Mia Goes Fourth

to me in her current state of hormonal imbalance.

Out of desperation, I asked my dad what I should get Michael, and he said a pen, so Michael could write to me while I am

in Genovia, instead of my calling him all the time and running up a huge phone bill.

Whatever, Dad. Like anyone writes with a pen any more.

And hello, I am only going to be in Genovia for Christmas and summers, as per our agreement drawn up last September.

A pen. I am so sure. Am I the only person in my family with a modicum of romance in my bones?

Oops, gotta stop writing, Father Christoff is looking this way. But it is his own fault. I wouldn't write in my journal during

mass if his sermons were even semi-inspiring. Or at least in English.

Monday, January 11, 1 a.m.,

Royal Genovian Bedchamber

I just got off the phone with Michael. I had to call him. It wasn't like I had a choice. I had to find out what he wanted for his birthday. I mean, I have to get him Something. And it has to be something really good, since I forgot. About his birthday,

and all.

Of course he says he doesn't want anything, that I am the only thing he needs (!!!!!!!!!!) and that he will see me in eight

days, and that is the best present anyone could get him.

This seems to indicate that he might actually be in love with me, as opposed to only loving me as a friend. I will, of course,

have to check with Tina to see what she thinks, but I would have to say that in this case, Signs Point to Yes!!!!!!

But of course he is only saying that. That he doesn't want anything for his birthday, I mean, I have to get him something. Something really good. Only what?

Anyway, I really did have a reason to call him. I didn't do it just because I wanted to hear the sound of his voice, or anything.

I mean, I am not that far gone.

Oh, all right, maybe I am. How can I help it? I have only been in love with Michael since, like, forever. I love the way he

says my name. I love the way he laughs. I love the way he asks my opinion, like he really cares what I think - God knows, nobody around here feels that way. I mean, make a suggestion - like that it might save water to turn off the fountain in front

of the palace at night, when no one is around anyway - and everybody practically acts like one of the suits of armour in the Grand Hall started talking.

Well, OK, not my dad. But I see him less here in Genovia than I do back home, practically, because he is so caught up

in parliamentary meetings, and racing his yacht in regattas, and hanging out with the new blonde bareback rider from the

Cirque du Soleil - which just got to town for an extended stint at one of the casinos.

Anyway, I like talking to Michael. Is that so wrong? I mean, he is my boyfriend, after all.

So we were just saying goodbye after having had a perfectly pleasant conversation about his birthday and the Genovian

Olive Growers' Association and Michael's band that he hasn't formed yet, and whether it is off-putting to call it Frontal Lobotomy, and I was just working up the guts to go, 'I miss you,' or 'I love you,' thus leaving an opening for him to say something similar back to me and therefore resolve the does-he-just-love-me-like-a-friend-or-is-he-in-love-with-me

dilemma once and for all, when I heard Lilly in the background, demanding to talk to me.

Michael went, 'Go away!' but Lilly kept on shrieking, 'I have to talk to her, I just remembered I have something really

important to ask her.'

Then Michael went, 'Don't tell her about that,' and my heart skipped a beat because I thought Lilly had all of a sudden remembered that Michael had been going out with some girl named Tiffany behind my back after all. Before I could say

another word, Lilly had wrestled the phone away from him (I heard Michael grunt, I guess in pain because she must have kicked him or something), and then she was going, 'Oh, my God, I forgot to ask. Did you see it?'

'Lilly,' I said, since even five thousand miles away, I could feel Michael's pain - Lilly kicks hard, I know. I have been the recipient of quite a few kicks of hers over the years. 'I know that you are used to having me all to yourself, but you are going

to have to learn to share me with your brother. Now, if this means we are going to have to set boundaries in our relationship, then I guess we will have to. But you can't just go around ripping the phone out of Michael's hand when he might have had something really important to—'

'Have you been watching Dr. Phil again?' Lilly wanted to know. 'I can't believe they have Oprah there, but not email.

Anyway, shut up about my sainted brother for a minute. Did . . . you . . . see . . . it?'

'See what? What are you talking about?' I thought maybe somebody had tried to jump into the polar bear cage at the

Central Park Zoo again. As if those bears don't have enough problems, what with the stress of living in Manhattan and