“No!” she cried. “That’s not why! I know that’s not why! He left because he thinks YOU don’t care about him, and knew he couldn’t control his unbridled passion for you! He was probably afraid if he’d stay, he’d KILL J.P.!”

“Tina,” I said. It was sort of hard to stay calm, but I remembered my new motto—life is not a romance novel—and that made it a little easier. “Michael doesn’t care about me. Face the facts. I’m with J.P. now, the way I always should have been. And please don’t talk to me that way about Michael anymore. It really upsets me.”

And that was the end of it. Tina apologized for having upset me—about a million times—and was really concerned about having hurt my feelings, but we hugged it out, and everything was fine after that.

The party went on for a little while longer, but then pretty much fizzled out when the dock master came along and said Madonna’s band had to unplug due to complaints from the neighborhood associations of nearby waterside condos (I guess they’d have preferred Pavarotti).

In all, it was a pretty good party. I cleared some excellent loot: a ton of Marc Jacobs and Miu Miu totes, clutches, and wallets and stuff; a lot of scented candles (which you can’t even take with you to the dorm—whatever college I end up in—since candles are considered a fire hazard); a Princess Leia cat costume for Fat Louie, which won’t be too confusing for him, gender-wise; a Brainy Smurf T-shirt from Fred Flare; a Cinderella Disney castle pendant; diamond and sapphire hair clips (from Grandmère, who always says my hair is in my face now that it’s long); and $253,050 in donations to Greenpeace.

Oh, yeah, and one three-carat blood-free diamond promise ring.

I’d add one broken heart to the list, but I’m trying not to be a “drama queen,” like Dad said. Besides, Michael broke my heart a long time ago. He can’t break it again. And all he did was say he liked my book and write Love, Michael at the end of his note to me about it. That hardly constitutes wanting to get back together. I have no idea why I got my hopes up in such a ridiculous, girly manner.

Oh, right: Because I’m a ridiculous, girly girl.

Tuesday, May 2, World History final

It probably wasn’t such a good idea to have my eighteenth birthday soirée the actual night of my birthday, seeing as how finals start today. I’ve seen more than a few people wandering around, looking all bleary-eyed, like they could have used a couple more hours of sleep. Including me.

Thank God the schedules are all topsy-turvy for finals week and I just have World History and English Lit today, my easiest classes. If I had Trig or French finals today, I’d die.

Literally. My mom’s speech about how women have come a long way from the time when they used to have to get married right out of high school because females weren’t allowed in universities, nor were there any jobs open to them either, went on for a really long time. And every time I started to doze during it, she poked me awake again.

I said, “Mom, duh! J.P. and I aren’t getting married after graduation! I’m ambitious, all right? I totally got into every college I applied to already and I wrote a novel and I’m trying to get it published! What more do you want from me?”

But somehow none of this seemed to comfort her. She kept saying, “But you haven’t chosen a school. You have less than a week to decide which one you’re going to,” and “It’s a romance novel,” like somehow either of these made a difference.

And whatever: The heroine of my romance novel is a total dead shot with a bow and arrow.

I don’t even wear J.P.’s ring around the house so I’m not sure what the problem is. It’s not like she even has to see it. What about it is so offensive to her?

Tuesday, May 2, Lunch

Everyone is forever asking to see my ring. I mean, it’s flattering, and all, but…kind of embarrassing. Then I have to explain it’s not an engagement ring. Because, of course, it

looks exactly like one. And they all think J.P. proposed.

And it’s so big it keeps getting snagged on things. Like loose threads of my uniform skirt and once in one of Shameeka’s braids. It took, like, five minutes to get it unsnagged.

I’m not used to being so glamorous at school.

You can tell J.P. is really pleased though.

So. There’s that. If he’s happy, I’m happy.

Tuesday, May 2, English Lit final

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, once again, I have made a complete and total fool out of myself.

But really, what else is new?

Not that it matters, because I’ve moved on. I’m eighteen, and an adult, and in four days I will be out of this hellhole FOREVER (just don’t ask me where I’ll be going instead, because I still have no idea).

Anyway, it’s all Tina’s fault, because Tina is barely speaking to me. I know I told her not to talk to me about Michael, but that’s not the same as saying Don’t talk to me at all.

You’d think she’d have a lot to talk to me about, seeing as how we’re both engaged-to-be-engaged, and all.

Tags: Meg Cabot The Princess Diaries
Source: readsnovelonline.net