Princess in the Spotlight (11 page)

Ext. Thompson Street, SoHo.

BB: She’s not a jock, nor is she a cheerleader. What Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo is, ladies and gentlemen, defies the societal stereotypes that exist in today’s modern educational institutions. She’s a princess. An American princess.

Yet she faces the same problems and pressures that teenagers all over this country face every day . . . with a twist: One day, she’ll grow up to govern a nation.

And come spring, she’ll be a big sister. Yes,
TwentyFour/Seven
has discovered that Helen Thermopolis and Mia’s Algebra teacher, Frank Gianini—who are unmarried—are expecting their first child in May. When we come back, an exclusive interview with Mia’s father, the prince of Genovia . . . next on
TwentyFour/Seven
.

What it all boiled down to is that, basically, I’m moving to Genovia.

My mom, who finally came out toward the end of the tape, and Mr. G tried to convince me that it wasn’t that bad.

But it was. Oh, believe me, it was.

And I knew I was in for it the minute the phone started ringing, right after the segment aired.

“Oh God,” my mother said, suddenly remembering something. “Don’t pick it up! It’s my mother! Frank, I forgot to tell my mother about us!”

Actually, I was kind of hoping it was Grandma Thermopolis. Grandma Thermopolis was infinitely preferable, in my opinion, to who it actually turned out to be: Lilly.

And boy, was she mad.

“What do you mean, calling us a bunch of freaks?” she screamed into the phone.

I said, “Lilly, what are you talking about? I didn’t call you a freak.”

“You basically informed the entire nation that the population of Albert Einstein High School is divided into various socioeconomic cliques, and that you and your friends are too uncool to be in any of them!”

“Well,” I said. “We are.”

“Speak for yourself! And what about G and T?”

“What
about
G and T?”

“You just told the entire country that we sit in there and goof off because Mrs. Hill is always in the teachers’ lounge! What are you, stupid? You’ve probably gotten her into trouble!”

I felt something inside of me clench, as if someone was squeezing my intestines very, very tightly.

“Oh, no,” I breathed. “Do you really think so?”

Lilly just let out a frustrated scream, then snarled, “My parents say to tell your mother mazel tov.”

Then she slammed the phone down.

I felt worse than ever. Poor Mrs. Hill!

Then the phone rang again. It was Shameeka.

“Mia,” she said. “Remember how I invited you to my Halloween party this Friday?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, my dad won’t let me have it now.”

“
What?
Why?”

“Because thanks to you he is under the impression that Albert Einstein High School is filled with sex addicts and alcoholics.”

“But I didn’t say that!” Not in those exact words, anyway.

“Well, that’s what he heard. He is currently in the next room surfing the Internet for a girls’ school in New Hampshire he can send me to next semester. And he says he’s not letting me go out with a boy again until I’m thirty.”

“Oh, Shameeka,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

Shameeka didn’t say anything. In fact, she had to hang up, because she was sobbing too hard to speak.

The phone rang again. I didn’t want to answer it, but I had no choice: Mr. Gianini was holding my mom’s hair back while she threw up some more.

“Hello?”

It was Tina Hakim Baba.

“Oh, my gosh!” she shouted.

“I’m sorry, Tina,” I said, figuring I better just start apologizing to every single person who called, right off the bat.

“Sorry? What are you sorry for?” Tina was practically hyperventilating. “You said my name on TV!”

“Um . . . I know.” I had also called her a freak.

“I can’t believe it!” Tina yelled. “That was so cool!”

“You aren’t . . . you aren’t mad at me?”

“Why should I be mad at you? This is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me. I’ve never had my name said on television before!”

I was filled with love and appreciation for Tina Hakim Baba.

“Um,” I asked, carefully, “did your parents see it?”

“Yes! They’re excited, too. My mom said to tell you that the blue eyeshadow was a stroke of genius. Not too much, just enough to catch the light. She was very impressed. Also she said to tell your mother she has some excellent stretch mark cream that she got in Sweden. You know, for when she starts getting big. I’ll bring it to school tomorrow, and you can give it to your mother.”

“What about your dad?” I asked, carefully. “He’s not planning on sending you to girls’ school or anything?”

“What are you talking about? He’s delighted that you mentioned my bodyguard. Now he thinks anyone who’d had plans to kidnap me will definitely think twice. Oops, there’s another call. It’s probably my grandmother in Dubai. They have a satellite dish. I’m sure she heard you mention me! ’Bye!”

Tina hung up. Great. Even people in Dubai saw my interview. I don’t even know where Dubai is.

The phone rang again. It was Grandmère.

“Well,” she said. “That was just terrible, wasn’t it?”

I said, “Is there any way I can demand a retraction? Because I didn’t mean to say that my Gifted and Talented teacher doesn’t do anything and that my school was full of sex addicts. It’s not, you know.”

“I cannot imagine what that woman was thinking,” Grandmère said. I was pleased she was on my side for once. Then she went on, and I saw that she wasn’t talking about anything to do with me. “She failed to show a single picture of the palace! And it is at its most beautiful in the autumn. The palm trees look magnificent. This is a travesty, I tell you. A travesty. Do you realize the promotional opportunities that have been wasted here? Absolutely wasted?”

“Grandmère, you have to do something,” I wailed. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to show my face at school tomorrow.”

“Tourism has been down in Genovia,” Grandmère reminded me, “ever since we banned cruise ships from docking in the bay. But who needs day-trippers? With their sticky-film cameras and their awful Bermuda shorts. If that woman had only shown a few shots of the casinos. And the beaches! Why, we have the only naturally white sand along the Riviera. Are you aware of that, Amelia? Monaco has to import their sand.”

“Maybe I could transfer to another school. Do you think there’s a school in Manhattan that will take someone with a one point zero in Algebra?”

“Wait—” Grandmère’s voice became muffled. “Oh, no, there we are. It’s back on, and they’re showing some simply lovely shots of the palace. Oh, and there’s the beach. And the bay. Oh, and the olive groves. Lovely. Simply lovely. That woman might have a few redeeming qualities after all. I suppose I will have to allow your father to continue seeing her.”

She hung up. My own grandmother hung up on me. What kind of a reject am I, anyway?

I went into my mom’s bathroom. She was sitting on the floor, looking unhappy. Mr. Gianini was sitting on the edge of the bathtub. He looked confused.

Well, who can blame him? A couple of months ago, he was just an Algebra teacher. Now he’s the father of the future sibling of the princess of Genovia.

“I need to find another school to go to from now on,” I informed them. “Do you think you could help me out with that, Mr. G? I mean, do you have any pull with the teachers’ association, or anything?”

My mother went, “Oh, Mia. It wasn’t that bad.”

“Yes, it was,” I said. “You didn’t even see most of it. You were in here throwing up.”

“Yes,” my mother said. “But I could hear it. And what did you say that wasn’t true? People who excel at sports have traditionally been treated like gods in our society, while people whose brilliance is cerebral are routinely ignored, or worse, mocked as nerds or geeks. Frankly, I believe scientists working on cures for cancer should be paid the salaries professional athletes are receiving. Professional athletes aren’t out there saving lives, for God’s sake. They entertain. And actors. Don’t tell me acting is art. Teaching. Now there’s an art. Frank should be making what Tom Cruise does, for teaching you how to multiply fractions the way he did.”

I realized my mother was probably delusional with nausea. I said, “Well, I think I’ll just be going to bed now.”

Instead of replying, my mother leaned over the toilet and threw up some more. I could see that in spite of all my warnings about the potential lethality of shellfish for a developing fetus, she’d ordered jumbo prawns in garlic sauce from Number One Noodle Son.

I went to my room and went online. Maybe, I thought, I could transfer to the same school Shameeka’s father is shipping her off to. At least then I’d already have one friend—if Shameeka would even speak to me after what I’d done, which I doubted. No one at Albert Einstein High, with the exception of Tina Hakim Baba, who was obviously clueless, was ever going to speak to me again.

Then an instant message flashed across my computer screen. Someone wanted to talk to me.

But who? Jo-C-rox??? Was it Jo-C-rox?????

No. Even better! It was Michael. Michael, at least, still wanted to talk to me.

I have printed out our conversation and stuck it here:

C
RAC
K
ING:
Hey. Just saw you on TV. You were good.

F
T
L
OUIE:
What are you talking about? I made a complete and utter fool of myself. And what about Mrs. Hill? They’re probably going to fire her now.

C
RAC
K
ING:
Well, at least you told the truth.

F
T
L
OUIE:
But all these people are mad at me now! Lilly’s furious!

C
RAC
K
ING:
She’s just jealous because you had more people watching you in that one fifteen-minute segment than all the people who’ve ever watched all of her shows put together.

F
T
L
OUIE:
No, that’s not why. She thinks I’ve betrayed our generation, or something, by revealing that cliques exist at Albert Einstein High School.

C
RAC
K
ING:
Well, that, and the fact that you claimed you don’t belong to any of them.

F
T
L
OUIE:
Well, I don’t.

C
RAC
K
ING:
Yes, you do. Lilly likes to think you belong to the exclusive and highly selective Lilly Moscovitz clique. Only you neglected to mention this, and that has upset her.

F
T
L
OUIE:
Really? Did she say that?

C
RAC
K
ING:
She didn’t say it, but she’s my sister. I know the way she thinks.

F
T
L
OUIE:
Maybe. I don’t know, Michael.

C
RAC
K
ING:
Look, are you all right? You were a mess at school today . . . although now it’s clear why. That’s pretty cool about your mom and Mr. Gianini. You must be excited.

F
T
L
OUIE:
I guess so. I mean, it’s kind of embarrassing. But at least this time my mom’s getting married, like a normal person.

C
RAC
K
ING:
Now you won’t need my help with your Algebra homework anymore. You’ll have your own personal tutor right there at home.

I had never thought of this. How awful! I don’t want my own personal tutor. I want Michael to keep helping me during G and T! Mr. Gianini is all right, and everything, but he’s certainly not
Michael
.

I wrote really fast:

F
T
L
OUIE:
Well, I don’t know. I mean, he’s going to be awfully busy for a while, moving in, and then there’ll be the baby and everything.

C
RAC
K
ING:
God. A baby. I can’t believe it. No wonder you were wigging out so badly today.

F
T
L
OUIE:
Yeah, I really was. Wigging out, I mean.

C
RAC
K
ING:
And what about that thing this afternoon with Lana? That couldn’t have helped much. Though it was pretty funny, her thinking we were going out, huh?

Actually, I didn’t see anything particularly funny about it. But what was I supposed to say? Gee, Michael, why don’t we give it a try?

As if.

Instead I said:

F
T
L
OUIE:
Yeah, she’s such a headcase. I guess it’s never occurred to her that two people of the opposite sex can just be friends, with no romantic involvement.

Although I have to admit the way I feel about Michael—particularly when I’m over at Lilly’s and he comes out of his room with no shirt on—is quite romantic.

C
RAC
K
ING:
Yeah. Listen, what are you doing Friday night?

Was he asking me out? Was Michael Moscovitz finally asking me OUT?

No. It wasn’t possible. Not after the way I’d made a fool of myself on national television.

Just to be safe, though, I figured I’d try for a neutral reply, in case what he wanted to know was whether I could come over and walk Pavlov because the Moscovitzes were going to be out of town, or something.

F
T
L
OUIE:
I don’t know. Why?

C
RAC
K
ING:
Because it’s Halloween, you know. I thought a bunch of us could get together and go see
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
over at the Village Cinema. . . .

Okay. Not a date.

But we’d be sitting beside each other in a darkened room! That counted for something. And
Rocky Horror
is sort of scary, so if I reached over and grabbed him, it might be okay.

F
T
L
OUIE:
Sure, that sounds . . .

Then I remembered. Friday night was Halloween, all right. But it was also the night of my mom’s royal wedding! I mean, if Grandmère gets her way.