I just stared at her. It took a few seconds for her words to register. “Yourbrother said?…”

“That I had to be nice to you,” Lilly finished for me, sounding exasperated, as if I should have been aware of this. “He found out about the website, okay?”

I moved from staring to blinking. I was making progress. “Ihatemiathermopolis.com?”

“Right,” Lilly said. She did look a little ashamed of herself, actually. “He was really mad. I’ll admit…itwas pretty childish.”

Michael found out about ihatemiathermopolis.com? You mean…he hadn’t known? I thought everyone in the whole world had known about that stupid website.

And he’d told Lilly she had to benice to me?

“But.” I was having trouble processing so much information at once. It was like I was a desert that was finally getting rain…only there was too much of it, and I couldn’t soak it all in. Soon I’d be experiencing mud slides. And flash floods. “But…why were you so mad at me in the first place? I’ll admit, I acted like a total jerk to your brother. But I regretted it, and I tried to get back together with him. He’s the one who said no. So why were you so mad about it?” This was the part I could never figure out. “Was it…was it just because of J.P.?”

Lilly’s face darkened. “You don’t know?” she asked, sounding incredulous. “You honestly don’t know?”

I was definitely experiencing sensory overload. “No.” I shook my head. She hadn’t actually answered the question. “What am I supposed to know?”

“I have never,” Lilly said flatly, “met anyone so dense as you in my life, Mia.”

“What?” I still have no idea what she was talking about. I know I’m dense. I do! I’m a geek. She didn’t have to rub it in. She could have helped me a little. “Dense aboutwhat ?”

But at that point an old lady came into the bathroom, and I guess Lilly decided she’d said enough. She just shook her head, and walked out.

Which just leaves me here to wonder, as I have a million times before:What is it I’m supposed to know? What is it that Lilly thinks I’m so dense about?

It’s true I started dating J.P. right after the two of them broke up. But she was already not speaking to me by the time that happened. So that can’t be it.

Why can’t Lilly just tell me what it was I was so dense about? She’s the genius, not me. I hate it when geniuses expect the rest of us to be as smart as they are. It’s not fair. I’m ofaverage intelligence, and I always have been. I’m creative, and stuff, but I’m romance-novel-writing creative! I don’t perform well on IQ tests, and certainly not SATs (obviously).

And I’ve NEVER been able to figure out Lilly.

And I can’t figure out her brother, either. For instance, why doesMichael care whether she starts being nice to me or not?

Oh, great. I hear clapping! I’d better get back to my seat….

 

Friday, May 5, midnight, the loft

I was wrong about being able to stay away from my MHC match.

Everyone went up onto the stage after Boris’s fantastically successful concert (standing ovations all around) to congratulate him.

That’s how I found myself standing next to J.P., talking to Tina and Boris, when Michael and Lilly came up to congratulate Boris as well.

Which wasn’t a bit awkward.

Considering Lilly was Boris’s ex (remember when he dropped the globe on his head over her?) and J.P. was Lilly’s, and Michael was mine. Oh, and Kenny’s my ex, too!

Ah, good times.

Not.

Fortunately Michael didn’t try to hug me. Or say anything like, “Oh, hey, Mia, see you at lunch tomorrow.” It was kind of like he knew this wasn’t something I’d discussed with my boyfriend.

Although he was perfectly cordial, and didn’t storm off like he did the night of my birthday. (Whydid he do that? It can’t be because of what Tina said, because he couldn’t stand to see me with J.P. Because he seemed just fine seeing me with J.P. tonight.)

Lilly, on the other hand, stonily ignored J.P.—although she cracked a little bit of a smile at me.

Tina, meanwhile, was so nervous about the whole thing (which was weird, because she was the only person there whodidn’t have an ex present) that she began talking in a very high-pitched voice about the senior project committee—who were looking a little haggard, possibly from their night out with Sean Penn—and I had to take her by the arm and start steering her away, gently murmuring, “It’s going to be okay. Shhhh. It’s all over now. Boris passed with flying colors….”

“But,” Tina said, flinging a glance over her shoulder. “Why are Michael and Lilly here?Why? ”

“Michael’s friends with Boris. Remember? They’re living together next year until Boris gets his single through the waiting list.”

“I need a vacation,” Tina whimpered. “I really need a vacation.”

“You’re getting one,” I said. “Tomorrow’s Senior Skip Day.”

“Are you really going to sleep with J.P.?” Tina wanted to know. “Are you really, Mia? Really?”

“Tina,” I whispered. “Could you say it a little louder? I don’t think all of Carnegie Hall heard you.”

“I just don’t think you’re doing it for the right reasons,” Tina said. “Don’t do it because you think you have to, or because you don’t want to be the last girl in our class who is still a virgin, or because you don’t want to be the only girl in your college who hasn’t slept with someone. Do it because youwant to, because you feel a burning passion to. When I look at the two of you together, I just don’t think…Mia, I don’t think youwant to. I don’t feel like there’s anypassion . You write about passion in your book, but I don’t think you actuallyfeel it. Not for J.P.”

“Okay,” I said, patting her on the arm. “I’m going to go now. Tell Boris he did a lovely job. Bye, now.”

I got Lars and J.P., told everyone else we were leaving, stayed far enough away from Michael that I couldn’t smell him, then left, dropping J.P. off at his place on our way home.

I tried really hard to feel passion as I kissed him good night.

I think I even did. I definitely felt something.

It might have been the staple from the dry cleaner the Reynolds-Abernathy family uses on the back of J.P.’s shirt collar though. I think it was scratching my finger as I tried to cling to him passionately.

 

Friday, May 5, 9 a.m., the loft

I don’t believe it.

Mom just poked her head in here and went, “Mia. Wake up.”

And I was like, “MOM. I’m not going to school. It’s Senior Skip Day. I don’t care if it’s not an officially sanctioned school holiday. I’m a senior. I’m skipping. Which means I don’t HAVE TO GET UP.”

And she went, “It’s not that. There’s someone on the house line, asking for Daphne Delacroix.”

I thought she was joking. I really did.

But she swore she was serious.

So I crawled out of bed and took the phone she was holding and put it to my ear and was like, “Hello?”

“Is this Daphne?” asked a way too cheerful woman’s voice.

“Um,” I said. “Sort of.” I really hadn’t woken up enough to be able to deal with the situation.

“Your real name isn’t Daphne Delacroix, is it?” asked the voice, laughing a little.

“Not exactly,” I said, stealing a glance at the caller ID on the handset. It said Avon Books.

Avon Books was the name on the spines of half of the historical romances I’d read while doing research for my own. It’s a huge publisher of romance novels.

“Well, this is Claire French,” the cheerful voice said. “And I’ve just finished reading your book,Ransom My Heart , and I’m calling to offer you a publishing contract.”

I swear I did not think I could have heard her right. It sounded like she said she was calling to offer me a publishing contract.

But that could not possibly be what she had said. Because people don’t call and offer me book deals. Especially first thing in the morning. Ever.

“What?” I said intelligently.

“I’m calling to offer you a publishing contract,” she said. “We’d like to offer you a book deal. But we’ll need to know your real name. Whatis your real name, if you don’t mind telling me?”

“Um,” I said. “Mia Thermopolis.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, hi, Mia.” She then went on to say some things about money, and contracts, and due dates, and some other things I didn’t understand because I was in too much of a daze.

“Um,” I finally said. “Can I have your number? I think I’m going to have to call you back.”

“Sure!” she said. And gave me her extension. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks a lot.”

Then I hung up.

I lay back in my bed and looked at Fat Louie, who was staring at me, happily purring from my pillows.

Then I screamed as loud as I could, freaking out Mom, Rocky, and, of course, Fat Louie, who darted off the bed (all the pigeons on my fire escape took off, too).

I cannot believe it:

I got an offer on my book.

And okay…it’s not for a ton of money. If I were an actual person who had to make a living doing this, I would not be able to survive—at least in New York City—for more than a couple of months on what they offered. If you really want to be a writer, clearly, you have to writeand do some other job, too, in order to pay your rent, etc. At least when you’re first starting out.

But since I’m going to be donating the money to Greenpeace anyway…who cares?

Someone wants to buy my book!!!!!

 

Friday, May 5, 11 a.m., the loft

I feel like I’m floating….

Seriously, I’m so happy! This has been the best day of my life. At least so far.

I really mean that. Nothing is going to ruin it. NOTHING. And NO ONE.