THAT brought him up short. He looked all scared—like that time that flight attendant was claiming she was pregnant with his baby, until he realized he’d never met her before.
“Me?” he cried. “Coming to one of your appointments? With my MOTHER?”
“Yes,” I said, not backing down. “Because I really want to talk about how on your mental health assessment you checked off A little of the time in answer to the statement I feel as if true romantic love has passed me by when just a couple of weeks ago you told me that you’ll always regret having let Mom slip away. You totally lied to Dr. Knutz, and you know if you lie in therapy—even to MY therapist—you’re only hurting yourself, because how can you hope to make any progress if you’re not honest with yourself first?”
Dad just blinked at me, I guess because I’d changed the subject so abruptly.
But then, looking all irritated, he went, “Mia, contrary to what you might like to believe in that over-romantic imagination of yours, I do not sit around pining for your mother every minute of every day. Yes, occasionally I regret that things didn’t work out with her. But life goes on. As you will find that life after Michael does. So, yes, I do feel that true love has passed me by, a little of the time. But the REST of the time I feel hopeful that new love might very well be waiting for me right around the next corner—as I hope it’s waiting for you as well. Now can we get back to the matter at hand? You had absolutely no right to do what you did tonight, and I’m very, very disappointed that you—”
But I didn’t pay attention to the rest of what he said, because I was thinking about that phrase, hopeful that new love might very well be waiting for me right around the next corner.
How does someone make that transition? The transition from missing the person who they love so desperately that being without them feels like an empty ache inside their chest, to feeling hopeful that new love might very well be waiting for them right around the next corner?
I just don’t know.
But I hope it happens to me someday….
Oh. We’re on Thompson Street.
Great. As if my evening hasn’t been eventful enough, now there is a homeless guy standing in our vestibule. Lars is getting out to remove him.
I hope he doesn’t have to use the stun gun.
Saturday, September 25, 1 a.m., the loft
It wasn’t a homeless guy.
It was J.P.
He was waiting for me in the vestibule because it’s so unseasonably cold out, he hadn’t wanted to wait outside…and he hadn’t wanted to buzz my mom and possibly wake her up.
But he’d wanted to see me because he’d watched the news about my speech on New York One.
And he’d wanted to make sure I was all right.
So he came all the way downtown to do so.
“I mean,” he kept saying, “it’s kind of a big deal, like they’re saying on the news. One minute you’re a regular girl, and the next, you’re a princess. And, a few years later, you’re a princess, and the next minute…you’re not.”
“I’m still a princess,” I reassured him.
“You are?” He looked uncertain.
I nodded. “I’ll always be a princess,” I said. “It’s just that now I can be a princess with a regular job and an apartment and stuff. If I want.”
It was as I was explaining all this to him on the front stoop—after Lars had nearly Tasered him because he, too, had mistaken him for a vagrant—that the strangest thing happened:
It started to snow.
I know. Just very lightly, and freakishly early in the year for snow in Manhattan, especially given global warming. But it was definitely cold enough. Not cold enough to stick, or anything. But there was no denying the dozen or so tiny white flakes that started falling from the pinky night sky (pink because the clouds were hanging so low that the city lights were reflecting off them) as I was talking.
And something strange happened when I looked up at the snowflakes, feeling them fall gently on my face, while I was listening to J.P. explain that he was glad I was still a princess after all.
All of a sudden—just like that—I didn’t feel that depressed anymore.
I can’t really explain it any other way. Ms. Martinez would no doubt be disappointed in my lack of descriptive verbs.
But that’s exactly how it happened. Suddenly, I didn’t feel that sad anymore.
Not like I was cured, or anything.
But that I’d climbed a few more feet out of that big, black hole and could see the sky—clearly—again. It was only just out of reach, as opposed to being dozens of feet overhead. I was almost there….
And then, while J.P. was going, “And I hope you don’t think I’m stalking you, because I’m not, I just thought maybe you’d need a friend since I’m pretty sure your dad isn’t too happy with you right now—” I realized I felt…happy.
Really. Happy.
Not over the moon, or anything. Not ecstatic. Not joyous.
But that was such a welcome change from feeling sad all the time that I—completely spontaneously, and without thinking about it—flung both my arms around J.P.’s neck and gave him a great big kiss on the lips.
He seemed really surprised. But he rallied at the last minute and ended up putting his arms around me, too, and kissing me back.
And the weirdest thing of all was…I actually felt something when his lips touched mine.
I’m pretty sure.
It wasn’t anything at all like what I felt when Michael and I kissed.
But it was something.
Maybe it was just the two or three flakes of snow on my face.
But maybe—just maybe—it was what my dad had talked about. You know:
Hope.
I don’t know. But it felt good.
Finally Lars cleared his throat and I let go of J.P.
Then J.P. said, looking embarrassed, “Well, maybe I’m stalking you a little. Can I stalk you some more tomorrow?”
I laughed. Then I said:
“Yes. Good night, J.P.”
And then I went inside.
Where I saw that I had two messages in my inbox.
The first was from Tina:
ILUVROMANCE: Dear Mia,
Oh my God! I just saw it on the news! Mia, you’re just like Drew in Ever After when she came in with the wings on her back! Except instead of just looking beautiful at a party, you actually DID something. Like CARRYING A PRINCE AROUND ON YOUR BACK. Only better. CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!
Love,
Tina
Then I clicked on the second message. It was from Michael.
As always, my heartbeat speeded up when I saw his name. I guess that’s something that’s never going to change.
But at least the temperature of my palms stayed the same.
In the text of his message was a link to the story about my dropping a bomb of my own, with a note underneath that read:
SKINNERBX: Dear Mia,
Did you just ditch your throne and bring democracy to a country that’s never known it?
Way to go, Thermopolis!
Michael
I laughed when I saw it. I couldn’t help it.
And you know…it felt good to laugh about something Michael had said (or written). It seemed like it had been a long time since that had happened.
And then it occurred to me that maybe Michael and I can be friends—just friends. For now, anyway.
So this time, instead of DELETE, I hit REPLY.
And then I wrote him back.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Beth Ader, Jennifer Brown, Barbara Cabot, Sarah Davies, Michele Jaffe, Laura Langlie, Amanda Maciel, Abigail McAden, and especially Benjamin Egnatz
Other Books by Meg Cabot
The Princess Diaries
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME II:
Princess in the Spotlight
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME III:
Princess in Love
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME IV:
/>
Princess in Waiting
Valentine Princess:
A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK (VOLUME IV AND A QUARTER)
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME IV AND A HALF:
Project Princess
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME V:
Princess in Pink
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME VI:
Princess in Training
The Princess Present:
A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK (VOLUME VI AND A HALF)
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME VII:
Party Princess
Sweet Sixteen Princess:
A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK (VOLUME VII AND A HALF)
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME VIII:
Princess on the Brink
ILLUSTRATED BY CHESLEY MCLAREN:
Princess Lessons:
A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK
Perfect Princess:
A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK
Holiday Princess:
A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK
ALL-AMERICAN GIRL
READY OR NOT: AN ALL-AMERICAN GIRL NOVEL
TEEN IDOL
HOW TO BE POPULAR
PANTS ON FIRE
AVALON HIGH
AVALON HIGH: CORONATION #1: THE MERLIN PROPHECY
JINX
NICOLA AND THE VISCOUNT VICTORIA AND THE ROGUE
THE MEDIATOR BOOKS:
THE MEDIATOR 1: SHADOWLAND
THE MEDIATOR 2: NINTH KEY
THE MEDIATOR 3: REUNION
THE MEDIATOR 4: DARKEST HOUR
THE MEDIATOR 5: HAUNTED
THE MEDIATOR 6: TWILIGHT
THE 1-800-WHERE-R-YOU BOOKS:
1: WHEN LIGHTNING STRIKES
2: CODE NAME CASSANDRA
3: SAFE HOUSE
4: SANCTUARY
5: MISSING YOU
THE BOY NEXT DOOR
BOY MEETS GIRL
EVERY BOY’S GOT ONE
SIZE 12 IS NOT FAT
SIZE 14 IS NOT FAT EITHER
BIG BONED
QUEEN OF BABBLE
QUEEN OF BABBLE IN THE BIG CITY
About the Author
MEG CABOT is the author of the best-selling, critically acclaimed Princess Diaries books, which were made into the wildly popular Disney movies of the same name. Her other books for teens include PANTS ON FIRE, JINX, and the manga series Avalon High: Coronation. She also writes books for adults, including BIG BONED and QUEEN OF BABBLE IN THE BIG CITY. She is still waiting for her real parents, the king and queen, to restore her to her rightful throne. She lives in Key West with her husband and a one-eyed cat named Henrietta, as well as various backup cats.
To learn more about her books and read her real-life diary, visit her at www.megcabot.com
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
Credits
Cover art © 2008 by Howard Huang
Copyright
PRINCESS MIA. Copyright © 2008 by Meg Cabot, LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub © Edition SEPTEMBER 2009 ISBN 9780061971983
Version 06152012
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Meg Cabot, Princess Mia
(Series: The Princess Diaries # 9)
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