Princess In Training (12 page)

Okay, I HAVE to say it. What kind of school is Michael going to, anyway?

SKINNERBX: Anyway. So are your mom and Mr. G still going away this weekend?

FTLOUIE: Yes. They’re making me stay with GRANDMÈRE.

SKINNERBX: Harsh. Your own room?

FTLOUIE: Of COURSE! Same floor, though. I hope I won’t still be able to hear her snore through the walls.

SKINNERBX: Does your dad have bodyguards posted in the actual hallway on that floor? Or are they just in neighboring rooms?

God, he asks the strangest questions sometimes. Boys are so WEIRD.

FTLOUIE: Lars and those guys stay on the floor below.

SKINNERBX: Are there security cameras?

The Moscovitz family is totally security camera paranoid these days.

FTLOUIE: No, there are no security cameras. Well, I mean, the hotel probably has them. Like in Maid in Manhattan. But not the RGG.

RGG is short for Royal Genovian Guard, which is what Lars is a member of.

FTLOUIE: What’s with all the questions, anyway? You planning on sneaking up there to steal the crown jewels? You already have a moon rock. What more do you want?
Ha ha.

SKINNERBX: Ha ha.
Yeah, no, I was just wondering. So, you’re still coming over Saturday, right?

FTLOUIE: It is the only thing I have to look forward to in my WHOLE LIFE RIGHT NOW.

SKINNERBX: I know. I miss you, too.

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwww. I mean, seriously. It may not be very feminist of me, but I love it when he says—or writes—stuff like this. Actually, writing is better because then I have actual proof, you know. That he loves me.

Then I heard a familiar sound.

FTLOUIE: Michael, I have to go. Rocky patrol.

SKINNERBX: Gotcha. Over and out.

You know, I really think Lana is wrong. Not ALL college boys expect their girlfriends to Do It. Because Michael hasn’t said a SINGLE word to me about it.

And once, after he paid for a couple of slices at Ray’s Pizza, he left his wallet on the table and I looked all through it—while he was in the men’s room—because I was curious about what boys keep in their wallets, and here is what I found:

Forty-eight dollars
MetroCard
Hayden Planetarium membership card
School ID
Driver’s license
Forbidden Planet Comic Superstore discount card
NYC Public Library card

But no condom.

Which just goes to show, my boyfriend clearly has other things on his mind than sex.

Such as the future energy crisis. And potential global disasters caused by supervolcanoes.

Which is a lot more than Lilly can say about Boris.

I mean, Tina.

Whoever.

Maybe Michael and I won’t ever even HAVE to have The Talk.

Friday, September 11, PE

I hate her so much.

Friday, September 11, Geometry

Seriously, where does she get off?

Theorem = statement that is proved by reasoning deductively from already accepted statements.

She only said it to get under my skin.

Right?

Because it can’t be true. It CAN’T be.

Can it?

Friday, September 11, English

What was THAT about?????

What? Oh, the pom-pom squeezy thing? What do I want with a stupid squeezy thing shaped like a pom-pom that says VOTE FOR LANA on it? I hate Lana. Do you have any idea what she said to me today in PE? IN FRONT OF LILLY????

What?????

She said college boys whose girlfriends won’t Do It with them dump them for girls who will.

SHE DID NOT.

Oh, yes, she did. Right there in the shower. Right in front of everyone. In front of Lilly. Who’ll tell Michael now.

She won’t! Why would she?

Because he’s her brother.

She won’t. Some things you don’t tell your brother. Believe me, Mia, I have a brother. I know.

Tina. Your brother is three years old.

Okay, but whatever. Lilly won’t tell Michael. Anyway…what did she say when she heard?

She told Lana to cram it up her gym shorts.

See??? I told you.

Still!!!! You know what ELSE she said? Lana, I mean. She said boys HAVE to Do It, because if they don’t, it all backs up in there, and they go crazy.

Wait…what backs up in where?

YOU KNOW. Think Health and Safety. Last year.

EWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!! And it doesn’t. Back up, I mean. Or Mr. Wheeton would have said so.

But it would explain why boys whose girlfriends don’t Do It have to dump them and find girls who will. Tina, what if it’s true???? What if Lana knows something we don’t know????

There’s a simple way to find out. Did you talk to Michael about it?

NOT YET!!! I TOLD YOU!!!!

Well, when you see him tomorrow, you’ll talk about it, and you’ll realize—

CAN YOU BELIEVE SHE IS STANDING OUT THERE, GIVING AWAY THESE STUPID THINGS???? She must have spent a FORTUNE on them. And look how cheap they are, you can scrape the
VOTE FOR LANA
part right off. It’s probably lead-based paint, too. I should give OSHA a call. Anyway, Mia, don’t feel inadequate. I put a call in to your grandmother, and it’s all under control. We’re going to find something for you to give away, too.

LILLY!!! I DON’T WANT TO GIVE ANYTHING AWAY!!! I DON’T EVEN WANT TO BE PRESIDENT!!!

Don’t worry, you won’t be.

YOU KEEP SAYING THAT, LILLY, AND YET EVERY TIME I TURN AROUND YOU’RE DOING SOMETHING ELSE TO HELP ME WIN, LIKE CALLING MY GRANDMOTHER AND GETTING HER TO GIVE AWAY FREE THINGS TO KIDS TO GET THEM TO VOTE FOR ME!!!!

Oooh, could you get Mia’s grandma to give away free tiaras? Because I would totally take one!

We can’t give away tiaras, Tina. It’s not in the budget. I’m
looking into tiara-shaped squeezy things like Lana has, though.

WOULD YOU PLEASE LISTEN TO ME, LILLY???? I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!!!! THE MADNESS HAS GOT TO STOP!!!!!!!!

Calm down, PIT. Everything’s going to be all right. My brother’s not going to dump you for not Doing It with him. At least, not if he wants to keep his stupid dog alive.

!

Whatever. Lana’s on crack. Don’t worry about it. You know Michael’s not like that.

But he’s in COLLEGE now, Lilly. He’s CHANGING. Every time I talk to him he’s learned some new, heinous thing. And what about…you know. THE BACKUP.

Hello. It’s the Ivy League. No one is having sex there. Believe me. Did you SEE those girls the day we went to help him move in? Um, hello, it’s called shampoo. Try some.

It’s true, Mia. You’re MUCH cuter than all those genius Ivy League girls. Remember Elle’s study group in Legally Blonde?

Can we please focus on what’s important here? Tiara-shaped squeezy things. Yay or nay?

Oh, my God. She’s handing back my paper…and it’s…

…covered in little red marks. Oh, Mia. I’m so sorry. Mia? MIA?

Friday, September 11, nurse’s office

I am lying here with a cool cloth over my forehead. Although, it is very hard to write in your journal AND keep a cool cloth on your forehead, I am finding out.

The nurse says to try to keep still and not think so much. Ha! Who does this nurse think she’s dealing with? It’s ME, Mia Thermopolis! It is impossible for me not to think so much. Thinking is all I ever do.

Fortunately, she can’t see me disobeying her orders because she went into her cubicle to fill out some forms. Hopefully, they’re forms to have me committed. I can’t debate Lana on Monday if I’m in a mental institution.

Nurse Lloyd says I’m not crazy, though. She says everybody has their breaking point, and when I walked out into the hallway after receiving another B in English, and saw my grandmother standing there in her tiara and ermine cape, handing out pens that say PROPRIÉTÉ DU PALAIS ROYAL DE GENOVIA to everyone walking by, I reached mine.

Nurse Lloyd says it’s not my fault I went mental, grabbed the box of pens out of Grandmère’s hands, and threw it at the security camera hanging outside the door to Principal Gupta’s office.

The camera’s not even broken. I mean, there are PENS all over the place.

But the camera is just fine.

I don’t know why they had to call my mom and dad.

Nurse Lloyd says I should just rest quietly until they get here. She is keeping Grandmère out at my request. Not that it’s Grandmère’s fault, really. I mean, she was just trying to help. Lilly must have called her and told her about Lana’s pom-pom-shaped squeezy things. So Grandmère felt obligated to rush over here with something she thought I could hand out.

Because who DOESN’T want a pen that says PROPRIÉTÉ DU PALAIS ROYAL DE GENOVIA on it?

Really, none of this is anyone’s fault. Except my own. I should never have handed that paper in to Ms. Martinez. What was I THINKING? How could I for ONE MINUTE have thought that she would appreciate a paper comparing Romeo and Juliet’s forbidden love with that of Britney Spears and Jason Allen Alexander? I mean, yeah, I poured my HEART and SOUL into it. I wanted the reader to feel Britney’s pain at the way she and Jason were torn apart by the media and her management and record company, so much that she had no choice but to rebound with Kevin. It’s so clear to me that these two childhood sweethearts were meant for each other….

I should have known Ms. Martinez wouldn’t share my concern for Britney. It’s quite clear she’s never REALLY listened to “Toxic.”

Oh, no.

SOMEONE’S COMING!!! MUST GET CLOTH BACK ON HEAD!!!!

Friday, September 11, nurse’s office, later

It was just my dad. I asked him how he got here so fast, and he said because he’d been on his way to the French mission to argue with them about voting Genovia out of the EU.

This just made me feel worse. Because it reminded me of how I’d let my own people down so very badly with the whole snail thing.

Dad said not to worry about it, that if anyone should be voted out of the EU it should be Monaco for letting Jacques Cousteau dump South American seaweed into the Mediterranean in the first place, and also France, for sitting on their hands about it for a decade afterward. But, as he pointed out, that’s what France is best at, after all.

I apologized to Dad for interrupting his busy day of politicking, but he just patted my hand and said everyone is entitled to a “crying jag” now and then. I asked him if that was Nurse Lloyd’s clinical diagnosis of what had happened to me, and he said, “Not exactly,” but that he’s seen a lot of crying jags in his day. But never in someone who hadn’t had more Genovian prosecco than was good for her.

It’s very embarrassing to blubber like a big baby in front of the whole school, not to mention doing it later, in front of your dad. Especially when, you know, there’s no Kleenex whatsoever around because I had used it all up already. So, I had to blow my snot into my dad’s silk show-hanky. Not that he looked like he minded too much. He’ll probably just throw it away and buy a new one, like Britney Spears does with her underwear. It’s nice to be a prince. Or a pop star.

Anyway, Dad was way concerned and kept asking me what was wrong. What’s wrong, Dad? Oh, you mean other than everything?

Of course, the only thing I could TELL him about was the Ms. Martinez thing. Because I knew if I told him about how much the whole election thing was bumming me out, he wouldn’t understand, and he’d just say something all fathery like, “Oh, Mia, don’t put yourself down. You know you’ll do great.”

And God knows I couldn’t tell him about the Michael thing. I mean, I love my dad. I don’t want to cause his head to explode.

At first my dad totally didn’t believe me. You know, that I could get a B on an English paper. I had to pull out my paper and SHOW him.

And then his eyes got all squinty—but I think mostly because he’d left his reading glasses back in the limo—and he cleared his throat a bunch of times.

Then he said some stuff about how this was what he was getting for his twenty thousand dollars a year and what kind of world was it where a little girl’s dream could get shot down like so much skeet and that if this Ms. Martinez person thinks she can get away with this, she has another think coming.

So, you know. That was kind of entertaining for awhile, watching him hop around, all mad.

Finally, the nurse heard him, and she came in and shooed him out.

While Nurse Lloyd was shooing my dad out, though, my mom managed to sneak in, looking all flustered, with Rocky strapped to her. So I sat up and smelled his head for a while, because Rocky’s head smells almost as good as Michael’s neck, but in a much different way, of course.

Although, the smell of Rocky’s head cannot soothe my fractious soul the way the smell of Michael’s neck can.

While I smelled Rocky’s head, my mom said, “Mia, this is a really bad time for you to have a breakdown. Our flight to Indiana leaves in two hours.”

I assured my mom that I wasn’t having a breakdown, that it was just a crying jag. I didn’t mention what had brought it on. You know, the part about what Lana had told me about college boys. And then Ms. Martinez shooting down my dreams of being a writer. Instead, I just said maybe I still had jet lag from my summer in Genovia, and all.

“This isn’t jet lag,” my mother said, scornfully. “This has Clarisse Renaldo written all over it.”

Well, I hadn’t wanted to say so out loud. At least, not to my mom, who has enough reasons not to like Grandmère.

But it IS true that the straw that broke the camel’s back was seeing Grandmère passing out pens in the hallway.

“She means well,” I pointed out to my mom.

“Does she?” Mom looked dubious.