’t even so much as called. Or e-mailed.
I’m just saying obviously I should go to the thing at Columbia today. Because it’s what a true princess would do for her people. Get them the most up-to-date medical technology available.
Just how I’m going to do that without looking like the world’s biggest tool, I have no idea. I mean, I can’t go, “Um, Michael, due to the fact that we used to date, even though I treated you horribly, can you jump Genovia to the top of the waiting list and get us a CardioArm right away? Here’s a check.”
But I think that’s pretty much the way it’s going to go. Part of being a princess means swallowing your pride and doing the right thing for your people, no matter how personally humiliating it might be.
And anyway, he still owes me for the Judith Gershner thing. I understand now that the reason Michael didn’t tell me about how he had sex with her before he and I started going out was because he knew I wasn’t mature enough at the time to handle the information.
He was right: I wasn’t.
And though it might be really manipulative and awful of me to use my past romantic relationship with Michael to try to get him to let us jump to the head of the CardioArm waiting list, this is Genovia we’re talking about.
And it’s my royal duty to do whatever I have to do for my country.
I haven’t spent the past four years with the combs of a tiara digging into my head for nothing, you know.
I guess I didn’t just learn which one was the soup spoon from Grandmère, after all.
I better go call Tina.
Saturday, April 29, 1:45 p.m., Columbia
University Medical Center, Simon and Louise
Templeman Patient Care Pavilion
This. Was. The. Worst. Idea. Ever.
I know this morning when I woke up I had some big noble idea that I was doing something way important for the people of Genovia.
And—okay, I’ll admit it, maybe in some twisted way, I guess, for my dad.
But in actuality, this is just insane. I mean, Michael’s entire family is here. All the Moscovitzes! Even his grandma! Yes! Nana Moscovitz is here!
I’m so embarrassed I could die.
And, okay, I’ve made us all sit in the very back row (security here is very lax: They let us all in, even though we only had the two passes), where, thank God, it doesn’t appear there’s any chance any of them is going to see us (but Lars and Wahim, Tina’s bodyguard, are so tall, what are the chances of them not being noticed? I’ve made them wait outside. They’re so mad at me. But what am I supposed to do? I can’t risk the chance of Lilly seeing them).
And I know the whole point of this was my actually speaking to Michael.
But I didn’t know Lilly was going to be here! Which was incredibly stupid of me. I should have assumed, of course. I mean, that Michael’s family (including his sister, who brought Kenny, I mean Kenneth, who is wearing a SUIT. And Lilly is wearing a dress…and she’s taken out all her piercings. I barely recognized her) would, of course, be at such an important and prestigious event.
How can I go up and talk to Michael in front of her? It’s true Lilly and I are not exactly at each other’s throats anymore, but we’re definitely not friends, either. The last thing I need right now is her revving up ihatemiathermopolis.com again.
Which I could totally see her doing if she suspected I was trying to use her brother to, oh, I don’t know, get a CardioArm for my country, or something.
Lana says it’s no big deal and I should just go up to the Drs. Moscovitz and say hi. Lana says she’s totally on friendly terms with all her exes’ parents (which, considering it’s Lana, is, like, half of the population of the Upper East Side), even though she’s used most of their sons for sex, and even worse things (…such as? What is worse than using a boy for sex? I don’t even want to know. Lana took Tina and me to the Pink Pussycat Boutique last year because she said we needed educating in that department, and while I did make a purchase, it was only a Hello Kitty personal massager. But you don’t even want to know what Lana bought).
But Lana’s never dated any guy for as long as Michael and I dated. And she wasn’t best friends with any of those guys’ sisters, or made them as mad at her as Lilly was mad at me. So going up to them at public events and being all, “Hey, how’s it going?” is no big deal for Lana.
I, on the other hand, cannot go up to the Drs. Moscovitz and go, “Oh, hey, hi, Dr. and Dr. Moscovitz. How you doing? Remember me? The girl who acted like a total byotch to your son and who used to be best friends with your daughter? Oh, and hey, Nana Moscovitz. How’s that rugelach you used to make? Yum, I used to love that stuff! Good times.”
Anyway. This donation thing is turning out to be a huge event (fortunately, because there are a ton of people I can slouch behind and remain unseen). There’s press from everywhere, Anesthesia magazine to PC World. They’ve got hors d’oeuvres and stuff, too, and a lot of model-looking types slinking around in tight red dresses, passing around flutes of champagne.
There’s no sign of Michael so far, though. He’s probably in a green room somewhere, getting a massage from one of those slinky-dress girls. That’s what bazillionaire robotic-arm inventors do before giving away major donations to their alma maters. I’m just guessing.
Tina says I should stop writing in my journal and pay attention in case Michael comes in (she doesn’t believe my slinky-model-massage theory). Also, she thinks the dark sunglasses and beret I’m wearing are only drawing attention to myself, not serving as a good disguise.
But what does Tina know? This has never happened to her before. She—
Oh.
My.
God.
Michael just walked in….
I can’t breathe.
Saturday, April 29, 3:00 p.m., Columbia
University Medical Center, ladies’ room
Okay. I messed up.
Really, really messed up.
It’s just…he looks so incredibly good.
I don’t know what he’s been doing to work out while he was overseas…fighting monks in the Himalayas like Christian Bale in the Batman movies is what Lana thinks. Trisha says plain old weight lifting, while Shameeka says probably a combination of lifting and cardio.
Tina thinks he just “got hit with a stick of pure awesomeness.”
But whatever it was, he’s almost as wide in the shoulder
s now as Lars, and I highly doubt it’s because he’s wearing an actual shoulder holster under his Hugo Boss suit coat, which Lana suggested.
And he’s got a real haircut, like a grown-up man, and his hands look huge for some reason, and he didn’t seem at all nervous coming out onto that stage and shaking Dr. Arthur Ward’s hand. He was totally at ease, like he comes out and speaks in front of hundreds of people all the time!
And that’s because he probably does.
And he was smiling, and looking all the audience members in the eye, just like Grandmère always tells me to do, and he didn’t need note cards to give his speech, he had the whole thing memorized (just like Grandmère also always tells me to do).
And he was funny and smart and I sat up and took my beret off and also my sunglasses so I could see him better and all of my insides melted in on themselves and I knew I had made the worst mistake coming here. Ever.
Because all it did was make me realize all over again how much I wish we hadn’t broken up.
I’m not saying I don’t love J.P. and all of that.
I just wish…I…
I don’t even know.
But I do know I wish I hadn’t come here! And I knew for sure, the minute Michael started speaking, and thanking everyone for having him and describing how he’d come up with the idea for Pavlov Surgical (which I already knew, of course—he’d named it for his dog, Pavlov, which is the most adorable thing, ever), that there was no way I was going to go up to him afterward. Even if Lilly and his parents and Nana Moscovitz hadn’t been there.
Not even for the people of Genovia. No way. Not ever.
I just couldn’t trust myself to go up and speak to him and not throw my arms around his neck and plunge my tongue down his throat, like Finnula does to Hugo in Ransom My Heart.
I know! And I have a boyfriend! A boyfriend I love! Even if—well. There’s that Other Thing.
So I was like, It’s fine, we’re in the last row, we’ll just sneak out when he’s done talking.
I really thought it wouldn’t be any big deal. Lars was still out in the hallway with Wahim, even though I could see him peeking in at me and giving me the evil eye (which he completely learned from Grandmère). There was no chance of us getting busted unless Lana or Trisha began making out with one of the other members of the press who was sitting around us, none of whom was cute, anyway, so that seemed pretty unlikely.
But then Michael started introducing the other members of the CardioArm team—you know, who’d helped him invent it or make it or market it or whatever?
And one of them was this totally cute girl named Midori, and when she came out on the stage she gave Michael this big hug, and I could tell…I mean, I could just tell…
Well, anyway, that’s when I knew they were a couple and also when I could feel the oatmeal with raisins I’d had for breakfast almost coming up into my throat. Which made no sense because we’re broken up and, oh, yeah, as mentioned previously, I HAVE A BOYFRIEND.
Anyway, Tina saw the hug, too, and leaned over to whisper, “I’m sure they’re just friends and they work together. Seriously, don’t worry about it.”
To which I whispered back, “Yeah, right. Because all guys just ignore the girl in the micromini at work.”
Which, of course, Tina had no reply for. Because Midori’s micromini looked as super cute as she did. And every guy in the room was ignoring it. NOT.
And then Michael presented his CardioArm—which was way bigger than I thought it would be—and everyone clapped, and he ducked his dark head and looked adorably modest.
And then Dr. Arthur Ward surprised him by giving him an honorary master’s degree in science. Just, you know, as one does.
So then everyone clapped some more, and the Drs. Moscovitz came up on stage with Nana and Lilly (Kenny—I mean, Kenneth—hung back, until Lilly finally signaled for him to join them, which he did, after a lot of hesitation and her waving at him, and finally stamping her foot kind of imperiously, which was very Lilly-like, and made people laugh, even people who didn’t know her) and the whole family hugged, and I just…
I started bawling. Really.
Not because Michael has a new girlfriend now, or anything lame like that.
But because it was just so sweet, to see them all up there hugging like that, a family that I personally know, and who has been through so much, what with Michael and Lilly’s parents’ almost-divorce and now their getting back together and Lilly’s general psychoness and Michael’s going off to Japan and working so hard, and…
…and they were all just so happy. It was just so…nice. It was this wonderful moment of success and triumph and wonderfulness.
And there I was, spying on them. Because I wanted to use Michael, to get something that, yes, my country needs, but I don’t in any way deserve. I mean, we can wait, like everybody else.
Basically, I felt like I was totally invading their privacy, and that I had no right to be there. Because I didn’t. I was there on false pretenses.
And it was time to leave.
So I looked at all the other girls—as best I could see them through my tears—and I was like, “Let’s go.”
“But you haven’t even talked to him!” Tina cried.
“And I’m not going to,” I said. I knew as I said it that this was the princessy thing to do. To leave Michael alone. He was happy now. He didn’t need crazy, neurotic me messing up his life anymore. He had sweet, smart Micromini Midori—or if not her, someone like her. The last thing he needed was lying, romance-writing Princess Mia.
Who, by the way, already had a boyfriend.
“Let’s sneak out one at a time,” I said. “I’ll go first, I have to stop in the bathroom.” I knew I had to write all this down while it was still fresh in my mind. Besides which, I had to reapply my eyeliner and mascara, since I’d just cried it all off. “I’ll meet you guys back at Broadway and One-sixty-eighth.”
“This blows,” Lana said. She is very in touch with her feelings.
“The limo’s waiting there,” I said. “I’ll take you to Pinkberry. My treat.”
“Pinkberry, my butt,” Lana said. “You’re taking us to Nobu.”
“Fine,” I said.
So I snuck in here. Where I’ve reapplied my makeup, and I’m writing this.
Really, it’s better this way. To let him go. Not that I ever really had him, or could have, really, but…well, ’tis a far, far better thing I do, and all of that. I’m sure Grandmère wouldn’t think so. But this really is the more princessy thing to do. The Moscovitzes looked so happy. Even Lilly.
And she’s never happy.
Okay, I better go meet those guys. I think Lars might actually shoot me if I make him wait any longer. I—
Hey, those shoes look really familiar.
Oh, no.
Saturday, April 29, 4:00 p.m., limo home
Oh, yes.
Lilly. It was Lilly.
In the stall next to mine.
She totally recognized my platform Mary Janes. My new Prada ones, not the old ones I had from two years ago, which she so mercilessly savaged on her website.
She was like, “Mia? Is that you in there? I thought I saw Lars in the hallway….”
What could I do? I couldn’t say it wasn’t me. Obviously.
So I came out and there she was, looking totally confused, like, What are you doing here?
Fortunately the whole time I was sitting in the audience I’d totally had a chance to make up a story for what I would say if this happened.
Mia Thermopolis’s Big Fat Lie Number Six.
“Oh, hi, Lilly.” I was so Ms. Casual. Even though I had given myself a complete MAC makeover and blowout and was in my best Nanette Lepore top and black lace-trimmed leggings, I acted like the whole thing was no big deal. “Gretchen Weinberger couldn’t make it today so she gave me her press pass and asked me to cover the story of Michael’s donation for her.” I even pulled Gretchen’s press pass out of my bag to prove my colossal lie. “
I hope that’s okay with you.”
Lilly just stared at the press pass. Then she looked up at me (because I still tower over her by about six inches, especially in my platforms, even though she was wearing heels).
Honestly, I didn’t like the way she was looking at me. Like she didn’t believe me.
Too late, I remembered the way Lilly could always tell when I was lying (because my nostrils flare).
However, I’ve been practicing lying in front of the mirror, and also in front of Grandmère, to stop this from happening, because people being able to tell you’re lying is a total detriment to one’s future career as a princess, or whatever you want to be, really, as white lies are really crucial to all professions (“Oh, no, you have much longer than six months to live, actually”).
And Grandmère says I’ve gotten much better about it (J.P., too. Well, obviously. Otherwise he’d have known when I said I hadn’t gotten into any of the colleges I said I hadn’t gotten into. Not to mention any of the other multiple lies I’ve told him. I could kill Lilly for having told him about the nostril thing. Sometimes I wonder if there’s anything else she told him about me that he hasn’t told me she told him).
I was pretty sure Lilly couldn’t tell I was lying. But just to be sure, I added, “I hope you don’t mind I’m here. I tried to stay out of your way and in the background as much as possible. I know this is a special day for you and your family, and I…I think it’s really great about Michael.”
This last part wasn’t a lie, so I didn’t need to worry about my nostrils. Not even a little bit.
Lilly narrowed her eyes at me. For once she hadn’t smeared them all over with black kohl. I knew she’d done this out of deference for Nana Moscovitz, who thinks kohl is slutty.
I thought she was going to hit me. I really did.
“You’re really here to cover the story for the Atom?” she asked, in a hard voice.
I have never concentrated on my nostrils more in my entire life.
“Yes,” I said. And anyway, it isn’t a lie, because I plan on going home now and writing a four-hundred-word story about this whole thing and submitting it Monday morning. After throwing up about nine hundred times.
