AN; Okay so I can totally see this going to crap and not working, but I want to try and right a fanfic for PD, so here we go (:

MEG CABOT OWNS AALLL

Tuesday, 3rd July, 2p.m, Michael's – I mean our – apartment

I don't think I'm ever going to get used to saying that – our apartment. OURS. No one else; just me and Michael.

No intruding parents bringing high school teachers back to stay the night; no annoying Grandparents who can't seem to manage to let go of a letter on the keyboard when finished typing it; no DRUMS! God, why didn't we do this earlier?

Oh right, the whole Japan-robotic-surgical-arm-break-up-JP-only-eighteen-years-old issue. Whatever.

Okay, and I guess I shouldn't really be writing this and you're probably wondering if I got mixed up with books or something, being that I was supposed to have been finished with journals forever after I graduated high school, and would instead go to college and become a successful author well-known to all the world.

Yeah, not so much.

I mean, don't get me wrong, Ransom My Heart, totally sold well; even Grandmere admitted that it was great publicity wise for Genovia, (Come to Genovia, our princess writes romantic historical sex scenes!) but it took me two whole years of hard work to write one historical romance novel – do they really expect me to write a sequel, or a whole new book, so soon?

Plus, it's not like I haven't been busy or anything; I only graduated from Sarah Lawrence a week ago, (Grandmere never quite got over the fact that I chose to go there… even when the painting of the 'buttercup yellow' walls didn't exactly go to plan. Let's just say, we haven't let Rocky near paint since) and have officially moved in to Michael's apartment.

Bringing me back to my original excitement. Me and Michael, living together! Thankfully, Boris had headed off earlier to some, uh, violin conference or something, and thanks to Michael's housekeeper's (I know, housekeeper. But hey, I'm not complaining - I'll never have to clean up Fat Louie's litterbox again!) over-the-top cleaning regime, there is no trace of any bad sweater and trouser ensembles to be seen anywhere!

And... THE WHOLE PLACE SMELLS JUST LIKE MICHAEL'S NECK!

I'm serious. No matter what room I go into, I'm immediately hit with the perfect fragrance that is Michael Moscovitz's neck. It's strongest in his bedroom… Oh God, I have a really bad feeling that Lars finally got sick of me, devised a way to kill me, and I am now dead and in my own personal heaven.

Or maybe I've just been inhaling so much that it's making me woozy, and I'm writing complete rubbish.

Either way, I should really go now, seeing as I had to steal this from a box labelled 'FRAGILE' (What? Journals are easily damaged. And stolen. And read. And I would just about die if that happened) and take refuge in Michael's toilet, and I don't want him to get the wrong ideas about my, ahem, lavatory needs after only an hour or so of living with him.

Plus, this toilet seat is really not that comfortable, and there is no way I am sitting in the bath... the sink shall be evaluated later.

Guess I'd better go back out and stand in the doorway, pretending like I'm moving boxes when all I'm actually doing is trying not to drool over the way Michael's muscles look under his shirt when they contract to lift the particularly heavy boxes.

Heaven.

Still Tuesday, later

Okay so maybe I hadn't done a very good job at hiding the fact that I wasn't really helping that much, if how Michael went, "Look, I know you're a princess and all but could you at least give me a little hand here? I never knew you owned so much stuff, at this rate it'll take me till midnight to get it all in here," as soon as I stepped out from the bathroom was anything to go by.

"I'm helping!" I protested feebly, knowing I was fighting a losing battle.

Michael just looked at me extremely sarcastically and said, "Which ones did you carry?"

I looked around quickly, but, finding nothing, said, "Oops, I think I left something in the bathroom. Be right back!" and ran into said bathroom.

Quite the master plan I think.

But you know, I did actually have to emerge from the bathroom at some point, and when I did, Michael made sure I was helping instead of just standing there. And by made sure, I mean he threatened to read all my journals. All of them. That sure got my feet moving.

Turns out though, moving boxes for an hour straight (with absolutely no stopping to make out with Michael. Ahem)? Pretty hard work. I think I lost feeling in my arms somewhere around the fiftieth.

Even I didn't know I had so much stuff.

Although, having said that, it was nothing compared to how much stuff Michael has. Seriously. I don't know if all my things are going to fit.

Oh, and I certainly don't have to worry about missing Mr G's pinball machine. Or his flat screen. Or his foosball table.

Yep. Michael has all of them. In fact, I'm pretty sure there's a flat screen in every room.

I have got to remember to become a robotic surgical arm maker at some point in my life, because I'm pretty sure Michael is equalling Bill Gates for money right now.

Oh well, I guess when we get married some day, and put both our money together, we'll be absolute billionaires anyway!

…Wait. Did I just say get married?

Crap. I think I'm still woozy from before. Because I am most definitely not ready for marriage. Definitely. Nooo way.

Except you know, if I was thinking about getting married, I would totally want Michael to be my hu-

Gah! No! I'm putting this away before I write even crazier things.

Wednesday, 4th July, Michael's room, 2:00am

I'm going to have to write this really quietly so as not to wake Michael, who is fast asleep (… I think) a few inches away from me.

Damn, why does this pen have to be so loud? Seriously, all you can hear is scratch scratch scra-

Uh oh, I think he's stirring!

Ah, false alarm, he's still asleep. Or he's awake and secretly laughing at me for being such a freak that I write in my journal at 2 o'clock in the morning.

Whatever.

Anyway, so about that whole marriage thing – ha, it makes me laugh to even think about the absurdity of that! Except, you know, not really because if I laugh then the bed shakes, and Michael wakes up and sees me writing in my diary and leaves the country again to go and find Midori so that they can have little babies that wear micro-mini skirts.

I'm getting off track. As I was saying, I don't what I was thinking when I wrote that stuff about getting married. I mean, can you really imagine, me, me, getting married? In a big church? With flower girls, and page boys and a bouquet and…

And a beautiful, white wedding dress that Sebastiano had chosen just for me especially, and –

NO! Ugh, my head hurts. I'm going to bed.

Wednesday, 4th July, 10:00am, Starbucks

Well, that's just great. And this is the kind of thing I thought I'd be avoiding living with Michael. I mean, how did she even know how to get here? And at EIGHT IN THE MORNING.

Boris is a dead man. I wonder if anyone's ever been murdered by a violin before?

Oh yes, because, as you may have guessed, I was woken up by none other than TINA HAKIM BABA this morning, knocking on the door to Michael's and shouting as loud as possible, just in case I couldn't hear the frantic banging, I think (Yeah right), "MIA! MIA IT'S ME TINA! OPEN UP!"

Don't get me wrong, I missed Tina loads too, even though we met up as much as possible.

But, really, eight in the morning?

She should know me better by now.

I stumbled out of bed and to the door, but only after Michael all but pushed me out of the bed, a pillow on his head and repeatedly saying, "Make it stop, please make it stop,". Really, like he was being tortured or something. No 'Oh, don't worry your royal behind Mia, I'll just hop out of bed and get the door!'

I may have to change my mind about this husband thi-

NO!

I opened the door, trying as hard as I could to keep my eyes from slipping shut again. As I said, yesterday was a lot of hard work.

Maybe writing in my journal at two in the morning wasn't one of my best ideas either, but whatever.

Anyway, I was soon wide awake as I found Tina suddenly flinging herself at me, like she hadn't seen me in years. Which wasn't technically true, as it had only been like, four months or something.

But I hugged her back because, well, I did miss Tina.

I also missed not being the only one with a bodyguard following me around everywhere I went (Yeah, not the best way to introduce yourself, 'Hey I'm Mia. Oh, and this is my bodyguard Lars who my Dad the Prince of Genovia pays to follow me around in case anyone decides to try and kidnap me, or something. So what's your name?').

"MIA!" Tina yelled again, right in my ear.

"Unghf," Was all I managed in reply.

EIGHT IN THE MORNING.

"I missed you so much! How was Sarah Lawrence? Did you meet any nice people? How's Michael? What's it like living together? NYU is awesome! I met this girl called Jess and she-" Tina babbled on, but I'd already shut off. I love her, I really do, but she's just not too good in large doses during the early hours of the morning.

Kind of like sugar. Sweet, but not too great in large amounts.

At least not when you have a killer headache, much like the one that seems to have presented itself this morning.

Must be the early start. And late night.

I walked into the kitchen with Tina on my tail, and quickly started searching through the cabinets for something to eat, thinking food would help.

Tina chose the moment that I'd sat down, a bowl of cereal in front of me, to finally shut up for more than three seconds.

"So Mia, what's been happening with you?" she asked, sitting down beside me.

"Uh, not much. I moved in here-" I said, but was interrupted again.

"Oh god, yeah! What's it like? Living with a boy, I mean," she said, as I spooned some cereal quickly into my mouth. "Me and Boris were thinking about it, and I jus-"

I nearly choked on my fruit loops. Tina had to pat me on the back and everything.

But seriously, is she mad?!

Boris Pelkowski? Really?

Okay, so I know he's sort of hot now. At least, as hot as someone who tucks their sweater into their pants can be. But I really don't see how she can be that attracted to him.

A mouth-breathing-violin-playing-guy like Boris? Surely she could find someone better than that to move in with.

Tina of course totally didn't get why I was choking – thank god, because I would never say any of that stuff out loud. Her and Boris are cute together, and I wouldn't want them to break up. Much – and simply continued, seemingly wanting to get out all the speaking we'd missed in the last, uh, however long we'd been separated for, in the next ten minutes.

"I mean, aren't guys like really messy and stuff? At least, that's what I've heard. And you'll have to do gross stuff, like pick their hair out the drain and-" Tina said, until I put my hand up to stop her.

"Uh, Tina, could we maybe talk about something else? I'm eating here," I said.

"Oh, sorry." She replied, then added, looking a little embarrassed, "I didn't wake you up did I?"

Uh, YES.

"No, don't worry," I said, not wanting to upset her.

But really, next time I'm just going to pretend I'm out or something.

"Good," she said happily, "So, do you think I should do it? Move in with Boris?"

Hmm. What would be the correct advice to his?

Um, eww.

You're seriously volunteering yourself to listen to Bartok all day? With nowhere to hide?

Sure! Go for it!

I opted for the third, thinking supportive was the best way to go.

"Sure, if you want to," I said, in between mouthfuls of cereal.

"Okay. So what's it like?" Tina asked, getting impatient as I tried to chomp through my cereal fast enough, but without choking this time.

"Uh, Tina, I've lived here for like barely a day," I pointed out, wanting nothing more than to run away back to bed.

Apparently, Michael was thinking the complete opposite, or maybe you could even hear Tina's happy chirping from the bedroom, as he walked in a few seconds later, looking bleary-eyed.

"Tina," he said, heading straight for the kettle. I'm thinking my second guess was more accurate, as he seems even less able to keep his eyes open than I was.

"Hey Michael," Tina replied, smiling, "How are you?"

"Tired."

Definitely the second.

After gulping down some coffee for myself, in hope that the caffeine would wake me up a little, I was pushed into the bedroom to get ready, then dragged out again an hour or so later, Tina saying something about 'catching up'.

So, here we sit, still 'catching up'.

I've just downed my third cappuccino. I think I've become a little caffeine addicted.

Wait a second, is that-?

It is!

And she's heading straight for us!

Wednesday, Still at Starbucks, 12:00am

I think Starbucks will have to thank me for about half it's weekly income.

I've been sitting in the same seat for two and half hours now. TWO AND A HALF HOURS.

Because, who would it turn out that Tina had decided to invite, but Lana Weinberger herself.

"GEEK!" Lana had yelled the moment she'd spotted me, causing just about everyone in the café turn and stare. Great, she's only been back in my life, for, what? Thirty seconds? And she's already embarrassing me.

Thanks Lana.

"Hey, Lana!" I shouted back, not wanting to seem rude.

She quickly came and hugged me, pressing her fake fingernails deep into my back in the process. Yeah, thanks, again, Lana.

Anyway, she and Tina together are like some kind of unstoppable force. I couldn't get a word in edgeways. They just don't shut up.

I think the words 'Oh my GOD' have been uttered more times in this two hour conversation than I've ever heard them said in my life.

Still, it was nice to see them. Just like old times.

Which is funny, because I distinctly remember high school as pretty much the worst years of my life.

I mean, sure, there were good times, too, like me meeting Michael, going out with Michael, making friends with Tina, stuff like that.

But I think the bad things outweigh the good things by A LOT.

Mia Thermopolis' Good Times During High School

1) Going out with Michael. And him tutoring me in algebra. And singing me a song for my birthday. And the Winter Formal. And my snowflake necklace. And most other Michael-related memories.

2) Meeting Tina Hakim Baba.

3) Mom having Rocky. Whom I do love, but really wish hadn't gotten to the age in which all he enjoyed doing was pulling his pants down for anyone to see.

Mia Thermopolis' Bad Times During High School

Being told I was a princess.

Princess lessons. With Grandmere.

My Mom dating my Algebra teacher.

Being humiliated by Lana Weinberger.

Going out with Kenny Showalter.

Algebra.

Fighting with Lilly.

Michael leaving.

10) J.P using me.

11) My Dad dating my English teacher.

Yeah. Eleven to three. I think it's pretty clear which wins.

Damn, Lana just read over my shoulder and saw number four on the second list and is now mad at me for making her out to be the bad person in this, and argued that Lilly had done way worse stuff than she'd ever done.

Which you know, is very true.

But, Lilly did have quite good reason.

Lana, on the other hand? Not so much.

Crap, she read that too.

I really should stick to writing in toilets.

To stop this from getting out of hand, I quickly said, "But that's totally different now! I mean, all that stuff is in the past, I've basically forgotten everything you did to me,"

Lana just rolled her eyes, said, "Whatever geek," and turned back around to continue her debate with Tina over god knows what.

Phewph.

I wonder what Michael's doing right now.

We barely spoke to each other today, what with Tina practically pulling me by my hair out of the house. Well okay, it was my arm, but whatever.

And all he did was laugh and tell me to have a good time.

Nice to see he was bothered that I could potentially be out the house for the whole day, and possibly some of the night, too.

Then again, he may not know what Tina is capable of.

And with Lana here too, I likely won't be back until at least after midnight. I'll be lucky if we stop shopping by ten.

Thank god they haven't thought of that yet. But I'm pretty sure it will come soon enough. It is Lana after all; I think she's well on her way to buying just about the whole of the USA.

Man, she just read over my shoulder again! And now I'm being pulled up and dragged to the mall.

Except this time, the 'dragger' is armed with a French manicure like a dagger, so I may struggle a little less. I do not want one of those stuck in my arm.

Wednesday, 9pm, Mall Restroom

Whoa, I was right!

We aren't even done yet. Lana said she has at least twenty more shops she wants to go to before we leave, and the only reason I'm able to write this is because I complained that if I wasn't allowed a bathroom break I'd pee my pants in the middle of the store.

Don't any of these stores ever close?

Still Wednesday, Still The Mall, 9:30pm

Ha, Lana's finding it very hard to find any more shops that are still open.

Have my prayers finally been answered?

Still Wednesday, Leaving The Mall, 10:00pm

YES! Every single store that Lana wanted to go in had closed, and I am finally FREE!

And hey, whaddya know, I was pretty accurate with my prediction.

She claims that we're now all off to this party that someone she knows is hosting, but I stealthily snook towards the limo…

At least it would have been stealthy if Lars would quit bumping into me. I say ouch, as loud as I dare each time, but there's no response.

I'm not surprised. I think we lost him about seven-ish.

Lana asked me where the heck I thought I was going, as she wanted us to go in her car.

I quickly mumbled something about wanting to go in the limo and meeting her there, and I think she replied with something about me not knowing how to get there.

But I wouldn't know, as I'd already got into the limo, followed by Lars, still in his stupor, and told the driver to step on it.

I am practically suffocating for all the shopping bags squished in beside me, and the space in the limo is usually huge. This is actually quite scary, that I have bought – or should I say, Lana has made me buy – enough to fill the limo.

Remind me never to go shopping with her again.

At least not with a set time and spending limit.

And I thought Michael's was cramped before; wait till he sees all this.

Wednesday, HOME!, 10:15pm

I headed straight to bed as soon as I got in, and Michael followed me.

It seems he never quite got over his drowsiness either, and that was without being forced to march around the whole mall at least thirty times by Lana.

I couldn't even be bothered getting changed, and simply took off my shoes, jacket and threw the bags somewhere in the room (Lars had to help me carry them all in) before jumping on to the bed.

And now, I'm going to sleep, because last night really taught me a lesson.

I am never writing in my journal so late again – not when there's a possibility of Tina Hakim Baba waking me up at eight in the morning the next day.

Thursday, 5th July, 3:00am

Okay, so I know this is totally going against what I wrote a few hours ago, but I can't sleep.

I can't sleep because MICHAEL IS SNORING.

Yes, snoring.

I guess even the most perfect people have their flaws.

Also, he's totally hogging the blanket. I am freezing my butt off over here while he's all snuggled up on the other side of the bed, snoring away.

I may be forced to hit him with a pillow.

But I suppose that's a touch harsh.

And he does look so cute asleep.

Thursday, 3:10am

I hit him.

And he didn't even flinch. His snores didn't even stop for one second!

This is not good.

Okay, so there it is; my first chapter. Please tell me what you think, and if you think I should continue!

I have no clue if I'm any good at writing like Mia , although I do adore her , so please let me know!

If I think I am wanted, I will continue, but you have to tell me!

Love Ellenn

X x x x