Mia Goes Fourth

But that cannot have been what Lilly was referring to, as I was wearing my school uniform at the time she mentioned my mystery talent, which hardly leaves room for creative expression.

Mr. G's remark reminded me that I still haven't found my Queen Amidala underwear. But I wasn't about to ask my

stepfather if he'd seen them. EW! I try not to look at Mr. Gianini's underwear when it comes back all folded from the laundry-by-the-pound place, and thankfully he extends the same courtesy to me.

And I couldn't ask my mom because once again she was dead to the world this morning. I guess pregnant women need

as much sleep as teenagers and DJs.

But I had seriously better find them before Friday, or my first date with Michael will be a full-on disaster, I just know it.

Like he'll probably open his present and be all, 'Uh ... I guess it's the thought that counts.'

I probably should have just followed Mrs. Hakim Baba's rules and got him a sweater.

But Michael is so not the sweater type! I realized it as we pulled up in front of his building today. He was standing there, looking all tall and manly and Heath Ledger-like . . . except for having dark hair, not blond.

And his scarf was kind of blowing in the wind, and I could see that part of his throat, you know, right beneath his Adam's

apple and right above where his shirt collar opens, the part that Lars once told me if you hit someone hard enough, it would paralyse them. Michael's throat was so nice-looking, so pink and concave, that all I could think about was Mr. Rochester standing out on the moor, brooding about his great love for Jane . . .

And I knew, I just knew, I was right not to have gotten him a sweater. I mean, Jane would never have given Mr. Rochester

a sweater. Ew.

Anyway, then Michael saw me and smiled and he didn't look like Mr. Rochester any more, because Mr. Rochester never smiled, he just looked like Michael.

And my heart turned over in my chest like it always does when I see him.

Are you OK?' he wanted to know, as soon as he got into the limo. His eyes, so brown they are almost black — like the

peat bogs Mr. Rochester was always striding past out there on the moor, because if you step into a peat bog, you can sink

in up to your head and never be heard of again . . . which in a way is like what happens every time I look into Michael's eyes:

I fall and fall and am pretty sure I will never be able to get out of them again, but that's OK, because I love being there -

looked deeply into mine. My eyes are merely grey, the colour of a New York City sidewalk.

'I called you last night,' Michael said, as his sister pushed him to move over on the seat so that she could get into the limo, too. 'But your mom said you'd passed out. . .'

'I was really, really tired,' I said, delighted by the fact that he appeared to have been worried about me. 'I slept for fifteen

hours straight.'

'Whatever,' Lilly said. She was clearly not interested in the details of my sleep cycle. 'I heard from the producers of your movie.'

I was surprised. 'Really? What did they say?'

'They asked me to take a breakfast meeting with them,' Lilly said, sounding like she was trying not to brag. Only she wasn't succeeding terribly well. You could totally hear the gloating in her voice. 'Friday morning. So I won't be needing a ride.'

'Wow,' I said. A breakfast meeting? Really? Will they serve bagels?'

'Probably,' Lilly said.

I was impressed. I have never been invited to a breakfast meeting with producers before. Just with the Prince of Wales.

I asked Lilly if she had come up with a list of demands for the producers, and she said she had, but she wouldn't tell me

what they were.

I think I am going to have to watch this movie and see what's making her so mad. My mom has it on tape. She said it was

one of the funniest things she has ever seen.

But then, my mom laughs all through Dirty Dancing, even the parts that aren't supposed to be funny, so I don't know if she

is the best judge.

Uh-oh. One of the cheerleaders (sadly, not Lana) tore her Achilles tendon doing pilates over the break, so they just

announced they are holding tryouts for a replacement. The team's substitute got transferred to an all girls' school in Northampton due to having too wild a party while her parents were in Martinique.

I sincerely hope Lilly is too busy protesting about the movie of my life to protest about the new cheerleading try-outs. Last semester she made me walk around with a big sign that said Cheerleading is sexist and not a sport, which I am not even

sure is technically true, since they have cheerleading championships on the sports channel. But it is a fact that there are no cheerleaders for the female sports in our school. Like Lana and her gang never turn out for the girls' basketball team or the

girls' volleyball team, but they never miss a boys' game. So maybe the sexist part is true.