When asked for a statement, a Genovian palace spokesman has said, “We do not comment on the princess’s personal life.”
Saturday, September 11, 10 a.m., the loft
Well. At least now I know why I haven’t heard from Lilly.
Which is so messed up on so many levels. I mean, first of all, it was only a peck.
And second of all, they were already broken up when the peck took place. And third of all, WE WENT TO THE SHOW AS FRIENDS. How could anyone in their right mind think I’m GOING OUT with J.P. Reynolds-Abernathy the Fourth?
I mean, sure, he’s funny and cute and a nice guy and all. Don’t get me wrong.
But my heart belongs to Michael Moscovitz, and always will!
None of this makes any sense. Lilly is supposed to be my best friend. How can she believe something so horrible of me?
And it’s true, I was pretty awful to her brother this week. But that was only because I (stupidly) didn’t realize what a great thing we had, until I went and lost it.
But I APOLOGIZED to him. It’s only a matter of time (two hours) until he gets my e-mail and calls me (please, God) and we patch things up and he sends me back my snowflake necklace and we’re back together and everything’s fine again.
Unless he happens to check Google News and sees the giant article about me and J.P.
But why would he believe it? He never believed any of the lies the paparazzi was always reporting about me and James Franco. Why would he believe THIS one?
He wouldn’t. He can’t.
So what is Lilly’s problem?
Anyway. I am not going to freak out. It’s true that in the past, I would be hysterical over something like this. I’d be calling my dad and begging him to have our lawyers demand a retraction. I’d be trying to get to the bottom of who’d tipped the papers off—as if I didn’t know (Grandmère). I’d be frantically e-mailing Michael, hysterically explaining that none of it’s true.
But not now. I’m way too mature for all that. Also, I’m used to it.
And besides: I am way too freaked out as it is. How could I possibly freak out any more? I can barely hold on to my pen to write this, my hand is so drenched in sweat.
So…whatever. I’m going to allow Lilly a little cooling-off period. I’m sure when she’s having her party and everyone is there but me (I called Tina after I ran out and got the paper. I told her that of COURSE she has to go to Lilly’s party, even though she was going to boycott out of solidarity with me. But I actually need her to go so I can find out what Lilly is saying about me. I swear, if Lilly’s bad-mouthing me, I will call the Federal Communications Commission and report the fact that she used the S word on last week’s episode of Lilly Tells It Like It Is, while she was describing the current state of affairs in Iraq), she’ll start missing me and invite me over.
And then I’ll go and we’ll hug it out and it will all be fine.
I’ll just sit here and do my Precalculus homework until then. Because God knows I didn’t pay much attention last week, so I have NO IDEA what’s going on in that class. Or any of my classes, really. The last thing I need, on top of everything else that’s going on, is to flunk out of high school.
And I think while I’m doing that, I’ll finish off the rest of the pork dumplings left over from Number One Noodle Son (this meat thing is unreal. Once you start eating it, you really can’t stop).
Because that’s how a mature person would handle the situation.
TWO HOURS TILL HE LANDS!!!!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Saturday, September 11, 10:15 a.m., the loft
So I just put my name in the Google News search engine to see how many stories there were about me, and what the likelihood of Michael seeing that piece about me and J.P. is and…
…there are 527 RSS articles about it.
And that’s not all.
I went to Google Blog Search to see if anyone was blogging about me, and there’s a new website up: www.ihatemiathermopolis.com.
There’s a list there of the top ten stupidest things about Mia Thermopolis. Number one is my hair.
Number ten is my name.
The stuff in between gets progressively worse.
I know I’m supposed to ignore my negative press. Grandmère told me if I react to it or acknowledge it in any way, I’m only feeding into it, and giving the haters MORE to write about.
But this. This is really…
Great. Just great. Like I don’t have ENOUGH to worry about.
Now somebody out there in the world hates me enough to point out for the whole world to read that with my new haircut, my ears resemble teapot handles.
Just what I need.
Saturday, September 11, 10:30 a.m., the loft
Dear Michael,
By now you’ve probably seen
Dear Michael,
Hi! I was just wondering if you’d seen
Dear Michael,
Whatever you do, don’t look at
Dear Founder of ihatemiathermopolis.com,
IF YOU HATE ME SO MUCH WHY DON’T YOU JUST TELL IT TO MY FACE, YOU COWARD????
Saturday, September 11, noon, the loft
Inbox: 0
My cell phone just rang. I was so certain it was Michael (his plane has landed by now) that I almost dropped it, my hands were so sweaty, plus shaking so badly (also they were so greasy from the chicken leg I found in the back of the fridge and was gnawing).