Party Princess Read online

  Plus she was really good at killing Alboin—which is only natural, since if there’s anyone at AEHS who I could see strangling someone with a braid, it’s Lilly. Oh, and maybe Amber Cheeseman.

  But the whole time it was my turn to audition, Grandmère kept yelling, “Enunciate, Amelia!” and “Don’t turn your back to your audience, Amelia! Your behind is not as expressive as your face!” (Which caused no small amount of chortling from the side of the room my friends were sitting on.)

  And she didn’t seem at ALL impressed by my version of “Barbie Girl” by Aqua (especially the chorus, “C’mon Barbie/Let’s go party,” which, if you think about it, is highly ironic considering my inability to do so. Party, I mean).

  Really, what was THAT about? I mean, it’s not as if she’s going to cast me, so why all the yelling? I mean, what do I even know about acting? Apart from a brief stint as the mouse in The Lion and the Mouse in the fourth grade, I am not exactly what you’d call experienced in the dramatic arts.

  It was a total relief when Grandmère finally let me sit down.

  Then, on our way back to our seats, J.P. said, “Hey, that was fun, huh?” to me.

  AND I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING BACK!!!!!!!!!!!

  BECAUSE I WAS SO STUNNED!!!!!!!

  Because to me, J.P. is the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili. He’s not John Paul Reynolds-Abernathy the Fourth. The Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili doesn’t have a NAME. He’s just… the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili. The guy I wrote a short story about. A short story that was rejected by Sixteen magazine. A short story I hope to expand into a novel someday.

  A short story at the end of which the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili throws himself under the F train.

  How can I talk to a guy I had throw himself under a train—even if it WAS only fiction?

  Worse, on her way out after the auditions were over, Tina (Jessica Simpson’s “With You”) was all, “Hey, you know what? The Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili is kinda cute. I mean, when he’s not freaking out about corn.”

  “Yeah,” Lilly agreed. “Now that you mention it, he kinda is.”

  I waited for Lilly to add something like, “Too bad he’s such a freak,” or “It’s a shame about the corn thing.” But she didn’t. SHE DIDN’T.

  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  My friends think the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili is cute!!!! A guy I KILLED in my short story!

  And it’s all Grandmère’s fault. If she hadn’t got it into her head to buy a stupid faux island, it would never have occurred to her to write a musical—let alone put it on—for my school, and I never would have met the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili, much less found out that his nickname is J.P. and that, contrary to the character in my short story about him, he is NOT an existential loner, but actually just a nice guy who has a pretty good singing voice, and who my friends think is cute (and they’re right, he is).

  God, I hate her.

  Well, okay, it’s wrong to hate people.

  But I don’t love her, let’s put it that way. In fact, on the list of people I love, Grandmère isn’t even in the top five.

  PEOPLE I LOVE, IN ORDER OF

  HOW MUCH I LOVE THEM:

  1. Fat Louie

  2. Rocky

  3. Michael

  4. My mom

  5. My dad

  6. Lars

  7. Lilly

  8. Tina

  9. Shameeka/Ling Su/Perin

  10. Mr. G

  11. Pavlov, Michael’s dog

  12. The Drs. Moscovitz

  13. Tina Hakim Baba’s little brother and sisters

  14. Mrs. Holland, my government teacher last semester

  15. Buffy the Vampire Slayer

  16. Ronnie, our next-door neighbor

  17. Boris Pelkowski

  18. Principal Gupta

  19. Rommel, Grandmère’s dog

  20. Kevin Bacon

  21,000. Ms. Martinez

  22,000. The doorman at the Plaza who wouldn’t let me in that one time because I wasn’t dressed fancy enough

  23,000. Trisha Hayes

  24,000,000. Lana Weinberger

  25,000,000,000. Grandmère

  And I don’t even feel the least bit bad about it. She brought it on HERSELF.

  Thursday, March 4, the loft

  Guess what Mr. G made for dinner tonight?

  Oh yes. Chili.

  There wasn’t corn in it, but still.

  Maybe I should throw MYSELF under an F train.

  Thursday, March 4, the loft

  I knew I’d be inundated with e-mails the minute I turned my computer on. And I was right.

  From Lilly:

  WOMYNRULE: Does your grandmother realize that the subject matter of her little play is practically rated PG-13? I mean, it contains attempted rape, excessive alcohol consumption, murder, violence—about the only thing it DOESN’T have in it is bad language, and that’s only because it takes place in the year 568. And could you believe how off-key Amber Cheeseman was? I totally blew her out of the water. If I don’t get the part of Rosagunde, it will be a travesty of justice. I was MADE to play this role.

  From Tina:

  ILUVROMANCE: That was fun today! I really hope I get the part of Rosagunde. I know I won’t, because Lilly was so good at the audition, the part will totally go to her. But it would be sooo cool to play a princess. I mean, not for you, since you play a princess in real life and everything. But for someone like me, I mean. I know Lilly will get it. Still, I hope I don’t get the part of Alboin’s mistress. I wouldn’t want to play a mistress. Also, I don’t think my dad would let me.

  From Ling Su:

  PAINTURGURL: Okay, clearly Lilly is going to get the part of Rosagunde, but if I get stuck with the part of the mistress, I am going to scream! Asian actresses are always being relegated to roles where they are forced to play sexual subservients. Or, worse, just plain subservients… like Rosagunde’s maid. I refuse to be typecast! I hope she didn’t think my performance of Gwen Stefani’s “Hollaback Girl” was too strident. Also, is your grandma going to need help with the sets? Because I paint totally good castles and stuff.

  From Perin:

  INDIGOGRLFAN: Wasn’t that fun today? I know I wasn’t very good. I was just so surprised, you know? I mean, that your grandmother had me read for the part of Gustav instead of Rosagunde. Especially after I sang T.A.T.U.’s “They’re Not Gonna Get Us.” But it must have been because there were so many more girls than boys auditioning. You don’t think she thinks I’m a boy, do you???

  From Boris:

  JOSHBELL2: Mia, do you think your grandmother would be willing to add a scene to her play where Gustav takes out a violin and serenades Rosagunde? Because I really think that would add some emotional depth to the production, should I be the person cast to play Gustav. Plus, it would add historical accuracy, since the rebec, the violin’s predecessor, dates from 5000 BC. I know Maroon 5’s “She Will Be Loved” wasn’t the most inspired choice for my audition song, but Tina said she didn’t think your grandmother would like the only other song I’d prepared, Eminem’s “Cleaning Out My Closet.”

  From Kenny:

  E=MC2: Mia, I’m troubled by the suggestion your grandmother made as I was sitting back down after my audition piece that whoever plays the part of Gustav the smith ought at least to be capable of growing facial hair. It almost sounded as if she were inferring that I myself am not capable of this, when the truth is that I DO have facial hair, it is just very fair. I hope your grandmother is not going to be prejudiced against blonds in her casting of the male roles.

  From Shameeka:

  BEYONCE_IS_ME: All anybody can talk about are those auditions today! Sounds like Lilly is going to get the lead (what else is new?). Wish I could have been there. Is it true the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili was there????

  Seriously. It’s like they’ve
forgotten we have other things to worry about besides who is going to be cast as Gustav and Rosagunde.

  Like, for instance, the fact that we are still broke.

  I guess it doesn’t really matter so much to them, since they are not the ones in charge.

  One thing I will say for Grandmère’s choice of plays: She could not have chosen a piece that more fully illustrates the problems of the royal, in that, ultimately, you are all alone when it comes to making decisions of state. As it did for Rosagunde in that bedroom fifteen hundred years ago, the buck, for me, stops here.

  This is all too much for one lone teen to bear. I need someone to help me, someone to tell me what the right thing is to do. Should I just come clean with Amber, confess my sin, and get my whupping over with?

  Or is there still a chance I can get the money before she finds out?

  It’s times like these when I realize how woefully inadequate my familial support network really is. I mean, I can’t turn to my mother for advice in this matter. She is the person who was responsible for our cable going out once a month because she forgot to pay the bill—at least before Mr. G moved in.

  And I can’t turn to my dad. If he finds out how badly I’ve screwed up my STUDENT government budget, he’s not going to be exactly jazzed about turning me loose on our COUNTRY’s budget. The last thing I need right now is a series of lectures from Dad on cost-effective municipal planning.

  I already told Grandmère, and you can see the good THAT did. Who else is there for me to turn to, except Michael, of course?

  And we all know how helpful HE was in the matter.

  Speaking of Michael, the only e-mail I got that was unrelated to today’s Braid! audition was the one I got from him. And that’s just because he doesn’t even go to AEHS anymore, and didn’t know anything about what was going on:

  SKINNERBX: Hey, Thermopolis! How’s it going? I was wondering if you wanted to come over tomorrow night for a sci-fi film fest. I have to screen a bunch of them for my History of Dystopic Science Fiction in Film elective, and since I’m having the party Saturday night, I figured I should watch them while I had the chance. Want to join me?

  It would have been inappropriate, of course, for me to say what I WANTED to say, which was: Michael, you are my lifeblood, my reason for living, the only thing that keeps me sane in the tempest-tossed sea of life, and I would like nothing better than to screen a bunch of dystopic sci-fi flicks with you tomorrow night.

  Because it’s lame to say that kind of stuff in an e-mail.

  But I still thought it, in my head.

  FTLOUIE: I’d love to.

  SKINNERBX: Excellent. We can order in from Number One Noodle Son.

  FTLOUIE: And I can make some dip.

  SKINNERBX: Dip? What for?

  FTLOUIE: For the party! Don’t people serve dip at parties?

  SKINNERBX: Oh. Yeah. But I just figured I’d buy some Saturday afternoon, or whatever.

  I could see that my effort to appear enthusiastic about Michael’s party had fallen completely flat. But I persevered nonetheless, because I couldn’t let him know, you know, how NOT excited I was about it.

  FTLOUIE: Homemade dip is always better. I can make it and leave it overnight in the refrigerator, and that way it will be all gelled and everything for the party. Which I’m so excited about coming to.

  SKINNERBX: Um. Okay. Whatever you want. See you tomorrow then.

  FTLOUIE: Can’t wait!

  Actually, though, I CAN wait… both for the party AND the dystopic sci-fi film festival. Because those movies Michael has to watch for that class of his are MAJOR bummers. I mean, Soylent Green? Excuse me, but gross.

  Plus a lot of them have very scary parts, and scary movies have completely screwed with my psyche. Seriously. I think scary movies are responsible for half, if not more, of my neuroses.

  TOP 20 WAYS SCARY MOVIES

  HAVE MESSED ME UP:

  1) I can’t see chairs pulled away from the table without thinking of Poltergeist and having to push them back in. Ditto drawers that have been pulled out.

  2) I can’t pass those red-and-white smokestacks across from the FDR without thinking about poor Mel Gibson in Conspiracy Theory.

  3) I can’t go over a bridge without thinking of the Mothman Prophecies. Ditto see a chemical plant.

  4) After seeing Blair Witch, I can no longer go

  a) into wooded areas

  b) camping

  c) into any dark basements.

  Not that I would have done any of those things anyway. But now I REALLY won’t.

  5) For a long time I couldn’t look at the TV without thinking that a girl might crawl out of it and kill me like in The Ring and The Ring 2.

  6) Every time I see an alley, I expect there to be a dead body in it. But that’s probably from too many episodes of Law and Order, not the movies.

  7) Don’t even talk to me about boiling pots of water on the stove (Whitey the rabbit from Fatal Attraction).

  8) Little white dogs = Precious from Silence of the Lambs.

  9) Any supermodern-looking, windowless building in the middle of nowhere is the place where they harvest the organs of people in comas from the movie Coma.

  10) Cornfields = the movie Signs, and we’re all going to die.

  11) After Titanic, I will never, ever, ever go on a cruise.

  12) Whenever I see an oil tanker on the road, I know I’m going to die, because whenever you see one in the movies, it explodes.

  13) If a semi is tailing us, I always assume it’s trying to kill us, like in The Duel.

  14) I can’t go through the Holland Tunnel without thinking it’s going to leak like in Daylight.

  15) I don’t know if I will ever be able to have children thanks to Rosemary’s Baby. I will definitely never live in the Dakota. I don’t know how Yoko Ono stands it.

  16) I’ll never adopt, either, thanks to The Good Son.

  17) I will never get anesthesia for anything but non-elective surgery because of She Woke Up Pregnant.

  18) After talking at length to several elevator repairmen, I know now that unless someone places an incendiary device on top of the elevator, like in Speed, it is mathematically impossible for all the cables supporting it to snap at once. Still. You never know.

  19) Thanks to Jaws I will never set foot in the ocean again.

  20) The call is ALWAYS coming from inside the house.

  See? I have been SCREWED UP by the movies. The whole reason I hate parties, probably, is because of how traumatized I was over Broken Lizard’s Club Dread, which I watched with Michael thinking it was going to be a comedy, like Super Troopers. Only it turned out to be a horror film about young people being killed at a tropical resort, usually during a party.

  Michael doesn’t realize the MAJOR sacrifice I am making, just by agreeing to watch whatever it is he’s going to make me watch tomorrow night.

  In fact, probably one of the major reasons I haven’t transcended my ego and achieved self-actualization yet is because of the psychological scarring I have received from the movies. I wonder if Dr. Carl Jung knew about this when he invented self-actualization. Or did they even HAVE movies back when he was alive?

  From the desk of

  Her Royal Highness

  Princess Amelia Mignonette

  Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo

  Dear Dr. Carl Jung,

  Hi. I know you’re still dead and all, but I was just wondering—when you were inventing the whole self-actualization thing, did you take into account the way movies mess people up? Because it is very difficult to transcend the ego when you are constantly thinking about things like oil tankers blowing up on the highway.

  And what about teenagers? We have special concerns and insecurities that adults simply don’t seem to possess. I mean, I have never seen a single adult worrying about a valedictorian possibly taking out a death warrant on her.

  And what about boyfriends? There isn’t a single mention of boyfriends or even romance on branch
es of the Jungian tree of self-actualization. I understand that in order to reap the fruits of life (health, joy, contentment), you must start at the roots (compassion, charity, trust).

  But can you really trust your boyfriend when, for instance, he is planning on having a party to which he is inviting college girls, who often smoke and seem to refer routinely to Nietzsche?

  I’m not trying to criticize you or anything. I just really want to know. I mean, did you ever see Coma? It was really freaking scary. And I imagine that if you ever saw it, you might revise some of your requirements for transcending the ego. Like, for instance, the whole trust thing. I mean, I know it’s good to trust your doctor—up to a point.

  But do you ever REALLY know that he’s not purposefully going to put you in a coma in order to harvest your organs and sell them to some really rich dude in Bolivia?

  No. You don’t. So see? There’s a flaw in your whole theory.

  So. What am I supposed to do now?

  Still your friend,

  Mia Thermopolis

  Friday, March 5, the limo on the way to school

  If Lilly comments one more time on how her interpretation of Rosagunde is going to make Julia Roberts’s portrayal of Erin Brockovich look like community theater, my head is going to spin off, shoot through the sunroof, and land in the East River.

  Friday, March 5, Homeroom

  They just announced over the intercom that the cast list for Braid! will go up outside the administrative offices at noon.

  Just my luck. You could cut the tension around here with a knife. Not just the nervousness over who is going to get what part, either.