Princess Diaries Series: Forever Princess Part 24

Fortunately Michael didn't try to hug me. Or say anything like, "Oh, hey, Mia, see you at lunch tomorrow." It was kind of like he knew this wasn't something I'd discussed with my boyfriend.

Although he was perfectly cordial, and didn't storm off like he did the night of my birthday. (Why did he do that? It can't be because of what Tina said, because he couldn't stand to see me with J.P. Because he seemed just fine seeing me with J.P. tonight.) Lilly, on the other hand, stonily ignored J.P.-although she cracked a little bit of a smile at me.

Tina, meanwhile, was so nervous about the whole thing (which was weird, because she was the only person there who didn't have an ex present) that she began talking in a very high-pitched voice about the senior project committee-who were looking a little haggard, possibly from their night out with Sean Penn-and I had to take her by the arm and start steering her away, gently murmuring, "It's going to be okay. Shhhh. It's all over now. Boris pa.s.sed with flying colors...."

"But," Tina said, flinging a glance over her shoulder. "Why are Michael and Lilly here? Why?"

"Michael's friends with Boris. Remember? They're living together next year until Boris gets his single through the waiting list."

"I need a vacation," Tina whimpered. "I really need a vacation."

"You're getting one," I said. "Tomorrow's Senior Skip Day."

"Are you really going to sleep with J.P.?" Tina wanted to know. "Are you really, Mia? Really?"

"Tina," I whispered. "Could you say it a little louder? I don't think all of Carnegie Hall heard you."

"I just don't think you're doing it for the right reasons," Tina said. "Don't do it because you think you have to, or because you don't want to be the last girl in our cla.s.s who is still a virgin, or because you don't want to be the only girl in your college who hasn't slept with someone. Do it because you want to, because you feel a burning pa.s.sion to. When I look at the two of you together, I just don't think...Mia, I don't think you want to. I don't feel like there's any pa.s.sion. You write about pa.s.sion in your book, but I don't think you actually feel it. Not for J.P."

"Okay," I said, patting her on the arm. "I'm going to go now. Tell Boris he did a lovely job. Bye, now."

I got Lars and J.P., told everyone else we were leaving, stayed far enough away from Michael that I couldn't smell him, then left, dropping J.P. off at his place on our way home.

I tried really hard to feel pa.s.sion as I kissed him good night.

I think I even did. I definitely felt something.

It might have been the staple from the dry cleaner the Reynolds-Abernathy family uses on the back of J.P.'s s.h.i.+rt collar though. I think it was scratching my finger as I tried to cling to him pa.s.sionately.

Friday, May 5, 9 a.m., the loft I don't believe it.

Mom just poked her head in here and went, "Mia. Wake up."

And I was like, "MOM. I'm not going to school. It's Senior Skip Day. I don't care if it's not an officially sanctioned school holiday. I'm a senior. I'm skipping. Which means I don't HAVE TO GET UP."

And she went, "It's not that. There's someone on the house line, asking for Daphne Delacroix."

I thought she was joking. I really did.

But she swore she was serious.

So I crawled out of bed and took the phone she was holding and put it to my ear and was like, "h.e.l.lo?"

"Is this Daphne?" asked a way too cheerful woman's voice.

"Um," I said. "Sort of." I really hadn't woken up enough to be able to deal with the situation.

"Your real name isn't Daphne Delacroix, is it?" asked the voice, laughing a little.

"Not exactly," I said, stealing a glance at the caller ID on the handset. It said Avon Books.

Avon Books was the name on the spines of half of the historical romances I'd read while doing research for my own. It's a huge publisher of romance novels.

"Well, this is Claire French," the cheerful voice said. "And I've just finished reading your book, Ransom My Heart, and I'm calling to offer you a publis.h.i.+ng contract."

I swear I did not think I could have heard her right. It sounded like she said she was calling to offer me a publis.h.i.+ng contract.

But that could not possibly be what she had said. Because people don't call and offer me book deals. Especially first thing in the morning. Ever.

"What?" I said intelligently.

"I'm calling to offer you a publis.h.i.+ng contract," she said. "We'd like to offer you a book deal. But we'll need to know your real name. What is your real name, if you don't mind telling me?"

"Um," I said. "Mia Thermopolis."

"Oh," she said. "Well, hi, Mia." She then went on to say some things about money, and contracts, and due dates, and some other things I didn't understand because I was in too much of a daze.

"Um," I finally said. "Can I have your number? I think I'm going to have to call you back."

"Sure!" she said. And gave me her extension. "I look forward to hearing from you."

"Okay," I said. "Thanks a lot."

Then I hung up.

I lay back in my bed and looked at Fat Louie, who was staring at me, happily purring from my pillows.

Then I screamed as loud as I could, freaking out Mom, Rocky, and, of course, Fat Louie, who darted off the bed (all the pigeons on my fire escape took off, too).

I cannot believe it: I got an offer on my book.

And okay...it's not for a ton of money. If I were an actual person who had to make a living doing this, I would not be able to survive-at least in New York City-for more than a couple of months on what they offered. If you really want to be a writer, clearly, you have to write and do some other job, too, in order to pay your rent, etc. At least when you're first starting out.

But since I'm going to be donating the money to Greenpeace anyway...who cares?

Someone wants to buy my book!!!!!

Friday, May 5, 11 a.m., the loft I feel like I'm floating....

Seriously, I'm so happy! This has been the best day of my life. At least so far.

I really mean that. Nothing is going to ruin it. NOTHING. And NO ONE.

I won't let them.

The first thing I did, after I told Mom and Mr. G about my book deal, was call Tina. I was all, "Tina-Guess what? I got an offer on my book."

And she was like, "WHAT???? OH MY G.o.d, MIA, THAT IS FANTASTIC!!!!"

So then we shrieked for, like, seriously, ten minutes. After that I hung up and called J.P. Probably I should have called him first, since he's my boyfriend. But I've known Tina longer.

The thing is, even though J.P. was happy for me, and all, he wasn't...well. He had some words of warning. Just because he loves me so much, though.

"You shouldn't accept a first offer, Mia," he said.

"Why not?" I asked. "You did, from Sean Penn."

"But that's different," he said. "Sean's an award-winning director. You don't even know who this editor is."

"Yes, I do," I said. "I just looked her up on the Internet. She's published tons of books. She's totally legit, and so is her publis.h.i.+ng house. It's huge. They publish all the romances. Well, a lot of them."

"Even so," J.P. said. "You might get a better offer from someone else. I wouldn't rush into anything."

"Rush into anything?" I echoed. "J.P., I've had, like, sixty-five rejection letters. She's the only person who has expressed the remotest interest in my book. It's a totally fair offer."

"If you'd just do what I said," J.P. said, "and try to sell it under your real name, you'd get a ton more interest, and probably a much bigger advance."

"That's just it," I said. "She wanted to publish it without knowing who I was! That means she likes the book on its own merit. That means way more to me than money."

"Look," J.P. said. "Just don't accept the offer yet. Let me talk to Sean. He knows people in publis.h.i.+ng. I bet he can get you a better offer."

"No!" I cried. I couldn't believe how J.P. was trying to ruin this beautiful moment for me. Although it wasn't his fault. I knew he was just looking out for my best interests. But he was being a total buzz kill, as they said on True Life. "No way, J.P. I'm taking this offer."

"Mia," J.P. said. "You don't know anything about publis.h.i.+ng. How do you know what you're getting yourself into? You don't even have an agent."

"I have the Royal Genovian lawyers," I reminded him. "I don't think I need to remind you that they are like a pack of rabid pit bulls. Remember what they did to that guy who tried to publish that unauthorized biography of me last year?" I didn't want to add, And what I could have them do to you, for writing a loosely based bio-play on me? Because I didn't want to be mean, and, of course, I'd never sic the Royal Genovian lawyers on J.P. "I'll have them look over the contract before I sign it."

"I think you're making a mistake," J.P. said.

"Well, I don't think I am," I said. I wanted to cry. I really did. I knew he was only being that way because he loves me, but come on.

I got over it, though. Even though J.P. and I got into our first (albeit very minor) fight over it, I still think I'm doing the right thing. Because I called my dad and told him about it, and after he asked a lot of questions (in a sort of distracted way, because he's busy campaigning. I was sorry to bug him about something so unimportant when he has so much to do, but-well, this is important to me), he still said it was fine by him, and I could do what I wanted-so long as I didn't sign anything until I had his pit bull lawyers see it first.

So I said, "THANKS, DAD!"

Then I called Claire French and told her I accepted.

The only problem was, by the time I called back, she fully knew who I was.

She said, "This is going to sound strange, but when you said your name was Mia Thermopolis, I thought it sounded familiar, so-please don't be offended-I Googled you. You wouldn't happen to be Princess Mia Thermopolis of Genovia by any chance, would you?"

My heart totally sank.

"Um," I said.

The thing is, even though I'm a totally habitual liar, I knew there was no point in lying to her about this. She was going to find out eventually. Like when I sent in my author photo or met her for a fancy editor-author lunch or my pit bull lawyers used the Genovian crest notary or whatever.

"Yes," I said. "Yes, I am. But I didn't send my book out under my real name because I didn't want it to be published just because of my celebrity, you know? I wanted to see if people liked it based on its own merits, not because of who wrote it. I hope you can understand that."

"Oh," Claire said. "I completely understand! And you don't need to worry, I had no idea it was you when I read it, or when I made you the offer. The thing is, though...well, the name Daphne Delacroix...it actually sounds very fake, and the last name-Delacroix-is hard for Americans to p.r.o.nounce correctly. Whereas your real name is much more recognizable and memorable. I a.s.sume you're not doing this for any sort of financial gain-"

"No," I said, horrified. "I'm donating my author proceeds to Greenpeace!"

"Well, the truth is," Claire said, "you'd have a lot more author proceeds to donate if you let us publish the book under your real name."

I clutched the phone to my ear, feeling sort of stunned. "You mean...Mia Thermopolis?"

"I was thinking Mia Thermopolis, princess of Genovia."

"Well..." My heart was beating kind of fast. I remembered what Grandmere had said, about being sure not to use my real name. She was going to hate this, I thought. She was going to hate it so much if I published a steamy romance novel under my real name!

On the other hand...everyone in school would see it. Everyone in school would see my book and go, "Oh my G.o.d. I know her! I went to school with her."

And it wasn't as if Claire had bought the book knowing it was by me...but readers would. Think of all the money that would go to Greenpeace!

"I think that would be fine," I said.

"Great!" Claire said. "That's settled then. I look forward to working with you, Mia."

It was the most fantastic phone call of all time. It almost made me forget that J.P. and I had sort of had a little fight and that I was going to have a very scary lunch with Michael very soon.

I'm a published author. Well, soon to be.

And no one can take that away from me. NO ONE!

Friday, May 5, 12:15 p.m., the loft M-Fas.h.i.+on 911, here to the rescue. You need to wear your Chip & Pepper jeans and your pink and black Alice + Olivia sequined top with that purple motorcycle jacket we picked out at Jeffrey and those super cute Prada platforms with the fringy things. Got it? Don't overdo it on the makeup because I think he likes the natural type (whatever) and not chandelier earrings this time, go for studs, oooooh what about those cute little cherries I got you for your birthday? So appropriate for you HA HA HA!

------------- Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device No! I think that's all too much! By the way I'm getting my book published!

It's not too much, just do what I say, don't forget to curl your eyelashes, YAY ON PUT IT IN MY CANDYHOLE! What color are you wearing to prom?

------------- Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device I don't know yet, Sebastiano is sending over a couple things. The Prada platforms are too much. I think I'll go with boots. It's not called Put It in My Candyhole, I told you.

NO! IT IS MAY. NO BOOTS AT LUNCH. You may compromise with adorable velvet flats.

------------- Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device Okay, you're right about the flats. THANK YOU! I HAVE TO GO!!!! I'm late. I'm so nervous!!!!

Don't worry. Trisha and I are going to be taking a boat out and may row by to check on you.

------------- Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device NO! LANA!!! NO!!!! DO NOT COME BY!!! If you do, I will never speak to you again.

BYE!!! Have fun!

------------- Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device Friday, May 5, 12:55 p.m., limo on the way to Central Park I will stay away from Michael.

I will not hug him.

I will not even shake his hand.