At first I was kind of afraid to go over to where the Moscovitzes were sitting, even though Michael was totally hanging out with my parents. But I was shy about how the Drs. Moscovitz were going to feel about me. It was true I’d already seen them at the reception at Columbia, but that seemed so long ago, and, I don’t know, things seemed different now, on account of what had gone on last night (and this morning, too)!

But, of course, they didn’t know about that. And Michael had been brave in coming over to my house (not to mention, hanging out with Dad and Grandmère now). So the least I could do was return the favor.

So I did.

And, of course, it turned out fine. The Drs. Moscovitz—not to mention Nana—were totally delighted to see me. Because I’d made their son happy. And so that made them happy.

What was scary was when J.P. came over to our table with his parents to say hello. Now THAT was awkward.

“Well, Prince Phillipe,” Mr. Reynolds-Abernathy said, all sadly, shaking my dad’s hand. “Looks like our kids won’t be going to Hollywood together after all.”

But, of course, my dad had NO idea what he was talking about, because he’d never been let in on that plan (thank God) in the first place.

“Excuse me?” Dad said, looking totally confused.

“Hollywood?” Grandmère cried, looking appalled.

“Right,” I said quickly. “But that was before I decided on Sarah Lawrence.”

Grandmère sucked in so much air, it was a wonder there was any left for the rest of us to breathe.

“Sarah Lawrence?” she cried, in joyous wonder.

“Sarah Lawrence?” Dad echoed. It was one of the schools he’d thrown out, way back in ninth grade, as one of his top choices for me. But in a million years, I’m pretty sure he never thought I’d actually take him up on it.

But, as it happens, like Michael said, Sarah Lawrence is one of the colleges that don’t count SAT scores toward its entrance requirements. And it’s got a strong writing program. And it’s really close to New York City. Just in case I have to pop back into Manhattan to visit Fat Louie or Rocky.

Or smell my boyfriend’s neck.

“That’s a great choice, Mia,” Mom said, looking super happy. Of course, she’s been looking super happy ever since she noticed the diamond ring on my left hand was gone, and I’d come home from the prom with Michael, and not J.P.

But I think she really is happy about Sarah Lawrence, too.

“Thanks,” I said.

But no one was happier than Grandmère.

“Sarah Lawrence,” Grandmère kept murmuring. “I was to go to Sarah Lawrence. If I hadn’t married Amelia’s grandfather. We’ve got to start planning how we’ll decorate her room. I think buttercup yellow walls. I was to have buttercup yellow walls…”

“Okay, then,” Michael said to me, eyeing Grandmère as she waxed on about buttercup yellow walls. “Wanna dance?”

“Do I ever,” I said, relieved to have an excuse to leave the table.

Which is how we ended up on the dance floor with my mom and Mr. G, dancing with Rocky and having a blast together, as usual; Lilly and Kenneth, doing some kind of new wave dance they seem to have invented themselves, even though the music was sort of slow; Tina and Boris, just holding each other, and gazing into each other’s eyes, the height of romance, as one would expect, since it was Tina and…well, Boris; and…my dad and Ms. Martinez.

“No,” I said, coming to a standstill when I saw this. “Just…no.”

“What?” Michael looked around. “What’s the matter?”

I should have expected it. I mean, they’d been dancing together at my birthday party, but I thought that had been a one-time thing.

It was at that point that my dad said something to Ms. Martinez and she slapped him across the face, then stalked off the dance floor.

I don’t think anyone could have been more stunned than my dad…except maybe my mom, who started laughing.

“Dad!” I exclaimed, horrified. “What did you say to her?”

My dad came over, rubbing the side of his face but looking more intrigued than actually hurt.

“Nothing,” he said. “I didn’t say anything to her. Well, nothing more than I usually say when I dance with a beautiful woman. It was a compliment, actually.”

“Dad,” I said. When would he ever learn? “She isn’t a lingerie model. She’s my former English teacher.”

“She’s intoxicating,” Dad said thoughtfully, gazing after her.

“Oh my God.” I groaned, and buried my face in Michael’s neck. I could see clearly what was going on. It was all too obvious. Not again! “Tell me this is not happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening,” Michael said. “He’s following her, calling after her…Did you know her first name was Karen?”

“I think I’m about to become more than well acquainted with that fact,” I said, still keeping my face in his neck and inhaling deeply.

“Yeah, now he’s heading across the parking lot after her…She’s trying to hail a taxi to get away but…oh, he’s stopped her. They’re talking. Oh, wait. She’s taking his hand…So, are you going to call her Ms. Martinez after they get married like you do Mr. Gianini, or do you think you’ll ever be able to call her Karen?”

“Seriously. What is wrong with my family?” I asked, with a groan.