“It’s what Boris got Tina,” J.P. explained, seeing my lack of comprehension. “And you were so happy for her.”
“Right,” I said. “Because that’s the kind of thing she likes—”
“I know,” J.P. said. “The same way she likes romance novels, and you wrote one—”
“So naturally if her boyfriend gave her a promise ring, I’d want one, too?” I shook my head. Hello. Couldn’t he see there was a big difference between me and Tina?
“Look,” J.P. said, closing my fingers around the velvet box. “I saw the ring, and it reminded me of you. Think of it as a birthday gift if it freaks you out to think of it the other way. I don’t know what’s been going on with you lately, but I just want you to know…I’m not going anywhere, Mia. I’m not leaving you, for Japan or anywhere else. I’m staying right here, by your side. So whatever you decide, whenever you decide it…you know where to find me.”
That’s when he leaned down and kissed me.
And then he, too, walked away.
Just like Michael.
And that’s when I ran for the safety of…this. Wherever I am now.
I know I should come down. My guests are probably leaving, and it’s rude that I’m not there to say good-bye.
But hello! How many times does a girl get sort-of proposed to? On her birthday? In front of everyone she knows? And then turns the guy down? Sort of? Only not really?
Also…what’s wrong with me? Why didn’t I just say yes? J.P. is clearly the most amazing guy on the planet…he’s wonderful, gorgeous, fantastic, and sweet. And he loves me. He LOVES me!
So why can’t I just love him back, the way he deserves to be loved?
Oh, crud…someone’s coming. Who do I know who’s limber enough to climb all the way up here? Not Grandmère, that’s for sure…
Tuesday, May 2, midnight, limo home from my party
My dad isn’t too happy with me.
He’s the one who climbed all the way to the yacht’s bow to tell me I had to stop “sulking” (his word for what I was doing, which isn’t completely accurate, in my opinion…I’d call it venting, since I’m writing in my journal), and come down and say good-bye to all my guests.
That wasn’t all he said, either. Not by a long shot.
He said I have to go to the prom with J.P. He said you can’t go out with a guy for nearly two years, then decide, a week before the senior prom, that you’re not going to go with him, just because you don’t feel like going to the prom.
Or, as he so unfairly put it, “Just because your ex-boyfriend happens to have come back to town.”
I was like, “Whatever, Dad! Michael and I are just friends!” Love, Michael. “Like going to the prom with him had ever even OCCURRED to me!”
Because it totally hasn’t. Who takes a twenty-one-yearold college graduate millionaire robotic-surgical-arm inventor to their high school prom? Who, by the way, broke up with me two years ago, and also clearly doesn’t care about me now either, so it’s not like he’d go if I asked.
And like I’d do that to J.P., anyway.
“There’s a name for girls like you,” Dad said, as he sat down next to me on my precarious perch out over the water. “And what you’re doing to J.P. And I don’t even want to repeat it. Because it’s not a nice name.”
“Really?” I was totally curious. No one’s ever called me a name before. Except for the names Lana routinely calls me—geek and spazoid and stuff like that. Well, and all the stuff Lilly called me on ihatemiathermopolis.com. “What name?”
“Tease,” Dad said gravely.
I have to admit, that made me start laughing. Even though the situation was supposed to be completely and totally serious, with Dad sitting there on the edge of the yacht, talking me down like I was about to commit suicide or something.
“It’s not funny,” Dad said, sounding irritated. “The last thing we need right now, Mia, is for you to get a reputation.”
This just made me laugh even harder. Considering the fact that I happen to be the last virgin in the graduating senior class of Albert Einstein High School (besides my boyfriend). It was just so ironic that my dad was lecturing me—me!—about getting a reputation. I was laughing so hard I had to hold on to the side of the boat to keep from falling into the inky black waters of the East River.
“Dad,” I said, when I could finally speak. “I can assure you, I am not a tease.”
“Mia, actions speak louder than words. I’m not saying I think you and J.P. should get engaged. That, of course, is completely absurd. I expect you to kindly and gently explain to him that you’re much too young to be thinking of that kind of thing right now—”
“Da-ad,” I said, rolling my eyes. “It’s a promise ring.”
“Regardless of your personal feelings about the prom,” he went on, ignoring me, “J.P. wants to go, and surely wasn’t wrong to have expected to take you—”
“I know,” I said. “And I told him I wouldn’t mind if he takes someone else—”
“He wants to take you. His girlfriend. Whom he’s been seeing for nearly two years. He has certain rights of expectation because of that. One of them is that, barring any sort of gross misconduct on his part, you would go to the prom with him. And so the right thing for you to do is go with him.”