Oh, someone shoot me. Someone please shoot me.

     I smiled. I’m afraid my smile was very weak.

     But Kenny didn’t care.

     “And you know, in later episodes,” Kenny said, encouraged by my smile, “Josie and the Pussycats go up into space. So she’s also a pioneer into space exploration.”

     Oh, God, make this be a bad dream. Please make this be a bad dream, and let me wake up and have it not be true!

     All I could do was thank my lucky stars that I hadn’t said anything to Michael. Could you imagine if I’d gone up to him and said what I’d planned to? He’d have thought I’d forgotten to take my medication, or something.

     “Anyway,” Kenny said. “You want to go out sometime, Mia? With me, I mean?”

     Oh, God. I hate that. I really hate that. You know, when people go “Do you want to go out with me sometime?” instead of “Do you want to go out with me next Tuesday?” Because that way you can make up an excuse. Because then you can always go, “Oh, no, on Tuesday I have this thing.”

     But you can’t go, “No, I don’t want to go out with you EVER.”

     Because that would be too mean.

     And I can’t be mean to Kenny. I like Kenny. I really do. He’s very funny and sweet and everything.

     But do I want his tongue in my mouth?

     Not so much.

     What could I say? “No, Kenny? No, Kenny, I don’t want to go out with you ever, because I happen to be in love with my best friend’s brother?”

     You can’t say that.

     Well, maybe some girls can.

     But not me.

     “Sure, Kenny,” I said.

     After all, how bad could a date with Kenny be? What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. That’s what Grandmère says, anyway.

     After that, I had no choice but to let Kenny put his arm around me—the only one he had, the other being tightly secured beneath his costume to give him the appearance of having been severely injured in a land mine explosion.

     But we were all jammed in so closely at that table that Kenny’s arm, as it went around my shoulders, jostled Michael, and he looked over at us. . . .

     And then he looked over at Lars, really fast. Almost like he—I don’t know . . .

     Saw what was going on, and wanted Lars to put a stop to it?

     No. No, of course not. It couldn’t be that.

     But it is true that when Lars, who was busy pouring sugar into like his fifth cup of coffee that night, didn’t look up, Michael stood and said, “Well, I’m beat. What do you say we call it a night?”

     Everyone looked at him like he was crazy. I mean, some people were still finishing their food and all. Lilly even went, “What’s with you, Michael? Gotta catch up on your beauty sleep?”

     But Michael totally took out his wallet and started counting out how much he owed.

     So then I stood up really fast and said, “I’m tired, too. Lars, could you call the car?”

     Lars, delighted finally to be leaving, whipped out his cell phone and started dialing. Kenny, beside me, started saying stuff like, “It’s a shame you have to go so early,” and “So, Mia, can I call you?”

     This last question caused Lilly to look from me to Kenny and then back again. Then she looked at Michael. Then she stood up, too.

     “Come on, Al,” she said, giving Boris a tap on the head. “Let’s blow this juke joint.”

     Only of course Boris didn’t understand. “What is a juke joint?” he asked. “And why are we blowing it?”

     Everyone started digging around for money to pay the bill . . .which was when I remembered that I didn’t have any. Money, I mean. I didn’t even have a purse to put money in. That was the one part of my wedding ensemble Grandmère had forgotten.

     I elbowed Lars and whispered, “Have you got any cash? I’m a little low at the moment.”

     Lars nodded and reached for his wallet. That’s when Kenny, who noticed this, went, “Oh, no, Mia. Your pancakes are on me.”

     This, of course, completely freaked me out. I didn’t want Kenny to pay for my pancakes. Or Lars’s five cups of coffee, either.

     “Oh, no,” I said. “That isn’t necessary.”

     Which didn’t have at all the desired effect, since Kenny said, all stiffly, “I insist,” and started throwing dollar bills down on the table.

     Remembering I’m supposed to be gracious, being a princess and all, I said, “Well, thank you very much, Kenny.”

     Which was when Lars handed Michael a twenty and said, “For the movie tickets.”

     Only then Michael wouldn’t take my money—okay, it was Lars’s money, but my dad totally would have paid him back—either. He looked totally embarrassed, and went, “Oh, no. My treat,” even after I strenuously insisted.

     So then I had to say, “Well, thank you very much, Michael,” when all I really wanted to say was, “Get me out of here!”

     Because with two different guys paying for me, it was like I’d been out on a date with both of them at once!

     Which, I guess, in a way, I had.

     You would think I would be very excited about this. I mean, considering I’d never really been out even withone guy before, let alonetwo at the same time.

     Except that it was totally and completelynot fun. Because, for one thing, I didn’t actually want to be going out with one of them at all.

     And for another, he was the one who’d actually confessed to liking me . . .even if it had been anonymous.

     The whole thing was excruciating, and all I wanted to do was go home and get in bed and pull the covers up over my head and pretend it hadn’t happened.

     Only I couldn’t even do that because, what with my mom and Mr. G being in Cancun, I had to stay up at the Plaza with Grandmère and my dad until they got back.

     But just when I thought things had sunk to an all-time low, as everyone was piling into the limo (well, a few people asked for rides home, and how could I say no? It wasn’t like we didn’t have the room) Michael, who ended up standing beside me, waiting for his turn to get into the car, said, “What I meant to say before, Mia, was that you look . . .you look really . . .”

     I blinked up at him in the pink-and-blue light from the neon Round the Clock sign in the window behind us. It’s amazing, but even bathed in pink-and-blue neon, with fake intestines hanging out of his shirt, Michael still looked totally—

     “You look really nice in that dress,” he said, all in a rush.

     I smiled up at him, feeling just like Cinderella all of a sudden. . . .You know, at the end of the Disney movie, when Prince Charming finally finds her and puts the slipper on her foot and her rags change back into the ball gown and all the mice come out and start singing?

     That’s how I felt, just for a second.

     Then this voice right beside us said, “Are you guys coming, or what?” and we looked over and there was Kenny sticking his head and his one unsevered arm out of the sun roof of the limo.

     “Um,” I said, feeling totally and utterly embarrassed. “Yes.”

     And I got into the limo like nothing had happened.

     And actually, if you think about it, nothing really had.

     Except that the whole way back to the Plaza, this little voice inside my brain was going, “Michael said I looked nice. Michael saidI looked nice.Michael said I looked nice.”

     And you know what? Maybe Michael didn’t write those notes. And maybe he doesn’t think I’m the Josiest girl in school.

     But he thought I looked nice in my pink dress. And that’s all that matters to me.

     And now I am sitting in Grandmère’s suite at the hotel, surrounded by piles of wedding and baby presents, with Rommel trembling down at the other end of the couch in a pink cashmere sweater. I am supposed to be writing thank-you notes, but of course I am writing in my journal instead.