Party Princess

“Give me a break, Mia,” Michael said. Now he looked kind of annoyed. “I’ve been slightly preoccupied—”

“I realize your History of Dystopic Sci-Fi in Film course is very intense, and all,” I interrupted. “And I know I acted like a fool at your party. But the least you could have done was—”

“I haven’t been preoccupied with homework, Mia,” Michael said, interrupting me right back. “And yes, you did act like a fool at my party. But that’s not it, either. The fact is, I’ve been trying to deal with total family drama. My parents…they’re separating.”

Um. WHAT??????

I blinked at him. I didn’t think I could have heard him right. “Excuse me?” I said.

“Yeah.” Michael stood up and, turning his back to me, ran a hand through his thick dark hair. “My parents are calling it quits. They told me the night of the party.” He turned to face me, and I saw that, even though he was trying not to let it show, he was upset. Really upset.

And not because his girlfriend isn’t a party girl. Or is TOO much of one. Not because of either of those things at all.

“I’d have told you then,” he said. “If you’d stuck around. But I came out of their room, and you were gone.”

I stared at him in horror, realizing the true magnitude of my stupidity that night. I had fled his party, embarrassed about having gotten caught doing a sexy dance with another guy by Michael’s parents, and assuming he’d felt the same way about it…. Why else had he gone off and left me alone like that?

But now I realized he’d had a good reason to disappear the way he had. He’d been talking to his parents. Who hadn’t been telling him to break up with his slutty, sexy-dancing girlfriend.

Instead, they’d been telling him they were splitting up.

“It wasn’t a conference they went to this past weekend,” Michael went on. “They lied to me. They went to a marathon session with a marriage counselor. It was a last-ditch effort to see if they could iron things out. Which failed.”

I stared at him. I felt like someone had kicked me in the chest. I couldn’t quite catch my breath.

“Ruth and Morty?” I heard myself whisper. “Separating?”

“Ruth and Morty,” he confirmed. “Separating.”

I thought back to something Lilly had said that day we bumped our heads in the limo. I think Ruth and Morty have bigger things to worry about, she’d said.

I flung a startled look at Michael. “Does Lilly know?”

“My parents are waiting for the right time to tell her,” Michael said. “They didn’t even want to tell me, except that—well, I could tell something was wrong. Anyway, they seem to think with this magazine Lilly’s working on, and this play you guys are in—”

“Musical,” I said.

“—that she seems stressed right now, so they thought they’d tell her later. I don’t necessarily agree with their decision, but they asked me to let them do it their own way. So please don’t say anything to her.”

“I think she knows,” I said. “In the limo the other day…she said something.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Michael said. “She has to have at least suspected. I mean, she’s been home with the two of them fighting all year, while I’ve been here at the dorm, sort of removed from it.”

“Oh, God,” I said, feeling a stab of pity for Lilly. Suddenly, I sort of understood why she was being so weird about the literary magazine thing. I mean, if she knew her parents were splitting up, that would totally explain her mood swings and general weirdness.

Too bad I didn’t have any such excuse for MY weirdness.

“Michael,” I said. “I had no idea. I thought…I thought you were mad at me because I acted like such a head case the other night. I thought you were disgusted with me. Or disappointed in me. Because I’m not a party girl.”

“Mia,” Michael said, shaking his head—almost as if HE couldn’t believe any of this was happening, either. “I was mad at you. I don’t want a party girl. All I want is—”

But before he could say anything else, the door to his dorm room opened, and Doo Pak came in, looking cheerful as ever…especially when he saw me.

“Oh, hello, Princess!” he cried. “I was thinking you are here, since I see Mr. Lars in the lounge! How are you doing tonight? Thank you for the giant ‘Sorry’ cookie. It was very delicious. Mike and I have been eating it all day.”

I was going to say “You’re welcome.” I was going to say “I’m great, Doo Pak. How are you?”

Which wasn’t what I WANTED to say. What I WANTED to say was, “Get out, Doo Pak! Get out! Michael, finish what you were saying. All you want is what? ALL YOU WANT IS WHAT???”

Because, you know, it had sounded like it might be slightly important—especially considering the “I was mad at you,” part right before it.

But then the phone rang, and Doo Pak picked it up, and said, “Oh, hello, Mrs. Moscovitz! Yes, Mike is here. You wish to speak to him? Here, Mike.”

And even though Michael was making slashing motions under his chin and mouthing, “I’m not here,” at Doo Pak, it was too late. He had to take the phone, and go, “Um, Mom? Yeah, hi. Now’s not a real good time, could I call you back later?”

But I heard his mother droning on and on.