Still, he was really good with my parents. He came in, gave me a corsage (tiny white roses tied together with pink ribbon, totally gorgeous; it must have cost him ten dollars at least—I couldn’t help thinking, though, that he’d originally picked it out for another girl, with a different color dress), and shook my dad’s hand. He said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness,” which made my mom start laughing really loud. She can be so embarrassing sometimes.
Then he turned to my mom and said, “You’re Mia’s mother? Oh my gosh, I thought you must be her college-age sister,” which is a totally toolish thing to say, but my mom actually fell for it, I think. She BLUSHED as he was shaking her hand. I guess I am not the only Thermopolis woman to fall under the spell of Josh Richter’s blue eyes.
Then my dad cleared his throat and started asking Josh a whole lot of questions about what kind of car he was driving (his dad’s BMW), where we’re going (duh), and what time we would be back (in time for breakfast, Josh said). My dad didn’t like that, though, and Josh said, “What time would you like her back, sir?”
SIR! Josh Richter called my dad SIR!
And my dad looked at Lars and said, “One o’clock at the latest,” which I thought was pretty decent of him, since my normal curfew is eleven on weekends. Of course, considering that Lars was going to be there, and there wasn’t anything that could actually happen to me, it was kind of bogus that I couldn’t stay out as late as I wanted, but Grandmère told me a princess should always be prepared to compromise, so I didn’t say anything.
Then my dad asked Josh some more questions, like where was he going to college in the fall (he hasn’t decided yet, but he’s applying to all the Ivy Leagues) and what does he plan on studying (business), and then my mom asked him what was wrong with a liberal arts education, and Josh said he was really looking for a degree that would guarantee him a minimum salary of eighty thousand a year, to which my mom replied that there are more important things than money, and then I said, “Gosh, look at the time,” and grabbed Josh and headed out the door.
Josh and Lars and I went down to Josh’s dad’s car, and Josh held the door to the front seat open for me, and then Lars said why didn’t he drive so Josh and I could sit in the back and get to know each other. I thought this was way nice of Lars, but when Josh and I got in the back, we didn’t have a whole lot to say to each other. I mean, Josh was like, “You look really nice in that dress,” and I said I liked his tux and thanked him for my corsage. And then we didn’t say anything for like twenty blocks.
I am not even kidding. I was so embarrassed! I mean, I don’t hang around with boys that much, but I’ve never had that problem with the ones I HAVE hung around with. I mean, Michael Moscovitz practically never shuts up. I couldn’t understand why Josh wasn’t SAYING anything. I thought about asking him who he’d rather spend eternity with if it was the end of the world and he had to choose, Winona Ryder or Nicole Kidman, but I didn’t feel like I knew him well enough. . . .
But finally Josh broke the silence by asking if it was true my mom was dating Mr. Gianini. Well, I should have expected that to get around. Maybe not as fast as my being a princess, but it had gotten around, all right.
So I said, yes, it was true, and then Josh wanted to know what that was like.
But then for some reason I couldn’t tell him about seeing Mr. G in his underwear at my kitchen table. It just didn’t seem . . . I don’t know. I just couldn’t tell him. Isn’t that funny? I had told Michael Moscovitz without even having been asked. But I couldn’t tell Josh, even though he had looked into my soul and everything. Weird, huh?
Then after like a zillion more blocks of silence we pulled up in front of the restaurant, and Lars surrendered the car to the valet and Josh and I went in (Lars promised he wouldn’t eat with us; he said he’d just stand by the door and look at everybody who arrived in a mean way, like Arnold Schwarzenegger), and it turned out all of Josh’s entourage was meeting us here, which I didn’t know but was kind of relieved to see. I mean, I’d sort of been dreading sitting there for another hour or so with nothing to say. . . .
But thank God, all the guys on the crew team were at this big long table with their cheerleader girlfriends, and at the head of this table were these two empty places, one for Josh and one for me.
I have to say, everyone has been pretty nice. The girls all complimented me on my dress and asked me questions about being a princess, like how weird was it to wake up and see your picture on the front of the Post, and do you ever wear a crown, and stuff like that. They’re all much older than me—some of them are seniors—so they’re pretty mature. None of them have made any comments about how I have no chest or anything, like Lana would have if she’d been here.
But then, if Lana were here I wouldn’t be.
The thing that most surprised me is that Josh ordered champagne, and nobody even questioned his ID, which, of course, was totally fake. The table’s been through three bottles already, and Josh just keeps ordering more, since his dad gave him his platinum American Express card for the occasion. I just don’t get it. Can’t the waiters tell he’s only eighteen and that most of his guests are even younger than that?
And how can Josh sit there and drink so much? What if Lars hadn’t been here to drive? Josh would be driving his dad’s BMW half sloshed. How irresponsible can you get? And Josh is class valedictorian!
And then, without even asking me, Josh ordered dinner for the whole table: filet mignon for everyone. I guess that’s very nice and all, but I won’t eat meat, not even for the most sensitive boy in the world.
And he hasn’t even noticed I haven’t touched my food! I totally had to fill up on salad and bread rolls to keep from starving to death.
Maybe I could sneak out of here and get Lars to pick up a veggie wrap for me from Emerald Planet.
And the funny thing is, the more champagne Josh has to drink, the more he keeps on touching me. Like he keeps on putting his hand on my leg under the table. At first I thought it was a mistake, but he’s done it four times now. The last time, he squeezed!
I don’t think he’s drunk, exactly, but he’s certainly friendlier than he was in the car on the way up. Maybe he’s just feeling less inhibited, with Lars not hovering around, two feet away.
Well, I guess I should go back out there. I just wish Josh had told me we were meeting his friends. Then maybe I could have invited Tina Hakim Baba and her date—or even Lilly and Boris. Then at least I’d have someone fun to talk to.
Oh, well. Here goes nothing.
Later Saturday Night, Girls’ Room,
Albert Einstein High School
Why?
Why??
Why???
I can’t even believe this is happening. I can’t believe it’s happening to ME!
WHY? WHY ME? WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME these things have to happen to????
I’m trying to remember what Grandmère told me about how to act under duress. Because I am definitely under duress. I keep trying to breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth, like Grandmère said. In through my nose, out through my mouth. In through my nose, out through my—
HOW COULD HE DO THIS TO ME???? HOW, HOW, HOW?????!!!
I could rip his stupid face off, I really could. I mean, who does he think he is? Do you know what he did? Do you know what he did? Well, let me tell you what he did.
After polishing off NINE bottles of champagne—that’s practically one bottle per person, except I only had a couple of sips, so somebody drank my bottle as well as his—Josh and his friends finally decided it was time to go to the dance. Oh, gee, let me see, the dance had only started an HOUR earlier. It was only about TIME we left.
So we go and wait for the valet to bring the car around, and I was thinking maybe everything would be all right, since while we were waiting Josh had his arm around my shoulders, which was really nice, since my dress is sleeveless, and even though I have a wrap it’s just this shimmery see-through veil thing. So I’m appreciative o
f this arm, since it’s keeping me warm. It’s a nice arm, really, very muscular from all that rowing. The only problem is, Josh doesn’t smell that good, not a bit like Michael Moscovitz, who always smells like soap. No, I think Josh must have taken a bath in Drakkar Noir, which in large doses actually smells pretty vile. I could hardly breathe, but whatever. In spite of that, I’m thinking, okay, things aren’t so bad. Yes, he didn’t respect my rights as a vegetarian, but you know, everybody makes mistakes. We’ll go to the dance and he’ll look into my soul again with those electric blue eyes and everything will be all right.
Boy, was I ever wrong.
First of all, we can barely pull up to the school, there’s so much traffic. At first I couldn’t figure it out. Yes, it was Saturday night, but there shouldn’t be THAT much traffic in front of Albert Einstein’s, right? I mean, it’s just a school dance. Most kids in New York City don’t even have access to cars, right? We’re probably like the only people who go to Albert Einstein’s who drove.
And then I realize why there’s so much congestion. There are news vans parked all over the place. They’re shining these big bright lights all over the steps to Albert Einstein’s. There are reporters swarming around all over the place, smoking cigarettes, talking on cell phones, waiting.
Waiting for what?
Waiting for me, it turns out.
As soon as Lars saw the lights, he started to swear very colorfully in some language that wasn’t English or French. But you could tell they were swear words by his voice. I leaned forward and was like, “How could they have known? How could they have known? Could Grandmère have told them?”
But you know, I really don’t think Grandmère would have done this. I really don’t. Not after our talk. I laid it on the line for Grandmère. I came down on her like a New York cop on a game of three-card monte. Grandmère would not, I’m sure, EVER call the press on me again, without my permission.
But there they all were, and SOMEBODY called them, all right, and if it wasn’t Grandmère, then who was it?
Josh was totally unconcerned by all the lights and cameras and everything. He goes, “So what? You ought to be used to it by now.”
Oh, right. Let me tell you how used to it I am by now. So used to it that the thought of getting out of that car, even with the arm of the cutest boy in the school around me, made me feel like I was going to barf up all of that salad and bread.
“Come on,” Josh said. “You and I can make a run for it while Lars goes and parks the car.”
Lars totally did not like that idea. He went, “I think not. You will park the car, and the princess and I will make a run for it.”
But Josh was already opening his door. He had hold of my hand. He said, “Come on. You only live once,” and started dragging me out of the car.
And like the really stupid chump that I am, I let him.
That’s right. I let him drag me out of the car. Because his hand felt so nice over mine, so big and protective, so warm and secure, I thought, Oh, what could happen? So a bunch of flashbulbs will go off. So what? We’ll just make a run for it, like he said. Everything will be fine.
So I said to Lars, “That’s okay, Lars. You park the car. Josh and I’ll go on inside.”
Lars said, “No, Princess, wait—”
Which were the last words I heard out of him—for a while, anyway—since by that time Josh and I were out of the car and he had slammed the door shut behind us.
And then, instantly, the press was on us, everyone throwing down their cigarettes and pulling the lens caps off their cameras, yelling, “It’s her! It’s her!”
And then Josh was pulling me up the steps, and I was sort of laughing, since for the first time it was sort of fun. Flashbulbs were going off everywhere, blinding me, so that all I could see were the steps underneath us as we ran up them. I was totally concentrating on holding up the hem of my dress so I didn’t trip on it, and had put all my faith in those fingers wrapped around my other hand. I was completely dependent on Josh to lead the way, since I couldn’t see a blessed thing.
So when he suddenly stopped, I thought it was because we were at the school doors. I thought we’d stopped because Josh was opening the doors for me. I know it’s stupid, but that’s what I thought. I could see the doors. We were standing right in front of them. Below us, on the stairs, the reporters were screaming questions and taking pictures. Some moron was yelling, “Kiss her! Kiss her!” which I don’t need to tell you was way embarrassing.
And so I just stood there, like a complete IDIOT, waiting for Josh to open the doors, instead of doing the smart thing, which was open the doors myself and get inside where it was safe, where there weren’t any cameras or reporters or people yelling “Kiss her, Kiss her!”
And then, I don’t know how, the next thing I knew Josh had put his arm around me again, dragged me to him, and smashed his mouth against mine.
I swear, that’s exactly what it felt like. He just smashed his mouth up against mine, and all these flashes started going off, but believe me, it wasn’t like in those books Tina is always reading, where the boy kisses the girl and she sees like fireworks and stuff behind her eyelids. I really WAS seeing lights go off, but they weren’t fireworks, they were flashes from cameras. EVERYONE was taking a picture of Princess Mia getting her first kiss.
I am not even kidding. Like it wasn’t bad enough that this was my first kiss.
It was my first kiss and Teen People was photographing it.
And another thing about those books Tina reads: In those books, when the girl gets her first kiss, she gets this warm gushy feeling inside. She feels like the guy is drawing her soul up from deep within her. I didn’t get that feeling. I didn’t get that feeling at all. All I got was embarrassed. It didn’t feel especially good, having Josh Richter kiss me. All it felt, really, was strange. It felt strange, having this guy stand there and smash his mouth against mine. And you would think that after I’d spent so much time thinking this guy was the greatest thing on earth I’d have felt SOMETHING when he kissed me.
But all I felt was embarrassed.
And like our car ride to the restaurant, I just kept wishing it would end. All I could think was, When is he going to stop doing this? Am I even doing this right? In the movies they move their heads around a lot. Should I move my head around? What am I going to do if he tries to stick his tongue in there, like I used to see him do to Lana? I can’t let Teen People take a picture of me with some guy’s tongue in my mouth; my dad will kill me.
Then, just when I thought I couldn’t stand it another minute, that I was going to DIE of embarrassment right there on the steps of Albert Einstein High School, Josh lifted up his head, waved to the reporters, opened the doors to the school, and pushed me inside.
Where, I swear to God, every single person I knew was standing, looking at us.
I am not kidding. There were Tina and her date from Trinity, Dave, looking at me in a sort of shocked way. There were Lilly and Boris, and for once Boris hadn’t tucked in anything that wasn’t supposed to be tucked. In fact, he almost looked handsome, in a geeky, musical genius kind of way. And Lilly, in a beautiful white dress with spangles all over it, and white roses in her hair. And there were Shameeka and Ling Su with their dates, and a bunch of other people I probably knew but didn’t recognize out of their school uniforms, all looking at me with the same sort of expression Tina was wearing, one of total and complete astonishment.
And there was Mr. G, standing by the ticket booth in front of the doors to the cafeteria, where the dance was being held, looking more astonished than anybody.
Except maybe me. I would have to say, out of everybody there, I was the person in the most shock. I mean, Josh Richter HAD just kissed me. JOSH RICHTER had just KISSED me. Josh Richter had just kissed ME.
Did I mention that he’d kissed me ON THE LIPS?
Oh, and that he did it in front of reporters from TEEN PEOPLE?
So I’m standing there, and everybody is looking at me, and
I could still hear the reporters yelling outside, and inside the cafeteria I could hear the thump, thump, thump of the sound system as it ground out some hip-hop, a tribute to our Latino student population, and these thoughts are moving really sluggishly through my head, these thoughts that are saying:
He set you up.
He only asked you out so he could get his picture in the paper.
He’s the one who notified the press that you’d be here tonight.
He probably only broke up with Lana just so he could tell his friends he’s dating a girl worth three hundred million dollars. He never even noticed you until your picture was on the cover of the Post. Lilly was right: That day in Bigelows, he WAS only suffering from a synaptic breakdown when he smiled at you. He probably thinks his chances of getting into Harvard or whatever are way enhanced by the fact that he’s the princess of Genovia’s boyfriend.
And like a big idiot, I fell for it.
Great. Just great.
Lilly says I’m not assertive enough. Her parents say I have a tendency to internalize everything and fear confrontation.
My mom says the same thing. That’s why she gave me this book, in the hopes that what I won’t tell her, I’ll at least get out into the open somehow.
If it hadn’t turned out that I’m a princess, maybe I might still be all that stuff. You know, unassertive, fearful of confrontation, an internalizer. I probably wouldn’t have done what I did next.
Which was turn to Josh and ask, “Why did you do that?”
He was busy patting himself down, trying to find the dance tickets to hand to the sophomores who were manning the ticket table. “Do what?”
“Kiss me like that, in front of everybody.”
He found the tickets in his wallet. “I don’t know,” he said. “Didn’t you hear them? They were yelling at me to kiss you. So I did. Why?”
“Because I didn’t appreciate it.”
“You didn’t appreciate it?” Josh looked confused. “You mean you didn’t like it?”