So for the second time in two days, I did something because I felt sorry for someone whom I'd formerly considered pretty much an enemy. I looked up at Rene and said, 'Yeah, I know her. Her name is Lana. She goes to my school. When this

dance is over, you should ask her for the next one.'

Rene looked dubious. 'Really?'

'Trust me,' I said. 'It'll be the thrill of her life to dance with a handsome prince.'

'But not so much for you, eh,' Rene said, still wearing his cynical smile.

'Rene,' I said. 'No offence. But I already met my prince, long before I ever met you. The only problem is, if I don't get out

of here soon, I don't know how much longer he's going to be my prince, because I already missed the movie we were supposed to see together, and pretty soon it's going to be too late even for me to stop by . . .'

'Never fear, Your Highness,' Rene said, twirling me around. 'If fleeing the ball before the clock strikes twelve is your

desire, I will see to it that your wish is fulfilled.'

I looked at him kind of dubiously. I actually needed to get out of the ball by nine, not twelve, if I still wanted to make it to Michael's at a decent hour. Also, I couldn't tell whether or not Rene was joking.

'Um,' I said. 'OK.'

And that's how I ended up in this bathroom. Rene told me to hide, and that he'd get Lars to flag down a cab, and once he'd

got one, and the coast was clear, Rene would knock three times, signalling that Grandmere was too otherwise occupied to notice my defection. Then, Rene promised, he'd tell her I must have eaten a bad truffle, since I'd looked queasy, and Lars

had taken me home.

It doesn't matter, of course. Any of this, I mean. Because I am just going to end up at Michael's in time for him to dump me. Maybe he'll feel bad about it, you know, after I give him his birthday present. Then again, maybe he'll just be glad to be rid

of me. Who knows? I've given up trying to figure out men. They are a breed apart.

Oops, there's Rene's knock. Gotta go.

To meet my fate.

Friday, January 22,11 p.m.

The Moscovitzes' Bathroom





Oh, my God, I am FREAKING OUT.

Now I know how Jane Eyre must have felt when she returned to Thornfield Hall to find it all burnt to the ground and

everyone telling her everybody inside of it was killed in the fire.

Only then she finds out Mr. Rochester didn't die, he just lost his sight and his hand and his crazy wife and everything,

and Jane's like super happy, because, you know, in spite of what he tried to do to her, she loves him.

That's how I feel right now. Super happy. Because I fully don't think Michael is going to break up with me after all!!!!

I was sure he was going to when I was standing outside the Moscovitzes' apartment, you know, with my finger on the buzzer.

I was standing there going, Why am I even doing this? I am fully just walking into heartbreak. I should turn around

and have Lars flag down another cab and just go back to the loft. I hadn't even bothered changing out of my stupid

ball gown, because what was the point? I was just going to be on my way home in a few minutes anyway, and I could

change there.

So I'm standing there in the hallway, and Lars is behind me going on about his stupid boar hunt in Belize, because that is all

he talks about any more, and I hear Pavlov, Michael's dog, barking because someone is at the door, and I'm going, inside

 my head, OK, when he breaks up with me, I am NOT going to cry, I am going to remember Rosagunde and Agnes,

and I am going to be strong like they were strong . . .

And then Michael opened the door. He looked kind of taken aback by my apparel, I could tell. I thought maybe it was because he hadn't counted on having to break up with a snowdrop. But there was nothing I could do about that, though

I did remember at the last minute that I was still wearing my tiara, which I suppose might intimidate, you know, some boys.

So I took it off and went, 'Well, I'm here,' which is a foolish thing to say, because, well, duh, I was standing there, wasn't I?

But Michael kind of seemed to recover himself. He went, 'Oh, hey, come in, you look . . . you look really beautiful,' which

of course is exactly what a guy who is about to break up with you would say, you know, to kind of bolster your ego before

he grinds it beneath his heel.

But, whatever, I went in, and so did Lars, and Michael went, 'Lars, my mom and dad are in the living room watching

Dateline, if you want to join them,' which Lars totally did, because you could tell he didn't want to hang around and

listen to the Big Breakup.

So then Michael and I were alone in the foyer. I was twirling my tiara around in my hands, trying to think of what to say.

I'd been trying to think what to say the whole way down in the cab, but I hadn't been very successful.

Then Michael went, 'Well, did you eat yet? Because I've got some veggie burgers . . .'

I looked up from the parquet floor tiles, which I had been examining very closely, since it was easier than looking into

Michael's peat-bog eyes, which always suck me in until I feel like I can't move any more. They used to punish criminals

in ancient Celtic societies by making them walk into a peat bog. If they sank, you know, they were guilty, and if not, they

were innocent. Only you always sink when you walk into a peat bog. They uncovered a bunch of bodies from one in Ireland not too long ago, and they, like, still had all their teeth and hair and stuff. They were totally preserved. It was way gross.

That's how I feel when I look into Michael's eyes. Like I'm trapped in peat bog. Only I don't mind, because it's warm and

nice and cosy in there . . .

And now he was asking me if I wanted a veggie burger. Do guys generally ask their girlfriends if they want a veggie burger

right before they break up with them? I wasn't very well versed in these matters, so the truth was, I didn't know.

But I didn't think so.

'Um,' I said, intelligently. 'I don't know.' I thought maybe it was a trick question. 'If you're having one, I guess.'

So then Michael went, 'OK,' and gestured for me to follow him, and we went into the kitchen, where Lilly was sitting, using

the granite countertop to lay out her story-boards for the episode of Lilly Tells It Like It Is she was filming the next day.

'Jeez,' she said, when she saw me. 'What happened to you? You look like you swapped outfits with the Sugar Plum Fairy.'

'I was at a ball,' I explained.

'Oh,' Lilly said, 'of course. The ball. Well, if you ask me, the Sugar Plum Fairy got the better deal. But I'm not supposed

to be here. So don't mind me.'

'We won't,' Michael assured her.

And then he did the strangest thing. He started to cook.

Seriously. He was cooking.

Well, OK, not really cooking, more like reheating. Still, he fully got out these two veggie burgers he'd gotten from Balducci's, and put them on some buns, and then put the buns on these two plates. And then he took some fries that had been in the oven on a tray and put them on to the two plates, as well. And then he got ketchup and mayo and mustard out of the fridge, along with two cans of Coke, and he put all that stuff on a tray, and then he walked out of the kitchen, and before I could ask Lilly what in the name of all that was holy was going on, he came back, picked up the two plates, and went, to me, 'Come on.'

What could I do, but follow him?

I trailed after him into the TV room, where Lilly and I had viewed so many cinematic gems for the first time, such as

Valley Girl and Bring It On and Attack of the Fifty-Foot Woman and Crossing Delancey.

And there, in front of the Moscovitzes' black leather couch, which sat in front of their thirty-two-inch Sony TV, sat two

little folding tables. On to these tables, Michael lowered the plates of food he'd prepared. They sat there, in the glow

of the Star Wars title image, which was frozen on the TV screen, obviously paused there.

'Michael,' I said, genuinely baffled. 'What is this?'

'Well, you couldn't make it to the Screening Room,' he said, looking as if he couldn't quite believe I hadn't figured it out

on my own yet. 'So I brought the Screening Room to you. Come on, let's eat. I'm starved.'

He might have been starved, but I was stunned. I stood there looking down at the veggie burgers - which smelt divine -

going, 'Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You aren't breaking up with me?'

Michael had already sat down on the couch and stuffed a few fries in his mouth. When I said that, about breaking up,

he turned around to look at me like I was demented. 'Break up with you? Why would I do that?'

'Well,' I said, starting to wonder if maybe he was right, and I really was demented. 'When I told you I couldn't make it

tonight you . . . well, you seemed kind of distant. . .'

'I wasn't distant,' Michael said. 'I was trying to figure out what we could do instead of, you know, going to the movie.'

'But then you didn't show up for lunch . . .'

'Right,' Michael said. 'I had to call and order the veggie burgers and get Maya to go to the store and get the rest of the stuff. And my dad had loaned our Star Wars DVD to a friend of his, so I had to call him and make him get it back.'

I listened in astonishment. Everyone, it seemed - Maya, the Moscovitzes' housekeeper; Lilly; even Michael's parents - had been in on Michael's scheme to recreate the Screening Room right in his own apartment.