[Some of you have "theories". These theories won't be affirmed or denied until next chapter. So get excited. And I'm updating so soon because I love you all. Each and every one of you.]

Chapter Eight

Okay, this is so not going like I wanted.

I mean, I was just walking into school with Michael (who, for the record, has said exactly three words to me in the past three days: "Hey" and "Excuse me." If he doesn't want to be my boyfriend, why can't he just say so? I'd rather have a broken heart then go on in this agonizing confusion. Wait, what am I saying?), when he suddenly grabbed my hand tightly. Lilly wasn't around or anything, but Michael hasn't even been acknowledging my existence lately, let alone the fact that we're 'seeing how things go.'

I hate that term. What does it mean anyway? Things 'went' a little already. Wasn't that a long enough observation period for him? (Though I could take a little more making-out. But obviously, that's not what Michael means by 'seeing how things go'. He means not seeing me at all.)

But Michael gave no explanation to his sudden outburst of kindness/pity/affection or whatever the hell it was. He didn't even look at me. Though there were plenty of people looking at us, including Felix, who looked a bit confused. I know how you feel, buddy.

He walked with me all the way to my locker (Michael, not Felix), where I could finally speak to him. But how uncool would it be for me to freak out on him for holding my hand? That's what I want, isn't it?

"Sorry about that," Michael muttered, before starting to walk off. But he was not getting off that easy. As if independent from my body (and mind), my hand shot out and latched onto his shoulder.

"Not so fast," I said, feeling like John Wayne or one of those old tough Western guys.

"Um, yeah?"

"We need to talk, Michael," I said, fighting extremely hard to keep my voice from trembling, because even though I was a little pissed with him, that doesn't change the fact that Michael is rather 'hott' (yes, with two T's). And he was just looking at me with those big peat-bog eyes (which have been so heartbreakingly sad lately that I don't really have the heart to yell at him for ignoring me. But it's okay, I was already well aware of the fact that I'm a total wimp).

"About what?" he asked, looking even more nervous than ever. I guess my tough-guy image was actually working. I guess unleashing bottled-up anger is like a testosterone injection for me.

"About…well, you know."

"No, I don't know," said Michael, lowering his voice to a whisper.

I sighed heavily. "About us 'seeing where things go'?" I want to mutilate that phrase.

To my surprise, he looked extremely relieved. "Oh, that. Can it wait until after school? I'll just come by the loft after your princess lessons."

"Oh…well, okay. I guess." You stupid, stupid weakling. (Me, not Michael.)

"See you in G&T!" he said, throwing his bag over his shoulder and walking off as the bell rang. What happened to holding hands?

Later

Michael came by right as I was launching into my cleaning spree, surprising me as I Windexed the kitchen furiously. But he just laughed, grabbed a washcloth, and helped me wipe down the counters. I was cleaning for him; he's not supposed to help!

But he's just too adorable. WHY DOESN'T HE LOVE ME?

He pulled out a chair for me and then sat down in the one across from me. "So, what do you want to talk about?"

Didn't I already tell him? "Remember how the other night, I k-kissed you and…"

"Right, that. Sorry, I've just had a lot on my mind."

"So you forgot about it?" I said, half-hopefully and half-pissed.

He rested his chin in his hands. "No…it's not that. I was just kind of confused by the whole thing…I still am. You like me?"

I nodded slowly, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. He was going to break my heart. He was breaking my heart and he didn't even know it.

But instead he put a hand on mine. "I like you too, Thermopolis. A lot. But the thing is…"

HE LIKES ME! But there's a thing? What thing?!

"It wouldn't be fair of me to date you…because…" He took a deep breath, his cheeks reddening. "I don't know if having a girlfriend is the thing for me right now."

What is with Michael and THINGS? I hate Michael's things! (But I'm sure I wouldn't hate Michael's Thing…ha ha ha.)

I am not going to cry. I am not going to cry. Boys are stupid. And if Michael doesn't think it's the right time for him to have a girlfriend…then so be it. I shouldn't be wasting my time with him anyway.

Dammit. This isn't helping at all. Especially with Michael sitting there watching me as my face gets all red and splotchy. "I'm really sorry, Mia," he said softly, squeezing my hand. But I pulled out of his grasp, swallowing over and over again. "I don't want to hurt you…"

But I wasn't going to listen to him any more. What an asshole. A gorgeous asshole. But still…an asshole.

So I barricaded myself in my room and Michael followed me, knocking on the door a few times and trying to apologize. But after that I put on my Enrique Iglesias CD to drown him out and I guess he gave up and left.

For future reference: Enrique and all other popstars are guaranteed Michael-repellents. I've just never wanted to drive him off before.

What's wrong with me? I mean, seriously.