Mia's POV

What a JERK.

I mean, seriously. He always seemed so nice and adorable in interviews, but then again, he is an actor.

So maybe he is a bit of a hottie, and sure he can act the hell out of anybody out there, but that doesn't make him a good person.

All I did was offer my expertise on a role I happen to know a lot more about than he does, but nooooo! I 'm just a little speck to him. An insignificant little fan.

Grrr. It's not like I have no idea what it's like to be a celebrity. I was totally stopped on the way to Blockbuster yesterday by a girl only a couple of years my junior, who had me autograph the back of her t-shirt.

I am grounded and down-to-earth. I know how to handle my good fortune (though I hardly consider an uptight grandmother and tedious princess lessons to be a blessing). And I'm not cruel to perfectly nice, helpful people just because I CAN be.

Since I got home, I've totally trashed my Michael Wilson poster. He even looks pissyand mean in that. I used to think that was sexy, but seriously, dude, take a Midol.

Then I went online to spread the word.

FtLouie: WARNING—Michael Wilson is actually a menstruating woman.

ILuvRomance: ????

FtLouie: Ugh, Tina. I've never been more humiliated in my life. He made fun of me! In front of everyone!

ILuvRomance: Michael did? But why?

FtLouie: I guess that's how he gets off.

ILuvRomance: But he saved Jenna Davison from that fiery warehouse at the end of The Scorch!!!

FtLouie: Tina, that was a movie. He REALLY hates me.

ILuvRomance: How awful! But at least you have Kenny. He really likes you, you know.

Ah, yes, Kenny. My boyfriend of…what was it? Six painful weeks now?

Oh, God. I can't have these thoughts! First it was all the lusting after Michael (that's so over, though), and now I'm just in agony. He's totally supportive of everything I do and walks me to class and even does my homework sometimes (okay, most of the time)!

But I just can't seem to summon up any…amorous feelings towards him. Does this make me a bad person? Am I doomed to spinsterhood? I do like cats…

Alas, Grandmere would so never let me live alone with Fat Louie and his numerous descendants.

It looks like Prince Consort Kenneth Showalter will be my main squeeze for all, all time.

Seriously. Who else wants me?

Not Little Miss Wilson, that's for sure.

Michael's POV

"You imbecile!" cried Lilly, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Shut up," I mumbled, my eyes on the TV. "How was I supposed to know her daddy would get pissed? Seriously, I'm not paid to put up with this crap."

"No," said Beverly shortly, smoothing down her navy blue skirt. "But Jacques is. And Jacques pays you."

"I don't care about the money," I said. "Lilly, could you grab me a soda?"

She complied, muttering mutinously. I should probably keep up my guard.

"Look," said Beverly, folding her hands as if in prayer. "The last thing you want to do is get in a tussle with the Genovian royal family. Just watch your mouth. Treat the princess like a real person."

"That is how I treat people when they're annoying the hell out of me."

"Okay," snapped Beverly, her jaw clenched. "Then treat her like a princess."

"You mean, bow and call her 'Your Highness'?"

"Michael, stop with the smart-ass comments already. Now you're going to go hang out around the city with the princess tomorrow afternoon. The press will get a few shots and everyone's happy."

I clacked my tongue against my teeth, glaring at the floor. I had no choice, but seriously. A whole afternoon of "Omigod!" and "Like, I love your hair!"

Sooner or later, I'm going to have to invest in some earplugs.

Mia's POV

I'm so glad the word's not out at school about this movie, because I hear enough about Michael as it is.

What's the big deal anyway? Sure, he's got long, smoky eyelashes over twinkling brown eyes. And maybe, just maybe, he's got the sexiest grin in all of Hollywood.

But that's not reason enough to be fully head-over-heels for him. I mean, it's ridiculous how far gone some of these girls are!

It's nice being over Michael Moscovitz. I feel pure, refreshed, and somewhat critical of the buzzing masses.

What do they know about him anyway? I've spent hours with this guy. He's so not what he's built up to be.

Though, I must admit, he is built.

I let Kenny hold my hand on the way to Algebra and managed not to gag. Kenny's sooo much nicer than some people.

After school, however, wasn't as pleasant as my "born-again sane girl" day. My dad called with "great news!" (in his opinion).

Dad: I heard about your trouble with that Woodson kid.

Me: Wilson, Dad. I don't wanna talk about it.

Dad: But Mia I've fixed everything! He's going to make it up to you.

Me: What…?

Dad: Tomorrow afternoon, Michael Wilson is going to hang out with you. One-on-one. But if he tries anything, I'll have Lars—

Me: DAD! I don't wanna hang out with HIM!

Dad: Mia, see here. I'm not going to send you out with an older boy without Lars' supervision.

Me: No, not Lars…

Dad: It's all settled then!

Me: Dad—

Dad: Oh, dear. Your grandmother's got a bellboy pinned beneath her stiletto. I've got to run.

AGH! I'm so dead.

Except, maybe this won't be so bad. I mean, I could totally return the favor of the cold shoulder and snide comments. Who knows? Maybe I'll even wear leather.

- - -

The reviews have been lovely so far. Keep 'em up!