Princess In Love (10 page)

The administration is offering a reward for information leading to the identity of the perpetrator of this heinous crime. A reward! You know what the reward is? A free movie pass to the Sony Imax theatre. That's all I'm worth! A movie pass!

The only person who could possibly turn me in isn't even paying attention to the Assembly. I can see Justin Baxendale has got

a Gameboy out and is playing it with the sound off while Lana and her fellow cheer cronies look over his broad shoulders, probably panting so hard they are fogging up the screen.

I guess Justin hasn't put two and two together yet. You know, about seeing me in the hallway just before that fire alarm went off. With any luck, he never will.

Mr Gianini, though. That's another story. I see him over there, talking to Mrs Hill. He has obviously not told anyone that he suspects me.

Maybe he doesn't suspect me. Maybe he thinks Lilly did it and I know about it. That could be. I can tell Lilly really wishes she'd done it because she keeps on muttering under her breath about how when she finds out who did it, she's going to kill

that person, etc.

She's just jealous, of course. That's because now it seems like some kind of political statement, instead of what it actually

was: a way to prevent a political statement.

Principal Gupta is looking at us very sternly. She says that it is always natural to want to burn off a little steam right before Finals, but that she hopes we will choose positive channels for this, such as the penny drive the Community Outreach Club is holding in order to benefit the victims of Tropical Storm Fred, which flooded several suburban New Jersey neighbourhoods

last November.

Ha! As if contributing to a stupid penny drive can ever give anybody the same kind of thrill as committing a completely random act of civil disobedience.

Thursday, December 10, Gifted and Talented

Today was my lunch with Kenny at Big Wong.

I really don't have anything to say about it, except that he didn't ask me to the Non-Denominational Winter Dance. Not only that, but it appears that Kenny's passion for me has ebbed significantly since it hit its zenith on Tuesday.

I, of course, was beginning to suspect this, since he's stopped calling me after school and I haven't had one Instant Message from him since before the great Ice-skating Debacle. He says it's because he's so busy studying for Finals and all, but I suspect something else: He knows. He knows about Michael. I mean, come on. How can he not? Well, OK, maybe he doesn't know about Michael specifically, but Kenny must know generally that he is not the one who lights my fire. If I had a fire, that is.

No, Kenny is just being nice.

Which I appreciate and all, but I just wish he'd come out and say it. All this kindness, this solicitousness - it's just making me feel worse. I mean, really? How could J have ever agreed to be Kenny's girlfriend, knowing full well I liked someone else? By rights, Kenny should go to Majesty magazine and spill all. Royal Betrayal, they could call it. I totally would understand it, if he did.

But he won't. Because he's too nice. Instead, he ordered steamed vegetable dumplings for me and pork buns for him (one encouraging sign that Kenny might not love me as much as he used to insist: he's eating meat again) and talked about Bio. and what had happened at Assembly (I didn't tell him it was me who pulled the alarm and he didn't ask me, so there was no need shield my nostrils). He mentioned again how sorry he was about my tongue, and asked how I was doing in Algebra, and offered to come over and tutor me if I wanted (Kenny tested out of freshman Algebra), even though of course I live with an Algebra teacher. Still, you could tell he meant to be nice.

Which just makes me feel worse. Because of what I'm going to have to do after Finals and all.

But he didn't ask me to the dance.

I don't know if this means we aren't going, or if it means he considers the fact we are going a given.

I swear, I do not understand boys at all.

As if lunch wasn't bad enough, G & T isn't too great, either. No, Judith Gershner isn't here . . . but neither is Michael. The guy is AWOL. Nobody knows where he is. Lilly had to tell Mrs Hill, when she took attendance, that her brother was in the bathroom.

I wonder where he really is. Lilly says that since he started writing this new program that the Computer Club will be unveiling

at the Winter Carnival, she's hardly seen him.

Which is no real change since Michael hardly comes out of his room anyway, but still. You'd think he'd come home once in a while to study.

But I guess, seeing as how he already got into his first-choice college, his grades don't really matter any more.

Besides, like Lilly, Michael is a genius. What does he need to study for?

Unlike the rest of us slobs.

I wish they'd put the door back on the supply closet. It is extremely hard to concentrate with Boris scraping away on his violin in there. Lilly says this is just another tactic by the trustees to weaken our resistance so we will remain the mindless drones they are trying to make us, but I think it's On account of that time we all forgot to let him out and he was stuck in there until the night custodian heard his anguished pleas to be released.

Which is Lilly's fault, if you think about it. I mean, she s his girlfriend. She should really take better care of him.

Homework:

Algebra: practice test

English: term paper

World Civ.: practice test

G & T: none

French: l'exarnen pratique

Biology: practice test

Thursday, December 10, 9 p.m.

Grandmere is seriously out of control. Tonight she started quizzing me on the names and responsibilities of all of my dad's cabinet ministers. Not only do I have to know exactly what they do, but also their marital status and the names and ages of

their kids, if any. These are the kids I am supposedly going to have to hang out with while celebrating Christmas at the Palace.

I am figuring they will probably hate me as much, if not more, than Mr Gianini's niece and nephew hated me at Thanksgiving.

All of my holidays from now on are apparently going to be spent in the company of teens who hate me.

You know, I would just like to say that it is totally not my fault I am a princess. They have no right to hate me so much. I have done everything I could to maintain a normal life in spite of my royal status. I have totally turned down opportunities to be on the covers of Cosmo Girl, Teen People, Seventeen, YM and Girl's Life. I have refused invitations to go on TRL and introduce the number one video in the country, and when the mayor asked if I wanted to be the one to press the button that drops the ball in Times Square on New Year's Eve, I said no (aside from the fact I am going to be in Genovia for New Year's, I oppose the Mayor's mosquito-spraying campaign, as runoff from the pesticides used to kill the mosquitoes that may be carrying the West Nile virus has infected the local horseshoe crab population. A compound in the blood of horseshoe crabs, which nest all along the eastern seaboard, is used to test the purity of every drug and vaccine administered in the U.S. The crabs are routinely gathered, drained of a third of their blood, then re-released into the sea . . . a sea which is now killing them, as well as many other arthropods, such as lobsters, thanks to the amount of pesticide in it).

Anyway, I am just saying, all the kids who hate me should chill because I have never once sought the spotlight I have been thrust into. I've never even called my own press conference.

But I digress.

So Sebastiano was there, with Grandmere, drinking aperitifs and listening as I rattled off name after name (Grandmere has made flashcards out of the pictures of the cabinet ministers - kind of like those bubble gum cards you can get of the Backstreet Boys, only the cabinet ministers don't wear as much leather). I was kind of thinking maybe I was wrong about Sebastiano's commitment to fashion, and that maybe he was there to try and pick up some pointers for after he's thrust me into the path of

an oncoming limo or whatever.

But when Grandmere paused to take a phone call from her old friend General Pinochet, Sebastiano started asking me all these questions about clothes, in particular what clothes my friends and I like to wear. What were my feelings, he wanted to know, on velvet stretch trousers? Spandex tube-tops? Sequins?

I told him all of that sounded, you know, OK for Halloween or Jersey City, but that generally in my day-today life I prefer cotton. He looked saddened by this, so I told him that I really felt orange was going to be the next pink and that perked him right up, and he wrote a bunch of stuff down in this notebook he carries around. Kind of like I do, now that I think about it.

When Grandmere got off the phone, I informed her -quite diplomatically, I might add - that, considering how much progress we'd made in the past two months, I felt more than prepared for my impending introduction to the people of Genovia, and that

I did not feel it would be necessary to have lessons next week as I have SIX finals to prepare for.

But Grandmere got totally huffy about it! She was all, 'Where did you get the idea that your academic education is more important than your royal training? Your father, I suppose. With him, it's always education, education, education. He doesn't realize that education is nowhere near as important as deportment.'

'Grandmere,' I said. 'I need an education if I'm going to run Genovia properly.' Especially if I'm going to convert the palace into a giant animal shelter - something I'm not going to be able to do until Grandmere is dead, so I see no point in mentioning it to her now ... or ever, for that matter.

Grandmere said some swear words in French, which wasn't very dowager-princessy of her, if you ask me. Thankfully, right then my dad walked in, looking for his Genovian Air Force medal since he had a state dinner to go to over at the Embassy. I told him about my Finals and how I really needed time off from princess stuff to study, and he was all, 'Yes, of course.'

When Grandmere protested, he just went, 'For God's sake, if she hasn't got it by now, she never will.'

Grandmere pressed her lips together and didn't say anything more after that. Sebastiano used the opportunity to ask me about my feelings on rayon. I told him I didn't have any.

For once, I was telling the truth.

Friday, December 11 Homeroom

Here's what I have to do:

1. Stop thinking about Michael, especially when I should be studying.

2. Stop telling Grandmere anything about my personal life.

3. Start acting more:

A. Mature

B. Responsible

C. Regal

4 Stop biting my fingernails.

5 Write down everything Mom and Mr G need to know about how to take care of Fat Louie
while I'm gone.

6 CHRISTMAS/HANUKKAH PRESENTS!

7.
Stop watching Baywatch when I should be studying.

8
Stop playing Pod-Racer when I should be studying.

9.
Stop listening to music when I should be studying.

10.
Break up with Kenny.

Friday, December D, Principal Guptas Office

Well, I guess it's official now:

I, Mia Thermopolis, am a juvenile delinquent.

Seriously. That fire alarm I pulled was only the beginning, it appears.

I really don't know what's come over me lately. It's like the closer I get to actually going to Genovia and performing my first official duties as its princess, the less like a princess I act.

I wonder if I'll be expelled.

If I am, it is totally unfair. Lana started it. I was sitting there in Algebra, listening to Mr. G go on about the Cartesian plane, when suddenly Lana turns around in her seat and slaps a copy of USA Today down in front of me. There is a headline screaming:

Today's Poll Most Popular Young Royal

Fifty-seven per cent of readers say that Prince William of England is their favourite young royal, with Will's little brother Harry coming in at twenty-eight per cent. America's own royal, Princess Mia Renaldo of Genovia, comes in third, with thirteen per cent of the votes, and Prince Andrew and Sarah Ferguson's daughters, Beatrice and Eugenie, round out the votes with one per cent each.

The reasons given for Princess Mia's lack of popularity? 'Not out-going' is the most common answer. Ironically, Princess Mia

is perceived as being as shy as Princess Diana — the mother of William and Harry — when she first stepped into the harsh glare of the media spotlight.

Princess Mia, who only recently learned she was heir to the throne of Genovia, a small principality located just off the Cote d'Azur, is expected to make her first official trip to that country in her capacity as its future ruler next week. A representative

for the princess describes her as looking forward to her visit with 'eager anticipation'. The princess will continue her education

in America and reside in Genovia only during the summer months. I read the stupid article and then passed the paper back to Lana.

'So?' I whispered to her.

'So,' Lana whispered. 'I wonder how popular you'd be — especially with the people of Genovia — if they found out their future ruler goes around pulling fire alarms when there isn't any fire.'

She was only guessing, of course. She couldn't have seen me. Unless ...

Unless Justin Baxendale did figure it out - you know, seeing me in the hallway like that just before the alarm went off - and mentioned it to Lana . . .

No. Not possible. I am so far out of the sphere of Justin Baxendale's consciousness as to be non-existent to him. Lana, like

Mr. G, obviously just thinks it's a little coincidental that on that fateful Wednesday the fire alarm went off about two minutes

after I'd disappeared from class with the pass to the bathroom.

But even so. Even though she could only have been guessing, it seemed to me like she knew and was going to make sure I never heard the end of it.

I really don't know what came over me. I don't know if it was:

A. The stress of Finals.

B. My impending trip to Genovia.

C. This thing with Kenny.

D. The fact that I'm in love with this guy who is going out with a human fruit fly.

E. The fact that my mother is going to give birth to my Algebra teacher's baby.

F. The fact that Lana has been persecuting me practically my whole life and pretty much getting away with it, or All of the above.

Whatever the reason was, I snapped. Just snapped. Suddenly, I found myself reaching for Lana's mobile, which was lying on her desktop beside her calculator.

And then the next thing I knew, I had put the tiny little pink thing on the floor and crushed it into a lot of pieces beneath the

heel of my size eight combat boot.

I guess I can't really blame Mr. G for sending me to the principal's office.

Still, you would expect a little sympathy from your own stepfather.

Uh oh. Here comes Principal Gupta.

Friday, Decemter 11, 5 p.m., the Loft

Well, that's it, then. I'm suspended.

Suspended. I can't believe it. ME! Mia Thermopolis! What is happening to me? I used to be such a good kid!

And, OK, it's just for one day, but still. It's going on my permanent record! What are the Genovian cabinet ministers going to say?

I am turning into Courtney Love.

And, yeah, it's not like I'm not going to get into college because I was suspended for one day in the first semester of my freshman year, but how totally embarrassing! Principal Gupta treated me like I was some kind of criminal or something.

And you know what they say: treat a person like a criminal and pretty soon she'll end up behaving like one. At least, I think that's what they say. The way things are going, I wouldn't be surprised if pretty soon I start wearing ripped-up fishnet stockings and dyeing my hair black. Maybe I'll even start smoking and get my ears double-pierced or something. And then they'll make

a TV movie about me and call it Royal Scandal. It will show me going up to Prince William and saying, 'Who's the most popular young royal now, huh, punk?' and then headbutting him or something.

Except I practically fainted the first time I got my ears pierced, and smoking is really bad for you, and I always thought it must hurt to headbutt someone.

I guess I don't have the makings of a juvenile delinquent after all.

My dad doesn't think so, either. He's all ready to set the royal Genovian lawyers on Principal Gupta. The only problem, of course, is that I won't tell him - or anybody else, for that matter - what Lana said to make me assault her mobile.

It's kind of hard to prove the attack was provoked if the attacker won't say what the provocation was. My dad pleaded with me for a while when he came to pick me up from school, after having received The Call from Principal Gupta. But when I wouldn't tell him what he wanted, and Lars just looked carefully blank, my dad just went, 'Fine', and his mouth got all scrunchy like it does when Grandmere has one too many Sidecars and starts calling him Papa Cueball.

But how can I tell him what Lana said? If I do that, then everyone will know I'm guilty of not just one crime, but two!

Anyway, now I'm home, watching the Lifetime channel with my mother. She hasn't been doing much painting at her studio

since she got pregnant. This is on account of her being exhausted. It's quite hard to paint lying down, she's discovered. So instead she has been doing a lot of sketching in bed - mostly line drawings of Fat Louie, who seems to enjoy having someone home all day with him. He sits for hours on her bed, watching the pigeons on the fire escape outside her window.

But since I'm home today, Mom did some drawings of me. I think she is making my mouth too big, but I'm not saying anything as Mr. Gianini and I have discovered it's better not to upset my mother in her current hormonal state. Even the slightest

criticism - like asking her why she left the phone bill in the vegetable crisper — can lead to hour-long crying jags.

While she sketched me, I watched a very excellent movie called Mother, May I Sleep with Danger? starring Tori Spelling

of Beverly Hills 90210 fame, as a girl who has an abusive boyfriend. I really don't get why any girl would stay with a guy who hits her, but my mom says it's all about self-esteem and your relationship with your father. Except that my mom
doesn't have that great a relationship with Papaw, my grandfather, and if any guy ever tried to slug her, you can bet she'd put him in the hospital, so go figure.

As my mom drew, she tried to get me to spill my guts to her — you know, about what Lana said that made me go on a mobile-stomping rampage. You could tell she was trying really hard to be all TV mom about it.

And I guess it must have worked because all of a sudden I found myself telling her all of it, every last thing: the stuff about Kenny and about my not liking to kiss him, and about him telling everybody that, and about how I plan to break up with him

as soon as Finals are over.

And along the way I mentioned Michael, and Judith Gershner, and Tina and the greeting cards, and the Winter Carnival, and Lilly and her protest and how I'm secretary of it, and just about everything else, except the part about pulling the fire alarm.

And after a while my mom stopped drawing and just looked at me.

Finally, when I was done, she said, 'You know what I think you need?'

And I said, 'What?'

And she said, 'A vacation.'

So then we had a sort of vacation, right there on her bed. I mean, she wouldn't let me go and study. Instead, she made me order a pizza and together we watched the satisfying but completely unbelievable end of Mother, May I Sleep with Danger?, which was followed, much to our joy, by the dishiest made-for-TV movie ever, Midwest Obsession, in which Courtney Thorne Smith plays the local Dairy Princess who goes around in a pink Cadillac wearing cow earrings, killing people like Tracey Gold (deep in the throes of her post Growing Pains anorexia) for messing with her boyfriend.

And the best part was, it was all based on a true story.

For a while, there on my mom's bed, it was almost like old times. You know, before my mom met Mr Gianini and I found out

I was a princess.

Except, of course, not really, because she's pregnant and I'm suspended.

But why quibble?

Friday; December 11, 8 p.m., the Loft

Oh my God, I just checked my e-mail. I am being inundated with supportive messages from my friends!

They all want to congratulate me on my decisive handling of Lana Weinberger. They sympathize with my suspension and encourage me to stay firm in my refusal to back down from my stand against the administration (what stand against the administration? All I did was destroy a mobile phone. It has nothing to do with the administration). Lilly went so far as to compare me to Mary Queen of Scots, who was imprisoned and then beheaded by Elizabeth the First.

I wonder if Lilly would still think that if she knew that the reason I smashed Lana's mobile was because she was threatening

to spill the beans about my having pulled the fire alarm that ruined Lilly's walkout.

Lilly says it's all a matter of principle - that I was banished from the school for refusing to back down from my beliefs. But actually, I was banished from school for destroying someone else's private property - and I only did it to cover up for another crime that I committed.

No one knows that but me, though. Well, me and Lana. And even she doesn't know for sure why I did it. I mean, it could

have been just one of those random acts of violence that are going around.

Everyone else, however, is seeing it as this great political act. Tomorrow, at the first meeting of the Students Against the Corporatization of Albert Einstein High School, my case is going to be held up as an example of one of the many unjust decisions of the Gupta administration.

I think tomorrow I might develop a case of weekend strep throat.

Anyway, I wrote back to everyone, telling them how much I appreciate their support but not to make a bigger deal out of this than it actually is. I mean, I'm not proud of what I did. I would much rather have NOT done it and stayed in school.

One bright note: Michael is definitely getting the cards I've been sending him. Tina walked by his locker today after PE and

saw him take the latest one out and put it in his backpack! Unfortunately, according to Tina, he did not wear an expression of dazed passion as he slipped the card into his bag, nor did he gaze at it tenderly. He did not even put it away very carefully. Tina regretted to inform me that he slipped his Imac laptop into his backpack next, undoubtedly squashing the card.

But he wouldn't, Tina hastened to assure me, have done that if he'd known it was from you, Mia! Maybe if you'd signed it...

But if I signed it, he'd know I like him! More than that, he'd know I love him, since I do believe the L word was mentioned in

at least one card. And what if he doesn't feel the same way about me? How embarrassing! Way worse than being suspended.

Oh, no! As I was writing this, I got Instant Messaged by, of all people, Michael himself! I freaked out so bad that I shrieked and scared Fat Louie, who was sleeping on my lap as I wrote. He sank all of his claws into me, and now I have little puncture marks all over my thighs.

Michael wrote:

CracKing: Hey, Thermopolis, what's this I hear about you getting suspended?

I wrote back:

FtLouie:
Just for one day.

CracKing: What'd you do?

FtLouie: crushed a cheerleader's mobile phone.

CracKing: Your parents must be so proud.

FtLouie: If so, they've done a pretty good job of disguising it so far.

CracKing: So, are you grounded?

FtLouie: Surprisingly, no. I told them the attack on the phone was provoked.

CracKing: So you'll still be going to the Carnival next week?

FtLouie: AS secretary to the Students Against the Corporatization of Albert Einstein High
.
I believe my attendance is required. Your sister is planning for us to have a booth.

CracKing: That Lilly. She's always looking out for the good of mankind.

FtLouie: That's one way of putting it.

Winter Carnival. What is up with that?

Friday, December 11, 9 p.m., the Loft

Now we know why Mr. G was'so late getting home:

He stopped along the way to buy a Christmas tree.

Not just any Christmas tree, either, but a twelve-footer that must be at least six feet wide at the base.