Mia Goes Fourth pd-4

by Meg Cabot

  dance is over, you should ask her for the next one.'

  Rene looked dubious. 'Really?'

  'Trust me,' I said. 'It'll be the thrill of her life to dance with a handsome prince.'

  'But not so much for you, eh,' Rene said, still wearing his cynical smile.

  'Rene,' I said. 'No offence. But I already met my prince, long before I ever met you. The only problem is, if I don't get out

  of here soon, I don't know how much longer he's going to be my prince, because I already missed the movie we were supposed to see together, and pretty soon it's going to be too late even for me to stop by . . .'

  'Never fear, Your Highness,' Rene said, twirling me around. 'If fleeing the ball before the clock strikes twelve is your

  desire, I will see to it that your wish is fulfilled.'

  I looked at him kind of dubiously. I actually needed to get out of the ball by nine, not twelve, if I still wanted to make it to Michael's at a decent hour. Also, I couldn't tell whether or not Rene was joking.

  'Um,' I said. 'OK.'

  And that's how I ended up in this bathroom. Rene told me to hide, and that he'd get Lars to flag down a cab, and once he'd

  got one, and the coast was clear, Rene would knock three times, signalling that Grandmere was too otherwise occupied to notice my defection. Then, Rene promised, he'd tell her I must have eaten a bad truffle, since I'd looked queasy, and Lars

  had taken me home.

  It doesn't matter, of course. Any of this, I mean. Because I am just going to end up at Michael's in time for him to dump me. Maybe he'll feel bad about it, you know, after I give him his birthday present. Then again, maybe he'll just be glad to be rid

  of me. Who knows? I've given up trying to figure out men. They are a breed apart.

  Oops, there's Rene's knock. Gotta go.

  To meet my fate.

  Friday, January 22,11 p.m.

  The Moscovitzes' Bathroom

  Oh, my God, I am FREAKING OUT.

  Now I know how Jane Eyre must have felt when she returned to Thornfield Hall to find it all burnt to the ground and

  everyone telling her everybody inside of it was killed in the fire.

  Only then she finds out Mr. Rochester didn't die, he just lost his sight and his hand and his crazy wife and everything,

  and Jane's like super happy, because, you know, in spite of what he tried to do to her, she loves him.

  That's how I feel right now. Super happy. Because I fully don't think Michael is going to break up with me after all!!!!

  I was sure he was going to when I was standing outside the Moscovitzes' apartment, you know, with my finger on the buzzer.

  I was standing there going, Why am I even doing this? I am fully just walking into heartbreak. I should turn around

  and have Lars flag down another cab and just go back to the loft. I hadn't even bothered changing out of my stupid

  ball gown, because what was the point? I was just going to be on my way home in a few minutes anyway, and I could

  change there.

  So I'm standing there in the hallway, and Lars is behind me going on about his stupid boar hunt in Belize, because that is all

  he talks about any more, and I hear Pavlov, Michael's dog, barking because someone is at the door, and I'm going, inside

  my head, OK, when he breaks up with me, I am NOT going to cry, I am going to remember Rosagunde and Agnes,

  and I am going to be strong like they were strong . . .

  And then Michael opened the door. He looked kind of taken aback by my apparel, I could tell. I thought maybe it was because he hadn't counted on having to break up with a snowdrop. But there was nothing I could do about that, though

  I did remember at the last minute that I was still wearing my tiara, which I suppose might intimidate, you know, some boys.

  So I took it off and went, 'Well, I'm here,' which is a foolish thing to say, because, well, duh, I was standing there, wasn't I?

  But Michael kind of seemed to recover himself. He went, 'Oh, hey, come in, you look . . . you look really beautiful,' which

  of course is exactly what a guy who is about to break up with you would say, you know, to kind of bolster your ego before

  he grinds it beneath his heel.

  But, whatever, I went in, and so did Lars, and Michael went, 'Lars, my mom and dad are in the living room watching

  Dateline, if you want to join them,' which Lars totally did, because you could tell he didn't want to hang around and

  listen to the Big Breakup.

  So then Michael and I were alone in the foyer. I was twirling my tiara around in my hands, trying to think of what to say.

  I'd been trying to think what to say the whole way down in the cab, but I hadn't been very successful.

  Then Michael went, 'Well, did you eat yet? Because I've got some veggie burgers . . .'

  I looked up from the parquet floor tiles, which I had been examining very closely, since it was easier than looking into

  Michael's peat-bog eyes, which always suck me in until I feel like I can't move any more. They used to punish criminals

  in ancient Celtic societies by making them walk into a peat bog. If they sank, you know, they were guilty, and if not, they

  were innocent. Only you always sink when you walk into a peat bog. They uncovered a bunch of bodies from one in Ireland not too long ago, and they, like, still had all their teeth and hair and stuff. They were totally preserved. It was way gross.

  That's how I feel when I look into Michael's eyes. Like I'm trapped in peat bog. Only I don't mind, because it's warm and

  nice and cosy in there . . .

  And now he was asking me if I wanted a veggie burger. Do guys generally ask their girlfriends if they want a veggie burger

  right before they break up with them? I wasn't very well versed in these matters, so the truth was, I didn't know.

  But I didn't think so.

  'Um,' I said, intelligently. 'I don't know.' I thought maybe it was a trick question. 'If you're having one, I guess.'

  So then Michael went, 'OK,' and gestured for me to follow him, and we went into the kitchen, where Lilly was sitting, using

  the granite countertop to lay out her story-boards for the episode of Lilly Tells It Like It Is she was filming the next day.

  'Jeez,' she said, when she saw me. 'What happened to you? You look like you swapped outfits with the Sugar Plum Fairy.'

  'I was at a ball,' I explained.

  'Oh,' Lilly said, 'of course. The ball. Well, if you ask me, the Sugar Plum Fairy got the better deal. But I'm not supposed

  to be here. So don't mind me.'

  'We won't,' Michael assured her.

  And then he did the strangest thing. He started to cook.

  Seriously. He was cooking.

  Well, OK, not really cooking, more like reheating. Still, he fully got out these two veggie burgers he'd gotten from Balducci's, and put them on some buns, and then put the buns on these two plates. And then he took some fries that had been in the oven on a tray and put them on to the two plates, as well. And then he got ketchup and mayo and mustard out of the fridge, along with two cans of Coke, and he put all that stuff on a tray, and then he walked out of the kitchen, and before I could ask Lilly what in the name of all that was holy was going on, he came back, picked up the two plates, and went, to me, 'Come on.'

  What could I do, but follow him?

  I trailed after him into the TV room, where Lilly and I had viewed so many cinematic gems for the first time, such as

  Valley Girl and Bring It On and Attack of the Fifty-Foot Woman and Crossing Delancey.

  And there, in front of the Moscovitzes' black leather couch, which sat in front of their thirty-two-inch Sony TV, sat two

  little folding tables. On to these tables, Michael lowered the plates of food he'd prepared. They sat there, in the glow

  of the Star Wars title image, which was frozen on the TV screen, obviously paused there.


  'Michael,' I said, genuinely baffled. 'What is this?'

  'Well, you couldn't make it to the Screening Room,' he said, looking as if he couldn't quite believe I hadn't figured it out

  on my own yet. 'So I brought the Screening Room to you. Come on, let's eat. I'm starved.'

  He might have been starved, but I was stunned. I stood there looking down at the veggie burgers - which smelt divine -

  going, 'Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You aren't breaking up with me?'

  Michael had already sat down on the couch and stuffed a few fries in his mouth. When I said that, about breaking up,

  he turned around to look at me like I was demented. 'Break up with you? Why would I do that?'

  'Well,' I said, starting to wonder if maybe he was right, and I really was demented. 'When I told you I couldn't make it

  tonight you . . . well, you seemed kind of distant. . .'

  'I wasn't distant,' Michael said. 'I was trying to figure out what we could do instead of, you know, going to the movie.'

  'But then you didn't show up for lunch . . .'

  'Right,' Michael said. 'I had to call and order the veggie burgers and get Maya to go to the store and get the rest of the stuff. And my dad had loaned our Star Wars DVD to a friend of his, so I had to call him and make him get it back.'

  I listened in astonishment. Everyone, it seemed - Maya, the Moscovitzes' housekeeper; Lilly; even Michael's parents - had been in on Michael's scheme to recreate the Screening Room right in his own apartment.

  Only I had been in ignorance of his plan. Just as he had been in ignorance of my belief that he was about to break up with me.

  'Oh,' I said, beginning to feel like the world's number one biggest dork. 'So ... you don't want to break up?'

  'No, I don't want to break up,' Michael said, starting to look mad now - probably the way Mr. Rochester looked when he heard Jane had been hanging out with that St. John guy. 'Mia, I love you, remember? Why would I want to break up with

  you? Now come and sit down and eat before it gets cold.'

  Then I wasn't beginning to feel like the world's biggest dork: I totally felt like it.

  But at the same time, I felt incredibly, blissfully happy. Because Michael had said the L word! Said it right to my face!

  And in a very bossy way, just like Captain Von Trapp or the Beast or Patrick Swayze!

  Then Michael hit the play button on the remote, and the first chords of John Williams's brilliant Star Wars theme filled the

  room. And Michael went, 'Mia, come on. Unless you want to change out of thaat dress first. Did you bring any normal clothes?'

  Still, something wasn't right. Not completely.

  'Do you just love me like a friend?' I asked him, trying to sound cynically amused, you know, the way Rene would, in

  order to keep the truth from him - that my heart was pounding a mile a minute. 'Or are you in love with me?'

  Michael was staring over the back of the couch at me. He looked like he couldn't quite believe his ears. I couldn't believe

  my own. Had I really just asked him that? Just come out and asked him?

  Apparently - judging from his incredulous expression, anyway - I had. I could feel myself starting to turn redder, and

  redder, and redder, and redder ...

  Jane Eyre would so never have asked that question.

  But then again, maybe she ought to have. Because the way Michael responded made the whole embarrassment of having

  had to ask completely and totally worth it. And the way he responded was, he reached out, took the tiara from me, laid it

  down on the couch beside him, took both my hands in his, pulled me down, and gave me a really long kiss.

  On the lips.

  Of the French variety.

  We missed the entire scrolling prologue to the movie, due to kissing. Then, finally, when the sound of Princess Leia's starship being fired upon roused us from our passionate embrace, Michael said, 'Of course I'm in love with you. Now come sit down and eat.'

  It truly was the most romantic moment of my entire life. If I live to be as old as Grandmere, I will never be as happy as I was

  at that moment. I just stood there, thrilled to pieces, for about a minute. I mean, I could barely get over it. He loved me. Not only that, he was in love with me! Michael Moscovitz is in love with me, Mia Thermopolis!

  'Your burger is getting cold,' he said.

  See? See how perfect we are for one another? He is so practical, while I have my head in the clouds. Has there ever been

  as perfect a couple? Has there ever been as perfect a date?

  We sat there, eating our veggie burgers and watching Star Wars, he in his jeans and vintage Boomtown Rats T-shirt, and

  me in my Chanel ball gown. And when Ben Kenobi said, 'Obi Wan? That's a name I haven't heard in a long time,' we both went, right on cue, 'How long?' And Ben said, as he always does, 'A very long time.'

  And when, just before Luke flies off to attack the Death Star, Michael put it on pause so he could go get dessert, I helped

  him clear the plates.

  And then, while he was making the ice-cream sundaes, I sneaked back into the TV room, put his present on his TV table,

  and waited for him to come back and find it, which he did, a few minutes later.

  'What's this?' he wanted to know, as he handed me my sundae, vanilla ice cream drowning in a sea of hot fudge, whipped cream and pistachios.

  'It's your birthday present,' I said, barely able to contain myself, I was so excited to see what he'd think of it. It was way

  better than candy or a sweater. It was, I thought, the perfect gift for Michael.

  I feel like I had a right to be excited, because I'd paid a pretty hefty price for Michael's gift . . . weeks of worrying about

  being found out, and then, after having been found out, being forced to waltz with Prince Rene, who was a good dancer,

  and all, but who kind of smelt like an ashtray.

  So I was pretty stoked as Michael, with a puzzled expression on his face, sat down and picked up the box.

  'I told you that you didn't have to get me anything,' he said.

  'I know.' I was bouncing up and down, I was so excited. 'But I wanted to. And I saw this, and I thought it was perfect.'

  'Well,' Michael said. 'Thanks.' He untied the ribbon that held the minuscule box closed, then lifted the lid ...

  And there, sitting on a wad of white cotton, it was. A dirty little rock, no bigger than an ant. Smaller than an ant, even.

  The size of a pinhead.

  'Huh,' Michael said, looking down at the tiny speck. 'It's . . . it's really nice.'

  I laughed delightedly. 'You don't even know what it is!'

  'Well,' he said. 'No, I don't.'

  'Can't you guess?'

  'Well,' he said, again. 'It looks like ... I mean, it closely resembles ... a rock.'

  'It is a rock,' I said. 'Guess where it's from.'

  Michael eyed the rock. 'I don't know. Genovia?'

  'No, silly,' I crowed. 'The moon! It's a moon rock! From when Neil Armstrong was up there. He collected a load of them,

  and then some of them got split up, and Richard Nixon gave my grandmother a bunch of them when he was in office. Well,

  he gave them to Genovia, technically. And I saw them and thought . . . well, that you should have one. Because I know you

  like space stuff. I mean how you've got the glow-in-the-dark constellations on the ceiling over your bed and all. . .'

  Michael looked up from the moon rock - which he'd been staring down at like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing - and went, 'When were you in my room?'

  'Oh,' I said, feeling myself beginning to blush again. 'A long time ago . . .' Well, it had been a long time ago. It had been

  way back before I'd known he liked me, when I'd been sending him those anonymous love poems. '. . . once when Maya

  was cleaning in there.'

  Michael said, 'Oh,' and look
ed back down at the moon rock.

  'Mia,' he said, a few seconds later. 'I can't accept this.'

  'Yes, you can,' I said. 'There are plenty left back at the palace museum, don't worry. Richard Nixon must have really had