Princess in Pink

by Meg Cabot

  Me:

  No, Grandmère. Michael doesn’t want to take someone else. He doesn’t want to go at all. He… he thinks the prom is lame.

  Grandmère:

  Oh… for… the… love… of… heaven. Not one of those.

  Me:

  Yes, Grandmère. I’m afraid so.

  Grandmère:

  Well, never mind. Your grandfather was the same way. Do you know that if I had left it up to him, we’d have been married in a clerk’s office, and gone to a coffee shop for lunch afterward? The man simply had no understanding of romance, let alone the public’s need for PAGEANTRY.

  Me:

  Yes. Well. That’s why I’m a little down today. Now, if you don’t mind, Grandmère, I really have to start on my homework. I have a story due to the paper in the morning, too….

  I didn’t mention that it was a story about HER. Well, more or less. It was the story about the incident at Les Hautes Manger. According to The Sunday Times , the restaurant’s management was still refusing to hire Jangbu back. So Lilly’s march had been for nothing. Well, except that it had apparently gotten her a new boyfriend.

  Grandmère:

  Yes, yes, get to work. You have to keep your grades up, or your father will give me another one of his lectures for forcing you to concentrate too much on royal matters and not enough on trigonometry or whatever it is you seem to be having so much trouble with. And don’t worry too much about the situation with that boy. He’ll come around, same as your grandfather did. You just have to find the right incentive. Good-bye.

  Incentive? What was Grandmère talking about? What kind of incentive would make Michael come around to the idea of going to the prom? I couldn’t think of a single thing that might make him get over this obviously deeply rooted prejudice he has against the prom.

  Except possibly if the prom were a combo prom/Star Wars/Star Trek/Lord of the Rings/computer convention.

  Sunday, May 4, 9 p.m., the loft

  I know why Michael never called. Because he e-mailed me, instead. I just didn’t check my messages until I turned on my computer to type up my story for The Atom.

  LINUXRULZ: Mia—Hope you didn’t get in too much trouble over the closet thing from last night. Mr. G is a cool guy, though. I can’t imagine he was too upset, after his initial blow-up.

  Things have been pretty tense here, what with the whole Lilly/Boris breakup. I am trying to stay out of it, and I strongly recommend, for your sanity’s sake, you do the same. It’s their problem, NOT OURS. I know how you are, Mia, and I really mean it when I say you’re better off staying out of it. It’s not worth it.

  I’ll be around all day if you want to give me a call. If you aren’t grounded or whatever, maybe we can get together for dim sum? Or if you want, I can come over later to help with your Algebra homework. Just let me know.

  Love,

  Michael

  Well. Judging from the tone of THAT, I guess Michael isn’t feeling too bad about the whole prom thing. It’s almost as if he doesn’t KNOW he’s ripped out my heart and torn it into little pieces.

  Which, considering the fact that I didn’t exactly tell him how I felt, might actually be true. That he doesn’t know, I mean.

  But ignorance, as Grandmère is fond of saying, is no excuse.

  I would also hazard a guess from the unconcerned tone of that e-mail that the Drs. Moscovitz have not been paying visits to Michael’s room, telling HIM about birth control and the richness of the human sexual experience. Oh, no. That kind of thing always ends up being the girl’s problem. Even if your boyfriend, like mine, is a staunch supporter of women’s rights.

  Well, at least he wrote. That’s more than can be said for my so-called best friend. You would think that Lilly might at least have called to apologize for ruining my party (well, really it was Tina who ruined it, with her stupid Seven Minutes in Heaven idea. But Lilly is the one who killed it spiritually by making out with a guy who is not her boyfriend in front of said boyfriend. Well, practically).

  But I have heard nary a word from that ungrateful Boris-dumper. Far be it for me to cast stones at anyone for dating one guy while liking another… I mean, didn’t I do that just last semester? Still, I didn’t MAKE OUT with Michael before formally parting ways with Kenny. I had THAT much integrity, anyway.

  And of course, I can’t really blame Lilly for liking Jangbu more than Boris. I mean, come on. The guy is hot. And Boris is so… not.

  Still. It wasn’t very nice of her. I’m dying to know what she has to say for herself.

  So is everybody else, apparently. Since I logged on, I’ve been bombarded with Instant Messages—from everybody but the guilty party concerned.

  From Tina:

  ILUVROMANCE: Mia, are you all right? I was SO EMBARRASSED for you last night when Mr. G caught Lilly and Jangbu in the closet. Was he REALLY mad? I mean, I know he was mad, but was he HOMICIDAL? God, I hope you’re not dead. Like, that he didn’t kill you. That would SUCK if you got grounded, with the prom next week.

  What did he say, anyway? Michael, I mean? When the two of you were in the closet together?

  By the way, have you heard from Lilly? That was SO WEIRD last night. I mean, with her and Jangbu, right in front of poor Boris. I felt so SORRY for him. He was practically crying, did you notice? And what was with her shirt? When she came out of the closet, I mean. Did you see that? W/B.

  —T.

  From Shameeka:

  BEYONCE_IS_ME : Oh, my God, Mia, that party last night was da BOMB!!!!!!!!! If only Jeff and I had gotten a turn in that closet,I might finally have gotten a little action in my Victoria’s Secrets,if you know what I mean. Just kidding. LOL. Anyway, could you believe that Lilly/Jangbu thing? What was THAT about? Is Mr. G going to tell her DAD? Oh, my God, if my dad found out I’d gone into the closet with a guy who’d already graduated from HS, I would be SO DEAD. Actually I’d be dead if I went into the closet with any guy…. Anyway, have you heard from her? W/B with the DIRT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! P.S. Did you talk to Michael about the prom? WHAT DID HE SAY?????????????????????????

  ***—Shameeka—***

  From Ling Su:

  PAINTURGURL: Mia, your mom is SUCH a good artist, her slides were INCREDIBLE. By the way, what HAPPENED while I was in her bedroom? Shameeka said Mr. G caught Lilly and that busboy guy in the closet together? But surely she must have meant Lilly and Boris? What was Lilly doing in the closet with somebody other than Boris? Are they broken up, or something?

  —Ling Su

  P.S. Do you think your mom would let me borrow her sable brushes? Just to try? I never used a really nice brush before and I want to see if it makes any difference before I go down to Pearl Paint and spend a year’s allowance on them.

  P.P.S. Did Michael ask you to the prom yet??????????

  But those were nothing compared to the IM I got from Boris:

  JOSHBELL2: Mia, I was wondering if you had heard anything today from Lilly. I have been calling her house all day, but Michael says she’s not there. She isn’t with you, is she (I hope)? I am really afraid I might have done something to upset her. Why else would she have picked that other guy to go into the closet with last night? Did she mention anything to you, you know, about being upset with me? I know I stopped for that hot dog during her march, but I was really hungry. She knows I am slightly hypoglycemic and need to eat every hour and a half.

  Please, if you hear from her, let me know? I don’t care if it turns out she’s mad at me. I just want to know if she’s all right.

  —Boris Pelkowski

  I could kill Lilly for this. I really could. This is worse than that time she ran off with my cousin Hank. Because at least then there was no closet business.

  God! It’s so hard when your best friend is a genius riot grrrl feminist/socialist champion of the common man.

  It really is.

  Monday, May 5, Homeroom

  Well, I found out where Lilly was all day yesterday. Mr. G showed me at the breakfast table. It was on the front page
of The New York Times. Here is the article. I cut it out to save for posterity’s sake. Also as a model for how my next article for The Atom should go, since I know Leslie is going to make me cover this story as well:

  CITYWIDE BUSBOY STRIKE

  MANHATTAN — Restaurant workers citywide have thrown down their dishtowels in an effort to show solidarity with Jangbu Panasa, a fellow busboy who was dismissed from the four-star uptown brasserie Les Hautes Manger last Thursday night after a run-in involving the dowager princess of Genovia.

  Witnesses say Panasa, 18, was passing through the restaurant bearing a tray laden with dishware when he tripped and inadvertently spilled soup on the dowager princess. Pierre Jupe, manager of Les Hautes Manger, says Panasa had already received a verbal warning for dropping a tray earlier in the evening.

  “The guy is a klutz, plain and simple,” Jupe, 42, told reporters.

  Panasa’s supporters, however, tell a different story. There is reason to believe the busboy did not simply lose his balance, but tripped over a customer’s dog. New York City Health Department regulations require that only service animals, such as Seeing Eye dogs, be allowed inside establishments in which food is served to the public. If Les Hautes Manger is proven to have allowed customers to bring their dogs into the dining area, the restaurant could be subject to fines and even shut down.

  “There was no dog,” restaurant owner Jean St. Luc told reporters. “The rumor about a dog is nothing but that, a rumor. Our customers would never bring a dog into our dining room. They are too well-bred.”

  Rumors of a dog—or a large rat—persist, however. Several witnesses claim they spotted an apparently hairless creature, approximately the size of a cat or large rat, darting in and out of the dining tables. A few mentioned that they thought the animal was some sort of pet of the dowager princess’s, who was at the restaurant to celebrate the 15th birthday of her granddaughter, New York City’s own royal, the princess of Genovia, Amelia Thermopolis Renaldo.

  Whatever the reason behind Panasa’s dismissal, busboys throughout the city have vowed to continue their work stoppage until his job is restored. While restaurateurs insist that their dining establishments will remain open, busboys or no, there is reason for concern. Most waiters and waitresses, used only to taking orders and serving food, not clearing tables, may find themselves overburdened. Already some are discussing a sympathy strike to support the busboys, many of whom are illegal immigrants who work off the books, generally for less than minimum wage and without such benefits as vacation or sick days, health insurance, or retirement plans.

  Regardless, city restaurants will struggle to remain open—though strike sponsors would like nothing better than to see the Metro area’s dining community suffer for what they see as decades of neglect and condescension.

  “Busboys have long been the butt of every-one’s jokes,” says strike supporter Lilly Moscovitz, 15, who h0elped organize an impromptu march on City Hall on Sunday. “It’s time the mayor and everyone else in this city wake up and smell the dirty dishwater: Without busboys, this city’s name is mud.”

  I seriously can’t believe this. This whole thing has gotten way out of control. And all because of Rommel!!!! Well, and Lilly.

  I truly couldn’t believe it when Hans pulled up in front of the Moscovitzes’ building this morning, and Lilly was standing there next to Michael, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. I actually don’t know what that expression means, but Mamaw says it all the time, so it must mean something bad. And it does kind of fit how Lilly looked. Like she was just SOOOOOOOOO pleased with herself.

  I just glared at her and went, “Talked to Boris yet, Lilly?” I didn’t even say anything to Michael, on account of still being kind of mad at him over the whole prom thing. It was really hard to be mad at him because of course it was morning and he looked really, really good, all freshly shaved and smooth-faced, and like his neck would smell better than ever. And of course he is the best boyfriend of all time, since he wrote me that song and gave me the snowflake necklace and all of that.

  But whatever. I have to be mad at him. Because that is the most absurd thing I’ve heard of, a guy not wanting to go to his own senior prom. I could see if he didn’t have a date or whatever, but Michael so totally DOES have a date. ME!!!!!!!!!! And doesn’t he know that by not taking me to his senior prom he is totally depriving me of the one memory of high school that I might actually be able to recall without shuddering? A memory I might be able to cherish, and even show my grandchildren photos of?

  No, of course Michael doesn’t know this, because I haven’t told him. But how can I? I mean, he should know. If he is my true soul mate, he should KNOW without my having to tell him. It is perfectly common knowledge throughout our set that I have seen the movie Pretty in Pink forty-seven times. Does he think I watched it all those times because of my fondness for the actor who played the Duck Man?

  But Lilly totally blew off my Boris question.

  “You should have been there yesterday, Mia,” she said. “For the march on City Hall, I mean. We had to have been a thousand people strong. It was totally empowering. It brought tears to my eyes, seeing the people come together like that to help further the cause of the working man.”

  “You know what else brought tears to someone’s eyes?” I asked her pointedly. “You making out in the closet with Jangbu. That brought tears to your boyfriend’s eyes. You remember your boyfriend BORIS, don’t you, Lilly?”

  But Lilly just looked out the window at all the flowers that had sprung as if by magic from the dirt in the median on Park Avenue (actually, there’s nothing magic about it: NYC parks employees plant them fully grown in the dead of night). “Oh, look,” she said innocently. “Spring has sprung.”

  Talk about cold. I swear, sometimes I don’t even know why I am friends with her.

  Monday, May 5, Bio

  So….

  So what?

  So did he ask you last night?????

  Didn’t you hear?

  Hear what?

  Michael doesn’t believe in the prom. He thinks it’s lame.

  NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  Yes. Oh, Shameeka, what am I going to do? I’ve been dreaming of going to the prom with Michael my whole life, practically. Well, at least since we started dating, anyway. I want everyone to look at us dancing and know once and for all that I am the property of Michael Moscovitz. Even though I know that’s sexist and no one can ever be the property of another human being. Except… except I so want to be Michael’s property!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  I hear you. So what are you going to do?

  What CAN I do? Nothing.

  Um… you could try talking to him about it.

  ARE YOU CRAZY????? Michael said he thinks the prom is LAME. If I tell him it’s always been my secret fantasy to go to the prom with the man I love, what does that make me? Hello. That would make me lame.

  Michael would never think you’re lame, Mia. He loves you. I mean, maybe if he knew how you really felt, he’d come around to the whole prom thing.

  Shameeka, I’m sorry, but I really think you’ve seen too many episodes of Seventh Heaven.

  It’s not my fault. It’s the only show my dad’ll let me watch.

  Monday, May 5,

  I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to take this. You could cut the tension in this room with a knife. I almost wish Mrs. Hill would come in and yell at us or something. Anything, ANYTHING to break this awful silence.

  Yes, silence. I know it seems weird that there’d be silence in the G and T room, considering that this is where Boris Pelkowski is supposed to practice his violin, usually with so much vigor that we are forced to lock him in the supply closet so that we are not maddened by the incessant scraping of his bow.

  But no. That bow has been silenced… I fear forever. Silenced by the cruel blow of heartache, in the form of a philandering girlfriend… who happens to be my best friend Lilly.

  Lilly is sitting here next to me pretendin
g like she doesn’t feel the waves of silent grief radiating from her boyfriend, who is sitting in the back corner of the room by the globe, his head buried in his arms. She has to be pretending, because everybody else can feel them. The waves of grief emanating from her boyfriend, I mean. At least, I think so. True, Michael is working on his keyboard like nothing is going on. But he has headphones on. Maybe headphones shield you from radiating waves of grief.

  I should have asked for headphones for my birthday.

  I wonder if I should go over to the teachers’ lounge and get Mrs. Hill and tell her Boris is sick. Because I really do think he might be. Sick, I mean. Sick at heart and possibly even in the brain. How can Lilly be so mean? It is like she is punishing Boris for a crime he didn’t commit. All through lunch, Boris kept asking her if they could go somewhere private, like the third-floor stairwell, to talk, and Lilly just kept saying, “I’m sorry, Boris, but there’s nothing to talk about. It’s over between us. You’re just going to have to accept it, and move on.”

  “But why?” Boris kept wailing. Really loud, too. Like loud enough that the jocks and cheerleaders, over at the popular people’s table, kept looking over at us and snickering. It was a little embarrassing. But very dramatic. “What did I do?”

  “You didn’t do anything,” Lilly said, throwing him a bone at last. “I am just not in love with you anymore. Our relationship has progressed to its natural peak, and while I will always treasure the memories of what we had together, it’s time for me to move on. I’ve helped you achieve self-actualization, Boris. You don’t need me anymore. I have to turn my attention to another tortured soul.”