I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I know he broke up with me. I know Dr. Knutz and I worked that all out in therapy already. I know I have a boyfriend, a perfectly good boyfriend who loves me, and at that moment was over at the bar getting me a refill on my sparkling water.

I know all that.

Knowing all that and still looking at Michael and seeing him smile at me and thinking he’s the handsomest guy in the world (even though, as Lana would be quick to point out, he’s not—Christian Bale is) isn’t even the problem.

What happened next is.

Which was, Michael said, “Nice party hat you’ve got there, Thermopolis,” meaning Princess Amelie Virginie’s tiara.

“Oh,” I said, reaching up to touch it. Because I still couldn’t quite believe it—that my dad had found it, or even that he’d actually shown up to give it to me. “Thanks. I’m going to kill him for doing this. He can’t afford to take this much time out from the campaign. René is leading in the polls.”

“That guy?” Michael looked shocked. “He was always kind of a tool. How can people like him more than your dad?”

“Everyone loves a bloomin’ onion,” Boris, who was standing near Tina, said.

“Applebee’s doesn’t have bloomin’ onions,” I growled at him. “That’s Outback!”

“I don’t get why your dad wants to be prime minister so bad, anyway,” Kenneth said. “He’s always going to be prince, right? Wouldn’t he just want to sit back and relax and let some other guy do the political thing, so he can just do the fun prince stuff, like hanging out on yachts like this with…well, Ms. Martinez, it looks like?”

I looked over to where Kenneth was pointing.

And okay, yeah, my dad was slow dancing to “Live to Tell” with Ms. Martinez. The two of them looked really…snug.

But I’m eighteen now.

So, no, in fact, vomit did not rise up into my mouth.

I very maturely and very wisely turned back to the conversation at hand and said, “Actually, Kenneth, yes, my dad could very easily choose not to run for prime minister and simply be happy with his title and his normal royal duties. But he prefers to take a more active role in the shape of the future of his country, and that’s why he wants to be prime minister. And that’s why I sort of wish he hadn’t wasted his time coming here.” And now that I just saw what I saw, why I REALLY wish he hadn’t come.

Oh, well. Ms. Martinez did read my novel and let it count as my senior project.

I think she read it. Some of it, anyway.

But that’s not what happened that freaked me out so much either.

Lilly said, in my dad’s defense, “It’s nice that he came. You only turn eighteen once. And he’s not going to get to see you much after he’s elected and you head off to college.”

“He will if Mia goes to the University of Genovia,” Boris said, “like she’s planning.”

Which is when Michael’s head whipped around and he looked at me with his eyes wide and he went, “University of Genovia? Why are you going there?” Because, of course, he knows what a crummy school it is.

I could feel myself blush. Michael and I, in our e-mail conversations with each other, hadn’t discussed the fact that I’d gotten into every school I’d applied to, much less the fact that I’d lied about this to all my friends at school.

“Because she didn’t get in anywhere else,” Boris helpfully answered for me. “Her math SAT score was too low.”

This caused Tina to elbow him, deeply enough to make him say “Oof.”

It was at this moment that J.P. came back with my sparkling water. The reason it had taken him so long was because he’d stopped along the way to have a pretty in-depth conversation with Sean Penn—which he must have been pretty stoked about, Sean Penn being his hero, and all.

“I find it really hard to believe you got rejected everywhere you applied, Mia,” Michael was saying, not noticing who was approaching. “There are a lot of schools that don’t even count SAT scores anymore. Some great ones, actually, like Sarah Lawrence, which has a really strong writing program. I can’t imagine you didn’t apply there. Is it possible maybe you’re exaggerating about—”

“Oh, J.P.!” I cried, cutting Michael off. “Thanks! I’m so thirsty!”

I snatched the water out of his hand and gulped it down. J.P. was standing there, just staring at Michael, looking a little perplexed.

“Mike,” J.P. said. He still seemed dazed from his conversation with his artistic hero. “Hey. So. You’re back.”

“Michael’s been back for a while,” Boris said. “His robotic surgical arm is a huge financial success. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it. Hospitals everywhere are vying for them, but they cost over a million dollars each and there’s a waiting list—ow.”

Tina elbowed him again. This time I think she must have nearly broken one of Boris’s ribs, because he almost doubled over.

“Wow,” J.P. said, with a smile. He didn’t look at all disturbed by Boris’s news. In fact, he had his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo pants, like he was James Bond, or someone. He’d probably gotten Sean Penn’s phone number and was fondling it. “That’s great.”

“J.P. wrote a play,” Tina squeaked. Apparently because she was unable to stand the tension and was trying to change the subject.