“Wow, Michael,” Shameeka said admiringly. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

Not only that. He sounded like Dirty Harry.

Which was just how I felt when I dropped that eggplant out the window. Like Dirty Harry.

And it had felt good—but not quite so good as having Michael rush to my defense like that.

Michael said, “Let’s just say I used to have a very keen interest in experimenting with the earth’s gravitational pull.”

Wow. There is so much I don’t know about Lilly’s brother. Like he used to be a juvenile delinquent!

Could a computer genius-slash-juvenile delinquent ever be interested in a flat-chested princess like myself? He did save my life tonight (well, okay: he saved me from possible community service).

It’s not a French kiss, or a slow dance, or even an admission he’s the author of that anonymous letter.

But it’s a start.

I know what yer thinkin’:

Did he fire six shots, or only five?

Frankly, in all the confusion,

I kinda lost track myself.

But you gotta ask yourself one question:

(beat)

Do I feel lucky?

(long pause)

Well?

(long pause)

Do ya, punk?

THINGS TO DO

1. English journal

2. Stop thinking about that stupid letter

3. Ditto Michael Moscovitz

4. Ditto the interview

5. Ditto Mom

6. Change cat litter

7. Drop off laundry

8. Get super to put lock on bathroom door

9. Buy: Dishwashing liquid

Q-tips

Canvas stretchers (for Mom)

That stuff you put on your fingernails that

makes them taste bad

Something nice for Mr. Gianini, to say

welcome to the family

Something nice for Dad, to say don’t worry,

someday you, too, will find true love

Sunday, October 26, 7 p.m.

I was really afraid that when I got home my mom was going to be disappointed in me.

Not yell at me. My mom is really not a yelling kind of person.

But she does get disappointed in me, like when I do something stupid like not call and tell her where I am if I am out late (which, given my social life, or lack thereof, hardly ever happens).

But I did screw up this time, and big time. It was really, really hard to leave the Moscovitzes’ apartment this morning and come home, knowing the potential for disappointment that awaited me there.

Of course, it’s always hard to leave Lilly’s. Every time I go there, it’s like taking a vacation from my real life. Lilly has such a nice, normal family. Well, as normal as two psychoanalysts whose son has his own webzine and whose daughter has her own cable-access television show can be. At the Moscovitzes’, the biggest problem is always whose turn is it to walk Pavlov, their sheltie, or whether to order Chinese or Thai take-out.

At my house, the problems always seem to be a little more complicated.

But of course when I finally did work up the courage to come home, my mom was totally happy to see me. She gave me a big hug, and told me not to worry about what had

happened at the interview taping. She said Dad had talked to her, and that she completely understood. She even tried to get me to believe that it was her fault for not having said

anything to him right away.

Which I know isn’t true—it’s still my fault, me and my idiot mouth—but it was nice to hear, just the same.

So then we had a nice, fun time sitting around planning her and Mr. G’s wedding. My mom decided Halloween would be an excellent day to get married, because the idea of marriage is so scary. Since it was going to be at City Hall, that meant I’d probably have to skip school, but that was okay by me!

Since it would be Halloween, my mom decided that instead of a wedding dress, she would go to the courthouse dressed as King Kong. She wants me to dress up as the Empire State Building (God knows I am tall enough). She was trying to convince Mr. G to dress as Fay Ray when the phone rang, and she said it was Lilly, for me.

I was surprised, since I had just left Lilly’s, but I figured I must have left my toothbrush there, or something.

But that wasn’t why she was calling. That wasn’t why she was calling at all—as I found out when she demanded tartly, “What’s this I hear about you being interviewed on TwentyFour/Seven this week?”

I was stunned. I actually thought Lilly had ESP or something, and had been hiding it from me all these years. I said, “How did you know?”

“Because there are commercials announcing it every five minutes, dorkus.”

I switched on the TV. Lilly was right! No matter what station you put it on, there were ads urging viewers to “tune in tomorrow night” to see Beverly Bellerieve’s exclusive interview with “America’s royal, Princess Mia.”

Oh, my God. My life is so over.

“So why didn’t you tell me you are going to be on TV?” Lilly wanted to know.

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling like I was going to throw up all over again. “It just happened yesterday. It’s no big deal.”

Lilly started yelling so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear.

“NO BIG DEAL??? You were interviewed by Beverly Bellerieve and it was NO BIG DEAL??? Don’t you realize that BEVERLY BELLERIEVE IS ONE OF AMERICA’S MOST POPULAR AND HARDEST-HITTING JOURNALISTS, and that she is my all-time ROLE MODEL and HERO???”

When she finally calmed down enough to let me talk, I tried to explain to Lilly that I had no idea about Beverly’s journalistic merits, much less that she was Lilly’s all-time role model and hero. She just seemed, I said, like a very nice lady.