Princess in Waiting (4 page)

Book

• 9-12 months

Handkerchief

• 1 year +

Gloves

Handkerchiefs? Who gives handkerchiefs any more? Handkerchiefs are completely unhygienic!

And candy? For a guy????

But Grandmere says the same rules apply for girls as for boys. Michael is not allowed to give me anything

but candy

or possibly flowers for my birthday, either!

Overall, I think I prefer Mrs Hakim Baba's list.

Still, this whole dating/present-giving thing is so difficult! Everybody says something different. Like I

called my mom and

asked her what I should give Michael, and she said silk boxer shorts.

But I can't give MichaelUNDERWEAR!!!!!!!

I wish my mom would hurry up and have this baby already so she would stop acting so weird. She is

pretty much useless

to me in her current state of hormonal imbalance.

Out of desperation, I asked my dad what I should get Michael, and he said a pen, so Michael could

write to me while I am

in Genovia, instead of my calling him all the time and running up a huge phone bill.

Whatever, Dad. Like anyone writes with a pen any more.

And hello, I am only going to be in Genovia forChristmas and summers, as per our agreement drawn up

last September.

A pen. I am so sure. Am I the only person in my family with a modicum of romance in my bones?

Oops, gotta stop writing, Father Christoff is looking this way. But it is his own fault. I wouldn't write in

my journal during

mass if his sermons were even semi-inspiring. Or at least in English.

Monday, January 11, 1 a.m.,

Royal Genovian Bedchamber

I just got off the phone with Michael. I
had
to call him. It wasn't like I had a choice. I had to find out what

he wanted for his birthday. I mean, I have to get him Something. And it has to be something
really
good,

since I forgot. About his birthday,

and all.

Of course he says he doesn't want anything, that I am the only thing he needs (!!!!!!!!!!) and that he will

see me in eight

days, and that is the best present anyone could get him.

This seems to indicate that he might actually be in love with me, as opposed to only loving me as a friend.

I will, of course,

have to check with Tina to see what she thinks, but I would have to say that in this case, Signs Point to

Yes!!!!!!

But of course he is only saying that. That he doesn't want anything for his birthday, I mean, I have to get

him
something.
Something really good. Only what?

Anyway, I really did have a reason to call him. I didn't do it just because I wanted to hear the sound of

his voice, or anything.

I mean, I am
not
that far gone.

Oh, all right, maybe I am. How can I help it? I have only been in love with Michael since, like, forever. I

love the way he

says my name. I love the way he laughs. I love the way he asks my opinion, like he really cares what I

think - God knows, nobody around here feels that way. I mean, make a suggestion - like that it might

save water to turn off the fountain in front

of the palace at night, when no one is around anyway - and everybody practically acts like one of the

suits of armour in the Grand Hall started talking.

Well, OK, not my dad. But I see him less here in Genovia than I do back home, practically, because he

is so caught up

in parliamentary meetings, and racing his yacht in regattas, and hanging out with the new blonde bareback

rider from the

Cirque du Soleil - which just got to town for an extended stint at one of the casinos.

Anyway, I like talking to Michael. Is that so wrong? I mean, he is my boyfriend, after all.

So we were just saying goodbye after having had a perfectly pleasant conversation about his birthday

and the Genovian

Olive Growers' Association and Michael's band that he hasn't formed yet, and whether it is off-putting to

call it Frontal Lobotomy, and I was just working up the guts to go, 'I miss you,' or 'I love you,' thus

leaving an opening for him to say something similar back to me and therefore resolve the

does-he-just-love-me-like-a-friend-or-is-he-in-love-with-me

dilemma once and for all, when I heard Lilly in the background, demanding to talk to me.

Michael went, 'Go away!' but Lilly kept on shrieking, 'I have to talk to her, I just remembered I have

something really

important to ask her.'

Then Michael went, 'Don't tell her about that,' and my heart skipped a beat because I thought Lilly had all

of a sudden remembered that Michael had been going out with some girl named Tiffany behind my back

after all. Before I could say

another word, Lilly had wrestled the phone away from him (I heard Michael grunt, I guess in pain

because she must have kicked him or something), and then she was going, 'Oh, my God, I forgot to ask.

Did you see it?'

'Lilly,' I said, since even five thousand miles away, I could feel Michael's pain - Lilly kicks hard, I know. I

have been the recipient of quite a few kicks of hers over the years. 'I know that you are used to having

me all to yourself, but you are going

to have to learn to share me with your brother. Now, if this means we are going to have to set boundaries

in our relationship, then I guess we will have to. But you can't just go around ripping the phone out of

Michael's hand when he might have had something really important to—'

'Have you been watching Dr. Phil again?' Lilly wanted to know. 'I can't believe they have
Oprah
there,

but not email.

Anyway, shut up about my sainted brother for a minute. Did . . . you . . . see . . . it?'

'See what? What are you talking about?' I thought maybe somebody had tried to jump into the polar

bear cage at the

Central Park Zoo again. As if those bears don't have enough problems, what with the stress of living in

Manhattan and

not on an iceberg, the way they are supposed to, plus being on display twenty-four/seven, weirdos are

always trying to

dive in there with them.

I totally don't blame those bears for ripping the arms off the last guy who tried it.

'Oh, just the movie,' Lilly said. 'Of your life. Or hadn't you heard your life story has been made into a

movie of the week?'

I wasn't very surprised to hear this. There are already four unauthorized biographies about me floating

around out there.

One of them made the best-seller list for about half a second.

'So?' I said. I was kind of mad at Lilly. I mean, she'd booted Michael off the phone just to tell me about

some dumb movie?

'Hello,' Lilly said. 'Movie. Of your life. You were portrayed as shy and awkward.'

'I
am
shy and awkward,' I reminded her.

'They made your grandmother all kindly and sympathetic to your plight,' Lilly said. 'It was the grossest

mischaracterization

I've seen since
Shakespeare in Love
tried to pass off the Bard as a hottie with a six-pack and a full set of

teeth.'

'That's horrible,' I said. 'Now can I please finish talking to Michael?'

'You didn't even ask how they portrayed me,' Lilly said, accusingly, 'your loyal best friend.'

'How did they portray you, Lilly?' I asked, looking at the big fancy clock on top of the big fancy marble

mantelpiece over

my big fancy bedroom fireplace. 'And make it quick, I've got a breakfast and then a ride with the

Genovian Equestrian

Society in exactly seven hours.'

'They portrayed me as less than fully supportive of your royalness,' Lilly practically screamed into the

phone. 'They made

out like after you first got that stupid haircut, I mocked you for being shallow and a trend-follower!'

'Yeah,' I said, waiting for her to get to the point of her tirade. Because, of course, Lilly hadn't been very

supportive of my haircut, or my royalness - at least at first.

But it turned out Lilly had already gotten to the point of her tirade.

'I was never unsupportive of your royalness!' she shrieked into the phone, causing me to hold the receiver

away from my

head in order to keep my eardrums intact. 'I was your number one most supportive friend through the

whole thing!'

This was so patently untrue, I thought Lilly was joking. But then I realized when she greeted my laughter

with stone-cold

silence that she was totally serious. Apparently Lilly has one of those selective memories, where she can

remember all the

good things she did, but none of the bad things. Kind of like a politician.

Because, of course, if it were true that Lilly had been so supportive of me, I never would have become

friends with

Tina Hakim Baba, whom I only started sitting with at lunch back in October because Lilly wasn't

speaking to me, on

account of the whole princess thing.

'I sincerely hope,' Lilly said, 'that you are laughing in disbelief over the idea that I was ever anything less

than a good friend

to you, Mia. I know we've had our ups and downs, but any time I was ever hard on you, it was only

because I thought you weren't being true to yourself.'

'Um,' I said, getting serious fast. 'OK.' 'I am going to write a letter,' Lilly went on, 'to the studio that

produced that piece of libellous trash, demanding a written apology for their irresponsible screenwriting.

And if they do not provide one - and publish

it in a full-page ad in the
New York Times -
I will sue. I don't care if I have to take my case to the

Supreme Court. Those Hollywood types think they can throw anything they want to in front of a camera

and the viewing public will just lap it up.

Well, that might be true for the rest of the proles, butI am going to fight for more honest portrayals of

actual people and

events. The man is not going to keep
me
down!'

I asked Lilly what man, thinking she meant the director or something, and she just went, 'The man! The

man!'
like I was mentally challenged, or something.

Then Michael got back on the phone and explained that 'the man' is a figurative allusion to authority, and

that in the way

that Freudian analysts blame everything on 'the mother', blues musicians have historically blamed their

woes on 'the man'. Traditionally, Michael informed me, 'the man' is white, financially successful, in his mid

to late forties, and in a position of considerable power over others.

We discussed calling Michael's band The Man, but then dismissed it as having possible misogynistic

undertones.

Eight days until I can once again be in Michael's arms. Oh, that the hours would fly as fleetly as winged

doves!

I just realized - Michael's description of The Man sounds a lot like my dad! Although I doubt all those

blues musicians

were talking about the Prince of Genovia. As far as I know, my dad has never even been to Memphis.

Monday, January 11, 2 p.m.,

Dowager Princess's Private Terrace

Just when it seems like maybe, just maybe, things might be starting to go my way, something always has

to come

along to ruin it.

And, as usual, this time it was Grandmere.

I guess she could tell, because I was so sleepy again today, that I'd been up all night talking to Michael.

So this morning, between my ride with the Genovian Equestrian Society and my meeting with the

Genovian Beachfront Development

Society, Grandmere sat me down and gave me a lecture. This time it wasn't about the socially acceptable

gifts to give

a boy on his birthday. Instead, it was about Appropriate Choices.

'It is all very well and good, Amelia,' Grandmere said, for you to like
that boy.
But I do not think it wise

of you to

allow your affection for this Michael fellow to blind you to other, more suitable consorts such as—'

I interrupted to tell Grandmere that if she said the words Prince William I was going to jump off the Pont

des Vierges.

Grandmere told me not to be more ridiculous than I already am. I could never marry Prince William

anyway on account of

his being Church of England. However, there are apparently other, infinitely more suitable romantic

partners for a princess of the royal house of Renaldo than Michael. And Grandmere said she would hate

for me to miss the opportunity to get to know these other young men, just because I think I have to be

faithful to Michael. She assured me that, were the circumstances reversed, and Michael were the heir to a

throne and a considerablefortune, she highly doubted he would be as scrupulously faithful as I was being.

I objected to this assessment of Michael's character very much. I informed Grandmere that in every

aspect of Michael's life, from his being editor in chief of the now defunct
Crackhead,
to his role as

treasurer in the Computer Club, he has shown nothing but the utmost loyalty and integrity. I also

explained, as patiently as I could, that it hurt me to hear her saying

anything negative about a man to whom I have pledged my heart.

'That is just it, Amelia,' Grandmere said, rolling her scary eyes. 'You are entirely too young to pledge

your heart to anyone.

I think it very unwise of you, at the age of fourteen, to decide with whom you are going to spend the rest