Party Princess Read online

  But the Drama Club is hopping mad that someone is putting on a musical to rival theirs. They are claiming they are going to contact the writers of Hair and tell them what Grandmère is doing—you know, because her musical’s name is so close to theirs.

  I hope they do.

  Although, if Grandmère gets sued and stops the show, I am back to selling candles again to raise the five grand I need.

  On the other hand, there is no guarantee a musical version of the story of my ancestress Rosagunde could even raise five thousand dollars in ticket sales in the first place. I mean, who would pay money to go to a show written by my grandma? She once gave a speech at a benefit to raise money for the Genovian version of the ASPCA about how the kindest thing you can do for an animal is immortalize it forever by skinning it and using its pelt as a lovely shrug or throw for a divan.

  So you see where I am coming from about this.

  Friday, March 5, PE

  Lana just asked me if I had her invitations yet. She asked me this as I was stepping into my underwear after my post-volleyball shower, which is about as vulnerable a position a person can be in.

  I said I hadn’t had a chance to get them yet, but that I would.

  Lana then looked down at my Jimmy Neutron underwear and went, “Whatever, freak,” and walked away before I got a chance to explain to her that I wear Jimmy Neutron underwear because Jimmy reminds me a bit of my boyfriend.

  The genius part. Not the hair.

  But I guess maybe it’s just as well. I highly doubt Lana would understand—even if she DID used to wear her boyfriend’s soccer shorts under her school skirt.

  Friday, March 5, U.S. Economics

  Demand = How much (quantity) of a product or service is desired by buyers.

  Supply = How much the market can offer.

  Equilibrium = When supply and demand are equal, the economy is said to be in equilibrium. The amount of goods being supplied is exactly the same as the amount of goods being demanded.

  Disequilibrium = This occurs whenever the price or quantity is not equal to demand/supply.

  (So, basically, the student government of AEHS is currently in disequilibrium due to our funds (zero) not being equal to the demand for one night’s rental of Alice Tully Hall ($5,728.00).)

  Alfred Marshall, author of The Principles of Economics (circa 1890): “Economics is on one side the study of wealth; and on the other, and more important side, a part of the study of man.”

  Huh. So that sort of makes economics a SOCIAL science. Like psychology. Because it isn’t really about numbers. It’s about PEOPLE, and what they are willing to spend—or do—to get what they want.

  Like Lana, for instance. You know, how she was going to rat me out to Amber if I didn’t get her those invitations to Grandmère’s party?

  That was a classic example of supply (I had the supply) versus demand (her demand that I give her what she wanted).

  All of which leads me to believe that it’s entirely possible Lana Weinberger isn’t self-actualized at all:

  She’s simply really good at economics!

  Friday, March 5, English

  One more period until the cast list goes up! Oh, I hope Boris gets the part of Gustav! He wants it so badly!

  I hope he gets it, too, Tina! I hope everyone gets the parts they want.

  What part do YOU want, Mia?

  Me???? Nothing!!! I didn’t even submit a photo or a form, remember? I stink at that kind of thing. Acting and stuff, I mean.

  Don’t put yourself down like that! Your Ciara imitation has gotten really EXCELLENT. And I thought you were really good as Rosagunde! Don’t you want the part just a little bit?

  No, really. I’m a writer, not an actress. Remember??? I want to WRITE the things the people onstage say. Well, not really, because there’s no actual money in playwrighting. But you get what I mean.

  Oh. Right. That makes sense.

  Well, all I can say is, if I don’t get the part of Rosagunde, we’ll all know it’s because of the N word.

  Nude scene???? When did you do a nude scene????

  No, you idiot. NEPOTISM. Favoritism shown to a family member.

  But that won’t happen because Mia didn’t really audition and doesn’t even WANT a part. So you should be fine, Lilly! Gosh, I hope we all get the parts we want—even if that means NO part!

  I’ll second that!

  Friday, March 5, Lunch

  * * *

  CAST LIST FOR:

  Albert Einstein High School’s

  Alternative Spring Musical

  Braid!

  Chorus….….…….

  Amber Cheeseman, Julio Juarez, Margaret Lee, Eric Patel, Lauren Pembroke, Robert Sherman, Ling Su Wong

  Rosagunde’s father…..

  Kenneth Showalter

  Rosagunde’s maid…..

  Tina Hakim Baba

  King of Italy….…….

  Perin Thomas

  Alboin….….….….

  Boris Pelkowski

  Alboin’s mistress….

  Lilly Moscovitz

  Gustav….….….….

  John Paul Reynolds-Abernathy IV

  Rosagunde….…….

  Amelia Thermopolis Renaldo

  FIRST REHEARSAL TODAY, 3:30 P.M.

  The Plaza Hotel, Grand Ballroom

  * * *

  I know I’m only supposed to use my cell phone for emergencies. But the minute I saw that cast list, I could tell this was an emergency. A MAJOR one. Because Grandmère has no idea of the MAGNITUDE of what she’s done.

  I called her from the jet line.

  “Hello, you’ve reached Clarisse, Dowager Princess of Genovia. I’m either shopping or receiving a beauty treatment at the moment, and cannot come to the phone. At the tone, please leave your name and number, and I’ll ring you back shortly.”

  Boy, did I let her have it. Or her voice mail, anyway:

  “Grandmère! What do you think you’re doing, casting me in your musical? You know I didn’t even want to audition for it, and that I don’t have any acting talent whatsoever!”

  Tina, in line beside me, kept nudging me, going, “But your version of ‘Barbie Girl’ was so good!”

  “Well, okay, maybe I can sing,” I shouted into the phone, “but Lilly is much better! You better call me back right away so we can get this mess straightened out, because you’re making a HUGE mistake.” I added this last part for Lilly’s sake, who, even though she’s taken the whole thing really well, still looked a little red around the eyes when she joined us in the jet line, after having disappeared into the ladies’ room for a long time once she’d seen the cast list.

  “Don’t worry,” I said to Lilly after I hung up. “You’re destined for the part of Rosagunde. Really.”

  But Lilly pretended not to care. “Whatever. It’s not like I don’t have enough to do. I don’t know if I’d have had time to memorize all those lines, anyway.”

  Which is ridiculous, since Lilly practically has a photographic memory, and almost a hundred percent aural recall (which makes fighting with her super hard because sometimes she drags out stuff you said, like, five years before and have no memory of ever saying. But SHE remembers it. Perfectly).

  It’s just so wrong! If anyone deserves the lead in Braid!, it’s her!

  “At least by playing Alboin’s mistress,” Lilly said, all bravely, “I only have a few lines—‘Why would you marry her, who doesn’t even want you, when you could have me, who adores you?’, or whatever. So I’ll have plenty of time to work on things that REALLY matter. Like Fat Louie’s Pink Butthole.”

  And okay, I feel really bad for Lilly, because she totally deserves the part of Rosagunde, and all.

  BUT I STILL HATE THAT NAME!!!

  Friday, March 5, later during Lunch

  So everyone is freaked out because on the way back to our table from the jet line I stopped by where J.P. was sitting by himself and asked him if he wanted to join us.

  I don’t know w
hat the big deal is. I mean, it’s not like I suddenly whipped off my clothes and started doing the hula in front of everyone. I just told a guy we know, who some of us may be spending a lot of time with in the near future, that he can come sit with us, if he wants to.

  And he said thanks.

  And next thing I knew, John Paul Reynolds-Abernathy the Fourth was sliding his tray down next to mine.

  “Oh, hi, J.P.,” Tina said. She shot a warning look at Boris, since he was the one who’d objected so strongly when I’d suggested inviting J.P. to join us, back when we’d only known him as the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili.

  But Boris wisely refrained from saying anything about not wanting to eat with a corn hater.

  “Thanks,” J.P. said, squeezing into the spot we made for him at our table. Not that he’s fat. He’s just… big. You know, really tall, and everything.

  “So what do you think of the falafel?” J.P. asked Lilly, who looked startled at being spoken to by a guy who for, the past two years, we’ve sort of mocked.

  She looked even more startled when she realized they both had the exact same things on their trays: falafel, salad, and Yoo-hoo chocolate drink.

  “It’s good,” she said, staring at him with kind of a funny look on her face. “If you put enough tahini on it.”

  “Anything’s good,” J.P. said, “if you put enough tahini on it.”

  THIS IS SO TRUE!!!!!

  Trust Boris to go, “Even corn?” all mock-innocently.

  Tina shot him another warning look…

  …but it was too late. The damage was done. Boris was clearly unable to restrain himself. He started smirking into a napkin, while pretending to be blowing his nose.

  “Well,” J.P. said, cheerfully falling for the bait. “I don’t know about that. But maybe, like, erasers.”

  Perin brightened at this statement.

  “I’ve always thought erasers would taste good fried,” she said. “I mean, sometimes, when I have calamari, that’s what it reminds me of. Fried erasers. So I bet they’d taste good with tahini on them, too.”

  “Oh, sure,” J.P. said. “Fry anything, it’d taste good. I’d eat one of these napkins, if it was fried.”

  Tina, Lilly, and I exchanged surprised looks. J.P., it turns out, is kind of… funny.

  Like, in a humorous, not strange, way.

  “My grandmother makes fried grasshoppers sometimes,” Ling Su volunteered. “They’re pretty good.”

  “See,” J.P. said. “Told you.” Then, looking at me, he went, “What’re you working on so diligently over there, Mia? Something due next period?”

  “Don’t mind her,” Lilly said with a snort. “She’s just writing in her journal. As usual.”

  “Is that what that is?” J.P. said. “I always kinda wondered.” Then, when I threw him a questioning look, he went, “Well, every time I see you, you’ve got your nose buried in that notebook.”

  Which can mean only one thing: The whole time we’ve been watching the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili, he’s been watching us right back!

  Even freakier, he opened his backpack and pulled out a Mead wide-ruled composition notebook with a black marbled cover with KEEP OUT! PRIVATE! written all over it.

  JUST LIKE MINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  “I, too, am a fan of the Mead Composition notebook,” he explained. “Only I don’t keep a journal in mine.”

  “What’s in it, then?” Lilly, always ready to ask prying questions, inquired.

  J.P. looked slightly embarrassed.

  “Oh, I just do some creative writing from time to time. Well, I mean, I don’t know how creative it is. But, you know. Whatever. I try.”

  Lilly asked him immediately if he had anything he’d like to contribute to the first issue of Fat Louie’s Pink Butthole. He flipped through a couple of pages, and then asked, “How about this?” and read aloud:

  Silent Movie

  by

  J.P. Reynolds-Abernathy IV

  All the time we’re being seen

  By Gupta’s silent surveillance machine.

  What type of fly needs so many eyes?

  Every turn of a hallway another surprise.

  Gupta’s security is not so secure

  since we know it’s based on nothing but fear.

  If I had my way, I would not be here

  Except that my tuition’s paid to the end of the year.

  Wow. I mean… WOW. That was, like… totally good. I don’t really get it, but I think it’s about, like, the security cameras, and how Principal Gupta thinks she knows everything about us, but she doesn’t. Or something.

  Actually, I don’t know what it’s about. But it must be good, because even Lilly seemed really impressed. She tried to get J.P. to submit it to Fat Louie’s Pink Butthole. She thinks it might bring down the entire administration.

  God. It’s not often you meet a boy who can write poetry. Or can even read anything. Beyond the instructions on an Xbox, I mean.

  How weird to think that the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili is a writer like me. What if the whole time I’ve been writing short stories about J.P., he’s been writing short stories about ME? Like, what if HE’s written a story called “No More Beef!” about the time they put meat in the vegetarian lasagna and I accidentally ate some and threw that giant fit?

  God. That would kind of… suck.

  Friday, March 5, G & T

  Grandmère called back right as the bell signaling the end of lunch started ringing.

  “Amelia,” she said prissily. “You wanted me for something?”

  “Grandmère, what are you doing, casting me in your musical?” I demanded. “You know I don’t want to be in it. I didn’t fill out the audition form, remember?”

  “Is that all?” Grandmère seemed disappointed. “I thought you were only supposed to use your mobile in cases of emergency. I hardly think this constitutes an emergency, Amelia.”

  “Well, you’re wrong,” I informed her. “This IS an emergency. An emergency crisis in our relationship—yours and mine.”

  Grandmère seemed to find this statement totally hilarious.

  “Amelia,” she said. “What is the one thing you have been complaining about most since the day you discovered you were, in reality, a princess?”

  I had to think about this one.

  “Having a bodyguard follow me around?” I asked, in a whisper, so Lars wouldn’t overhear and get his feelings hurt.

  “What else?”

  “Not being able to go anywhere without the paparazzi stalking me?”

  “Think again.”

  “The fact I have to spend my summers attending meetings of Parliament instead of going to camp like my friends?”

  “Princess lessons, Amelia,” Grandmère says, into the phone. “You loathe and despise them. Well, guess what?”

  “What?”

  “Princess lessons are canceled for the duration of rehearsals for Braid! What do you think of that?”

  You could almost hear the smug satisfaction in her voice. She totally thought she’d pulled one over on me.

  Little did she know that my loyalty to my friends is stronger than my hatred for princess lessons!

  “Nice try,” I informed her. “But I’d rather have to learn to say ‘Please pass the butter’ in fifty thousand languages than see Lilly not get the part she deserves.”

  “Lilly is unhappy with the part she received?” Grandmère asked.

  “Yes! She’s the best actress of all of us, she should have had the lead! But you gave her the stupid part of Alboin’s mistress, and she only has, like, two lines!”

  “There are no small parts in the theater, Amelia,” Grandmère said. “Only small actors.”

  WHAT? I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Whatever, Grandmère,” I said. “If you don’t want your show to suck, you should have cast Lilly in the lead. She—”

  “Did I mention,” Grandmère interr
upted, “how much I enjoyed meeting your friend Amber Cheeseman?”

  My blood literally ran cold, and I froze in front of the G & T room, my phone clutched to my face.

  “Wh-what?”

  “I wonder what Amber would say,” Grandmère went on, “if I happened to mention to her how you’d squandered the money for her commencement ceremony on recycling bins.”

  I was too shocked to speak. I just stood there, while Boris tried to edge past me with his violin case, going, “Um, excuse me, Mia.”

  “Grandmère,” I said, barely able to speak because my throat had gone so dry. “You wouldn’t.”

  Her reply rocked me to my very core:

  “Oh, I would.”

  GRANDMÈRE, I wanted to scream. YOU CAN’T GO AROUND THREATENING YOUR ONLY GRANDDAUGHTER!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU??????

  But of course I couldn’t. Scream that. Because I was in the middle of the Gifted and Talented room. On a cell phone.

  And even if it IS Gifted and Talented, and everyone in that class is incredibly weird anyway, you can’t go around screaming into cell phones there.

  “I thought that might change your outlook on the situation,” Grandmère purred. “I will, of course, say nothing to your little friend about the state of the class treasury. But in return, you will help solve my current real estate crisis by starring in Braid! The fact is, Amelia, as a descendant of Rosagunde, you will lend much more authenticity to the role than your friend Lilly would—besides which, you are much more attractive than Lilly, who, in certain lights, often resembles one of those dogs with the flat faces.”

  A pug! And I thought I was the only one who’d ever noticed!

  “See you at rehearsal tonight, Amelia,” Grandmère sang. “Oh, and, if you know what’s good for you, young lady, you’ll mention our little agreement to no one. NO ONE, including your father. Understand?”