The Princess Diaries Read online

  Josh didn’t laugh, though. He just went on looking at her.

  That’s when I started to get the heebie-jeebies. Josh just kept staring at Lana. I was glad he wasn’t staring at me like that; those blue eyes of his are no joke.

  I got up real fast and grabbed my tray. Tina, seeing what I was doing, did the same.

  “Well,” I said, “bye.”

  Then we booked out of there.

  On the way to drop off our trays, Tina was like, “What was that all about?” and I said I didn’t know. But I know one thing for sure:

  For once, I’m kind of glad I’m not Lana Weinberger.

  More Thursday, French

  When I went to my locker after lunch to get my books for French, Josh was there. He was sort of leaning on his closed locker door, looking around. When he saw me coming, he straightened up and went, “Hey.”

  And then he smiled. A big smile that showed all of his white teeth. His perfectly straight white teeth. I had to look away, those teeth were so perfect and so blindingly white.

  I said, “Hey,” back. I was really embarrassed and all, since I had sort of seen him fighting with Lana a few minutes before. I figured he was probably waiting for her, and that the two of them would make up and probably French kiss all over the place, so I tried to work my combination as quickly as possible and get the heck out of there so I wouldn’t have to watch.

  But Josh started talking to me. He said, “I really agree with what you said in the caf just now. You know, about respecting your body and everything. I think that’s really, you know, a cool attitude.”

  I could feel my face start to burn. It was sort of like I was on fire. I concentrated on not dropping anything as I moved books around in my locker. It’s too bad my hair is so short now. I couldn’t duck my head to hide the fact that I was blushing. “Huh,” I said, real intelligently.

  “So,” Josh said, “are you going to the dance with anyone, or not?”

  I dropped my Algebra book. It went skittering across the hall. I stooped down to pick it up.

  “Um,” I said, by way of answering his question.

  I was down on my hands and knees, picking up old worksheets that had slid out of my Algebra book, when I saw these knees covered in gray flannel bend. Then Josh’s face was right next to mine.

  “Here,” he said, and handed me my favorite pencil, the one with the feathery pom-pom on the end.

  “Thanks,” I said. Then I made the mistake of looking into his too-blue eyes.

  “No,” I said, real faintly, because that’s how his eyes made me feel: faint. “I’m not going to the dance with anyone.”

  Then the bell rang.

  Josh said, “Well, see you.” And then he left.

  I am still in shock.

  Josh Richter spoke to me. He actually spoke to me. Twice.

  For the first time in like a month, I don’t care that I’m flunking Algebra. I don’t care that my mom is dating one of my teachers. I don’t care that I’m the heir to the throne of Genovia. I don’t even care that my best friend and I aren’t speaking.

  I think Josh Richter might like me.

  HOMEWORK

  Algebra: ??? Can’t remember!!!

  English: ??? Ask Shameeka

  World Civ: ??? Ask Lilly. Forgot. Can’t ask Lilly. She’s not speaking to me.

  G & T: none

  French: ???

  Biology: ???

  God, just because a boy might like me, I completely lose my head. I disgust myself.

  Thursday Night

  Grandmère says: “Well, of course the boy likes you. What wouldn’t he like? You are turning out very well, thanks to Paolo’s handiwork and my tutelage.”

  Geez, Grandmère, thanks. Like it would be impossible for any guy to like me for me, and not because all of a sudden I’m a princess with a $200 haircut.

  I think I sort of hate her.

  I mean it. I know it’s wrong to hate people, but I really do sort of hate my grandmother. At least, I strongly dislike her. I mean, besides the fact that she’s totally vain and thinks only about herself, she’s also kind of mean to people.

  Like tonight, for instance:

  Grandmère decided that for my lesson today we would go to dinner somewhere outside of the hotel so she could teach me how to deal with the press. Only there wasn’t a whole lot of press around when we went outside, just some kid reporter from Tiger Beat, or something. I guess all the real reporters had gone home to get their dinner. (Plus it’s no fun for the press to stalk you when you’re ready for them. It’s only when you least expect them that they come around. This is how they get their kicks, at least as far as I can figure out.)

  Anyway, I was pretty happy about this, because who needs the press around, yelling questions and setting off flashbulbs in your face? Believe me, as it is, I see big purple splotches everywhere I go.

  But then as I was getting into the car Hans had brought around, Grandmère said, “Wait one moment,” and went back inside. I thought maybe she’d forgotten her tiara or something, but she came back out a minute later looking no different than before.

  But then, when we pulled up in front of the restaurant, which was the Four Seasons, there were all these reporters there! At first I thought somebody important had to be inside, like Shaquille O’Neal or Madonna, but then they all started taking pictures of me and yelling “Princess Amelia, how does it feel to grow up in a single-parent household, then find out your mom’s ex has three hundred million dollars?” and “Princess, what kind of running shoes do you wear?”

  I totally forgot my whole fear of confrontation thing. I was mad. I turned to Grandmère in the car, and I said, “How did they know we were coming here?”

  Grandmère just dug around in her purse for her cigarettes. “Now, what did I do with that lighter?” she asked.

  “You called them, didn’t you?” I was so mad, I could hardly even see straight. “You called and told them we were coming here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Grandmère said. “I had no time to call all these people.”

  “You didn’t have to. You’d just have to call one, and they’d all follow. Grandmère, why?”

  Grandmère lit her cigarette. I hate when she smokes in the car. “This is an important part of being a royal, Amelia,” she said between puffs. “You must learn to handle the press. Why are you taking on so?”

  “You’re the one who told all that stuff to Carol Fernandez.” I said it totally calm.

  “Of course I did,” Grandmère said, with a kind of So, what? shrug.

  “Grandma,” I yelled. “How could you?”

  She looked totally taken aback. She said, “Don’t call me Grandma.”

  “Seriously,” I yelled. “Dad thinks Mr. Gianini did it! He and Mom had this totally big fight about it. She said it was you, but he wouldn’t believe her!”

  Grandmère blew cigarette smoke out of her nostrils. “Phillipe,” she said, “always was incredibly naïve.”

  “Well,” I said, “I’m telling him. I’m telling him the truth.”

  Grandmère just waved a hand, as if to say Whatever.

  “Seriously,” I said. “I’m telling him. He’s going to be really mad at you, Grandmère.”

  “He won’t. You needed the practice, darling. That piece in the Post was only the beginning. Soon you’ll be on the cover of Vogue, and then—”

  “Grandmère!” I yelled. “I DO NOT WANT TO BE ON THE COVER OF VOGUE! DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND? I JUST WANT TO PASS THE NINTH GRADE!”

  Grandmère looked a little startled. “Well, all right, darling, all right. You needn’t shout.”

  I don’t know how much of that sank in, but after dinner I noticed the reporters had all gone home. So maybe she heard me.

  When I got home, Mr. Gianini was here, AGAIN. I had to go into my room to call my dad. I said, “Dad, it was Grandma, not Mr. Gianini, who told Carol Fernandez everything,” and he said, “I know,” in this miserable way.

  “You k
now?” I could hardly believe it. “You know, and you haven’t said anything?”

  He went, “Mia, your grandmother and I have a very complicated relationship.”

  He means he’s scared of her. I guess I can’t really blame him, considering the fact that she used to lock him in the dungeon and everything.

  “Well,” I said, “you could still apologize to Mom for what you said about Mr. Gianini.”

  He went, still sounding all miserable, “I know.”

  So I said, “Well? Are you going to?”

  And he said, “Mia . . . “ Only now he sounded all exasperated. I figured I’d done enough good deeds for one day, and hung up.

  After that, I sat around while Mr. Gianini helped me with my homework. I was too distracted by Josh Richter’s talking to me today to pay attention while Michael was trying to help me in G & T.

  I guess I can sort of see how my mom likes Mr. G. He’s okay to just hang out with, you know, like in front of the TV. He doesn’t hog the remote, like some of my mom’s past boyfriends. And he doesn’t seem to care about sports at all.

  About a half hour before I went to bed, my dad called back and asked to speak to my mother. She went into the room to talk to him, and when she came out again she looked all smug, in an I-told-you-so sort of way.

  I wish I could tell Lilly about Josh Richter talking to me.

  Friday, October 17, English

  OH MY GOD!!!

  JOSH AND LANA BROKE UP!!!!

  I am not even kidding. It’s all over school. Josh broke up with her last night after crew practice. They were having dinner together at the Hard Rock Cafe, and he asked for his class ring back!!! Lana was completely humiliated under the pointy cone bra Gaultier made for Madonna!

  I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.

  Lana wasn’t hanging around Josh’s locker this morning, like usual. And then when I saw her in Algebra, her eyes were all red and squinty, and her hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed, let alone washed, and her thigh-highs had come unglued and were all baggy around her knees. I never thought I’d see Lana Weinberger looking like a mess!!! Before class started, she was on her cell phone with Bergdorf’s, trying to convince them to take her Cultural Diversity Dance dress back even though she’d already removed the tags. Then, during class, she sat there with a big black marker crossing out “Mrs. Josh Richter” from where she’d written it all over her book covers.

  It was so depressing. I could hardly factor my integers, I was so distracted.

  I WISH I WERE

  A size 36 double D

  Good at math

  A member of a world-famous rock band

  Still friends with Lilly Moscovitz

  Josh Richter’s new girlfriend

  More Friday

  You will not even believe what just happened. I was putting my Algebra book away in my locker, and Josh Richter was there getting his Trig notes, and he goes, in this totally casual way, “Hey, Mia, who you going to the dance with tomorrow?”

  Needless to say, the fact that he actually spoke to me at all practically caused me to pass out. And then the fact that he was actually saying something that sounded like it might be a prelude to asking me out—well, I nearly threw up. I mean it. I felt really sick, but in a good way.

  I think.

  Somehow, I managed to stammer out, “Uh, no one,” and he goes, and I kid you not:

  “Well, why don’t we go together?”

  OH MY GOD!!!!! JOSH RICHTER ASKED ME OUT!!!!!

  I was so shocked I couldn’t say anything at all for like a minute. I thought I was going to hyperventilate, like I did the time I saw that documentary about how cows become hamburgers. I could only stand there and look up at him. (He’s so tall!)

  Then a funny thing happened. This tiny part of my brain—the only part that wasn’t completely stunned by his asking me out—went: He’s only asking you out because you’re the princess of Genovia.

  Seriously. That’s what I thought, for just a second.

  Then this other part of my brain, a much bigger part, went: SO WHAT???

  I mean, maybe he asked me to the dance because he respects me as a human being and wants to get to know me better and maybe, just maybe, likes me, sort of.

  It could happen.

  So the part of my brain that was rationalizing all this made me go, all nonchalantly, “Yeah, okay. That might be fun.”

  Then Josh said a bunch of stuff about how he’d pick me up and we’d have dinner beforehand or something. But I barely heard him. Because inside my head, this voice was going:

  Josh Richter just asked you out. Josh Richter just asked YOU out. JOSH RICHTER JUST ASKED YOU OUT!!!!

  I think I must have died and gone to heaven. Because it had happened. It had finally happened: Josh Richter had finally looked into my soul. He had looked into my soul, and had seen the real me, the one beneath the flat chest. AND THEN HE’D ASKED ME OUT.

  Then the bell rang, and Josh went away, and I just kept standing there until Lars poked me in the arm.

  I don’t know what Lars’s problem is. I know he’s not my personal secretary.

  But thank God he was there, or I’d never have known Josh was picking me up tomorrow night at seven. I’m going to have to learn not to be so shocked the next time he asks me out, or I’ll never get the hang of this dating thing.

  THINGS TO DO (I THINK, NEVER HAVING BEEN ON A DATE BEFORE, I AM NOT EXACTLY SURE WHAT TO DO)

  Get a dress

  Get hair done

  Get nails redone (stop biting fake ones off)

  Friday, G & T

  Okay, so I don’t know who Lilly Moscovitz thinks she is. First she stops talking to me. Then, when she finally does deign to speak to me, it’s only to criticize me some more. What right has she got, I ask you, to dump all over my Cultural Diversity Dance date? I mean, she’s going with Boris Pelkowski. Boris Pelkowski. Yeah, he might be a musical genius and all, but he’s still Boris Pelkowski.

  Lilly goes: “Well, at least I know Boris isn’t on the rebound.”

  Excuse me. Josh Richter is not on the rebound. He and Lana had been broken up for sixteen whole hours before he asked me out.

  Lilly goes: “Plus Boris doesn’t do drugs.”

  I swear, for someone so smart, Lilly sure does go for the whole rumor and innuendo thing in a major way. I asked her if she’d ever seen Josh do drugs, and she looked at me all sarcastically.

  But really, if you think about it, there isn’t any proof Josh does drugs. He definitely hangs out with people who do drugs, but hey, Tina Hakim Baba hangs out with a princess, and that doesn’t make her one.

  Lilly didn’t like that argument, though. She went: “You’re overrationalizing. Whenever you overrationalize, Mia, I know you’re worried.”

  I am not worried. I am going to the biggest dance of the fall semester with the cutest, most sensitive boy in school, and nothing anyone can do or say will make me feel bad about that.

  Except that it does kind of make me feel weird, seeing Lana looking so sad and Josh looking like he doesn’t care at all. Today at lunch, he and his entourage sat with Tina and me, and Lana and her entourage sat back with the other cheerleaders. It was just so strange. Plus neither Josh nor any of his friends talked to me or to Tina. They just talked to each other. Which didn’t bother Tina any, but it kind of bothered me. Especially since Lana kept trying so hard not to look over at our table.

  Tina didn’t say anything bad about Josh when I told her the news. She just got very excited and said tonight, when I spend the night, we can try on different outfits and experiment with our hair to see what will look best for tomorrow night. Well, I have no hair to experiment with, but we can experiment with her hair. Actually, Tina’s almost more excited than I am. She is a much more supportive friend than Lilly, who went, all sarcastically, when she heard: “Where’s he taking you to dinner? The Harley-Davidson Cafe?”

  I said, “No,” very sarcastically. “Tavern on the Green.”

&nb
sp; Lilly went, “Oh, how imaginative.”

  I suppose superartsy Boris is taking her somewhere in the Village.

  Then Michael, who had been pretty quiet (for him) all through class, looked at Lars and went, “You’re going, too, right?”

  And Lars went, “Oh, yes.” And the two of them looked at each other in that infuriating way guys look at each other sometimes, like they have this secret. You know in sixth grade, when they made all of us girls go into this other room and watch a video about getting our periods and stuff? I bet while we were gone, the boys were watching a video about how to look at each other in that infuriating way.

  Or maybe a cartoon or something.

  But now that I think of it, Josh is kind of dissing Lana. I mean, he probably shouldn’t have asked out another girl so soon after breaking up with her—at least, not to something he was going to go to with her. Know what I mean? I kind of feel bad about the whole thing.

  But not bad enough not to go.

  FROM NOW ON I WILL

  Be nicer to everyone, even Lana Weinberger.

  Never ever bite my fingernails, even the fake ones.

  Write faithfully in this journal every day.

  Stop watching old Baywatch reruns and use my time wisely, like to study Algebra, or maybe improve the environment, or something.

  Friday Night

  Abbreviated lesson with Grandmère today because of my spending the night at Tina’s. Grandmère had pretty much gotten over my yelling at her yesterday about the press. She was totally into helping me figure out what I’m going to wear tomorrow night, just like I knew she would. She got on the phone with Chanel and set up an appointment for tomorrow to pick something out. It will have to be a rush job, and will cost a fortune, but she says she doesn’t care. It will be my first formal event as a representative of Genovia, and I have to “sparkle” (her word, not mine).

  I pointed out to her that it was a school dance, not an inauguration ball or anything, and that it wasn’t even a prom, just a stupid dance to celebrate the diversity of the various racial and cultural groups that attend Albert Einstein High School. But Grandmère went ape anyway, and kept on worrying there wouldn’t be time to dye shoes to match my gown.