But, hello. I am the princess of Genovia. I am the newly elected president of the AEHS student council.
And NO ONE—not even Michael—is going to tell me when to Do It.
Finally, we got here—to Ray’s Pizza. The place was empty because school hadn’t been out long enough for it to fill up, and it was way past lunchtime, and not quite dinner.
Michael pointed to a booth and said, “You want a pie?”
“We need to talk.”
“You want a pie?”
That’s all he’d said to me so far.
I said, “Yes.” And because my mouth still felt as dry as sand, I added, “And a Coke.”
He went to the counter and ordered both. Then he came back to the booth, slid into the seat across from mine, looked me in the eye, and said, “I saw the debate.”
This was NOT what I’d expected him to say.
It was SO not what I’d expected him to say, that my jaw dropped. I didn’t remember to shut my mouth again until I felt cool, pizza-scented air on my tongue, and realized I was breathing out of my mouth, just like Boris.
I snapped my mouth shut. Then I asked, “You were there?”
AND YOU DIDN’T COME UP AND SAY HI??????????? Only I didn’t say that last part.
Michael shook his head.
“No,” he said. “It was on CNN.”
“Oh,” I said. Seriously, who else but ME would get their school debate aired on CNN?
And who else but MY BOYFRIEND would happen to catch its broadcast?
“I liked what you said about Sailor Moon,” he said.
“You DID?” I don’t know why this came out so squeaky.
“Yeah. And the John Locke quote? That kicked butt. You get that from Holland’s government class?”
I nodded, unable to speak, I was so astonished he’d known this.
“Yeah,” he said. “She’s cool. So.” He leaned an arm against the back of his side of the booth. “You’re the new president of AEHS.”
I folded my hands on the tabletop, hoping he wouldn’t notice the damage I’d done to my fingernails since the last time I’d seen him. Damage that was almost entirely due to worry about HIM.
“Looks like it,” I said.
“I thought Lilly wanted to be president,” Michael said. “Not you.”
“She does,” I said. “But now…well, I sort of don’t want to give it up.”
Michael raised his eyebrows. Then he let out a low whistle.
“Wow,” he said. “Mind if I’m not around when you explain that to her?”
“No,” I said. “That’s okay.”
Then I froze. Wait…if he didn’t want to be around when I explained to Lilly that I had no intention of stepping down from the presidency, did that mean…
That had to mean that…
Suddenly, my poor, shriveled heart seemed to be showing some signs of life.
“Pie’s up,” the guy behind the counter said.
So, Michael got up and got the pizza and our three sodas—he’d also gotten one for Lars, who was sitting at a table on the other side of the restaurant, pretending to be very interested in the Dr. Phil episode the guy behind the counter was watching on the TV hanging from the ceiling—and brought them back to the booth.
I didn’t know what else to do. So, I pulled a slice from the pie, slapped it onto a paper plate, and brought it over to Lars, along with his soda. It’s no joke, having to worry about your bodyguard all the time.
Then, I went and sat back down and pulled my own slice onto a plate, and carefully sprinkled hot pepper flakes all over it.
Michael, as was his custom, merely picked up a slice—seemingly oblivious to the fact that it was steaming hot—folded it in half, and took a big bite.
His hands, as he did this, looked alarmingly…large. Why had I never noticed this before? How large Michael’s hands are?
Then, after he’d swallowed, he said, “Look. I don’t want to fight about this.”
I glanced up at him kind of sharply, on account of having been staring at his hands. I wasn’t sure what he meant by “this.” Did he mean about Lilly and the presidency? Or did he mean—
“All I want to know is,” he went on, in a sort of tired voice, “are we EVER going to Do It?”
Okay. Not Lilly and the presidency.
I practically choked on the tiny bite of pizza I’d taken, and had to swallow about a gallon of Coke before I was able to say, “OF COURSE.”
But Michael looked suspicious.
“Before the end of this decade?”
“Absolutely,” I said, with more conviction than I necessarily felt. But, you know. What else could I say? Plus, my face was as red as the pizza sauce. I know because I saw my reflection in the napkin holder.
“I knew going into this that it wasn’t going to be easy, Mia,” Michael said. “I mean, aside from the age difference and your being my sister’s best friend, there’s the whole princess aspect to it…the constant-hounding-bypaparazzi/can’t-go-anywhere-without-a-bodyguard thing. A lesser man might find all that daunting. I, on the other hand, have always enjoyed a challenge. Besides which, I love you, so it’s all worth it to me.”
I practically melted right there on the spot. I mean, seriously. Has any guy EVER said anything so sweet?
But then he went on.
“It’s not that I’m trying to rush you into something you aren’t ready for,” Michael said, as matter-of-factly as if he were discussing the next move he planned on making in Rebel Strike. How do boys do this, by the way? “It’s just that I know it takes you a while to get used to things. So, I want you to start getting used to this: You’re the girl I want. One day, you WILL be mine.”