In which case, Mom said, I had better get dressed so she could take me to the emergency room.

I knew then she’d called my bluff. So I just begged her to let me stay in bed for one more day. And she finally relented.

I didn’t tell her the truth: that I am never getting out of bed again.

It’s true. I mean, think about it: Now that Michael’s gone from my life, there’s no actual reason for me to get out of bed. Such as, for instance, to go to school.

It’s true. I am the princess of Genovia. I will ALWAYS be the princess of Genovia, whether I go to school or not.

So what does it matter if I go to school? I’m always going to have a job—Princess of Genovia—whether I graduate from high school or not.

And, since I’m sixteen now, no one can FORCE me to go to school.

Therefore, I’ve decided I’m not going. Ever again.

Mom said she’ll call the school and tell them I won’t be coming in today, and that she’ll call Grandmère and tell her I won’t be able to make it to princess lessons this afternoon, either. She even said she’d tell Lars he has the day off, and that I can spend one more day wallowing in my bed if I want to.

But that tomorrow, no matter what I say, I’m going to school.

To which all I have to say is, that’s what SHE thinks.

Maybe Dad will let me move to Genovia.

Monday, September 13, 5 p.m., the loft

Tina just stopped by. Mom let her in to see me.

I really wish she hadn’t.

I guess the fact that I haven’t bathed in two days must show, since Tina’s eyes got very wide when she saw me.

Still, she pretended like she wasn’t shocked by the amount of grease in my hair, or anything. She went, “Your mom told me. About Michael. Mia, I’m so sorry. When are you coming back to school? Everyone misses you!”

“Lilly doesn’t,” I said.

“Well,” Tina said, wincing. “No, that’s true. But still. You can’t stay shut up in your room for the rest of your life, Mia.”

“I know,” I said. “I’ll be back in school tomorrow.” But this was a total lie. Even as I said it, I could feel my palms getting sweaty. Just the thought of going to school made me want to hurl.

“I’m so glad,” Tina said. “I know things didn’t work out with Michael, but maybe that’s for the best. I mean, he’s so much older than you are, and you two are in such different places in your lives, you still in high school, and him in college and all.”

I couldn’t believe it. Even Tina—always my staunchest supporter where my love for Michael is concerned—was betraying me. I tried not to let my shock at this show, however.

“Besides,” Tina went on, blithely unaware of the pain she was causing me, “now you can really concentrate on writing that novel you’ve always wanted to write. And you can work harder at school and your grades and get into a really great college, where you’ll meet a really great guy who will make you forget all about Michael!”

Yeah. Because that’s what I want to do. Forget all about Michael. The only guy—the only PERSON—I’ve ever felt completely calm around.

I didn’t say that, though. Instead, I said, “You know what, Tina? You’re right. I’ll see you at school tomorrow. I promise.”

And Tina went away all happy, thinking she’d cheered me up.

But I don’t actually believe that. You know, that anything Tina said is true.

And I’m not really going to school tomorrow. I just said it to get Tina to go away. Because having to talk to her made me feel so tired. I just wanted to go back to sleep.

In fact, that is what I’m going to do now. Writing all this has totally exhausted me.

Just living exhausts me.

Maybe this time, when I wake up, it really will all turn out to have been a bad dream….

Tuesday, September 14, 8 a.m., the loft

No such luck, with the bad dream thing. I could tell by the way Mr. Gianini came in here with a steaming mug of hot chocolate, going, “Rise and shine, Mia! Look what I’ve got! Hot cocoa! With whipped cream! But you can only have it if you get out of bed, get dressed, and get in the limo for school.”

He’d never have done that if I hadn’t been brutally dumped by my longtime boyfriend, and currently in the throes of despair.

Poor Mr. G. I mean, you have to give him points for trying. You really do.

I said I didn’t want any hot cocoa. Then I explained—very politely—that I am not going to school. Anymore.

I checked my tongue in the mirror just now. It’s not as white as it was yesterday. It’s possible I don’t have meningitis after all.

But what else can explain the fact that whenever I think about how Michael isn’t in my life anymore, my heart starts beating very fast and won’t slow down again for sixty seconds, or sometimes even longer?

Unless I have lassa fever. But I’ve never even been to West Africa.

Tuesday, September 14, 5 p.m., the loft

Tina came by again after school today. This time she brought all my homework assignments that I’ve missed.

Also, Boris.

Boris was a little surprised to see me in my current condition. I know because he said so. He said, “Mia, it is very surprising to me that a feminist like you would be so upset over the fact that a man had rejected her.”

Then he said, “Ooof!” because Tina elbowed him so hard in the ribs.

He didn’t believe my lassa fever story.