I kept my gaze locked on J.P. as I made my way across the caf to our table, determined not to glance in Lana's direction. J.P., chatting with Boris, Perin, and Ling Su, noticed me coming, looked up, and smiled. I smiled back.

Still, out of the corner of my eye, I managed to see Lana hit her sister on the back of the head, grab her Miu Miu purse, and dig around in it.

Great. That could only mean one thing. Gretchen had press pa.s.ses to tomorrow's event.

"How's it going?" J.P. asked me as I sat down.

"Great," I lied.

Mia Thermopolis's Big Fat Lie Number Five.

"Fantastic," J.P. said. "Hey, there's something I wanted to ask you."

I froze with my tofurkey burger halfway to my lips. Oh, G.o.d. Here? Now? He was going to ask me to the prom in the cafeteria, in front of everybody? This was J.P.'s idea of romantic?

No. It couldn't be. Because J.P.'s made me dinner at his apartment before when his parents were out of town, and he's pulled out all the stops...candles, jazz on the stereo, delicious fettuccini Alfredo, chocolate mousse for dessert. The guy knows romantic.

And he's no slouch on Valentine's Day, either. He got me a beautiful heart locket (from Tiffany, of course) with our initials entwined on it for our first, and a diamond journey necklace (to show how far we'd come from that first kiss outside my building) for our second.

Surely he wasn't going to ask me to the prom as I was biting into a tofurkey burger in the cafeteria.

Then again...he thought he didn't have to bother asking me to the prom at all. So...

Tina, overhearing J.P.'s question as she slid her tray down next to Boris's, gasped.

Well, let's face it. She would. This is another reason I can never tell her about Ransom My Heart. She'd never be able to keep it to herself. Especially the steamier parts. She'd want to know how I researched them.

Then she recovered herself and said, "Oh? You have a question for Mia, J.P.?"

"Uh," J.P. said. "Yeah..."

"How nice." Tina tried not to look as smug as if she were about to give birth to the twentieth Duggar sibling. "Everybody? J.P. wants to ask Mia something."

"Uh," J.P. said, a light pink shade tingeing his cheeks as a hush fell over the cafeteria table and everyone looked at him expectantly. "I just wanted to ask what you were getting Princ.i.p.al Gupta and the rest of them as thank-you gifts for writing your letters of recommendation?"

Oh. Also, phew.

"I'm getting them each a set of six hand-blown Genovian crystal water goblets," I said. "With the royal Genovian crest on them."

"Oh," he said, gulping. "I think my mom's just going to get them each a gift certificate to Barnes and n.o.ble."

"I'm sure they'll like that much better," I said, feeling bad. Grandmere was always so over-the-top with her gift-giving.

"We're giving them Swarovski crystal apples," Ling Su and Perin said at the same time. This made them sound nerdier than they are; which they so totally aren't. Well, anymore. They'd actually completely given up sitting with the Backpack Patrol, as J.P. refers to Kenny's-I mean, Kenneth's-gang, across the caf, who'd taken to traveling everywhere with their giant backpacks of books, even this late in the school year, knowing full well they'd already gotten into their colleges of choice (well, second choice). Some of them had so many books, in fact, they used wheelie suitcases to cart them around. It was like they'd never heard of using their lockers.

Lilly, who used to sit among them-until Lilly Tells It Like It Is took off and her lunch hour became too busy for her to spend it in the caf-with her multiple piercings and often variantly colored hair, looked like an exotic flower. I think they were all pretty sorry to see her go-although I'm not sure any of them but Kenny really noticed, seeing as how their heads were all buried in their Advanced Chem books.

"Well, that's taken care of," Lana announced, setting her tray down. "Two o'clock tomorrow, geek."

She was addressing me. Geek is Lana's pet name for me. I've learned she means it as a term of endearment.

"What's at two o'clock tomorrow?" J.P. wanted to know.

"Nothing," I said quickly, just as Shameeka slid her tray down, too, and said, covering for me, "Mani-pedi appointments. Who's got the Diet c.o.kes? Oh, thanks, Mia."

"This is so lame." Trisha took one of the Diet c.o.kes I'd bought, too. "Did I mention how lame this is? I have to tan."

"What are they talking about?" J.P. asked Boris.

"Don't ask," Boris advised him. "Just ignore them, and maybe they'll go away."

And that was that. It was decided-sort of nonverbally, but more verbally after lunch was over and we were all walking to cla.s.s and the guys were gone. Lana got press pa.s.ses (two of them, one for a reporter, and one for a photographer) from her sister Gretchen for Michael's donation of one of his CardioArms to Columbia.

Apparently they all think we're going tomorrow (to them, two press pa.s.ses = permission for the five of us to enter, in Lana Fantasy Land).

But the REAL fantasy is that they think I'm actually going to go, because no way am I setting foot anywhere near that place. I mean, nothing has changed-I still don't want to see Michael-I still can't see Michael...not sneaking in to see him on Lana Weinberger's little sister's high school newspaper's press pa.s.s. I mean, that is insane. That's like something out of a book-something that's just not going to happen.

Ever.

G.o.d, Boris is really sc.r.a.ping away on that thing!

And Lilly isn't even here. Which is no big surprise, she hasn't been in G&T since her show got picked up by a television network in Seoul. She tapes every day during lunch and fifth period. They actually let her out of school to do this, and give her cla.s.s credit and everything.

Which is cool. I guess she's a huge star in Korea.

Well, I always knew she'd be a star.

For some reason I just always thought I'd be friends with her when it happened.

Well, things change, I guess.

Friday, April 28, French Tina won't stop texting me, even though I'm not texting back. (I don't need a repeat performance of yesterday's debacle.) She wants to know what I'm going to wear tomorrow when we go to see Michael donate a CardioArm to Columbia's Medical Center.

I wonder what it's like to live in Tinaville.

I get the feeling it's very shiny there.

Friday, April 28, Psychology I finally texted Tina back that I'm not going tomorrow.

There has been radio silence ever since, so I'm just slightly suspicious about what's going on between her and the rest of the gang.

It's slightly restful, however, not to have my phone buzzing every five seconds.

Amelia-I still haven't had your answerrrrrrr. I need you to disinvite twenty-ffiveeeee people to your party. The captain is telling me we won't be able to set saillllllll with three hundred. Weeeeeeeeee need to cut it down to two seventy-five max. I think Nathan and Claire, Frank's niece and nephew, can go, obviously. What about your mother? You don't need her there, do you? She'll understandddddd. And Frank, tooooooo. I'll be waiting for your call. Clarisse, your grandmotherrrrrrr Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device Oh my G.o.d.

Major histocompatibility complex-MHC: Gene family found in most mammals. Believed to play an important role in mate selection through olfactory (scent) recognition. In studies, female college students asked to smell the unwashed T-shirts worn by male college students invariably chose ones worn by males possessing MHC that was entirely dissimilar to their own. This is believed to be due to the fact these males would make the most genetically desirable mates (pairing opposite MHC genes would create offspring with the strongest immune systems). The more genetically dissimilar mates are to each other, the stronger the immune system of the offspring, a fact believed detected through the olfactory senses of the female of the species.

HOMEWORK.

World History: Study for final English Lit: Ditto Trig: Ditto G&T: Ugh, I'm so SICK of Chopin French: Final Psychology II: Final Friday, April 28, Dr. Knutz's waiting room Great, I walked in here today for my next-to-last session and who should be sitting here but none other than the dowager princess of Genovia herself.

I was like, "What the-" but fortunately managed to control myself at the last minute.

"Oh, Amelia, there you are," she said, like we were meeting for tea at the Carlyle, or whatever. "Why haven't you phoned back?"

I just stared at her in horror. "Grandmere," I said. "This is my therapy session."

"Well, I know that, Amelia." She smiled at the receptionist, as if to apologize for my idiocy. "I'm not slow, you know. But how else am I supposed to get you to communicate with me, when you won't return my calls and you refuse to write back to my e-mails, which is the method of communication I thought was all the rage with you young people today? Really, I had no choice but to hunt you down here."

"Grandmere." I was seriously about to bubble over with rage. "If this is about my party, I am NOT disinviting my own mother and stepfather to make room for your society friends. Disinvite Nathan and Claire if you want, I don't care. And can I just add, it is totally inappropriate of you to show up at therapy to talk to me about this. I realize we've had joint therapy sessions in the past, but those were scheduled beforehand. You can't just show up at therapy and expect me to-"

"Oh, that." Grandmere made a little waving motion in the air, the sapphire c.o.c.ktail ring the Shah of Iran had given her sparkling as she did so. "Please. Vigo has straightened out the difficulties with the invitation list. And don't worry, your mother is safe. Though I wouldn't say the same for her parents. I hope they'll enjoy the view of the party from the steering deck. No, no, I'm here about That Boy."

I couldn't figure out what she was talking about at first. "J.P.?" She never calls J.P. That Boy. Grandmere loves J.P. I mean seriously loves him. When the two of them get together, they talk about old Broadway shows I've never even heard of until I practically have to drag J.P. away. Grandmere is more than a little convinced she could have had a great career on the stage if she hadn't chosen to marry my grandfather and been the princess of a small European country instead of a huge Broadway star a la that girl who stars in Legally Blonde, the musical. Only, of course, in Grandmere's mind, she's better than her.

"Not John Paul," Grandmere said, looking shocked at the very idea. "The other one. And this...thing he's invented."

Michael? Grandmere had invited herself to my therapy session to talk to me about Michael?

Also, great. Thanks, Vigo. Had he set her BlackBerry to receive Google alerts about me, too?

"Are you serious?" I swear at this point I had no idea what she was up to. I really hadn't put two and two together. I still thought she was worried about the party. "You want to invite Michael, now, too? Well, sorry, Grandmere, but no. Just because he's a famous millionaire inventor now doesn't mean I want him at my party. If you invite him, I swear I'll-"

"No. Amelia." Grandmere reached out and grabbed my hand. It wasn't one of her usual grasping, needy grabs, where she tries to force me to give her sciatica a ma.s.sage. It was as if she was taking my hand to...well, to hold it.

I was so surprised, I actually sank down onto the leather couch and looked at her, like, What? What's going on?

"The arm," Grandmere said. Like a normal person, and not like she was telling me not to lift my pinky up when I drank my tea, or anything. "The robot arm he's made."

I blinked at her. "What?"

"We need one," she said. "For the hospital. You have to get us one."

I blinked even harder. I've suspected Grandmere might be losing her mind for...well, the entire time I've known her, actually.

But now it was clear she'd gone completely around the bend.

"Grandmere." I discreetly felt for her pulse. "Have you been taking your heart medication?"

"Not a donation," Grandmere hastened to explain, sounding more like her usual self. "Tell him we'll pay. But, Amelia, you do know if we had something like that in our hospital in Genovia, we'd...well, it would improve the state of care we're able to give our own citizens to such an incredible degree. They wouldn't have to go to Paris or Switzerland for heart surgery. Surely you see what a-"

I ripped my hand out from hers. Suddenly I saw that she wasn't crazy at all. Or suffering from a stroke or heart attack. Her pulse had been strong and steady.

"Oh my G.o.d!" I cried. "Grandmere!"

"What?" Grandmere looked bewildered by my outburst. "What is the matter? I'm asking you to ask Michael for one of his machines. Not donate it. I said we'd pay-"

"But you want me to use my relationship with him," I cried, "so Dad can gain an edge over Rene in the election!"

Grandmere's drawn-on eyebrows furrowed.

"I never said a word about the election!" she declared, in her most imperious voice. "But I did think, Amelia, if you were to go to this event at Columbia tomorrow-"

"Grandmere!" I sprang up from the couch. "You're horrible! Do you really think the people of Genovia would be more likely to vote for Dad because he managed to buy them a CardioArm, as opposed to Rene, who's only managed to promise them an Applebee's?"

Grandmere looked at me blankly.

"Well," she said. "Yes. Which would you rather have? Easy access to heart surgery, or a bloomin' onion?"

"That's Outback," I informed her acidly. "And the point of a democracy is that no one's vote can be bought!"

"Oh, Amelia," Grandmere said with a snort. "Don't be naive. Everyone can be bought. And anyway, how would you feel if I told you at my recent visit to the royal physician, he told me my heart condition has gotten more serious, and that I might need bypa.s.s surgery?"

I hesitated. She looked totally sincere.

"D-do you?" I stammered.

"Well," Grandmere said. "Not yet. But he did tell me I have to cut back to three Sidecars a week!"

I should have known.

"Grandmere," I said. "Leave. Now."

Grandmere frowned at me.

"You know, Amelia," she said. "If your father loses this election, it will kill him. I know he'll still be prince of Genovia and all of that, but he won't rule it, and that, young lady, will be no one's fault but your own."

I groaned in frustration and said, "GET OUT!"

Which she did, muttering very darkly to Lars and to the receptionist, both of whom had watched our entire exchange with a great deal of amus.e.m.e.nt.

But honestly, I don't see what's so funny about it.

I guess to Grandmere, using an ex-boyfriend to jump to the head of the waiting list (as if Michael would even consider such a thing) to get a million-dollar piece of medical equipment is just a normal day's work.

But though we may share the same gene pool, I am nothing like my grandmother.

NOTHING.

Friday, April 28, the limo home from

Dr. Knutz's office