Princess' Diaries

Slow dancing isstrange. It isn’t even dancing, really. It’s more like standing there with your arms around the other person, moving from one foot to the other in time to the music. And I guess you aren’t supposed to talk—at least, nobody else around us was talking. I guess I could sort of see why, since you’re so busyfeeling stuff it’s hard to think of anything to say. I mean, Michaelsmelled so good—like Ivory soap—andfeltso good—the dress Grandmère picked out for me was pretty and everything, but I was kind of cold in it, so it was nice to stand close to Michael, who was so warm—that it was next to impossible tosay anything.

I guess Michael felt the same way, because even though when we were sitting there on the table with all the rice neither of us ever shut up, we had so much to talk about, when we were dancing together neither of us said a word.

But the minute the song was over Michael started talking again, asking me if I wanted some Thai iced tea from the Thai Culture table, or maybe some edamame from the Japanese Anime Club’s table. For somebody who’d never been to a single school event—aside from Computer Club meetings—Michael sure was making up for lost time in his enthusiasm over being at this one.

And that was how the rest of the night went: We sat around and talked during the fast songs and danced during the slow ones.

And you know, to tell the truth, I couldn’t say which I liked better, talking to Michael or dancing with him. They were both so . . .  interesting.

In different ways, of course.

When the dance was over we all piled into the limo Mr. Hakim Baba sent to pick up Tina and Dave (the news vans had all left by then, since the story about the bombing had broken; I suppose they went to go stake out the Iranian embassy). I called my mom on the limo cell phone and told her where I was and asked if I could spend the night at Lilly’s, since that’s where we were all headed. She said yes without asking any questions, which led me to believe that she’d already talked to Mr. G and that he’d filled her in on the night’s events. I wonder if he told her he’d raised my F to a D.

You know, he could have given me a D plus. I have been nothing but supportive of his relationship with my mother. That kind of loyalty ought to be rewarded.