Saturday, May 1, 11 p.m., Rockefeller Center

I’ve been had. I can’t believe they ALL knew—well, everybody except Grandmère—and none of them said anything….

Oh, well. I guess it’s no more than I deserve, being such a party pooper, and all.

Only if I had known in advance about THIS party, I wouldn’t have pooped on it. I SWEAR! It’s like they all got together and tried to figure out what all my favorite things were, and then—

Well, okay, better start from the beginning:

Michael showed up at six on the dot for our date—even though I’d told him it wasn’t necessary to pick me up, since I am perfectly capable of meeting him somewhere, given my limo and personal bodyguard. But he’d insisted. It never occurred to me to wonder why until we stepped outside (with Lars, who kept smirking—but I just assumed that was because he’d gotten Janine-from-MTV’s phone number…. I’d caught him text messaging her the day before) and got into the limo, and Michael didn’t even tell the driver where to go.

But Hans started heading uptown, anyway, like they’d already agreed on their destination.

“Michael,” I said, starting to get suspicious. Actually, I’d already been a little suspicious something might be going on when Mom and Mr. G, right before Michael arrived, had announced they were taking Rocky to see the latest Winnie the Pooh movie over at the Loews Cineplex. I mean, the kid is barely one. And they were taking him to the movies? At night?

But I wasn’t thinking about that when the limo started heading uptown without Michael saying anything.

“Where are we going?” I asked him.

But he just grinned and took my hand.

It was when the limo hit Midtown that I started getting even more suspicious. Michael can’t afford to take me out to eat anywhere in Midtown. Anywhere I’d want to go, anyway.

And then when the limo pulled up alongside Rockefeller Center, I REALLY started freaking out. Where could we possibly be going in or around Rockefeller Center? The rink was closed on account of it being too warm now for ice-skating.

Except…

Except that as we pulled up to it, I saw that it wasn’t. Closed, I mean.

Instead, the skating rink was closed in—with a giant white tent, like the kind people rent for weddings.

Seriously. The rink at Rockefeller Center was covered in a giant white tent. People were standing all around it, taking pictures and pointing, like the tent had just magically mushroomed there overnight.

You couldn’t tell what was going on underneath the tent. But you could see there were lights on in there. I thought maybe there was a fashion show, or a special episode of The Apprentice being filmed there, or something.

Except that the limo pulled over right next to the stairs that head down to the rink. And Michael got out of the car, then held the door open for me to follow.

“Michael,” I said. “What is going on?”