How much more pathetic can you get than Michael and I lying on my bed, cramming ice cream down our throats and wallowing?

Yeah, add "My Best Friend's Wedding" and three boxes of tissues and you've got a winner.

I mean, snuggling with Michael just reminds me of the way Leaves used to come over during thunderstorms and cuddle with me on the couch till it passed over.

And Michael's cologne is totally the same as Leaves'—probably because I got it for them both at the same time. I'm a frugal shopper! There's absolutely nothing wrong with that.

And "My Best Friend's Wedding" just reminds me that Michael doesn't have a British accent…so I've got no chance at true happiness in the event that Adam Brody gets married and I can't manage to break them up.

"Are we losers?" I asked Michael. With my ear against his chest, I could totally hear his heart thumping in a nice, slow pattern, practically lulling me to sleep.

"Yup," answered Michael matter-of-factly, stroking my hair. "But adorable ones."

"How come no one else seems to realize that?" It didn't even feel like I was the one who'd ended things with Leaves. I mean, it wouldn't have stopped if he hadn't been so possessive and demanding. Didn't he understand that Michael and I need one another? I just didn't have room for a boyfriend in my schedule. At least not a boyfriend that could quite possibly stomp my heart into smithereens. Yeah, those dudes aren't even on the waiting list.

"Don't sweat it, kid," he said. I kind of wished Michael would remember to shave in the midst of all his angst and woe, because his cheeks are getting annoyingly scratchy. The scruffy image is cute enough when it's not rubbing against your face. "I don't think we're meant for this world."

"High school?"

He didn't seem to hear me, though. "Let's run away," he murmured in my ear. "We'll go to Paris, and we can drink wine every night and go dancing and flounce around looking like idiots in berets. And I'd get all the guys' attention by being the lucky man grooving with the gorgeous girl and you'd captivate them by being…you."

I loved when Michael paid me these unexpected compliments. It was something I hardly ever did for him. Not because I didn't have anything nice to say, but it's kind of hard to follow up sweet things like that with "Your hair's got great shine" or "What long lashes!"

And then I never know when he's about to pay a compliment, so I can't time my compliments away from his. That's what I hate about spontaneity. Besides the misleading spelling of it.

"Could we eat croissants?" I giggled. "I could get us some black-and-white-striped shirts. It'll be great."

"Marvelous," said Michael sleepily. "But seriously, let's do that."

"Go to France?" I asked warily. The only place I've been there is my dad's summer home, but I guess we could crash there while we figured out our way to Paris. Just watch out for pigeons and peddlers and all of that. Oh, and unicycles.

"No," he said, pointing at the TV screen. "We'll make a vow…if I haven't scared off all of your boyfriends by the time you turn 28, we'll get married."

"Are you sure?" I asked, my eyes wide. I mean, it wouldn't be so bad for me to spend my life with a beeeeeyoootiful boy, but Michael also happens to be attracted to boys.

"We'll grow old together. I couldn't ask for anything better."

See? Michael always knows the right thing to say.

"Would you even be happy that way, Michael? I mean, I'm not a guy."

"Obviously," said Michael wryly. "Look, I'm…I'm tired of guys."

"Guys are stupid," I agreed.

Michael chuckled. "We are, aren't we?"

There was a lovely bit of silence in which Michael took my hand in his, running his index finger along the line of my palm. "Fortune telling?" I giggled. But he didn't answer.

"Remember," said Michael quietly. "Remember when I first came out and…and you had that little crush on me?"

How could I forget? I'd completely humiliated myself and acted like a selfish, obnoxious little brat, determined to get her own way—unconcerned with the happiness of others. I acted like Lana…or GRANDMERE!

Maybe Michael and I will go to France this summer. I'm sure Grandmere would love one of "those people" at Miragnac.

"Um, yeah?" I squeaked in reply. "Wh-what about it?"

He sat up slightly, his hand still entwined with mine. "I wasn't mean about it, was I? When I…well, rejected you."

"Oh, no!" I gasped. "No! I was the idiot. I couldn't read the signs and then once you right-out told me, I still didn't leave it alone…so, yeah."

Michael just smiled, as he tends to do at my ramblings. "What I was getting at was…uh, when you kissed me…I was nice about it?"

Is he just doing this to embarrass the hell out of me? Because it sure seems like it. "Of course!"

"So, say your friend did the same sort of thing. How would you react?"

I looked at Michael for a moment, and then understanding washed over me. "Is Kenny coming out soon?"

After Michael finished cackling maniacally, he punched me on the shoulder and grinned. "Kenny can't even wear the same socks together. Don't insult me and my peeps."

"All right, homeboy," I smiled.

Michael was back to complete solemnity again. "But back to the, uh…"

"Kissing thing?" I volunteered, regretting it almost immediately. He could have very well been talking about socks!

"Yeah," whispered Michael. "If, um, if your friend were to kiss you…what would you do?"

I tried to see the connection between the two situations. "Is my friend a girl?"

"Noooooo, he's a boy. But he's kind of blown you off before."

Christ! "Does Josh planning on kissing me again!"

Now Michael just looked downright frustrated. "I plan on kissing you!" he practically shouted, mashing his lips into mine.

Well, then. I think I get what he was talking about. And I'm so not rejecting him.

But I must say, this is a surprising development.