But I hope it happens to me someday….

Oh. We’re on Thompson Street.

Great. As if my evening hasn’t been eventful enough, now there is a homeless guy standing in our vestibule. Lars is getting out to remove him.

I hope he doesn’t have to use the stun gun.

Saturday, September 25, 1 a.m., the loft

It wasn’t a homeless guy.

It was J.P.

He was waiting for me in the vestibule because it’s so unseasonably cold out, he hadn’t wanted to wait outside…and he hadn’t wanted to buzz my mom and possibly wake her up.

But he’d wanted to see me because he’d watched the news about my speech on New York One.

And he’d wanted to make sure I was all right.

So he came all the way downtown to do so.

“I mean,” he kept saying, “it’s kind of a big deal, like they’re saying on the news. One minute you’re a regular girl, and the next, you’re a princess. And, a few years later, you’re a princess, and the next minute…you’re not.”

“I’m still a princess,” I reassured him.

“You are?” He looked uncertain.

I nodded. “I’ll always be a princess,” I said. “It’s just that now I can be a princess with a regular job and an apartment and stuff. If I want.”

It was as I was explaining all this to him on the front stoop—after Lars had nearly Tasered him because he, too, had mistaken him for a vagrant—that the strangest thing happened:

It started to snow.

I know. Just very lightly, and freakishly early in the year for snow in Manhattan, especially given global warming. But it was definitely cold enough. Not cold enough to stick, or anything. But there was no denying the dozen or so tiny white flakes that started falling from the pinky night sky (pink because the clouds were hanging so low that the city lights were reflecting off them) as I was talking.

And something strange happened when I looked up at the snowflakes, feeling them fall gently on my face, while I was listening to J.P. explain that he was glad I was still a princess after all.

All of a sudden—just like that—I didn’t feel that depressed anymore.

I can’t really explain it any other way. Ms. Martinez would no doubt be disappointed in my lack of descriptive verbs.

But that’s exactly how it happened. Suddenly, I didn’t feel that sad anymore.

Not like I was cured, or anything.

But that I’d climbed a few more feet out of that big, black hole and could see the sky—clearly—again. It was only just out of reach, as opposed to being dozens of feet overhead. I was almost there….

And then, while J.P. was going, “And I hope you don’t think I’m stalking you, because I’m not, I just thought maybe you’d need a friend since I’m pretty sure your dad isn’t too happy with you right now—” I realized I felt…happy.

Really. Happy.

Not over the moon, or anything. Not ecstatic. Not joyous.

But that was such a welcome change from feeling sad all the time that I—completely spontaneously, and without thinking about it—flung both my arms around J.P.’s neck and gave him a great big kiss on the lips.

He seemed really surprised. But he rallied at the last minute and ended up putting his arms around me, too, and kissing me back.

And the weirdest thing of all was…I actually felt something when his lips touched mine.

I’m pretty sure.

It wasn’t anything at all like what I felt when Michael and I kissed.

But it was something.

Maybe it was just the two or three flakes of snow on my face.

But maybe—just maybe—it was what my dad had talked about. You know:

Hope.

I don’t know. But it felt good.

Finally Lars cleared his throat and I let go of J.P.

Then J.P. said, looking embarrassed, “Well, maybe I’m stalking you a little. Can I stalk you some more tomorrow?”

I laughed. Then I said:

“Yes. Good night, J.P.”

And then I went inside.

Where I saw that I had two messages in my inbox.

The first was from Tina:

ILUVROMANCE: Dear Mia,

Oh my God! I just saw it on the news! Mia, you’re just like Drew in Ever After when she came in with the wings on her back! Except instead of just looking beautiful at a party, you actually DID something. Like CARRYING A PRINCE AROUND ON YOUR BACK. Only better. CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!

Love,

Tina

Then I clicked on the second message. It was from Michael.

As always, my heartbeat speeded up when I saw his name. I guess that’s something that’s never going to change.

But at least the temperature of my palms stayed the same.

In the text of his message was a link to the story about my dropping a bomb of my own, with a note underneath that read:

SKINNERBX: Dear Mia,

Did you just ditch your throne and bring democracy to a country that’s never known it?

Way to go, Thermopolis!

Michael

I laughed when I saw it. I couldn’t help it.

And you know…it felt good to laugh about something Michael had said (or written). It seemed like it had been a long time since that had happened.

And then it occurred to me that maybe Michael and I can be friends—just friends. For now, anyway.

So this time, instead of DELETE, I hit REPLY.

And then I wrote him back.