Free Forever Princess by Meg Cabot

J.P.?”
    â€œUh,” J.P. said. “Yeah…”
    â€œHow nice.” Tina tried not to look as smug as if she were about to give birth to the twentieth Duggar sibling. “Everybody? J.P. wants to ask Mia something.”
    â€œUh,” J.P. said, a light pink shade tingeing his cheeks as a hush fell over the cafeteria table and everyone looked at him expectantly. “I just wanted to ask what you were getting Principal Gupta and the rest of them as thank-you giftsfor writing your letters of recommendation?”
    Oh. Also, phew.
    â€œI’m getting them each a set of six hand-blown Genovian crystal water goblets,” I said. “With the royal Genovian crest on them.”
    â€œOh,” he said, gulping. “I think my mom’s just going to get them each a gift certificate to Barnes and Noble.”
    â€œI’m sure they’ll like that much better,” I said, feeling bad. Grandmère was always so over-the-top with her gift-giving.
    â€œWe’re giving them Swarovski crystal apples,” Ling Su and Perin said at the same time. This made them sound nerdier than they are; which they so totally aren’t. Well, anymore. They’d actually completely given up sitting with the Backpack Patrol, as J.P. refers to Kenny’s—I mean, Kenneth’s—gang, across the caf, who’d taken to traveling everywhere with their giant backpacks of books, even this late in the school year, knowing full well they’d already gotten into their colleges of choice (well, second choice). Some of them had so many books, in fact, they used wheelie suitcases to cart them around. It was like they’d never heard of using their lockers.
    Lilly, who used to sit among them—until Lilly Tells It Like It Is took off and her lunch hour became too busy for her to spend it in the caf—with her multiple piercings and often variantly colored hair, looked like an exotic flower. I think they were all pretty sorry to see her go—although I’m not sure any of them but Kenny really noticed, seeing as how their heads were all buried in their Advanced Chem books.
    â€œWell, that’s taken care of,” Lana announced, settingher tray down. “Two o’clock tomorrow, geek.”
    She was addressing me. Geek is Lana’s pet name for me. I’ve learned she means it as a term of endearment.
    â€œWhat’s at two o’clock tomorrow?” J.P. wanted to know.
    â€œNothing,” I said quickly, just as Shameeka slid her tray down, too, and said, covering for me, “Mani-pedi appointments. Who’s got the Diet Cokes? Oh, thanks, Mia.”
    â€œThis is so lame.” Trisha took one of the Diet Cokes I’d bought, too. “Did I mention how lame this is? I have to tan.”
    â€œWhat are they talking about?” J.P. asked Boris.
    â€œDon’t ask,” Boris advised him. “Just ignore them, and maybe they’ll go away.”
    And that was that. It was decided—sort of nonverbally, but more verbally after lunch was over and we were all walking to class and the guys were gone. Lana got press passes (two of them, one for a reporter, and one for a photographer) from her sister Gretchen for Michael’s donation of one of his CardioArms to Columbia.
    Apparently they all think we’re going tomorrow (to them, two press passes = permission for the five of us to enter, in Lana Fantasy Land).
    But the REAL fantasy is that they think I’m actually going to go, because no way am I setting foot anywhere near that place. I mean, nothing has changed—I still don’t want to see Michael—I still can’t see Michael…not sneaking in to see him on Lana Weinberger’s little sister’s high school newspaper’s press pass. I mean, that is insane. That’s like something out of a book—somethingthat’s just not going to happen.
    Ever.
    God, Boris is really scraping away on that thing!
    And Lilly