From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess Page 3

  That’s when she hurled herself toward me, and everyone around us—except my friends, of course—suddenly started screaming, “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”

  I knew then that I was going to die.

  I’ve seen people fight in movies and on TV. It looks pretty easy when you’re watching a trained actor or stunt person do it.

  But when a real live person who is not a trained actor but the most popular girl in your school (don’t ask me why, because Annabelle is actually very mean) who is also a trained gymnast jumps you, then gets hold of one of your braids and starts pulling on it very hard, it is not easy to fight back.

  I thought I was a complete goner until right at that very moment a woman’s voice rang out, clear as a bell, from across the courtyard.

  “Olivia?” the voice called. “Olivia Grace Harrison!”

  Startled, I turned to look—as much as I could with Annabelle hanging so tightly on to my braid—and saw the most amazing sight I had ever seen in my life:

  Her Royal Highness, Princess Mia Thermopolis of Genovia.

  Wednesday, May 6

  4:15 P.M.

  Still in the Royal Limousine

  Sorry, I got interrupted there. It turns out when you’re a princess, you get all the soda you want to drink from the limo mini-bar.

  FOR FREE!

  Also chips and cookies.

  I know that’s a weird thing to be writing about at a time like this—and also that they’re only giving these things to me because I mentioned that Aunt Catherine never lets me have soda with sugar in it, or chips and cookies.

  But it’s so nice!

  I just hope they aren’t doing it because they feel sorry for me. That would be the worst. I hate it when people feel sorry for me (because I’m half an orphan, etc).

  Where was I? Oh, yes, back in the courtyard:

  I don’t have to explain how I recognized her. Everyone knows what Princess Mia looks like. She’s had movies made about her, and books written based on her diaries, and was just recently on the cover of People magazine, and she was also in Us Weekly’s “Stars: They’re Just Like Us” section, buying toilet paper (even though it’s hard to imagine a princess using the bathroom).

  It was also easy to recognize her because she was standing in front of this huge black stretch limousine with little flags on it, and there was this man next to her who was almost as huge as the limo (only not black, though he was dressed in a black suit and had on black sunglasses, and he was glaring very meanly right at Annabelle).

  It wasn’t hard to tell that the man was Princess Mia’s bodyguard.

  “Olivia?” Princess Mia called, waving as if she wasn’t sure I’d seen her.

  But I’d seen her all right, because who could miss her, standing there in this cream-colored coat with a long floaty red scarf and matching red high-heel shoes?

  Annabelle had seen her, too. I could tell because Annabelle froze with her hand right there on my braid.

  Every other kid in the entire courtyard froze, too. Most of the adults did, as well, including Ms. Feinstein, the parking lot attendant, who’d been blowing her whistle at the buses a minute before. They all just stood there, frozen, staring at Princess Mia of Genovia and her long red scarf, floating in the spring breeze.

  “Um,” I said to Annabelle, breaking the sudden silence. “I think that lady over there with the limo wants to talk to me.”

  I heard Annabelle swallow, hard. It might have been my imagination, but she looked a little scared, especially at the sight of Princess Mia’s frowning bodyguard. Even my step-cousin Justin and all his friends were staring at the bodyguard. No one was yelling FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT anymore. Instead, there was dead silence in the courtyard. Even the bus engines had stopped.

  “Okay,” Annabelle whispered, and dropped my braid.

  When Princess Mia reached us, I brushed off my uniform, which was a little dusty from my nearly being killed, and said, “Hi, yes, that’s me. I’m Olivia.”

  “Oh,” Princess Mia said, smiling at me. Up close, she looked even more like she does on TV. I know that sounds strange, but that’s what it was like. Seeing someone from TV, only without the TV box around her. She looked very beautiful and nice.

  But that also could have been because she was like an angel who had come to rescue me from being killed by Annabelle Jenkins.

  “Hello. I’m Mia Thermopolis,” she went on. “Your aunt Catherine said it would be all right for me to pick you up from school today.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. Why would Aunt Catherine send the princess of Genovia to pick me up from school? That made no sense at all, but it was totally okay by me.

  As if in answer to my silent question, Princess Mia said, “Oh, here’s a note from your aunt,” and handed me a sheet of paper.

  I could tell everyone was watching me as I unfolded the note from Aunt Catherine. Some of them weren’t only watching me, they were filming me with their cell phone cameras. No one had ever filmed me before in my life except for Sara, the time she’d snuck into my room and stuck my hand in a bowl of warm water while I slept to see if I would wet my pants (to her disappointment, I did not).

  All the filming was making me uncomfortable. I’m obviously not the kind of girl people film. I’m an artist! No one makes TV shows called America’s Top Drawer or Drawing with the Stars! Drawing isn’t the most exciting thing to watch, although of course it’s nice to look at what someone’s drawn after they’re done drawing it.

  The note my aunt had signed was written on royal Genovian stationery, and had a gold crown embossed at the top. A lot of the writing was hard to understand, but basically it said that Princess Amelia “Mia” Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo had permission to transport me to any destination of my choosing.

  Any destination of my choosing?

  No one had ever taken me to a destination of my own choosing before! If they had, I’d have chosen to go to Cheesecake Factory EVERY SINGLE TIME. We never get to go to Cheesecake Factory, because the O’Tooles like Olive Garden for its many gluten-free options.

  I carefully folded the note and put it in my backpack so I wouldn’t lose it. It was definitely something I wanted to keep forever, like all the letters from my dad.

  “So, would you like to come with me?” Princess Mia asked.

  “Thank you,” I said, trying to sound as dignified as possible, since I could tell everyone was listening. “I’d like that very much.”

  “Great,” Princess Mia said, smiling. “Let’s go.”

  I know it’s not polite to gloat, but it felt pretty good to walk across the courtyard to my WAITING LIMO while Annabelle had to wait for her BUS to take her home, especially after she’d tried to beat me up for no reason other than the fact that she seems to think I’m a princess.

  (Which is apparently a fact.)

  It felt even better when Annabelle ran after us, going, “Excuse me? Excuse me, but is it true you’re Olivia’s sister?” to Princess Mia in a very snotty voice.

  Sister?

  Of everything that’s happened so far, this may have been the best:

  Princess Mia looked at Annabelle and was like, “Who are you?”

  This completely shocked Annabelle, because Annabelle thinks everyone knows who she is, since she’s won so many gymnastics medals, etc.

  But the truth is, I’m pretty sure outside of Cranbrook Middle School (and possibly even outside of the sixth grade of Cranbrook Middle School) no one knows who Annabelle Jenkins is.

  Poor Annabelle. And I thought I was having a bad day!

  Annabelle sputtered, “I-I-I’m Annabelle Jenkins! My father is Bill Jenkins, Olivia’s step-uncle’s lawyer. He’s the highest-rated personal injury lawyer in all of Cranbrook, New Jersey. And he says that—”

  “Well, I’m sorry, Annabelle,” Princess Mia said, in a voice like silk, “but this is a private family matter. I’m afraid I don’t have time to chat today. Good-bye.”

  Private family matter! Without exactl
y admitting it, Princess Mia had just confirmed everything Annabelle had said back by the flagpole.

  I am a princess! And she is my sister!

  If I could have drawn the look on Annabelle’s face at that moment, it would have resembled a smiley with blank eyes and a surprised O for a mouth, exactly like this:

  0 0

  O

  Then Princess Mia made one little gesture—she took my hand—and suddenly everyone went completely bananas. They came rushing toward us, yelling, “Olivia, Olivia, can I get a selfie with you?”

  In the entire time I’ve gone to school in Cran-brook, no one has ever asked for a selfie with me, except Nishi, who has selfies with me all over her social media pages, only of course I can’t see them because Aunt Catherine won’t let me have any social media pages.

  Now I know why.

  But then Princess Mia’s bodyguard (who I have now learned is named Lars) said, “NO” to everyone in a pretty scary voice. He even yelled at Dr. Bushy, who wanted a selfie with me and Princess Mia, and was even pushier than everyone else about it (and since Dr. Bushy has such a large stomach, he managed to push his way through the crowd more quickly than everyone else, too, using his belly as a kind of battering ram).

  He looked pretty shocked when Lars yelled at him—probably because Dr. Bushy is the one who does most of the yelling (and handing out of demerits) around CMS. After Lars yelled at him, Dr. Bushy just stood there in the middle of the parking lot, still holding his cell phone, looking confused.

  And then the next thing I knew, my sister and I were getting into the limo and the door was slamming behind us and all the kids had started banging on the windows screaming, “Olivia! Olivia, wait!” because they hadn’t gotten a photo, and my sister looked a bit startled and asked, “Oh dear, what’s happening?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I told her. “They’re just excited. Not many celebrities visit Cranbrook Middle School. Actually, you’re the first.”

  This didn’t make her look very relieved, especially after the chauffeur—there is a chauffeur! He drives the limo. His name is Francois—had to blow the horn very loudly to get all the kids to move out of the way so we could drive out of the parking lot and onto the road.

  The last thing I saw as I looked out the window was Nishi, standing on the sidewalk a little away from the crowd, waving to me.

  I waved back, but I don’t know if she could see me, because the windows of the limo are tinted so that the people inside can see out, but people outside can’t see in.

  Meanwhile Princess Mia kept apologizing.

  “I’m so sorry, Olivia, but I had no idea I even had a sister until a few days ago. And you certainly shouldn’t have found out this way that you’re—that we’re—”

  I could tell that she was really uncomfortable—which was kind of funny: a princess, being uncomfortable around me.

  That’s the thing about royalty, though: They have a hard job to do. They have to try to set a good example and make everyone feel happy, while also being brave and beautiful and stuff.

  I know all this because Nishi loves princess movies, so whenever I go to her house, she makes me watch them with her (not that it’s a huge sacrifice).

  Nishi doesn’t care that Annabelle started saying, as long ago as first grade, that princess movies are for babies. Nishi says you like what you like, so who cares what other people think?

  That’s why I actually felt a little bad for Princess Mia. In movies, princesses are always getting kidnapped and then put into dungeons until they use their magical powers (or ray guns) to escape.

  But in real life, princesses don’t have magical powers or ray guns. All they have are their brains (and bodyguards and limousines, of course), which they’re supposed to use to help make the world a better place. None of it’s as easy as it looks, especially to people like Annabelle, who think all princesses do is sit around in nice clothes, which isn’t true at all.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Annabelle already told me. Just not in a very nice way. She can be a bit of a snob.”

  “That’s what I’m so sorry about,” Princess Mia said, looking upset. “Because you haven’t done anything wrong!”

  “I know. My mom—and dad—were only trying to protect me. And I can see why, after all that out there.” I jerked my thumb in the direction of CMS.

  Princess Mia exchanged glances with some other women who were also in the limo—I think they might be ladies-in-waiting—and said, “Yes. I’m sorry about that, too. I should have known better, and stayed in the limo. I’m so sorry—”

  I shook my head. It was still funny that a princess was apologizing so much to me. “It’s okay. So is it really true?”

  “That we’re sisters? Yes, of course it’s really true.”

  “No, that you’ll take me to any destination of my choosing?”

  Princess Mia looked a little more relaxed, which was what I wanted. She seemed very tense and worried. More tense and worried than me! And that’s saying a lot, considering the day I’d had so far.

  “Yes,” she said, with a laugh. “That’s really true, too. Why? Is there somewhere you really want to go?”

  I couldn’t believe she didn’t know.

  “Yes!” I cried. “To meet my dad!”

  Princess Mia smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Wednesday, May 6

  4:45 P.M.

  Limousine

  I’M GOING TO MEET MY DAD.

  IN NEW YORK CITY.

  I’m sorry to write it so big, but I’m very, very excited.

  We should be there in a little over an hour. Cranbrook, New Jersey, is only sixty-four miles from New York City, but I’ve never been there. Nishi has been there lots of times with her family, and Aunt Catherine and Uncle Rick go there a lot, too—to Broadway shows and baseball games and fancy restaurants and stuff.

  But not me. I’ve always ended up having to stay home with Mrs. Tucker, our neighbor who owns the cats, or with Nishi, because Aunt Catherine says the city is too dirty and dangerous for children, even though I’m not exactly a child and they take Sara all the time, which I’ve always thought was a little weird since she’s not that much older than I am.

  But now I am starting to realize that it probably had something to do with my being a princess.

  Aunt Catherine never put it that way, though, of course. She always said, “Oh, Olivia, the city is so dirty” and “You’d just have been bored at the show we went to.”

  I guess my mom was pretty serious about keeping this whole princess thing a secret. She made my dad promise not to tell anyone, not even his own mom (who is my grandma. Mia says she likes to be called Grandmère, which is French for grandmother).

  “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me,” Princess Mia keeps saying. “I wish I’d known sooner, because I’ve always wanted a sister.”

  “Me, too!”

  The one thing I’ve always wanted, and it’s come true!

  And it turns out Princess Mia and I have a lot in common:

  She has a diary, too. She saw me writing in this notebook and asked if I was doing homework and I said no, that my dad said to write down my feelings when I was getting overwhelmed.

  That’s when Mia got a funny look on her face and said, “Hmmm, I think I know where he got that idea.”

  “Where?” I asked, surprised.

  “My mom told me to do the same thing when I was about your age.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said, and smiled. “So what else do you like to do, besides write in your diary?”

  “I like to draw.” I showed her a couple of my wildlife illustrations.

  “Wow, those are really good! You must have inherited that talent from your mom, because I can’t draw at all.”

  “Oh, that’s not true,” I assured her. “My art teacher, Ms. Dakota, says anyone can learn to draw if they practice a little every day. The thing she wants me to practice right now is perspective. She says it’s easy wi
th practice. But even though I’ve been practicing and practicing, I still can’t seem to get it right.”

  Princess Mia glanced again at my drawings. “Your perspective looks good to me. Better than mine, that’s for sure.”

  “Aw,” I said, feeling myself blush. “Not really.”

  She smiled. “The first thing you’ll have to learn, Olivia, if you’re going to get this princess thing right, is how to take a compliment. When someone says something nice to you, don’t put yourself down. Just say ‘thank you.’ Try it.”

  I blushed harder. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, laughing. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? It’s like what your art teacher said about perspective. The more you practice, the easier it will get.”

  I frowned. “I never thought of it that way.”

  I’d only said “Not really” because I didn’t want to seem like a snob.

  But I guess saying “thank you” when someone pays you a compliment doesn’t sound snobby. It’s the polite thing to do.

  So then to change the subject, I showed Princess Mia my “Who Am I?” worksheet (not that I like to do homework, of course, but it’s due tomorrow), and she started to help me fill it out, saying she’d be happy to answer any questions I had about our Genovian ancestry.…

  Except then she got a call on her cell phone that she said she was sorry she had to take.

  I said I understood. Being a princess really is hard work.

  The thing is, I have some questions I don’t think Princess Mia can answer, such as:

  If my mom was so serious about me not knowing my royal heritage, why did she name me after so many Genovian princesses?

  Is it for the same reason Aunt Catherine said it was my mother’s “dream” that I learn to speak French, and why she makes me take it in school, even though everyone else takes Spanish? French is the language they speak in Genovia.

  I can’t help thinking it’s because my mom meant to tell me the truth someday, and go with me to Genovia. She just died before she ever got the chance.

  Her making me learn French is already doing me some good, though. I don’t mean to be eavesdropping, but I can understand some of what Princess Mia has been saying on her cell phone (in French).