I really hope that hot chocolate washes out of his jeans.

Also, I would just like to ask the gods or anyone else who might be listening…why can’t I conduct myself in a grown-up fashion around guys I used to date and with whom I broke up and whom I should be completely and one hundred percent OVER?

It was just so…weirdsitting so close to him again. Evenbefore I could smell him. And I get that we’re just friends now—and, of course, I know I have a boyfriend, and Michael’s got a girlfriend (probably—I never did get a straight answer about this).

But he’s just so…I don’t know! I can’t explain it! He sort of emanates this…touchablequality.

And, of course, I knew I couldn’t touch him (before I did touch him…which he ASKED me to do. He couldn’t have known what that hug would do to me. Did he know? No, he couldn’t have. He isn’t a sadist. Not like his sister).

But being there in the café with him, it was like…well, it was like no time had gone by. Except, of course, a lot of time had gone by. Only in the best way, you know? Like, even though I might have sounded stupid on the tape (I just played it back. I sounded like a complete idiot), I didn’tfeel stupid while I was saying it—not the way I used to when I was younger around Michael. I think it’s because…well, a lot of stuff has happened since I was last in Michael’s company, and I just feel more confident about things (okay, well…about men) than I used to. Recent hug-related freak-out aside.

For instance—now that I played the tape back, I realize Michael was kind of flirting with me! Just a little.

But that’s okay. It’smore than okay, actually.

Oh, no. Did I just write that?

Not that it matters, because I’m pretty sure he thinks the only reason I was there was because I’m doing an article for theAtom (although some reporter I am, since I didn’t even ask him all my questions, once I got so preoccupied wrestling him over his phone).

Wrestling! In a restaurant! Like a seven-year-old! Great. When am I ever going to learn to act like a grown-up? I really thought I’d reached the point of being able to maintain a somewhat dignified demeanor in a public place.

And then I wrestled my ex-boyfriend in a café over his iPhone! And spilled hot chocolate over him!

Then I smelled him.

I think I lost one of my chandelier earrings, too.

Thank God no paparazzi showed to get photos ofthat .

Which is kind of odd, if you think about it. That none of them was around, since they seem to show up everywhere else I go.

Whatever.

Anyway, I guess it was…sweet? Michael, I mean, and his reaction to my telling him I wrote a romance novel. Even though I completely regret sending it to him.

He said he’s going to read it! Tonight!

Of course, J.P. said the same thing. But J.P. also told me I shouldn’t sell myself short. Michael didn’t say anything like that.

Then again, Michael’s not my boyfriend. He doesn’t have my best interests at heart the way J.P. does.

It was just so adorable how he said I was the inspiration for his inventing the CardioArm, though. Even if that was ages ago, and before we broke up.

He also said it was nice of me to let bygones be bygones with Lilly. He obviously doesn’t know the truth. I mean thatI’m not the one who’s been holding a grudge all this time, but—

Oh, no. Grandmère’s calling. I’m going to pick up, because I have a few things I want to say to her.

“Amelia?” Grandmère sounds like she’s in a tunnel. I hear blow-drying in the background, though, so I know it’s only because she’s getting her hair done. “Where are you? Why aren’t you answering any of my e-mails?”

“I have a better question for you, Grandmère. Why did you invite my ex-boyfriend and his family to my birthday party tomorrow night? And you better not say it’s to butter him up so I can ask him for a CardioArm, because—”

“Well, of course that’s why, Amelia,” Grandmère says. I hear a slapping noise, and then she says,“Stop that, Paolo. I said not so much hair spray.” To me she says, in a louder voice, “Amelia? Are you still there?”

Really, nothing she says or does should surprise me anymore. And yet, it does. Continuously.

“Grandmère,” I say. I’m mad. Really. This isn’t just any ex-boyfriend. It’sMichael. “You can’t do this. You can’tuse people like this.”

“Amelia, don’t be stupid. You want your father to win the election, don’t you? We need one of those arm contraptions. As I think I told you. If you had done what I asked you and requested one from him, I wouldn’t have had to send him and that horrible sister of his an invitation, and you wouldn’t be placed in the awkward position of having to entertain your former paramour at your birthday soiree tomorrow night in front of your current paramour. Which I admit will be tricky…”

“Former—” I sputter. There’s a pack of pubescent boys skateboarding nearby. I watch as one of them wipes out on a cement mound placed in the park for this purpose. I know exactly how he feels. “Grandmère, Michael wasnot my paramour. That word suggests that we were lovers, and we werenot —”

“Paolo, Itold you, not so much hair spray. Are you trying to gas me? Just look at poor Rommel, he’s practically hyperventilating, his lung capacity isn’t the same as a human’s, you know!” Grandmère’s voice is fading in and out. “Now, Mia, about your gown for tomorrow night. Chanel will be delivering it in the morning. Kindly let your mother know someone needs to be at your flat to receive it. This means your mother will have to stay home from her little art studio for once. Do you think she can handle that, or is it too much responsibility? Never mind, I already know the answer to that question—”

My call-waiting is going off. It’s Tina!

“Grandmère. This isn’t over,” I inform her. “But I’m going now—”

“Don’t you dare disconnect me, young lady. We haven’t spoken about what we’re going to do if the Domina Rei make an offer of membership to you tomorrow, as you know they’re likely to. You—”

I know it’s rude, but I’ve had quite enough of Grandmère. Really, thirty seconds of her is enough.

“Bye, Grandmère,” I say. And switch over to Tina. I’ll deal with Grandmère’s wrath later.

“Oh my God,” Tina says, the minute I pick up. “Where are you?”

“Washington Square Park,” I say. “Sitting on a bench. I just met Michael and spilled hot chocolate on his pants. We hugged good-bye. I smelled him.”

“You spilled hot chocolate on his pants?” Tina sounds confused. “Yousmelled him?”

“Yeah.” The skateboarders are all trying to outdo one another with their jumps, but most of them just keep crashing. Lars is watching them with a little smile on his face. I really hope he isn’t thinking about asking one of them to borrow a skateboard to show them how it’s done. “He smelled really, really good.”

There is a long pause as Tina digests this.

“Mia,” she says. “Did Michael smell better to you than J.P.?”

“Yes,” I say, in a small voice. “But he always has. J.P. smells like his dry cleaner.”

“Mia,” Tina says. “I thought you bought him some cologne.”

“I did. It didn’t take.”

“Mia,” Tina says. “Ihave to talk to you. I think you better come over.”

“I can’t,” I say. “I have to take my grandparents to the Central Park Zoo.”

“Then I’ll meet you,” Tina says, “at the zoo.”

“Tina,” I say. “What’s going on? What’s so important that you can’t tell me what you need to say over the phone?”

“Mia,” Tina says. “Youknow .”

She is wrong. I have no idea!

And it has to be something pretty bad if she’s afraid TMZ might pick it up, and it would damage my dad in the polls even worse than he is doing now.

“Meet me inside the Edge of the Icepack penguin enclosure at four fifteen,” she says, sounding just like Kim Possible. If Kim Possible ever asked people to meet her inside penguin enclosures.

Still, I’m not surprised. Somehow, the Central Park Zoo penguin enclosure is where I always end up during my hours of darkest need.

“Can you just give me a hint?” I ask. “What does it have to do with? Boris? Michael? J.P.?”

“Your book,” Tina says. And hung up.

Mybook ? What could my book have to do with anything? Unless…

Could it bethat bad?

Great. And both J.P. and Michael are reading copies of itright now. RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE!

I could throw up just thinking about it.

I should just go over to Eighth Street, buy a wig from one of the drag queen stores, and ditch town. I’m practically legal, and there’s nothing left for me here. I’ve been humiliated in every way a person possibly can be. I might as well just grab a bus for Canada.

If only I could figure out a way to get rid of my bodyguard….

 

Sunday, April 30, 4 p.m., Edge of the Icepack penguin exhibit at the Central Park Zoo

Wow.

Between having my current boyfriend tell me I’m selling myself short writing popular fiction, then spilling hot chocolate all over the jeans of my ex-boyfriend (who is currently reading my book—RIGHT THIS VERY MOMENT), then having my best friend say she has to meet me because there’s a PROBLEM with that book—the same book I spent twenty-one months working on—I really didn’t think my twenty-four hours could get any worse.

But that was before I got to the zoo with my mother, stepfather, baby brother, grandparents, and bodyguard in tow.

I guess I was just born under a particularly lucky star seventeen years, three hundred and sixty-four days ago.

The Central Park Zoo wasn’t too crowded on the first perfectly sunny Sunday afternoon of the spring, so it wasn’t like we had any problems navigating Rocky’s enormous stroller through the crowds (NOT!!!!!).