Princess Mia

by Meg Cabot

  FTLOUIE: Oh. That.

  ILUVROMANCE: YOU’VE BEEN THERE???? YOU KNOW ABOUT IT????

  FTLOUIE: Sure.

  ILUVROMANCE: THEN WHY DON’T YOU GET YOUR DAD

  TO GET IT SHUT DOWN?????

  FTLOUIE: Tina, my dad may be a prince, but he doesn’t have control over the Internet.

  ILUVROMANCE: But he could complain to Principal Gupta!

  FTLOUIE: Principal Gupta? Why HER? What does SHE have to do with it?

  ILUVROMANCE: Well, since the site is so obviously run by someone at AEHS….

  FTLOUIE: What do you mean, obviously?

  Even though it was kind of hard to see, what with my tears, and all, I clicked over to ihatemiathermopolis.com. So much had been going on in my life, I hadn’t had a chance to go there in a while.

  I immediately saw that neglecting the site had been a mistake. Because there had been updates since my last visit. A LOT of updates.

  Whoever owned the site had been keeping a close eye on my every move. And I mean my every move. The day I got a drink out of the second-floor water fountain at AEHS and the spray hit me in the face instead of my mouth? Recorded with glee. The time I tripped over my new shoes and dropped all my books outside the Chem lab? Noted. The time I spilled soy sauce all down the front of my school uniform in the caf? There was actually a photo…a bad one, obviously taken with a cell phone camera.

  But it was there.

  And whoever had founded the site hadn’t stopped there. There was loads of advice as to how I could improve my looks so as not to appear so physically repulsive. For instance, according to ihatemiathermopolis.com, I needed to grow my hair out (well, obviously), and stop wearing my platform Mary Janes to school, because I’m “towering over everyone like some kind of supermodel. Or so she obviously THINKS she appears. Too bad no one’s told her she looks more like a superspastic.”

  Nice.

  That’s when the tears in my eyes spilled over. Suddenly sobs were wracking my body.

  FTLOUIE: Tina. I’m sorry. I have to go.

  ILUVROMANCE: Mia? Are you all right? You’re not taking this idiotic stuff SERIOUSLY, are you?

  FTLOUIE: No, of course not! I just have to go. I’ll call you later.

  ILUVROMANCE: Mia! I’m so sorry—but I thought you should know! Your dad should really call the school.

  FTLOUIE: I’m glad you told me. Really. Good night, Tina.

  ILUVROMANCE: Good night—

  Wednesday, September 22, midnight, the loft

  I just cried for, like, half an hour—in my bathroom, with the door shut, and the water running, so everyone would think I was just showering, and not bother me, asking me what was wrong. I think I cried harder just now than I ever have in my whole life. Fat Louie’s fur is SOAKED from all the tears that dropped into it while he curled up in my lap.

  Well, okay. He wasn’t really curled up onto my lap. I was clutching him there, and he was trying to get away, and wailing piteously for help.

  But whatever! If a girl can’t have her cat to comfort her in her time of direst need, what good is even HAVING a cat???

  It just…it so blows, you know? I don’t WANT to be that girl. The crying emo girl. Next thing you know, I’ll start wearing skinny jeans and too much black eyeliner and nail polish and reading vampire romance novels.

  God. I just…when am I going to start feeling BETTER? When am I going to get out of this hole Dr. Knutz PROMISED me he’d help me out of?

  And it’s so lame, because I know how LUCKY I am. I mean, I don’t have any REAL problems. Well, except for the whole princess thing. And the ihatemiathermopolis.com thing.

  But so what? Lots of people get crummy things written about them on the Internet. Look at Rachael Ray, that woman on the Food Network. There’s a whole online community devoted to how much people hate her, and she’s totally adorable. You can’t take it personally. You certainly can’t make a big deal out of it. That just gives the haters what they want—the attention they so obviously crave.

  And if I tell on them—like if I tell my dad, and he goes to Principal Gupta about it, and she figures out who is doing it, and expels them, or whatever (because Albert Einstein High School has an online harassment policy that is supposed to protect its students from bullying like this), what good will it do?

  They’re—whoever they are…and let’s face it, I have a pretty good idea who “they” are—just going to hate me more.

  Right.

  And so my boyfriend dumped me, and I’m still in love with him—so much so, it hurts? Big deal. Millions of girls have gotten dumped by their boyfriends over the years. I’m not special. My own best friend got dumped just like this a couple of weeks ago.

  And now the guy who dumped her says he loves me.

  Go figure.

  That’s not why I’m crying, either. I guess. I don’t know….

  And poor J.P.! I can’t believe I just left him hanging like that. I mean, I didn’t give him an answer either way. I just sort of…ignored him.

  But I have to say something or it’s going to be weird.

  It’s going to be weird either way, of course.

  But he took a risk, putting himself out there like that. The least I can do is pay him the common courtesy of responding.

  It’s just…I don’t know what to say.

  I don’t! I mean, I know I don’t love him back—obviously.

  But that doesn’t mean, like Tina said, that I couldn’t learn to. If I let myself.

  In fact, if I let myself, I have an idea I could love J.P. a lot.

  Just, you know. In a different way than I loved Michael.

  But maybe I shouldn’t be making decisions like this after midnight on a day when I nearly got blown up and two weeks after I got dumped and one week into cowboy therapy and two nights before I’m supposed to make a speech about drainage in front of two thousand sophisticated New York businesswomen and an hour after I discovered ihatemiathermopolis.com is being written by someone who goes to my school and maybe, possibly my ex-best friend. (But it couldn’t be her, right? That would be too mean, even for Lilly.)

  Maybe I should sleep on it. Maybe I should just go to bed and—

  Okay. That is never going to work. I am never going to get to sleep unless I—

  FTLOUIE: Dear J.P.,

  Hi. So…today was weird, huh?

  And it’s probably only going to be weirder tomorrow, what with all these newspapers and stuff saying how Kenny is a psychopathic madman, and you and I are going out and all. Not that I mind—if I’m going to be falsely romantically linked with anybody, I’m glad it’s you. Ha ha.

  It’s just…I don’t know if I’m ready yet to be NOT falsely romantically linked with anybody. Do you know what I mean? Even though it was almost a couple of weeks ago now, it still seems like it was just yesterday that Michael and I broke up. And I’m not sure I’m ready to get back in the saddle and date again—

  Oh my God. Dr. Knutz isn’t even here, and I’m using horse allegories. That is just so wrong.

  Okay, delete, delete, delete.

  Even though it was almost a couple of weeks ago now, it still seems like it was just yesterday that Michael and I broke up. I think I need more time to figure out who I am without him before I hook up with anybody—

  Hook up!!! NO NO NO NO!!!! DELETE!!!

  I think I need more time to figure out who I am without him before I start going out with somebody else.

  Okay. Better.

  I really do count you as one of my best friends, J.P. And if I WERE going to date anyone this soon, it would be you.

  Oh, God. Is that even true? I mean, I do like him…. He’s no Michael. But who is? Except Michael, of course.

  But what about Lilly? It’s true she’s mad at me right now (but she can’t be behind ihatemiathermopolis.com…where would she even find the time, between student council and Lilly Tells It Like It Is and dating Kenny and all?)—and I’m not even really sure why.

  But what if by som
e miracle she decides to forgive me for whatever it is that I did to her? And then she finds out I’m going out with her ex?

  On the other hand…she’s going out with my ex.

  And, okay, I spent most of the time I was dating Kenny trying to figure out how to break up with him. But still. She can’t be mad at me for doing exactly what she’s doing…can she?

  Oh, God. I don’t know.

  I don’t know anything anymore.

  Which leads me to:

  But I need to get my head straightened out before I can let anybody else into it. Does that make sense?

  Please don’t hate me.

  Love,

  Mia

  Okay. Hitting SEND before I can change my mind…

  Thursday, September 23, 7 a.m., the loft

  Inbox: 2!

  The first one was from Michael. My heart started beating super fast when I saw it.

  But I must be getting a little better, because my palms didn’t get sweaty this time.

  Could therapy be working? Or am I just completely dehydrated from all that crying last night?

  I couldn’t help wondering, like always, if maybe he’d finally changed his mind, and decided he wanted to get back together after all….

  If he did, would I go for it? Would I really stoop that low and take him back, after everything I’d been through in the past few weeks?

  Yeah. I would.

  But I was crushed (again) to see it was just a link to the New York Post’s story covering the AEHS explosion yesterday, with a note that said:

  So I guess Kenny finally figured out how to get the attention he’s always felt he deserved….

  Then there was a wink face, and then Michael’s signature.

  So. I guess he’s not upset about all the stuff about me and J.P. after all.

  Not that he would be. Since we’re just friends and all.

  Sigh.

  The second e-mail was from J.P. in response to mine. I have to admit, my heart didn’t speed up AT ALL when I saw it.

  JPRA4: Dear Mia,

  You take all the time you need to get your head straightened out (although I have to admit your head’s always seemed perfect to me). I’ll wait.

  Love,

  J.P.

  So. That’s nice.

  I guess.

  Thursday, September 23, Homeroom

  I know I’m not supposed to be writing in my journal at school, but this is just homeroom, and not a real class, anyway, so they can’t bust me.

  And this isn’t my journal, which is at home, but my Precalculus notebook.

  And besides, I HAVE to write this down, because I just saw the most random thing. And I’m sure Dr. Knutz would want me to write it down for my own SANITY just to process it:

  When the limo pulled up to let me off at school—in a special cordoned-off area, because there are still so many reporters and news vans outside the school, trying to get interviews with students and faculty about the “mad bomber”—I got out and looked around for Lars, who turned out to be standing right next to me but I totally spaced noticing him because I’m so dazed from lack of sleep.

  Anyway, that’s how I happened to see, under the scaffolding from where they’re replacing the mortar on one of the brick buildings across the street, this tall guy in a black leather jacket and faded jeans and dark sunglasses with a red bandanna around his head staring intently at the school.

  And at first I was like, What is Ryan from The OC doing across the street from our school? I thought that show got canceled….

  And then the totally weird thing happened: A girl in an AEHS uniform walked up to the guy, and tugged on his sleeve…

  …and he turned around and put his arms around her and the two of them started kissing passionately.

  And I realized the girl was Lilly Moscovitz, and the hottie in the leather jacket was KENNY SHOWALTER!!!!

  YES!!! The suspended juvenile delinquent who caused all of this trauma in the first place!!! Showing up at school to kiss his girlfriend before classes start!!!!

  All of which, of course, begs the question:

  When did Kenny Showalter get hot????

  And also…

  WHY WON’T LILLY TALK TO ME????

  Because I am totally DYING to ask her how this whole Kenny thing came about in the first place. And also how the student council is going. And if Kenny has shown her his Final Fantasy action figure collection he first started assembling when he and I were going out. And if she’s behind ihatemiathermopolis.com, and if so, what I ever did to make her hate me so much.

  Also if Michael ever asks about me.

  But I can’t. Because she wouldn’t tell me anyway.

  Thursday, September 23, English

  Mia! How ARE you?

  I’m fine, Tina! I mean, I’m a little stiff from being knocked to the ground yesterday. But my butt only hurts if I sit on it a certain way.

  That’s good! But I meant…how are you EMOTIONALLY? You know…about ihhatemiathermopolis.com. And also J.P., and what he told you.

  Oh! That! Yeah. No big deal. Us celebs have to get used to being cyberhated. And about the J.P. thing, I guess I’m okay. J.P. said he’s willing to wait, you know, until I’m ready. To date again. So. That’s good.

  He’s so sweet! And it’s so romantic, how he SAVED you, the woman who unleashed his inner passion volcano. And did you see how hot he looked in that picture in the New York Post this morning, with him on the back of that ambulance looking at you sitting on the back of that other ambulance? Now the whole city wants you to date him!

  I know. No pressure.

  You know I’m kidding!

  I know, Tina. But that’s the thing: It’s really true. The problem is…I just don’t know if I want to.

  Well, whatever you decide, I’ll always love you. You know that, right?

  Thanks, T. I just wish everyone were as sweet as you.

  Thursday, September 23, G & T

  Lunch was excruciating today. Everyone was coming up and congratulating J.P. for saving me.

  Not that I don’t think J.P. deserves everybody’s praise and thanks.

  It’s just that…that thing Tina said? It’s really true. It’s like everyone in the world is rooting for J.P. and me to go out—not including everyone who already thinks we ARE going out.

  And I feel totally bad for resenting it, because J.P. really is a great guy, and we totally SHOULD be dating.

  It’s just—how come everybody wasn’t this gung-ho about Michael and me going out? I mean, sure, Michael never saved me from exploding nitrostarch.

  But he saved my sanity PLENTY of times.

  And it’s not like he’s over there in Japan learning how to draw MANGAS or something like that. He’s over there building something that’s going to save people’s lives.

  Jeesh.

  Thursday, September 23, PE

  Oh my God. I KNEW it was going to happen. I knew there was going to be a price to pay for being chummy with Lana Weinberger:

  She’s making me cut class with her.

  And, okay, the only class I’m missing is PE, which isn’t exactly integral to my academic career.

  But still! I’m so not a class-ditching type of girl!

  Well, I mean, I’ve ditched…but usually only to sit in the third-floor stairwell to talk someone—generally MYSELF—through an emotional trauma…not to go to Starbucks.

  But Lana and Trisha were waiting for me in the girls’ locker room when I got there today. They grabbed me and hustled me—right past Lars, who’d been leaning against the wall by the water fountain playing Fantasy Football on his cell phone—out of school and down the street. (Lars finally caught up around Seventy-seventh Street.) Lana said she really, really needed a nonfat mocha latte, and that she can’t possibly sit through Spanish (the class she has this period) anyway, because it’s right beneath the Chem lab, and that whole side of the school still reeks of smoke.

  “Besides,” Lana said, “with all the reporters stand
ing around outside, trying to get interviews with Principal Gupta about Beaker, it’s not like we’re going to obtenga cualquier trabajo a hecho, anyway.”

  Which is no exaggeration. Our school is still the center of a media blitzkrieg, though the reporters are keeping off the school property, with the help of the NYPD, whom the school board apparently called in for crowd control.

  However, we managed to get past them without my being recognized thanks to draping our blazers over our heads and running for it. Which was educational, in that it illustrated how it might feel to have to wear a burka.

  “So,” Lana said, once we were all seated. “Everyone’s saying that J.P. guy saved your life. Are you two, like, going out?”

  “No,” I said, feeling myself beginning to blush.

  “Dude, why not?” Trisha ordered a nonfat no-whip caffè mocha and was blowing on it to cool it off. “Saving your life? That’s hot.”

  “Yeah.” My cheeks felt as warm as my hot chocolate. “I just—you know. I’m just coming out of a long-term relationship, and I don’t know if I’m ready to jump back into another right now.”

  “I hear you,” Lana said. “That’s how I’ve felt ever since I broke up with Josh. We’re young, you know? We have to play the field. Who needs to be tied down to one guy when you’re SIXTEEN?”

  “I’d like to be tied down to Skeet Ulrich,” Trisha volunteered.

  “It’s just…,” I said, ignoring the Skeet Ulrich remark. Although, you know, ditto. “I really love Michael. And the idea of being with some other guy…I don’t know. It doesn’t do anything for me.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Lana said, slurping some nonfat foam from her wooden stirrer. “After Josh and I broke up, I was like, who can ever replace Josh, you know? Because he’s, like, so tall and hot and smart and good about hanging out in the boyfriend chair while I’m shopping.”

  “Totally,” Trisha said, nodding in agreement, “good about that. A lot of guys aren’t. You’d be surprised.”

  “So I was really reluctant, you know, to hook up with anyone,” Lana went on, “because I just didn’t want to get hurt again. But then I thought, I need to make a new start. You know? Like a do-over. So I went to a party. And that’s where I met Blaine.”

  “Blaize,” Trisha corrected her.