Forever Princess by Meg Cabot Read Free Book Online

one white, which is cruelty to animals and also, the white paint rubbed off on the inside of his jeans, so when he got off the horse to kneel down to propose, he looked really dumb.”
    â€œMia,” J.P. said, sounding annoyed. Which, really, I guess I couldn’t blame him. “I’m not going to ride up to Albert Einstein High in a suit of armor on a horse painted white to ask you to the prom. I think I can manage to think of something a little more romantic than that .”
    For some reason this assertion didn’t make me feel any better, though.
    â€œYou know, J.P.,” I said. “Prom is pretty lame. I mean, it’s just dancing at the Waldorf. We can do that anytime.”
    â€œNot with all our friends,” J.P. pointed out. “Right before we all graduate and go off to different colleges and possibly never see one another ever again.”
    â€œBut we’re going to do that,” I reminded him, “at my birthday blowout on the Royal Genovian yacht Monday night.”
    â€œTrue,” J.P. said. “But that won’t be the same. All your relatives are going to be there. And it’s not like we’ll really get a chance to be alone afterward.”
    What was he talking about?
    Oh…right. The paparazzi.
    Wow. J.P. really wants to go to the prom. And do all the after-prom stuff, it sounds like.
    I guess I can’t really blame him. It is the last event we’ll ever attend as AEHS students, besides graduation, which the administration has cleverly scheduled for the next day, in order to avoid what happened last year, when a few seniors got so drunk at a downtown club they had to be admitted to St. Vincent’s for alcohol poisoning, after spray painting “The WMDs were hidden in my vagina” all over Washington Square Park. Principal Gupta seems to feel that if people know they have graduation the next day, they won’t let themselves get quite that intoxicated this year.
    So I said, “Okay. Well, I look forward to the invitation.” Then I thought it might be better to change the subject, since we both seemed to be getting a little irritated with each other. “So. How did play rehearsal go?”
    Then J.P. complained about Stacey Cheeseman’s inability to remember her lines for about five minutes until I said I had to go because the pizzas had come. But that was a lie (Mia Thermopolis’s Big Fat Lie Number Four), since the pizzas hadn’t come.
    The truth is, I’m scared. I know he’s not going to ride up to the school in a full suit of armor on a horse painted white in order to ask me to the prom, because he said he wouldn’t.
    But he might do something equally embarrassing.
    I love J.P.—I know I keep writing that, but it’s because I do. I don’t love him the same way I loved Michael, it’s true, but I still love him. J.P. and I have so much in common with the writing thing, and we’re the same age, and Grandmère loves him and most of my friends (except Boris, for some reason) do too.
    But sometimes I wish…God, I can’t believe I’m even writing this—but sometimes…
    Well. I worry that my mom might be right. She’s the one who pointed out the fact that if I say I want to do something, J.P. always wants to do it, too. And if I say I don’t want to do something, he always agrees he doesn’t want to do it either.
    The only time he hasn’t agreed with me, in fact, was when I used to say I didn’t want to hang out with him back when I was working on my book.
    But that was just because he couldn’t be with me. It was so romantic, really. All the girls said so. Especially Tina, who would know. I mean, what girl wouldn’t want a boyfriend who wanted to be with her all the time, and always do whatever she wanted to do?
    Mom was the only one who noticed this and asked me if it didn’t drive me crazy. And when I asked her what she meant, she said,