Michael straightened his tie and adjusted his cuffed sleeves. He picked up a couple notecards, his lips speeding over what he planned to say, the surprise he was launching to Columbia, donating a CardioArm to them. But his mind was wandering. Was it her who had come? He had seen Lana Weinberger, tossing her silky hair pompously and he had seen Tina Hakim 'Blah-Blah', with her bodyguard nearby. His eyes were deceiving. Lars, Mia's bodyguard, with whom he had often shared a secret smirk, was standing in the hallway, Glock in tow? Wouldn't that mean that Mia was here? He had these thoughts racing through his head, and he felt his heart palpitate. Twitterpated, he thought, smirking in spite of himself.
"Mr. Moscovitz?" Michael continued to flip through his notecards.
"Mr. Moscovitz…?" What? Oh, she had been calling him. Mr. Moscovitz? It didn't even sound like his Dad, who had always been Dr. Moscovitz, or, to Mia, 'Mr. Dr. Moscovitz'. Shaking himself out of his daydream, he nodded at the girl who told him it was time for the ceremony to commence, and he breathed in and out deeply twice, and stepped out of the room, onto the stage.
"Introducing-Michael Moscovitz, inventor of the CardioArm! At 21, Michael is the youngest scientist to have come up with such a…" Michael tuned out, having heard variations of the same speech, in Japanese. He tried to, as discreetly as possible, search in the audience for Mia. He sought out Lana and Tina and looked around them to see a girl sitting with a beret on her head, and a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose, whose fists seemed to be clenched up towards her sides. He felt his heart soar…
"Michael. MICHAEL. MICHAEL!" Michael turned around, wondering what his sister was up to, now. It was bad enough she had made that scene for Kenny-sorry, KENNETH-to come up on stage, now she was shouting? But suddenly the topic of his sister's irksome behavior suddenly vanished from his mind. He was looking at…was it a hallucination? Did he want to see her so badly that he was making himself believe that she was standing in front of him? But there was that distinct strawberry smell, he could still recognize it under all the Chanel (Was it Chanel? Or some other exclusive design he couldn't pronounce?) perfume she was wearing.
"Mia," he said. No one stared at him strangely. Lilly had her face scrunched up so hard, he wasn't sure whether she was holding back laughter or tears. So, it WAS Mia standing there. He hoped he wasn't staring at her with his jaw down to his collar-bone, dumbfounded. Because internally, he was. He was noting every iota of her appearance-her hair that hair grown out now, hidden by a beret, a fresh white top that hung to her hips and blue jeans that curved perfectly around her calves.
"Um. Hi." So he wasn't the only one who was completely dumbfounded. He noticed her hands trembling. He saw her fingernails, gnawed and bitten at, and relaxed a little. This was Mia. Still Mia.
Sentences! He was talking! Thank God for that. He had no idea what he was saying, hopefully, not babbling. He was barely aware of his mother who had sidled up to them.
"…Caffe Dante, one o'clock?" he heard himself saying. A date! He had asked her out! Or, Lilly had set them up, but he was grateful to her. It was an interview.
Michael. CUT IT OUT. SNAPOUT OF IT.
I'm twitterpated.