And sure enough, from his pocket J.P. pulled a black velvet box…a much smaller one than Princess Amelie’s tiara had fit in.
The one J.P. was holding was ring-sized.
As soon as everyone in the crowd saw the box—and then J.P. sink down to one knee—they went totally bananas. People started cheering and clapping so loudly, I could hardly hear what J.P. said next…and I was standing right next to him. I’m sure no one else heard him, even though he was speaking into a microphone.
“Mia,” J.P. went on, looking up into my eyes with a confident smile on his face, as he opened the box to reveal an extremely large pear-shaped diamond on a platinum band, “will you…”
The screaming and cheering from the crowd got even louder. Everything went all swoopy in front of my eyes. The Manhattan skyline before us, the party lights on the boat, the faces before us, J.P.’s face below me.
I really did think for a second that I was going to pass out. Tina was right: I should have eaten more.
But one thing my vision was still steady enough to take in with perfect clarity:
And that was Michael Moscovitz. Leaving.
Yes, leaving the party. The boat. Whatever. The point was, he was exiting. One minute, I saw his face, perfectly expressionless, but there, down below me.
And the next, I was looking at the back of his head. I saw his broad shoulders, and then his back as he made his way toward the gangplank.
He was going.
Without even waiting to see what I’d say in response to J.P.’s question.
Or even what, exactly, that question was. Which, it turned out, wasn’t at all what everyone seemed to think it was.
“…go to the prom with me?” J.P. finished, his smile still wide and full of trust in me.
But I could barely drag my gaze to look in his direction. Because I couldn’t stop staring after Michael.
It’s just that…I don’t know. Looking out into the crowd like that, after my vision had gone all kind of wonky from surprise, and seeing Michael turn his back and just walk away, like he couldn’t have cared less what happened….
It was like something went cold inside me. Something I didn’t even realize was still living inside me.
Which, it turned out, was this little tiny ember of hope.
Hope that maybe, somehow, someday Michael and I might get back together.
I know! I’m a fool. An idiot! After all this time, why would I keep on hoping? Especially when I have such a fantastic boyfriend, who, by the way, was still kneeling in front of me, holding a RING! (Which excuse me, but what’s up with that? Who gives a girl a RING as he’s asking her to the prom? Well, except for Boris. But excuse me, he’s BORIS.)
But obviously I was the only one harboring that little sliver of hope. Michael didn’t even care enough to stay and watch what I said in response to my longtime boyfriend’s proposal of prom-promise. (I guess that’s what it was. Wasn’t it?)
So. That was that.
It’s kind of funny, because I thought Michael broke my heart a long time ago. But he just sort of broke it all over again by walking out like that.
It’s amazing how boys can do that.
Fortunately, even though I couldn’t see very well because of the tears that filled up my eyes by Michael leaving like that, and my heart had just been smashed to pieces (again), I could still think clearly. Sort of.
The only thing I could think to do was give J.P. the speech that Grandmère had made me rehearse nine million times for just such an occasion—though I’d never actually believed such an occasion would ever arise:
“Oh, insert name of proposer here, I’m just so overwhelmed by the intensity of your emotions, I hardly know what to say. You’ve truly swept me off my feet, and I do believe my head is swimming—”
No lie, in this case.
“I’m so young and inexperienced, you see, and you’re such a man of the world…I just wasn’t expecting this.”
Absolutely no lie, again in this case. Who prop