From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess Read online

  That’s when he put his paws on my knees and started licking my face, his little tail wagging so fast, it was a blur.

  “Hi,” I said, grabbing him and scooping him up in my arms so he could kiss me more. “How are you?” Even though he was so wrinkly and naked without his fur, he was still quite soft and warm.

  “Rommel?” Grandma sounded shocked. “Whatever is the matter with that dog?”

  “Nothing’s the matter with him,” I said.

  “He’s never let anyone pick him up like that.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” I started to put Rommel down, but Grandma said, “No, no, never mind. If he likes you, he likes you. Would you like a cocktail?”

  “Grandmère,” I heard my sister call from the next room. “She’s twelve.”

  “I meant an aperitif, of course.”

  Has there ever been a luckier girl than me in all the world? I’ve found out I have:

  1. A sister

  2. A grandmother

  3. And two adopted poodles

  all in one day!

  Just when I thought things couldn’t get better, I was running around after Snowball (that’s the girl poodle, who still has her fur. Grandma said I could name her, so I picked Snowball) and I went past this one room filled with books and there was a bald white man standing there on his cell phone and I knew—I just knew—he was my dad.

  (Well, also because I’d seen photos of the prince of Genovia in the same magazines I’d seen Princess Mia and Grandma, and the man at the desk looked exactly like the photos. Only less mean, somehow, because he’d shaved off his mustache.)

  When he saw me, he got a strange expression on his face and said, “Barry, I’m going to have to call you back,” and put his phone in his pocket and asked, “Olivia?”

  I didn’t even stop to think. Because when you see your father for the first time in your whole life, you don’t have to think. You just run over to where he’s standing and throw your arms around him and hug him, even though of course, being a prince, he’s wearing military medals.

  “Oof,” he said, I guess because I’d buried my head in his stomach pretty hard.

  But he hugged me back, saying, “It’s very good to meet you at last.”

  “You have no idea.” I rested my cheek against his soft belly and smelled his Dad-like smell, which is a mix of mouthwash, the leather from his belt (which holds his sword), and whatever detergent the hotel uses.

  “Yes,” Dad said. “Well, I’m very sorry it took so long. It was your mother’s idea, you know, for you not to know the truth, and for us not to have any personal contact. She was worried about you growing up in the celebrity spotlight.”

  “I know,” I said, still hugging him. “I already met the reporters downstairs.”

  “I’m very sorry about all that—”

  I could hear his stomach juices digesting whatever he’d had for lunch. It was a comforting sound, but I felt bad for him anyway. All these years later, he is still clearly devastated over the loss of my beautiful, beautiful mother.

  Well, who wouldn’t be? She was an amazing lady.

  I hoped the sight of me wouldn’t be too painful for him.

  “That’s another reason your mother thought it would be safer for you not to know,” Dad went on. “The press can be so intrusive. You have the right to grow up without being harassed. And from what I understand, even before they found out, you were already being picked on at school—”

  I let go of him at last.

  “Yes,” I said, looking up into his face. “But didn’t Princess Mia’s mom want the same thing for her? And she’s turned out all right. I think I will too.”

  He laid his hands on both my shoulders and said, with a sigh, “Yes, Olivia, I agree with you. You seem like a very special girl. But it wasn’t easy for Mia, and it’s not going to be easy for you, either.”

  “I know,” I said. “But I’m tougher than I look. And I’ve already learned how to smile and wave. Look.”

  I showed him the smile and wave that Princess Mia had taught me, though the effect was somewhat ruined by Snowball choosing that moment to jump up on me, because she’s still a puppy, and she hasn’t been properly trained.

  “No, Snowball,” I said, taking hold of her front paws and giving them a gentle squeeze. “Down.” I put her front paws back on the floor so she’d know “down” meant keeping her paws on the floor. This is how you train puppies. I saw it once on a TV show.

  “I guess it’s been hard for you,” Dad said thoughtfully, “living with the O’Tooles, and not having a … pet of your own.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Aw,” I said. I didn’t want him to feel bad by letting him know how much things have stunk lately, especially with Annabelle and all, so I scooped Snowball up in my arms and buried my face in her soft, fluffy fur to hide my expression. “It’s been okay. And at least now I have … Snowball.”

  “I’m glad you like her,” Dad said. “Because in the future, you might be visiting her a lot more often. You see, I was wondering if you’d like to come live with us.”

  Wednesday, May 6

  9:45 P.M.

  The Plaza Hotel

  To say that I was shocked by this question would be the understatement of the universe. I was so astonished by it that I sort of dropped Snowball (well, not dropped her, really, but let her slither out of my arms, so that she ended up in a soft pile on the marble floor, looking confused).

  I guess Dad must have noticed my shock, since he took me by the arm and pulled me over to the brown leather couch. He made me sit down, then sat down beside me.

  The couch was super soft and amazingly comfortable. Snowball clearly thought so too, since she scrambled up to sit on a pillow beside us.

  “You won’t hurt my feelings at all if you say no,” Dad said quickly. “Please don’t worry about that. I can totally understand if you’d rather stay with your aunt Catherine. After all, that’s where you’ve lived all your life.”

  I didn’t say anything in reply to this. That’s because I wasn’t sure I could actually talk, I was still so surprised.

  Also happy.

  “Of course I’ve been wanting you to come live with me for a long time,” Dad went on. “But as your aunt has often pointed out, that would have violated your mother’s wishes. A child needs stability, and also a mother, and I’ve never really been in a position in the past to offer you either of those things. But I think your aunt and even your mother would agree that things have changed quite a bit recently. They’ll be changing even more soon—”

  I looked up at him hopefully. “They will? How?”

  “Well, for one, I understand that your aunt and uncle are planning to move you to Qalif. That is unacceptable and something I simply won’t allow. For another, whether we like it or not, the secret of your being the princess of Genovia is out. There’s nothing we can do about that now. And finally, your sister, Mia, is getting married, and—”

  “She is?” I didn’t mean to interrupt, but this was very startling news.

  “Yes, she is. And she and her husband will be residing in Genovia, so your aunt’s long-standing objection that there won’t be stable female influence in the home is moot.”

  I just stared at him. I couldn’t believe any of this was happening. It was like a beautiful dream.

  “You want me to come live with you in Genovia?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “Do you know where that is?”

  I nodded. I’d looked it up on Princess Mia’s friend’s cell phone. “It’s in between France and Italy.”

  “Well, more or less,” he said. “It’s very small, but has the loveliest median year-round temperature of any country in Europe, being situated as it is so idyllically on the Riviera—”

  Before I could ask another question, the door to the library swung open, and Grandma came in, followed by a waiter holding a huge silver tray.

  “I can’t imagine when that child last had something to eat,” she said. “So I ha
d room service whip up a little snack. If I know Amelia, I’m sure all she fed you, Olivia, is junk food from the mini-bar of the limousine.”

  I didn’t see what was wrong with that, but I was still very excited when the waiter put the silver tray down on the large antique coffee table in front of our couch. My eyes bulged as I took in the “little snack” room service had whipped up, which included:

  • Bowls containing freshly cut strawberries, sugar cookies, chocolate truffles, and nuts

  • A plate of multicolored mini-cakes

  • Plates with three different kinds of cheeses, including the oozy creamy kind

  • A plate of different kinds of sandwich meat—ham, salami, roast beef, and turkey, along with some smoked salmon

  • Tiny silver cups of mustard, mayonnaise, horseradish, and cream cheese with matching tiny silver serving spoons

  • A basket loaded with slices of white, whole wheat, rye, pumpernickel, and French bread, along with assorted bagels

  Coming from a wheat-free house, the sight of so much gluten almost made me cry for joy.

  “Your Royal Highness,” the waiter said, handing me an elegant crystal goblet brimming with frothy brown liquid. “Chocolate milk.”

  There was a straw in it. The bendy kind!

  “Thanks,” I squeaked. I don’t think I could have gotten anything else out, even if I could have figured out what to say.

  “Thank you, George,” Grandma said. “That will be all.”

  The waiter bowed and went away.

  “Well,” Grandma said, sitting with elegant grace on the couch beside Dad, and helping herself to a small plate, on which she began to heap slices of ham. “Did you ask her, Phillipe?”

  “Yes,” Dad said. “I did.”

  “And?” Grandma put her plate of ham onto the floor for the dogs to eat. “What did she say?”

  “She hasn’t had a chance to say anything yet, Mother. I think she’s in shock. Where’s Mia?”

  “Where do you think? On the phone with that boyfriend of hers.”

  “He’s her fiancé now, Mother.”

  I took a sip of the chocolate milk. It was ice-cold. When I’d swallowed, I said, “I think I am in shock. This is the best chocolate milk I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Really?” Grandma looked very interested. She was preparing another plate, this one of roast beef. “Is it the drink, or your father? Don’t you know he always wanted you to live with him? Your mother simply wouldn’t allow it. Because of me, of course.”

  “Mother,” Dad said in a warning tone.

  “What?” Grandma asked with a shrug. “It’s true. I’m a terrible influence. Amelia’s mother feels the same way. But Olivia is old enough now that I doubt she’ll be morally corrupted by my scandalous ways—”

  “Mother!” Dad looked stern now. He reached out and took away the plate of roast beef his mother was feeding to her new puppy.

  “You see?” Grandma said to me as Snowball swallowed the roast beef that was already in her mouth. “I’m incorrigible.”

  “Well,” I said. “You sort of are. You shouldn’t feed dogs human food, especially from the table. Everyone knows that. It’s probably what’s making Rommel’s fur fall out.”

  Grandma’s eyes widened. They were blue, like my dad’s. “Really? I don’t think so. You know, I was walking a dog much like Rommel the day I met your grandfather. I was strolling down the Champs-Élysées wearing a cunning little cocktail dress I’d been saving for just such an occasion, pink—silk, of course—with shoes I’d had dyed to match, and this adorable little hat I got in—”

  “Mother,” Dad said more sternly than ever.

  She broke out of her reverie. “Well,” she said. “The girl asked. I was only—”

  “She didn’t ask, actually. The thing is, Olivia,” Dad said, handing me a plate on which he’d set a plain bagel loaded with cream cheese and smoked salmon, a fat, juicy strawberry, and a sugar cookie, “we haven’t exactly discussed any of this yet with your aunt Catherine. In fact, she doesn’t know you’re here, only that you’re with Mia—”

  Whoa! So I knew something Aunt Catherine didn’t know!

  Of course, it wouldn’t be long before Aunt Catherine knew. All she’d have to do was look on the news—or the Internet. I’m sure once those reporters downstairs uploaded their photos of me, Aunt Catherine—and Uncle Rick and Sara and Justin—were going to be in for a shock.

  “We didn’t figure there was much point in telling her,” Dad went on, “unless we knew you’d actually be interested—”

  “Genovia is the best place to live in the world,” Grandma interrupted, popping a petit four in her mouth. “For one thing, the yachting is divine. And, of course, the food is to die for. You haven’t lived until you’ve had the choux a la crème at Alberto’s—”

  “It would be a really big change,” Dad went on, ignoring his mother. “It would mean coming to live in a palace, instead of a house—”

  “But it’s so much better to live in a palace,” Grandma pointed out. “You can give your trash to a servant instead of having to drag it yourself all the way to the end of a driveway.”

  Dad stared at Grandma. “When have you ever had to take out your own trash, Mother?”

  “And, of course, if you live with us, you’ll have your own pony, Olivia,” Grandma went on. “I had the loveliest pony when I was your age. I called him Zip. He ate apples straight out of my hand. I’m deathly allergic to horse hair, of course, and wept buckets of tears every time he was near, but it was worth it. I loved him so.”

  “You’d have to switch schools,” Dad said, speaking as if Grandma hadn’t said anything. “But—”

  “But the Royal Genovian Academy is right down the street from the palace,” Grandma interrupted. “It’s a truly excellent school, with its own stables where you can learn to ride, and very rigorous entrance standards. They don’t let in just anyone, like the public schools in America are forced to.”

  “I don’t know if I could get into a school with rigorous entrance standards,” I said awkwardly, because I didn’t want them to be disappointed in me. “I mean, Aunt Catherine had me tested, and my intelligence is only average.”

  Dad and Grandma exchanged glances.

  “Did your aunt tell you that, Olivia?” Dad asked. “That you were average?”

  “No,” I said. “My step-cousin Sara did. She overheard my aunt and her dad talking. But I know it’s true. Because I’m not in any advanced placement classes. I mean, I get good enough grades, I guess. But I really have to study. The truth is, I’m … well, I’m completely average. There’s nothing special about me. Nothing at all.”

  I felt nervous admitting it, but I had to tell them, since they’d have found out eventually anyway.

  “Except for drawing…” I added, remembering at the last minute. “I’m a very good drawer according to my teacher, Ms. Dakota, except that I need to work on my perspective. I was even admitted to an art school, with a scholarship. But Aunt Catherine said I was too young.”

  Grandma brightened. “You obviously inherited that from me. I was always exquisite at drawing myself. And you know, the Royal Genovian Academy has an excellent art program. I shouldn’t brag, but the great Picasso saw me drawing one day on the Rue de Rivoli in Paris—I remember I was wearing a pair of chinos that I got hand-tailored at a lovely little shop in Capri; I’ll have to take you there when you’re older, you haven’t the figure for them now, of course—and the great master himself offered to—”

  Dad cut her off. “No, he didn’t, Mother.” To me, he said, “I don’t think you’re average, Olivia. I don’t think there’s anything average about you.”

  “I’ve only just met you,” Grandma said, “and I don’t think you’re a bit average. No average person could make Rommel do that.” She pointed at the hairless poodle, who was curled up against my hip, sleeping soundly with my thigh as a pillow for his head. “Rommel hates everyone.”

  “Including me,” Dad s
aid.

  “Including Phillipe,” Grandma agreed.

  “Mia thinks you’re special, too, Olivia,” Dad went on. “The fact is, we all think you’re special, and we’d be very honored to have you come live with us, at least for part of the year. But we’d understand if you’d rather stay with your aunt.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Grandma said, taking a sip of whatever it was she was drinking. “I’d never understand it. I think it would be an utter waste, and quite frankly a disaster.”

  “Your grandmother has a tendency to exaggerate,” Dad said, “as you’ll find out the more you get to know her.”

  “I suppose we could come to New Jersey to visit you,” Grandma said. She didn’t sound very enthusiastic about this last part. She said the words “New Jersey” like they were a disease she hoped not to catch. “But not Qalif. Rommel doesn’t take well to hot weather.”

  “Rommel doesn’t take well to any weather,” Dad said, in a bitter voice.

  To me he said, “Why don’t you take some time to think it over? Want some more chocolate milk?”

  I shook my head. I was still in so much shock, I didn’t know what to think.

  So instead of thinking, I picked up the bagel Dad had made for me and sank my teeth into it. It had been so long since I’d last had bread, I’d almost forgotten how good it tasted.

  Then I remembered something, and after swallowing what was in my mouth, said, “Dad?”

  He had just taken a big bite of his bagel. “Hmm?” he said.

  “How did you know I like cream cheese and smoked salmon on my bagels?” I asked.

  “Oh, that’s easy,” Grandma said, while Dad struggled to chew before answering. “It’s his favorite, too.”

  I guess there’s more you can inherit from your family than just eye color and a talent for drawing. You can also inherit thrones, and a liking for smoked salmon.

  Wednesday, May 6

  11:00 P.M.

  The Plaza Hotel

  It’s way past my bedtime (which is nine thirty in Cranbrook), but I can’t sleep. I’m too excited!

  Plus, I’m sleeping in a strange place … the spare guest room in my grandmother’s penthouse suite in New York City!