'What other way could I do it?' Grandmere demanded. 'You will not pose for any of the magazines that have offered to send photographers. Not for Vogue, or Harper's Bazaar. Don't you understand that what Sebastiano said about your bone structure is true? You really are quite beautiful, Amelia. If only you'd just have a little more confidence in yourself — show
off once in a while. Think how quickly that boy you like would leave the house fly girl for you!'
'Fruit fly,' I said automatically. 'And, Grandmere, I told you, Michael likes her because she's really smart. They have a lot of stuff in common - like computers. It has nothing to do with how she looks.'
'Oh, Mia,' Grandmere said. 'Don't be naive.'
Poor Grandmere. It really wasn't fair to blame her, because she comes from such a different world. In Grandmere's world, women are valued for being great beauties - or, if they aren't great beauties, they are revered for dressing impeccably. What they do, like for a living, isn't important, because most of them don't do anything. Oh, maybe they do some charity work, or whatever, but that's it.
Grandmere doesn't understand, of course, that today being a great beauty doesn't count for much. Oh, it matters in Hollywood, of course, and on the runways in Milan. But nowadays, people understand that perfect looks are the result of DNA - something the person has nothing to do with. It's not like it's any great accomplishment, being beautiful. It's just genetics.
No, what matters today is what you do with the brain behind those perfect blue eyes (or brown eyes, or green, or whatever). In Grandmere's day, a girl like Judith, who could clone fruit flies, would be viewed as a piteous freak unless she managed to clone fruit flies and look stunning in Dior.
Even in this remarkably enlightened age, girls like Judith still don't get as much attention as girls like Lana - which isn't fair,
since cloning fruit flies is probably way more important than having totally perfect hair.
The really pathetic people are the ones like me: I can't clone fruit flies and I've got bad hair.
But that's OK. I'm used to it by now.
Grandmere's the one who still needs convincing that I am an absolutely hopeless case.
'Look,' I said to Grandmere. 'I told you. Michael is not the type of guy who is going to be impressed because I'm in a Sunday Times supplement in a strapless ballgown. That's why I like him. If he were the kind of guy who was impressed by stuff like that, I wouldn't want anything to do with him.'
Grandmere didn't look very convinced.
'Well,' she said. 'Perhaps you and I must agree to disagree. In any case, Amelia, I came over to apologize. I never meant to distress you. I meant only to show you what you can do, if you'd only try.' She spread her gloved hands apart. 'And look how well I succeeded. Why, you planned and executed an entire press conference, all on your own!'
I couldn't help smiling a little at that one. 'Yes,' I said. 'I did.'
'And,' Grandmere said, 'I understand that you passed Algebra.'
I grinned harder. 'Yes. I did.'
'Now,' Grandmere said, 'there is only one thing left for you to do.'
I nodded. 'I know. And I've been thinking a lot about it. I think it might be best if I extended my stay in Genovia. Like maybe
I could just live there from now on. What do you think about that?'
Grandmere's expression, I could see in the light coming from my room, was one of disbelief.
'Live in ... live in Genovia?' For once, I'd caught her off" guard. 'What are you talking about?'
'You know,' I said. 'I could just finish ninth grade in school there. And then maybe I could go to one of those Swiss boarding schools you're always going on about.'
Grandmere just stared at me. 'You'd hate it.'
'No,' I said. 'It might be fun. No boys, right? That would be great. I mean, I'm kind of sick of boys right now.'
Grandmere shook her head. 'But your friends . . . your mother . . . '
'Well,' I said reasonably. 'They could come and visit.'
Then Grandmere's face hardened. She peered at me from between the heavily mascaraed slits her eyelids had become.
'Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Renaldo,' she said. 'You are running away from something, aren't you?'
I shook my head innocently. 'Oh, no, Grandmere,' I said. 'Really. I'd like to live in Genovia. It'd be neat.'
'NEAT?' Grandmere stood up. Her high heels went through the slots between the metal bars of the fire escape, but she didn't notice. She pointed imperiously at my window.
'You get inside right now,' she hissed, in a voice I had never heard her use before.
I have to admit, I was so startled I did exactly what she said. I unplugged Ronnie's electric blanket and crawled right back
into my room. Then I stood there while Grandmere crawled back in too.
'You,' she said, when she'd straightened out her skirt, 'are a princess of the royal house of Renaldo. A princess,' she said,
going to my wardrobe, and rifling through it, 'does not shirk her responsibilities. Nor does she run at the first sign of adversity.'
'Um, Grandmere,' I said. 'What happened today was hardly the first sign of adversity, OK? What happened today was the
last straw. I can't take it any more, Grandmere. I am getting out.'
Grandmere pulled from my wardrobe the dress Sebastiano had designed for me to wear to the dance. You know, the one
that was supposed to make Michael forget that I am his little sister's best friend.
'Nonsense,' Grandmere said.
That was all.
Just 'nonsense'. Then she stood there, tapping her toes and staring at me.
'Grandmere,' I said. Maybe it was all that time I'd spent outside. Or maybe it was that I was pretty sure my mom and Mr.G and my dad were all in the next room, listening. How could they not be? There was no door, or anything, to separate my room from the living room.
'You don't understand,' I said. 'I can't go back there.'
'All the more reason,' Grandmere said, 'for you to go.'
'No,' I said. 'First of all, I don't even have a date for the dance, OK? And P.S., only losers go to dances without dates.'
'You are not a loser, Amelia,' Grandmere said. 'You are a princess. And princesses do not run away when things become difficult. They throw their shoulders back and they face what disaster awaits them head on. Bravely, and without complaint.'
I said, 'Hello, we are not talking about marauding Visigoths, OK, Grandmere? We are talking about an entire high school that now thinks I am in love with Boris Pelkowski.'
'Which is precisely,' Grandmere said, 'why you must show them that it doesn't matter to you what they think.'
'Why can't I show them that it doesn't matter by not going?'
'Because that,' Grandmere said, 'is the cowardly way. And you, Mia, as you have shown amply this past week, are not a coward. Now get dressed.'
I don't know why I did what she said. Maybe it was because somewhere deep inside, I knew that for once, Grandmere was right.
Or maybe it was because secretly, I guess I was a little curious to see what would happen.
But I think the real reason was because, for the first time in my entire life, Grandmere didn't call me Amelia.
No. She called me Mia.
And because of my stupid sentimentalism, I am in a car right now, going back to stupid crappy Albert Einstein High School,
the dust from which I thought I'd managed to shake permanently from my feet not four hours ago.
But no. Oh, no. I'm going back, in the stupid velvet party dress Sebastiano designed for me. I'm going back and I will
probably be ridiculed for being the dateless biological freak that I am.
But regardless of what happens, I can always comfort myself with the knowledge of one thing:
Tomorrow, I will be thousands of miles away from all of this.
Oh, God. We're here.
I think I'm going to be sick.
Saturday, December 19, Royal Genovian Jet
When I was about to turn six years old, all I wanted for my birthday was a cat.
I didn't care what kind of cat. I just wanted one - a cat of my very own. We had been to visit my mom's parents at their farm
in Indiana, and they had a lot of cats. One of them had had kittens - little fluffy orange and white ones, which purred loudly when I held them under my chin, and liked to curl up inside the bib of my overalls and nap. More than anything in the world,
I wanted to keep one of those kittens.
I should mention that, at the time, I had a thumb-sucking problem. My mother had tried everything to get me to stop sucking my thumb, including buying me a Barbie, in spite of her fundamental stand against Barbie and all that she stands for, as a sort
of bribe. Nothing worked.
So when I started whining to her about wanting a kitten, my mom came up with a plan. She told me she would get me a kitten for my birthday if I quit sucking my thumb.
Which I did, immediately. I wanted a cat of my own that badly.
And yet, as my birthday rolled around, I had my doubts my mother would live up to her end of the bargain. For one thing,
even at the age of six I knew my mom wasn't the most responsible person. Why else was our electricity always being turned off? And about half the time I showed up at school wearing a skirt AND trousers, because my mother let me decide what I wanted to wear. So I wasn't sure she'd remember about the kitten - or that, if she did remember, she'd know where to get one.
So as you can imagine, when the morning of my sixth birthday rolled around, I wasn't holding out much hope.
But when my mother came into my bedroom holding this tiny ball of yellow and white fur and plopped it on to my chest, and I looked into Louie's (he didn't become Fat Louie until about twenty-something pounds later) great big blue eyes (this was
before they turned green), I knew a joy such as I had never known before in my life and never expected to feel again.
That is, until last night.
I am totally serious.
Last night was the best night of my ENTIRE life. After that whole fiasco with Sebastiano and the photos, I thought I would never ever feel anything like gratitude to Grandmere EVER again.
But she was SO RIGHT to make me go to that dance. I am SO GLAD I went back to Albert Einstein, the best, the loveliest school, in the whole country, if not the whole world!!!!!!!
OK, here's what happened:
Lars and I pulled up in front of the school. There were twinkly white lights in all the windows that I guess were supposed to represent icicles or whatever.
I was sure I was going to throw up and I mentioned this to Lars. He said I couldn't possibly throw up because to his certain knowledge I hadn't eaten anything since the Entemann's cake way before lunch, and that was probably all digested by now. With that piece of encouraging information, he escorted me up the steps and into the school.
There were masses of people teeming around the coat check in the front entrance. Lars checked our coats while I stood there waiting for someone to come up and ask me what I was doing there without a date. All that happened, however, was that Lilly-and-Boris and Tina-and-Dave descended upon me, and started acting all nice and said how happy they were that I'd come (Tina told me later that she'd already explained to everyone that Kenny and I had broken up, although she hadn't told them why, THANK GOD).
So, fortified by my friends, I went into the gym, which was decorated all wintery with cut-out paper snowflakes, one of those disco balls, and fake snow everywhere, which I must say looked a lot whiter and cleaner than the snow that was starting to
pile up on the ground outside.
There were tons of people there. I saw Lana and Josh (ugh), Justin Baxendale with his usual flock of adoring fans, and Shameeka and Ling Su and a bunch of other people. Even Kenny was there, though when he saw me he went bright red
and turned around and started talking to this girl from our Bio class. Oh well.
Everyone was there, except the one person I'd been most dreading. Or hoping to see. I didn't know which.
Then I saw Judith Gershner. She had changed out of her overalls and looked quite pretty in this red Laura Ashleyish dress.
But she wasn't dancing with Michael. She was dancing with some boy I'd never seen before.
So I looked around for Lilly and finally spotted her using one of the payphones. I went up to her and was like, 'Where's your brother?'
Lilly hung up the phone. 'How should I know?' she demanded. 'It's not my turn to babysit him.'
I went - oddly comforted by her demeanour, which simply proved that no matter how much other things change, Lilly always stayed the same - 'Well, Judith Gershner is here, so I just figured—'
'For God's sake,' Lilly said. 'How many times do I have to tell you? Michael and Judith are not going out.'
I went, 'Oh, right. Then why have they spent every waking moment together for the past two weeks?'
'Because they were working on that stupid computer program for the Carnival,' she said. 'Besides, Judith Gershner already
has a boyfriend.' Lilly grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around so I could see Judith on the dance floor. 'He goes
to Trinity.'
I looked at Judith Gershner as she slow-danced with a boy who looked a lot like Kenny, only older and not as uncoordinated.
'Oh,' I said.
'Oh is right,' Lilly said. 'I don't know what is wrong with you today, but I can't deal with you when you're acting like such a freak. Sit down right here' - she pulled out a chair -'and don't you dare get up. I want to know where to find you when I
need to.'
I didn't even ask Lilly why she might need to find me. I just sat down. I felt like I couldn't stand up any more. I was that tired.
It wasn't that I was disappointed. I mean, I didn't want to see Michael. At least, part of me didn't.
Another part of me really wanted to see him and ask him just what he'd meant by that poem.
But I was sort of afraid of the answer.
Because it might not be the one I was hoping it would be.
After a while, Lars and Wahim came and sat down next to me. I felt like a complete tool. I mean, there I was, sitting at a
dance with two bodyguards, who were deep in a discussion about the advantages versus the disadvantages of rubber bullets. Nobody was asking me to dance. Nobody would, either.
Why was I even staying? I had done what Grandmere said. I had shown up. I had proved to everyone that I wasn't a coward. Why couldn't I leave? I mean, if I wanted to?
I stood up. I said to Lars, 'Gome on. We've been here long enough. I still have a lot of packing to do. Let's go.'
Lars said OK and started to get up. Then he stopped. I saw that he was looking at something behind me. I turned around.
And there was Michael.
He had obviously just gotten there. He was out of breath. His bow tie wasn't tied and there was still snow in his hair.
'I didn't think you were coming,' he said.
I knew my face had gone as red as Judith Gershner's dress. But there wasn't anything I could do about that. I said,
'Well, I almost didn't.'
He said, 'I called you a bunch of times. Only you wouldn't come to the phone.'
I said, 'I know.' I was wishing the floor of the gym would open up, like in It's a Wonderful Life, and that I'd fall into the pool underneath it and drown and not have to have this conversation.
'Mia,' he said. 'With that thing today. I didn't mean to make you cry.'
Or the floor could open and I could just fall and keep falling, for ever and ever and ever. That would be OK too. I stared at
the floor, willing it to crack apart and swallow me
up.
'It didn't,' I said. 'I mean, it wasn't that. It was something Kenny said.'
'Yeah,' Michael said. 'Well, I heard you two broke up.'
Yeah. Probably by now the whole school had. Now, I knew, my face was even redder than Judith's dress.
'The thing is,' Michael went on, 'I knew it was you. Who was leaving those cards.'
If he had reached inside my chest, pulled out my heart, flung it to the floor and kicked it across the room, it could
not possibly have hurt as much as hearing that. I could feel my eyes filling up with tears all over again.
'You did?' You know, it's one "thing to have your heart broken. But to have it happen at a school dance, in front of
everyone . . . well, that's harsh.
'Of course I did,' he said. He sounded impatient. 'Lilly told me.'
For the first time, I looked up into his face.
'Lilly
told you?' I cried. 'How did she know?'
He waved his hand. 'I don't know. Your friend Tina told her, I guess. But that's not important.'
I looked around the gym and saw Lilly and Tina at the far side of it, both staring in my direction. When they saw me looking at them, they turned around really fast and pretended to be deeply absorbed in conversation with their dates.
'I'm going to kill them,' I murmured.
Michael reached out and grabbed both my shoulders. 'Mia,' he said, giving me a little shake. 'It doesn't matter. What matters
is that I meant what I wrote. And I thought you did too.'
I didn't think I could have heard him right. I went, 'Of course I meant it.'
He shook his head. 'Then why did you freak out like that today at the carnival?'
I stammered, 'Well, because . .. because ... I thought... I thought you were making fun of me.'
'Never,' he said.
And that's when he did it.
No fuss. No asking my permission. No hesitation whatsoever. He just leaned down and kissed me, right on the lips.
And I found out, right then, that Tina was right:
It isn't gross if you're in love with the guy.
In fact, it's the nicest thing in the whole world.
And do you know what the best part is?
I mean, aside from Michael being in love with me, and having kept it a secret almost as long as I have, if not longer?
And Lilly knowing all along but not saying anything up until a few days ago because she found it an interesting social
experiment to see how long it would take us to figure it out on our own (a long time, it turned out)?
And the fact that Michael's going to Columbia next year, which is only a few subway stops away so I'll still be able to see him as much as I want?
Oh, and Lana walking by while we were kissing, and going, in this disgusted voice, 'Oh, God, get a room, would you?'
And slow dancing with him all night long, until Lilly finally came up and said, 'Come on, you guys, it's snowing so hard, if we don't leave now we'll never get home'?
And kissing good night outside the stoop to my loft, with the snow falling all around us (and grumpy Lars complaining he was getting cold)?
No, the best part is that we moved right into Frenching without any trouble at all. Tina was right - it just seemed perfectly natural.
And now the captain says we have to put away our tray tables for take-off, so I'll have to quit writing in a minute.
Dad says if I don't stop talking about Michael, he's going to go sit up front with the pilot for the flight.
Grandmere says she can't get over the change in me. She says I seem taller. And you know maybe I am. She thinks it's because I'm wearing another one of Sebastiano's original creations, designed just for me, just like the dress that was supposed to make Michael see me as more than just his little sister's best friend . . . except that it turned out he already did. But I know that's not it.
And it isn't love, either. Well, not entirely.
I'll tell you what it is: self-actualization.
That and the fact that it turns out I'm really a princess, after all. I must be, because guess what?
I'm living happily ever after.