And of course Lana went running out onto the field and fell into Ramon’s arms. The last time I saw her that day, he was carrying her around on his shoulders as if she were a trophy, or something. For all I know, maybe she is: Win a game for AEHS, get one cheerleader, free.
Whatever. Ramon can have her. Maybe he’ll keep her busy enough to leave ME alone. Me and my “college boy.”
Which reminds me. I’m supposed to go over to Michael’s dorm room after this, to meet his roommate and “catch up” since we haven’t seen each other all week.
At least, that’s what Michael said we were going to do, when we managed to get ahold of each other, earlier today. He sounded kind of annoyed when I finally remembered to turn my cell phone on and he got through at last.
“What was going on last night when I called?” he wanted to know.
“Um,” I said. I was kind of in the middle of buying a pretzel from one of those carts in the park when he called. A lot of people don’t know this, but New York City pretzels—the kind you buy from a vendor on the street—have healing properties. It’s true. I don’t know what’s in them, but if you buy one when you have a headache, or whatever, as soon as you bite into one, your headache goes away. And I had a pretty big headache, on account of not having had any sleep.
“I had the girls over,” I explained to Michael, once I’d swallowed my first bite of hot, salty pretzel. “For a sleepover. Only, you know, there wasn’t much sleeping.” And I told him how we jumped on the bed screaming “Pull…down…your…pants,” and all.
Only, Michael didn’t seem to think it was very funny. Of course, I didn’t mention the part about how later I sang “Milkshake” into the TV remote for everyone while wearing the rubber shower mat as a minidress. I mean, I don’t want him to think I am completely INSANE.
“You have a hotel suite all to yourself,” was all Michael said, “and you invite my sister over.”
“And Shameeka and Tina and Ling Su,” I said, wiping mustard from my chin. Because you have to put mustard on your pretzel, or the healing properties don’t work.
“Right,” Michael said. “Well, are you going to come over here later, or not?”
Which some people might have found kind of, you know, rude. Except to me the fact that Michael was annoyed with me—for whatever reason—was kind of a relief. Because if he was annoyed with me, it probably meant that Doing It wasn’t foremost on his mind. And I really wasn’t looking forward to having the Doing It conversation, even though I knew Tina was right, and we were going to have to get that out in the open one of these days.
So, now I’m just having a restorative slice of plain cheese pizza with Lilly before I summon up my strength to get into the limo with Lars and head uptown to Michael’s dorm. Really, after an evening of partying, it is very difficult to function the next day. I don’t know how those Hilton sisters do it.
Lilly is now saying that we have this election in the bag. I don’t have the slightest idea what she’s talking about, since
A) We never did end up doing that mock debate thingie last night, so it’s not like I ever had a chance to brush up on my answers for Monday, and
B) Most of the people I talked to in the stands at the game today just looked at me like I was a mental case and went, “I’m voting for Lana, dawg.”
But whatever. Lilly spent the entire game sitting with people’s PARENTS, so what does she even know?
I wish I could ask her about this Doing It thing, though. I mean, Lilly’s never Done It either…at least, I don’t think so. She only got to second base with her last boyfriend.
Still, I’m sure she’d have some valuable insights into the whole thing.
But I can’t talk to Lilly about Doing It or not Doing It with her BROTHER. I mean, GROSS. If any girl wanted to talk to me about Doing It with Rocky, I would probably punch her lights out. Although he is, of course, my younger brother, and only four months old.
Besides, I think I kind of know what Lilly would say: Go for it.
Which is very easy for Lilly to say, because she is very at ease in her body. She doesn’t, like I do, change out of her school uniform and into her gym shorts as fast as possible before and after PE, and in the darkest, emptiest corner of the room she can find. She has even, upon occasion, strutted around the locker room COMPLETELY naked, going, “Does anyone have any deodorant I can borrow?” And the remarks Lana and her friends make concerning Lilly’s pot-belly and cellulite seem not to bother her in the least.
Not that I’m worried Michael’s going to make remarks about my nude body. I’m just not so sure I’m comfortable with him knowing anything about it at all.
Although, I wouldn’t mind, of course, seeing his.
Probably, this means I’m inhibited and a prude and sexist and everything bad. Probably, I don’t deserve to be president of the Albert Einstein student council, even for only a couple of days before I resign and let Lilly take over. Certainly, I don’t deserve to be princess of a country that I have managed to get thrown out of the EU…well, if it comes to that, anyway.
Really, I don’t deserve much of anything.
Well, I guess I’ll go to Michael’s now.
Someone, please shoot me.
Saturday, September 12, 5 p.m., Michael’s dorm room bathroom
Okay, I thought Columbia was a hard school to get into. I thought they actually screened their applicants.
So, what are they doing letting crazy people like Michael’s roommate in here?
Everything was going fine until HE showed up. Lars and I buzzed Michael from the lobby of Engle Hall, which is Michael’s dorm, and Michael came down to sign us in, because they take their students’ safety very seriously here at Columbia University (too bad they don’t worry as much about the safety of their students’ guests!). I had to leave my student ID at the security desk so I wouldn’t try to leave the building without signing out. Lars had to leave his gun permit (although they let him keep his gun when they found out I was the princess of Genovia and he was my bodyguard).
Anyway, once we were all signed in, Michael took us upstairs. I had been in Engle Hall before, of course, the day he moved in, but it looks very different now that all the moving carts and parents are gone. There were people running around in just towels up and down the hallway, screaming, just like on Gilmore Girls! And very loud music was blaring out of some open doorways. There were posters everywhere urging residents to come to this or that protest march, and invitations to poetry readings at various nearby coffeehouses. It was all very collegiate!
Michael seemed to have gotten over being annoyed with me, since he gave me a very nice kiss hello, during which I got to smell his neck, and immediately felt better about things. Michael’s neck is almost as good as a NYC vendor pretzel, as far as healing properties go.
Anyway, we managed to ditch Lars in the student lounge on Michael’s floor, since there was a baseball game on the big TV in there. You would think Lars would have had enough athletics for one day, seeing as how we’d just spent, like, three hours at one sporting event, but whatever. He took one look at the score, which was tied, and was glued to the set, along with a number of other people who were as slackjawed as he was.
Michael went ahead and took me to his room, which looks a lot better than it did the last time I’d seen it, the day he’d moved in. There’s a map of the galaxy covering most of the cinderblock, more computer equipment than they probably have in NORAD covering every available flat surface (not counting the beds), and a big sign on the ceiling that says DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT PARKING HERE that Michael swears he didn’t steal off the street.
Michael’s side of the room is very tidy, with a dark blue comforter over the bed and a tiny fridge as a nightstand, and CDs and books EVERYWHERE.
The other side of the room is a little messier, with a red comforter, a microwave instead of a fridge, and DVDs and books EVERYWHERE.
Before I even had a chance to ask where Doo Pak was and when I was going to get
to meet him, Michael pulled me down onto his bed. We were getting very nicely reacquainted after our week apart when the door opened suddenly and a tall Korean boy wearing glasses came in.
“Oh, hi, Doo Pak,” Michael said, very casually. “This is my girlfriend, Mia. Mia, this is Doo Pak.”
I held out my right hand and gave Doo Pak my best princess smile.
“Hello, Doo Pak,” I said. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
But Doo Pak didn’t take my hand and shake it. Instead, he looked from Michael to me and back again very quickly. Then he laughed and said, “Ha ha, that is very funny! How much is he paying you to play this joke on me, huh?”
I looked at Michael all confused, and he said, “Uh, Doo Pak, I’m not joking. This really is my girlfriend.”
Doo Pak just laughed some more and said, “You Americans are always playing jokes! Really, you can stop now.”
So then I tried.
“Um,” I said. “Doo Pak, I really am Michael’s girlfriend. My name’s Mia Thermopolis. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
This is when Doo Pak began laughing so hard that he doubled up and fell over onto his bed.
“No,” he said, shaking his head, as tears of laughter streamed down his face. “No, no. This is not possible. You”—he pointed at me—“cannot be going out with him.” And he pointed at Michael.
Michael was kind of starting to look irritated.
“Doo Pak,” he said, in the same kind of warning voice I’ve heard him use with Lilly when she starts in on him about his fondness for Star Trek: Enterprise.
“Seriously,” I said to Doo Pak, trying to help, even though I didn’t have the slightest idea what was so funny. “Michael and I have been going out for over nine months. I go to Albert Einstein High School, which is just down the street, and live with my mother and stepdad down in the Vill—”
“You stop talking now, please,” Doo Pak said to me—very politely, I have to admit. But still. It’s kind of weird to be told to stop talking. Especially when then Doo Pak turned his back on me and started talking to Michael in a very urgent, low voice, and Michael responded in an equally low, but more annoyed than urgent voice.
It is extremely weird to be standing in a room watching two people have an urgent and annoyed conversation that you can’t even eavesdrop on. So, I came in here, to give them some privacy.
I can hear Doo Pak out there whispering very urgently to Michael, who fortunately has stopped whispering his responses, so I can at least hear HIS part of the conversation.
“Doo Pak, I TOLD you who she is,” he just said. “She’s my GIRLFRIEND. Nobody is trying to play a joke on you.”
You know, their bathroom is actually quite clean, for boys. There’s nothing in here I’m actually afraid to touch. I see they’ve exchanged the institutional rubber shower curtain for one with a map of the world on it. That must be to comfort Doo Pak, who clearly misses his native land. This way he can take a shower and gaze at his home country the whole time.
Oooooh, Doo Pak isn’t whispering anymore now, either. They must both think I’m completely DEAF.
“But I don’t understand, Mike,” Doo Pak is saying. MIKE????? “Why would SHE go out with YOU?”
It’s all becoming clearer now. Doo Pak must have recognized me. I have been in the press quite a lot lately, on account of the whole snail thing, and the election, and all. Maybe he can’t believe Michael is actually dating a princess.
I can’t say I blame him. There really isn’t anything in the world quite as dorky as being a princess. No wonder Michael didn’t warn him ahead of time. It must be excruciatingly embarrassing to him to have to admit to his college friends that not only is he dating a high school girl, but she’s also a PRINCESS.
Poor Michael. I never knew people actually TEASED him about the fact that he goes out with a royal. That, on top of the fact that his girlfriend has a bodyguard, is mammary-challenged, and a baby-licker, makes Michael’s devotion to me all the more extraordinary.
Ooooh, they’ve stopped talking. Maybe it’s safe to come out now….
Saturday, September 12, 7 p.m., Café (212)
I have to write this fast, while Michael is up paying for the food. Fortunately, there’s a horrendously long line at the cash register—this place is PACKED—so it should take him a while.
Anyway, I found out the reason Doo Pak thought Michael was pulling his leg about me being his girlfriend. And it has nothing to do with me being a princess. It has to do with Doo Pak thinking I’m too PRETTY for Michael.
I am not even kidding. Doo Pak told me so himself when I came out of the bathroom. He looked totally ashamed of himself. And he said, without Michael even hitting him first or anything, “I am very sorry I did not believe you when you said you were Mike’s girlfriend. You see,” he went on, in the same apologetic tone, “you are much too pretty to be dating Mike. He is—what do you call it? Oh, yes—a nerd. Like me. And nerds like us don’t get pretty girlfriends. So I thought he was pranking me. Please accept my very humble apologies for my mistake.”
I looked from Michael to Doo Pak to see if they were, um, pranking me, but I could tell from Doo Pak’s red, embarrassed face and Michael’s even redder, more embarrassed face that Doo Pak was telling the truth: He thinks I’m too pretty to go out with Michael!!!!! SERIOUSLY!!!!!!
They must have very different standards for prettiness in South Korea than they have here in the U.S.
Also, apparently, where Doo Pak is from, boys who play with computers all day just don’t get girlfriends. At all.
Maybe this is why they are always drawing them. You know, through anime and manga.
But, as I explained to Doo Pak, being a nerd in America is actually quite stylish, and most sensible girls WANT to date a nerd, as opposed to a jock or a playa.
Doo Pak didn’t look as if he dared believe me, but I pointed out that Bill Gates, who is in fact the King of the Nerds, is married. And that seemed to cinch it for him. He shook my hand and asked very excitedly whether I had any female friends I might bring over someday for him and the rest of the boys on the floor to meet.
I told him that I would certainly try.
Then Doo Pak excused himself to go to the computer store to buy the latest version of Myst, and Michael said irritably that he wished they would let freshmen have single rooms in the dorm, instead of forcing them to share with a roommate.
Which reminds me about something I noticed in their bathroom right before I left it. Something that completely didn’t register until JUST NOW. SOMETHING THAT MAY BURN ITSELF PERMANENTLY INTO THE SOFT TISSUE OF MY BRAIN:
THERE IS A BOX OF CONDOMS IN MICHAEL AND DOO PAK’S MEDICINE CABINET!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Seriously. I SAW it. Oh, my God, I TOTALLY SAW IT.
WHAT DOES THIS MEAN???? I mean, clearly DOO PAK isn’t Doing It with anyone. I mean, he basically ADMITTED he’s never had a girlfriend.
So whose condoms ARE those?????
Oops, “Mike” is back—
Sunday, September 13, 1 a.m., limo back to the Plaza
OH, MY GOD. OH, MY GOD OH, MY GOD OH, MY GOD. I just have to breathe. Really. Like they made me do in yoga that one time I went. In. Out. In. Out.
Okay. I can do this. I can write this. I can just set it down on paper like I do every other little thing that happens to me, and then it will be all right. It HAS to be all right. It just HAS to.
We did it.
We had The Talk.
AND MICHAEL EXPECTS US TO HAVE SEX…
…SOMEDAY.
There. I wrote it.
So, why don’t I feel any better??????
Oh, God, what am I going to DO???? How could it turn out that Lana is right? Lana has never been right about ANYTHING!!! I remember she told us if you sneezed and held your nose at the same time, your eardrums would explode. And what about the great “If you take a shower while you have your period, you could bleed to death” rumor she started? Even last year, she had a couple
of people going with the whole Bayer + Diet Coke = hole in your stomach.
The thing is, none of those turned out to be true.
Why did THIS one have to be the one she was telling the truth about?????
College boys DO expect their girlfriends to Do It. At least, eventually. I mean, Michael was very sweet and understanding and almost as embarrassed as I was about it. It’s not like, you know, he’s going to dump me if we don’t Do It tomorrow, or whatever.
But he’s DEFINITELY interested in Doing It.
Someday.
AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
I should have known, of course. Because real men—even two-dimensional ones like the X-Men’s Wolverine, and the Beast from Beauty and the Beast and even Hellboy—ALL want to Do It. They may, you know, be polite about it. I mean, Wolverine might engage in witty repartee with Jean Grey while he lets Cyclops slobber all over her.
And the Beast might whirl Belle around that ballroom as if there is nothing on his mind but doing the box step.
But there is no getting around the fact that ultimately, deep down inside, ALL GUYS WANT TO DO IT.
I don’t know why I thought Michael might be different. I mean, I have seen Real Genius and Revenge of the Nerds. I should know perfectly well that even smart boys like sex. Or would like it, if they could find someone willing to have it with them.
And it’s not like either of us belong to a religion where it’s, like, against the law to Do It before you get married, or whatever. Well, I mean, Michael’s Jewish, but he’s not THAT Jewish. He eats BLTs all the time.
Still. I mean, SEX. That is a BIG step.
Which is what I said to Michael when we were making out in his room after dinner tonight. Not like, you know, he Made a Grab or anything. He’s never done that—although now I know he’s WANTED to. It’s just, you know, that someone’s always around. Except for tonight, because Lars was totally glued to the TV in the lounge with the rest of the sports freaks. And Doo Pak had gone to the library to see if he could find any girls who might be looking for a nerd-for-the-night.