Please, God, let it not break anywhere else.

 

Friday, April 28, third-floor stairwell

I just got a 911 text from Tina telling me to grab a bathroom pass and meet her here!

I can’t imagine what could have happened! It has to be serious because we’ve really been good about not skipping lately, considering the fact that we’ve all gotten into college and there’s basically no reason to attend classes anymore, except to admire what kind of shoes we’re buying to wear for commencement.

I really hope she and Boris haven’t had a fight. They’re so cute together. He does get on my nerves sometimes, but you can tell he just adores T. And he asked her to the prom in the cutest way, by presenting her with a prom ticket attached to a single half-blown red rose with a Tiffany’s box dangling from it.

Yes! It wasn’t even from Kay Jewelers, which has always been Tina’s favorite. Boris decided to upgrade. (Good for him. Her attachment to Kay’s was starting to get kind of sad.)

And inside the box was another box, a velvet ring box. (Tina said she nearly had a heart attack when she saw it.)

And inside that was the most gorgeous emerald ring (apromise ring, not an engagement ring, Boris hastened to assure her). And inside the band of the ring were Tina’s and Boris’s initials entwined, and the date of the prom.

Tina said she’d have nearly thrown up a lung if such a thing were physically possible, she was that excited. She came into school on Monday and showed the ring to all of us. (Boris gave it to her at dinner at Per Se, which is, like, the most expensive restaurant in New York right now. But he can afford it because he’s recording an album, just like his idol, Joshua Bell. His ego hasn’t beentoo inflated ever since. Especially since he also got asked to play a gig at Carnegie Hall next week, which is going to be his senior project. We’re all invited. J.P. and I are going as a date. Except I’m bringing my iPod. I’ve already heard everything in Boris’s repertoire, like, nine hundred million times, thanks to his playing it in the supply closet in the Gifted and Talented room. I can’t believe anyone would paymoney to hear him, to be honest, but whatever.)

Tina’s dad wasn’t too thrilled about the ring. But he was plenty thrilled about the shipment of frozen Omaha steaks Boris had sent to him. (That part wasmy suggestion. Boris so owes me.)

So Mr. Hakim Baba might even come around to the idea of Boris being part of the family one day. (Poor man. I feel so bad for him. He’ll have to listen to that mouth breathing every time he sits down with his daughter and her boyfriend for a meal.)

Oh, here she comes—she’s not crying, so maybe it’s—

 

Friday, April 28, Trig

Yeah. Okay. So it wasn’t about Boris.

It was about Michael.

I should have known.

Tina has her phone set to receive Google alerts about me. So this morning she got one when theNew York Post ran an item about Michael’s donation to the Columbia University Medical Center (only, because it was thePost and not CNN international business news, the primary focus of the story was that Michael used to go out with me).

Tina’s so sweet. She wanted me to know that he was back in town before someone else told me. She was afraid I might hear it from a paparazzo, just like my dad was.

I let her know I already knew.

This was a mistake.

“Youknew ?” Tina cried. “And didn’t tell me right away? Mia, how could you?”

See? I can’t do anything right anymore. Every time I tell the truth, I get in trouble!

“I just found out myself,” I assured her. “Last night. And I’m okay with it. Really. I’m over Michael. I’m with J.P. now. It’s completely cool with me that Michael’s back.”

God, I’m such aliar.

And not even a very good one. At least not about this. Because Tina didn’t look very convinced.

“And he didn’t tell you?” Tina demanded. “Michael didn’t say anything in any of his e-mails about how he was coming back?”

Of course I couldn’t tell her the truth. About how Michael offered to read my senior project and that freaked me out so much I stopped e-mailing him.

Because then Tina would want to know why that freaked me out. And then I’d have to explain that my senior project is actually a romance novel I’m trying to get published.

And I’m just not ready to hear the amount of shrieking this response would elicit from Tina. Not to mention her demand to read the book.

And when she gets to the sex scene—okay, sexscenes —I think there’s a good chance Tina’s head might actually explode.

“No,” I said, in response to Tina’s question, instead.

“That’s just weird,” Tina said flatly. “I mean, you guys are friends now. At least, that’s what you keep telling me. That you’re friends, just like you used to be. Friends tell each other if one of them is moving back to the same country—the samecity —as the other. Thathas to mean something that he didn’t say anything.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I said quickly. “It probably happened really fast. He just didn’t have time to tell me—”

“To send you a text message? ‘Mia, I’m moving back to Manhattan.’ How long does that take? No.” Tina shook her head, her long dark hair swinging past her shoulders. “Something else is going on.” She narrowed her eyes. “And I think I know what it is.”

I love Tina so much. I’m going to miss her when I go away to college. (Noway am I going to NYU with her, even though I got in there. NYU just seems way too high-pressure for me. Tina wants to be a thoracic surgeon, so odds are, with all the premed classes she’ll be taking, I’d hardly ever see her anyway.)

But I really wasn’t in the mood to hear another one of her wacky theories. It’s true sometimes they’re right. I mean, she was right about J.P. being in love with me.

But whatever she was going to say about Michael—I just didn’t want to hear it. So much so, I actually put my hand over her mouth.

“No,” I said.

Tina blinked at me with her big brown eyes, looking very surprised.

“Wha?” she said, from behind my hand.

“Don’t say it,” I said. “Whatever it is you’re about to say.”

“It’s nofing bad,” Tina said against my palm.

“I don’t care,” I said. “I don’t want to hear it. Do you promise not to say it?”

Tina nodded. I dropped my hand.

“Do you need a tissue?” Tina asked, nodding at my hand. Because, of course, my fingers were covered in lip gloss.

It was my turn to nod. Tina handed me a tissue from her bag. I wiped off my hand, purposefully not acknowledging the fact that Tina looked as if she were literally dying to tell me what she wanted to tell me.

Well, okay, maybe notliterally dying. But metaphorically.

Finally Tina said, “So. What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean, what am I going to do?” I asked. I couldn’t help feeling this total sense of impending doom…not unlike what I felt concerning J.P.’s forthcoming prom invitation. Well, I guess that wasn’t as much doom as it was dread. “I’m not going todo anything.”

“But, Mia—” Tina appeared to be choosing her words with care. “I know you and J.P. are totally and blissfully happy. But aren’t you the least bitcurious to see Michael? After all this time?”

Fortunately it was right then that the bell rang and we had to grab our stuff and “skeedaddle,” as Rocky is fond of saying. (I have no idea where he picked up the word “skeedaddle,” much less “skeedaddling shoes,” which are what he calls his sneakers. Oh, God, how am I going to go away to college for four whole years and miss out on all his formative development…not to mention, his cuteness? I know I’ll be back for holidays—the ones I don’t spend in Genovia—but it won’t be the same!)

So I didn’t have to answer Tina’s question.

I sort of wish now that I hadn’t stopped Tina from telling me her theory. I mean, now that my heart rate has slowed down. (It was totally pounding back there in the stairwell for some reason. I have no idea why.)

I bet, whatever it was, it would have made me laugh.

Oh, well. I’ll ask her about it later.

Or not.

Actually, probably not.

 

Friday, April 28, G&T

Okay. They’ve descended into madness.

I guess some of them (namely Lana, Trisha, Shameeka, and Tina) didn’t have that far to go, anyway.

But I think they’ve taken the word “senioritis” to new extremes.

So Tina and I were out in the hallway just before lunch when we ran into Lana, Trisha, and Shameeka, and Tina yelled, over the din of everyone passing by, “Did you guys hear? Michael is back! And his robotic arm is a huge success! And he’s a millionaire!”

Lana and Trisha, as one might predict, both let out shrieks that I swear could have burst the glass in all the emergency fire pulls nearby. Shameeka was more subdued, but even she got a crazed look in her eyes.

Then, when we got into the jet line to get our yogurts and salads (well, those guys. They’re all trying to lose five pounds before the prom. I was getting a tofurkey burger), Tina started telling them about Michael’s donating a CardioArm to the Columbia University Medical Center, and Lana went, “Oh my God, when is that, tomorrow? We are so going.”

“Uh,” I said, my heart sliding up into my throat. “No,we aren’t.”

“Seriously,” Trisha said, agreeing with me. (I could have kissed her.) “I’ve got a tanning appointment. I’m totally building up a golden glow for prom next weekend. I’m wearing white, you know.”

“Whatever,” Lana said, picking out diet sodas for all of us. “You can tan after.”

“But we’ve got Mia’s party Monday,” Trisha said. “There’re going to be celebrities there. I don’t want to look pasty in front of celebrities.”