Forever Princess (The Princess Diaries 10)

What was going on here, anyway? Was this some kind of continuation of the revenge for whatever it was I did to her last year? Was she going to drag me into that room and then do or say something horrible to humiliate me in front of everyone—especially her brother?

If so, it wasn’t like I had any choice but to let her pull me back into the crowded pavilion. Her grip on my wrist was like iron.

But…what if this wasn’t about revenge? What if Lilly was over whatever it was she’d been so mad at me about for two years? Maybe it was worth the risk.

Because in spite of everything—even ihatemiathermopolis.com—I missed having Lilly as a friend. At least, when she wasn’t trying to get revenge on me for things I’d supposedly done to her.

I saw Lars look up in surprise as we came out of the ladies’ room together, and his eyes widen—he knows perfectly well Lilly and I aren’t exactly bosom buddies anymore. And I guess seeing the way she had hold of my wrist was probably a bit of a tip-off to him that I wasn’t exactly going with her of my own volition.

Still, I shook my head at him to let him know he shouldn’t go for his taser. This was my own mess, and I was going to take care of it. Somehow.

I also saw Tina down the hall notice us, and throw us a startled look. Lilly, thank God, didn’t see her. Tina’s jaw dropped when she spied the way Lilly’s hand was clamped over my wrist, which I suppose did not look exactly friendly-ish. Tina thrust her cell phone to her ear and mouthed, “Call me!”

I nodded. Oh, I was going to call Tina, all right.

Call her and give her a piece of my mind for getting me into this mess in the first place (though I suppose it was my big plan to Do The Princessy Thing that got me here, really).

The next thing I knew, Lilly was dragging me across the Simon and Louise Templeman Patient Care Pavilion toward the stage where Michael and their parents and Nana Moscovitz and Kenny—I mean, Kenneth—and the other employees of Pavlov Surgical were still standing, drinking champagne.

I felt like I was going to die. I really did.

But then I remembered something Grandmère had once assured me of: No one has ever died of embarrassment—never, not once in the whole history of time.

Which I am living proof of, having a grandmother like mine.

So at least I had the assurance I would escape from all of this with my life.

“Michael,” Lilly started bellowing, when we were halfway across the stage. She’d dropped my wrist and taken my hand—which felt so weird. Lilly and I used to hold hands all the time when we were crossing the street together back when we were kids, because our mothers made us, thinking somehow this would ensure we wouldn’t get run over by an M1 bus (instead, it basically meant we’d both get plowed down). Lilly’s hand had always been sweaty and sticky with candy back then.

Now it felt smooth and cool. A grown-up’s hand, really. It was strange.

Michael was busy talking to a whole group of people—in Japanese. Lilly had to say his name two more times before he finally looked over and saw us.

I wish I could say when Michael’s dark eyes met mine, I was completely cool and collected about seeing him again after all this time, and that I laughed airily and said all the right things. I wish I could say after having pretty much single-handedly brought democracy to a country I happen to be princess of, and written a four-hundred-page romance novel, and gotten into every college to which I applied (even if it’s just because I’m a princess), that I handled meeting Michael for the first time again after throwing my snowflake necklace in his face almost two years ago with total grace and aplomb.

But I totally didn’t. I could feel my whole face start to heat up when his gaze met mine. Also, my hands began to sweat right away. And I was pretty sure the floor was going to come swinging up and smack me in the face, I suddenly felt so light-headed and dizzy.

“Mia,” Michael said, in his deep Michael-y voice, after excusing himself from the people he’d been talking to. Then he smiled, and my light-headedness increased by about ten million percent. I was positive I was going to pass out.

“Um,” I said. I think I smiled back. I have no idea. “Hi.”

“Mia’s here representing the Atom,” Lilly explained to Michael, when I didn’t say anything more. I couldn’t say anything more. It was all I could do just to keep from falling over like a tree that had been gnawed on by a beaver. “She’s doing a story on you, Michael. Aren’t you, Mia?”

I nodded. Story? Atom? What was she talking about?

Oh, right. The school paper.

“How are you doing?” Michael asked me. He was talking to me. He was talking to me in a friendly, nonconfrontational manner.

And yet no words would formulate in my head, much less come out of my mouth. I was mute, just like Rob Lowe’s character in the TV movie of Stephen King’s The Stand. Only I wasn’t as good-looking.

“Why don’t you ask Michael a question for your story, Mia?” Lilly poked me. Poked me. In the shoulder. And it didn’t not hurt.

“Ow,” I said.

Wow! A word!

“Where’s Lars?” Michael asked, with a laugh. “You better watch out, Lil. She generally travels with an armed escort.”