Forever Princess

I hung up, then went straight to my e-mail. Scrolling through all the hysterical messages from Grandmère about what I was going to wear to the prom and then the next day, to graduation (like it even matters, since I’ll have my graduation gown on over whatever it is), I found Dad’s e-mail and clicked on it. The link to Lilly’s commercial was there, and I clicked on that. The ad began to play.

And he was right. It was lovely. It was a sixty-second clip featuring all the celebrities from my party—the Clintons, the Obamas, the Beckhams, Oprah, Brad and Angelina, Madonna, Bono, and more—all saying sweet, very sincere-sounding things about my dad, about stuff he’d done for Genovia in the past, and how Genovian voters ought to support him. Interspersed between the brief celebrity endorsements were gorgeous shots of Genovia (which I realized Lilly had taken during her many trips with me there), of the blue sparkling waters of the bay, the green cliffs above it, the white beaches, and the palace, all looking pristine and untouched by touristy schlock.

At the end of the ad, some curlicue script came on that said, “Preserve Genovia’s historic wonder. Vote for Prince Phillipe.”

By the time the music—which I recognized as a ballad Michael had written, way back in his Skinner Box days—had ended, I was almost in tears.

“Oh my God, you guys,” I said. “You have to see this.”

And then I passed around my cell phone and showed them all. Soon the whole table was almost in tears. Well, except J.P., who hadn’t come back yet, and Boris, who is immune to emotion unless it involves Tina.

“Why would she do that?” Tina wanted to know.

“She used to be cool,” Shameeka said. “Remember? Then something happened.”

“I have to find her,” I said, still blinking back tears.

“Find who?” J.P. asked. He’d finally returned from his Sean Penn call.

“Lilly,” I said. “Look what she did.” I handed him my cell phone so he could watch the commercial she’d made. He did, a frown on his face.

“Well,” he said, when it was over. “That was…nice.”

“Nice? It’s amazing,” I said. “I have to thank her.”

“I really don’t think you do,” J.P. said. “She owes you. After that website she made up about you. Remember?”

“That was a long time ago,” I said.

“Yeah,” J.P. said. “Even so. I’d watch out, if I were you. She’s still a Moscovitz.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. J.P. shrugged. “Well, you of all people should know, Mia. You have to imagine Lilly wants something in return for her apparent generosity. Michael always did, didn’t he?”

I stared at him in complete shock.

On the other hand, maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. He was talking about Michael, the boy who’d broken my heart into so many little pieces…pieces J.P. had so kindly helped put back together again.

Before I had a chance to say anything, though, Boris said, from absolutely nowhere, “Funny, I hadn’t noticed that. Michael’s letting me live with him next semester for absolutely nothing.”

This caused all of us to swivel our heads around to stare at him as if he were a parking meter that had suddenly magically begun speaking.

Tina was the first one of us to recover.

“WHAT?” she demanded of her boyfriend. “You’re living with Michael Moscovitz next semester?”

“Yeah,” Boris said, looking surprised she didn’t know it. “I didn’t hand in my housing registration to Juilliard on time, and they ran out of singles. And I’m not going to live with a ROOMMATE. So Michael said I could crash in his spare bedroom until a single opens up for me on the waiting list. He’s got a kick-ass loft, you know, on Spring Street. It’s huge. He won’t even know I’m there.”

I glanced at Tina. Her eyes were bigger than I’d ever seen them. I wasn’t sure if it was with rage or bewilderment.

“So all this time,” Tina said, “you’ve secretly gone on being friends with Michael behind Mia’s back? And you never told me?”

“There’s nothing secret about it,” Boris said, looking offended. “Michael and I’ve always been friends, since I was in his band. It has nothing to do with Mia. You don’t stop being friends with a guy just because he’s broken up with his girlfriend. And there’s lots of stuff I don’t tell you about. Guy stuff. And you shouldn’t be stressing me out today, I have my concert tonight, I’m supposed to be taking it easy—”

“Guy stuff?” Tina said, picking up her purse. “You don’t have to tell me about guy stuff? Fine. You want to take it easy? You don’t want to be stressed? No problem. Why don’t I just relieve all your stress? By leaving.”

“Tee,” Boris said, rolling his eyes.

But when she stormed from the caf in a huff, he realized she was serious. And he had to hurry to chase after her.

“Those two,” J.P. said, with a chuckle, when they were gone.

“Yeah,” I said. I wasn’t chuckling, though. I was remembering something that had happened nearly two years ago, when Boris had come up to me and urged me to write back to Michael, when he kept writing to me, but I didn’t trust myself to write back. I’d wondered then how Boris even knew Michael had been writing to me. I thought it was because Tina had told him.