'Uh, sure,' I said, wondering where I was going to find a present for her by tomorrow morning, the last day of the Secret Snowflake thing. 'Sure, I have.'

Tina sighed. 'I guess nobody picked me,' she said. 'Because I haven't gotten anything.'

'Oh, don't worry,' I said, hoping the guilt washing over me wasn't noticeable in my voice. 'You will. Your Secret Snowflake is probably waiting, you know, until the last day because she's - or he's — gotten you something really good.'

'Do you think so?' Tina asked wistfully.

'Oh, yes,' I gushed.

Reassured, Tina got businesslike.

'Now,' she said, 'that Finals are over . . . '

'Um, yes?'

'... when are you going to tell Michael that you're the one who sent him those cards?'

Shocked, I went, 'How about never?'

To which Tina replied, tartly, 'Mia, if you don't tell him, then what was the point of sending those cards?'

'To let him know that there are other girls out there who might like him, besides Judith Gershner.'

Tina said severely, 'Mia, that's not enough. You've got to tell him it was you. How are you ever going to get him if he doesn't know how you feel?' Tina Hakim Baba, surprisingly, has a lot in common with my dad. 'Remember Kenny? That's how

Kenny got you. He sent the anonymous notes but then he finally fessed up.'

'Yeah,' I said sarcastically. 'And look how great that turned out.'

'It'll be different with you and Michael,' Tina insisted.

'Because you two are destined for one another. I can just feel it. You've got to tell him, and it's got to be tomorrow, because the next day you are leaving for Genovia.'

Oh, God. In my self-congratulations over having successfully manoeuvered my first press conference, I'd forgotten about that too. I am leaving for Genovia the day after tomorrow! With Grandmere! To whom I am not even speaking any more!

I told Tina that I'd confess to Michael tomorrow and she hung up all happily.

But it was a good thing she hadn't been able to see my nostrils, because they were flaring like crazy on account of the fact that I was totally lying to her.

Because there is no way I am ever telling Michael Moscovitz how I feel about him. No matter what anyone says. I can't.

Not to his face.

Not ever.

Friday, December 18, Homeroom

They are holding us hostage here in Homeroom until they've passed out our final semester grades. Then we are free to spend the rest of the day at the Winter Carnival in the gym, and then, later this evening, the dance.

Really. We don't have any more classes after this. We are just supposed to have fun.

As if. I am so never having fun again.

That is because - aside from my many other problems -I think I know who my Secret Snowflake is.

Really, there is no other explanation. Why else would Justin Baxendale — who, even though he's so new is still totally popular, not to mention way good-looking - be hanging around my locker so much? I mean, seriously. This is the third time I've spotted him lurking around there this week. Why would he do that except to leave those roses?

Unless he's planning on blackmailing me about the whole fire alarm thing.

But Justin Baxendale doesn't exactly strike me as the blackmailer type. I mean, he looks to me like somebody who'd have something better to do than blackmail a princess.

Which leaves only one other explanation: he is my Secret Snowflake.

And how totally embarrassing is it going to be if I go out there when the bell rings, and Justin comes up to me to confess - because that's the rule, it turns out: you have to reveal your identity to your Secret Snowflake today - and I have to look up into his smoky eyes with those long lashes and give a big fake smile and go, 'Oh, gee, thanks, Justin. I had no idea it was you!'

Whatever. But actually, this is the least of my problems, right? I mean, considering that I am the only girl in this entire school who does not have a date to the dance tonight. And that tomorrow I have to leave for a country I am princess of, with my lunatic grandmother who isn't speaking to my father, and who, I know from past experience, is not above smoking in the airplane lavatory, if the urge to do so strikes her.

Really. Grandmere is a flight attendant's worst nightmare.

But that's not even half of it. I mean, what about my mom and Mr. Gianini? Sure, they are acting like they don't mind that I am going to be spending the holidays in another country.-And, yes, we are going to have our own private little Christmas amongst ourselves before I leave. But really, I bet they mind. I bet they mind a lot.

And what about my grade in Algebra? Oh, Mr. Gianini says it's fine, but what is fine, exactly? A D? A D is not fine. Not considering the number of hours I've put into raising my grade from an F, it isn't. A D is not acceptable.

And what - oh, God, what - am I going to do about Kenny?

At least I got Tina's present out of the way. I went on-line last night and signed her up for a teen romance book-of-the-month club. I printed out the certificate, saying she is an official member, and will give it to her when the bell rings.

Which is also when I have to go out there and face Justin Baxendale.

It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for those eyes of his. Why does he have to be so good-looking? And why did someone like him have to pick me as his Secret Snowflake? Beautiful people, like Lana and Justin, can't help but be repulsed by ordinary-looking people like me.