“Because she didn’t get in anywhere else,” Boris helpfully answered for me. “Her math SAT score was too low.”
This caused Tina to elbow him, deeply enough to make him say “Oof.”
It was at this moment that J.P. came back with my sparkling water. The reason it had taken him so long was because he’d stopped along the way to have a pretty in-depth conversation with Sean Penn—which he must have been pretty stoked about, Sean Penn being his hero, and all.
“I find it really hard to believe you got rejected everywhere you applied, Mia,” Michael was saying, not noticing who was approaching. “There are a lot of schools that don’t even count SAT scores anymore. Some great ones, actually, like Sarah Lawrence, which has a really strong writing program. I can’t imagine you didn’t apply there. Is it possible maybe you’re exaggerating about—”
“Oh, J.P.!” I cried, cutting M
ichael off. “Thanks! I’m so thirsty!”
I snatched the water out of his hand and gulped it down. J.P. was standing there, just staring at Michael, looking a little perplexed.
“Mike,” J.P. said. He still seemed dazed from his conversation with his artistic hero. “Hey. So. You’re back.”
“Michael’s been back for a while,” Boris said. “His robotic surgical arm is a huge financial success. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it. Hospitals everywhere are vying for them, but they cost over a million dollars each and there’s a waiting list—ow.”
Tina elbowed him again. This time I think she must have nearly broken one of Boris’s ribs, because he almost doubled over.
“Wow,” J.P. said, with a smile. He didn’t look at all disturbed by Boris’s news. In fact, he had his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo pants, like he was James Bond, or someone. He’d probably gotten Sean Penn’s phone number and was fondling it. “That’s great.”
“J.P. wrote a play,” Tina squeaked. Apparently because she was unable to stand the tension and was trying to change the subject.
Everyone just looked at her. I thought Lilly was going to bust a piercing, her eyebrows were so furrowed as she tried to hold in what was apparently a huge horse laugh.
“Wow,” Michael said. “That’s great.”
I honestly didn’t know if he was being serious or if he was making fun of J.P., basically repeating the same thing he’d just said, or what. All I knew was, I had to get the heck out of there, or the tension was going to kill me. And who wants to stroke out on their eighteenth birthday?
“Well,” I said, handing Tina my plate. “Princess duty calls. I have to go mingle. See you guys later—”
But before I could get even one step away, J.P. grabbed hold of one of my hands and pulled me back and said, “Actually, Mia, if it’s all right with you, I have sort of an announcement I’d like to make, and I can’t think of a better time than right now. Will you go with me up to the microphone? Madonna’s about to take a break.”
That was when I started feeling sick to my stomach. Because what sort of announcement could J.P. be going to make? In front of the Clintons? And Madonna and her band? And my dad?
Oh, and Michael.
But before I could say anything, J.P. started gently tugging—okay, dragging—me up to the stage they’d set up over the yacht’s built-in pool.
And the next thing I knew, Madonna was moving graciously out of the way and J.P. had hold of the microphone and was asking for everyone’s attention—and getting it. Three hundred faces were turning our way as my heart thumped inside my chest.
It’s true I’ve given speeches in front of way more people than that. But that was different. Then I’d been the one in charge of the microphone. This time, someone else was.
And I had no idea what he was about to say.
But I had sort of an idea.
And I wanted to die.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” J.P. began, his deep voice booming out across the ship’s deck…and, for all I knew, the entire South Street Seaport. The paparazzi, down below, could probably hear him. “I’m so proud to be here tonight to celebrate this special occasion with such an extraordinary young woman…a young woman who means so much to all of us…to her country, to her friends, to her family…But the truth is, Princess Mia means more to me, perhaps, than she does to any of you—”
Oh, God. No. Not here. Not now! I mean, it was totally sweet of J.P. to be expressing how much he cared about me in this way, in front of everyone—God knew Michael had never had the guts to do such a thing.
But then, I don’t think Michael had ever felt that he’d needed to.
“…And that’s why I want to take the opportunity to show her just how much she means to me by asking her here, in front of all her friends and loved ones—”
It was when I saw him reach a hand into one of the pockets of his tuxedo pants that I really started to think that I might need actual CPR in a minute.