Princess in Training Read online

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  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.

  But I assured my mom that this time, Grandmère had only the good of the crown at heart. After all, if my student electoral campaign kept the press away from the story about Genovia being voted out of the EU, it was totally worth it.

  Sort of.

  Mom didn’t look like she believed this, though.

  “Mia, if you want to quit this election thing, just say the word. I’ll make it happen.”

  My mom can look pre
tty fierce when she wants to—even with a baby as adorable as Rocky strapped to her chest. Really, if I had to make a choice between debating Lana and debating my mom about something, I’d pick Lana every time.

  “No, Mom, it’s okay,” I said. “I’m okay. Really. So…are you going to look up Wendell when you get back to Versailles?”

  My mom was busy fussing with Rocky’s foot, which had gotten all tangled up in the Tibetan prayer flags she had hanging from his carrier. “Who?”

  “Wendell Jenkins.” God! I can’t believe she doesn’t even remember the man to whom she gave the gift of the flower of her virginity. “He still lives there. He and April. He works for the power company. And did you know April was a corn princess?”

  Mom looked amused. “Really? How do you know all this, Mia?”

  “Yahoo! People Search,” I said. “If you run into April, be sure to tell her, you know, how you’re the mother of the princess of Genovia. That’s a lot better than being a corn princess, even if we ARE about to be thrown out of the EU.”

  “I’ll be sure to,” Mom said. “You’re positive you’re going to be okay? Because I won’t go to Versailles if you don’t want me to.”

  I assured Mom I would be fine. At which point Nurse Lloyd came back in and, finding my mother there, basically assured her of the same thing. Then, after letting Nurse Lloyd coo over Rocky for a while—because he is the cutest baby there ever was, and no one who sees him can HELP but coo over him—Mom left, and I was all alone with Nurse Lloyd again.

  Which, you know, reminded me that there was something I needed to know. And a member of the health profession was the perfect person to ask, since I couldn’t go to Yahoo! Health as there wasn’t a computer handy.

  “Nurse Lloyd,” I said, from around the thermometer she’d shoved under my tongue, to make sure I was well and truly cured, and could be sent back to class.

  “Yes, Mia?” She was looking at her watch as she took my pulse.

  “Is it true that if college boys don’t Do It, it backs up?”

  Nurse Lloyd snorted. “Is that one still really going around? Mia, you should know better. You took Health and Safety, didn’t you?”

  “Then…it’s not true?”

  “It most certainly is not.” Nurse Lloyd let go of my wrist and took the thermometer out of my mouth. “And don’t let any of them try to tell you differently. And PS, any condom that’s been in a wallet for an extended period of time should be discarded and replaced with a new one. Friction from movement while carrying the wallet in a pocket can cause tiny holes to develop in the latex.”

  I just stared at her with my mouth hanging open. HOW HAD SHE KNOWN ABOUT THIS?

  Nurse Lloyd just looked down at the thermometer and said, “I’ve been in this job a long time. Oh, look, ninety-eight point six. You’re cured. You can go now, if you want. But before you do, Mia, just one more thing.”

  I looked at her expectantly.

  “You must stop bottling things up inside,” she said. “I know you like to write a lot in your diary—yes, I saw you—and that’s great. But you’ve got to VERBALIZE your feelings as well. Especially if you’re angry or upset with someone. The more you keep it buried inside, the more something like what happened today is going to happen. I know princesses are told to keep a stiff upper lip and all of that, but the truth is, if anyone shouldn’t be letting things get backed up, it’s you. Do you understand me?”

  I nodded. Nurse Lloyd may be the smartest person I have ever met. And that includes all the geniuses I happen to be best friends with or date.

  “Fine. Just let me write you a hall pass,” said Nurse Lloyd.

  Which is what she’s doing now.

  Do you know what?

  NURSE LLOYD IS THE BOMB!!!!!

  Note to self: Tell Tina to make Boris buy a new condom before they Do It on Prom Night.

  Friday, September 11, third-floor stairwell

  When I came out of the nurse’s office, Lilly was sitting there in the hallway waiting for me. She had three detention slips in her hand, because hall monitors had come around and found her there and written her up.

  But she says she doesn’t care, because she HAD to make sure I was all right. She says she HAD to see me.

  Remembering what Nurse Lloyd had said about not keeping things bottled up inside, I told Lilly I HAD to see her, too.

  So we escaped up here, where no one will find us, unless someone needs to get to the roof. But the only time anyone needs to go to the roof around here is if some kid from the building next door has thrown his Pikachu or whatever out the window, onto the school’s rooftop, and the custodian or the doorman from next door has to come up here to get it.

  Anyway, at first I have to admit I was kind of distant to Lilly, because, hello, she is at least partially responsible for my crying jag. I mean, pens from the palace????

  “But people love them,” was her big excuse. “Seriously, Mia, people are, like, keeping them as souvenirs. Not everyone gets to go live in a palace every summer like you do, Mia.”

  “That’s not the point.” I can’t believe that, even though Lilly is a genius and all, she needs to have stuff like this explained to her. “The point is that you promised me I wouldn’t have to go through with this.”

  Lilly just blinked at me. “When did I say that?”

  “LILLY!” I couldn’t believe it. “You swore I wouldn’t end up having to be student council president!”

  “I know,” Lilly said. “And you won’t.”

  “But you also promised me Lana wouldn’t crush me in a humiliating defeat in front of everyone!”

  “I know,” Lilly said. “She won’t.”

  “LILLY!” I felt like the top of my head was going to blow off. “If Lana doesn’t beat me, I WILL be president.”

  “No, you won’t,” Lilly said. “I will.”

  Now it was my turn to blink. “WHAT? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Yes, it does,” Lilly said, calmly. “See, what’s going to happen is, you’re going to win the election—because you’re a princess, and you’re nice to everyone, and people like you. Then, after a suitable period of time—say, two or three days—you’re going to have to—regretfully, of course—step down from the presidency on account of being too busy with the whole princess thing. That is when I, whom you will have appointed your vice president, will have to assume the mantle of presidential responsibility.” Lilly shrugged. “See? Simple.”

  I stared at Lilly, completely dumbfounded.

  “Wait a minute. You’re doing all of this just so YOU can be president?”

  Lilly nodded.

  “But, Lilly…why didn’t you just run, then?”

  That’s when something totally unexpected happened. Lilly’s eyes, behind the lenses of her glasses, totally filled up with tears. Next thing I knew, she was having a crying jag of her very own.

  “Because there’s no way I could ever win,” she said, with a sob. “Don’t you remember how I got crushed in last year’s election? Nobody likes me. Not the way they like you, Mia. I mean, you may be a baby-licker and all, but people seem to be able to relate to you, even with the whole princess thing. NOBODY can relate to me…maybe because I’m a genius, and that’s intimidating to people, or something. I don’t know why, really. I mean, you would think people would want the smartest leader they could find, but instead, they seem perfectly content to elect total MORONS.”

  I tried not to take Lilly’s calling me a moron to heart. After all, she was in the middle of a full-blown personal crisis.

  “Lilly,” I said, astonishedly. “I didn’t know you thought of yourself that way. You know. As not popular.”

  Lilly looked up from the detention slips she was weeping into.

  “Wh-Why w-would I ever consider myself popular?” she stammered, sorrowfully. “Y-You’re the only real friend I’ve got.”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “You have lots of friends. Shameeka and Ling Su and Tina—”

&nbsp
; Lilly started to cry harder at the mention of Tina’s name. Too late, I remembered Boris, and his new hotness.

  “Oh,” I said, patting Lilly on the shoulder. “Sorry. What I meant was…Well, whatever. People DO like you, Lilly. It’s just that sometimes…”

  Lilly lifted her tear-stained face.

  “Wh-What?” she asked.

  “Well,” I said. “Sometimes you’re kind of mean to people. Like me. With the whole baby-licker thing.”

  “But you ARE a baby-licker,” Lilly pointed out.

  “Yes,” I said. “But, you know, you don’t need to SAY it all the time.”

  Lilly rested her chin on her knees.

  “I guess not,” she said with a sigh. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  While I had her in a conciliatory mood, I added, “And I don’t like it when you call me POG or PIT, either.”

  Lilly looked at me blankly.

  “Then what am I supposed to call you?”

  “How about just plain Mia?”

  Lilly seemed to think about this.

  “But…that’s so boring,” she said.

  “But it’s my name,” I pointed out.

  Lilly sighed again.

  “Fine,” she said. “Whatever. You have no idea how good you have it, POG. I mean, Mia.”

  “Good? ME? Please!” I practically burst out laughing. “My life is TERRIBLE right now. Did you SEE what Ms. Martinez gave me on my paper?”

  Lilly wiped her eyes.

  “Well, yeah,” she said. “She WAS a little harsh. But a B isn’t really that bad, Mia. Besides, I saw your dad headed toward her classroom a little while ago. He looked like he was going to read her the riot act.”

  “Yeah, but what good is that going to do me?” I wanted to know. “I mean, it’s not going to change her mind about my writing talent…or lack thereof. It’s just going to make her, you know. Scared of my dad.”