A/N: Long time... no post? I'll try to keep this short. Mostly I had a lot ideas but as I wrote them... they all fell apart; except this one.
BUT there a few things you should know:
1) I'll be switching between Mia's POV and third person because some things are just written better (by me) in either one of the two.
2) In most chapters there will some part I have taken from the Princess Diaries books. I will not mark it with in my story, but there will be a note at the top. If you know the story, you'll recognize it. Just trust that there are things just better written by Meg Cabot than by me.
Disclaimer: I own only the idea of this spin-off story; the characters and general plot belong to Meg Cabot. And the title belongs to a U2 song. (Parts from this chapter are from the book, pages 133-137)
Also some possible offensive language, though mostly in the A/N part of things, I'm trying really hard to stay true to Mia's character.
With or With Out You.
Chapter One: Crazed Serial Killer?
"Hey Lilly!"
"What?" Lilly poked her head around the kitchen wall.
"I'm going to the bathroom."
"Okay, but don't take too long," Lilly put a kernel of buttery popcorn heaven into her moth and plopped onto the coach. "Julia and Heath might be able to wait, but I won't." She loaded the '10 Things I Hate About You' DVD into the player.
"Yeah okay."
Mia checked over her shoulder, and just as she predicted Lilly had started the movie. Mia snuck past the bathroom and stopped at the end of the hallway. She felt her heart beat faster.
She was going to go into Michael's room. On the white door she imagined the "Keep out" sign on the door from her dreams. And quietly propped the door open to peer inside.
"Hey Thermopolis." She could hear is deliciously bemused voice. Eager to see him again, Mia stepped inside only to discover what she knew all along. The room kept as the Moscovitz's office was sparse and primly kept with the exception of one of Helen Thermopolis's on the wall.
She turned around disappointedly scrutinizing every part of the walls, scratching through her cherished memories trying to remember exactly where the Radiohead poster was, where the vintage 1977 Star Wars poster hung in glass, where his laptop sat, and the socks lay thrown.
"What's wrong Mia?" he asked softly. "You look upset," she turned around again looking for him, but there was nothing.
"You're not real," she whispered into the cold room.
"Mia..." His words caressed her senses again; she closed her eyes hoping to make him real, anything to make Michael real.
"Mia?"
"What are you doing?" irritated concern dropped from Lilly's mouth. "I thought you wanted to use the bathroom."
"I... I was just thinking," Mia hesitated. Should she tell Lilly about her strange dreams...?
"In my parents office?"
"Yeah, well, I ... I just needed a neutral environment to clear my thoughts. You always say I should go to a neutral environment."
"In my parents office?" Lilly repeated skeptically.
"I'm sorry I didn't think you would be mad."
"Than why'd you say you were going to the bathroom?"
"Would you have believed me if I said, 'Hey Lil! Mind if I go stand in your parents office and stare at the walls while I try to figure out why I'm having dreams about your non-existent brother?'" Mia babbled with out thinking. "I seriously doubt you would have taken me seriously then—" she stopped, looking at Lilly curiously.
"My what?" Lilly spat.
And while Mia doesn't support unnecessary profanity, there didn't seem to be a more perfect moment for it.
Shit.
Maybe before you think I'm some crazy pathetic stupid triangle-hair, and before you decide I'll become a crazed serial killer trying to find her perfect boy... maybe you should hear my whole story.
My name is Mia Thermopolis. Except if you ask my dad or Grandmére or the press or (sometimes) Lana Weinburger, I become Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo, Princess of Genovia."
Where's Genovia? Let me just say it's a small (very small) but wealthy European country run by one of the very few remaining monarchs. My dad is Artur Christoff Phillipe Gerard Grimaldi Renaldo,Prince of Genovia.
You know most girls know as they group up whether they're some kind of complete super freak or a perfect doll image. I was happy with my life knowing I was a freak, mostly happy anyway, but its only gotten worse.
Who wants to learn their life is even more hideously super freakish than the thought? I mean, I knew I was a freak. But then I found out my MOM is dating my ALGEBRA TEACHER. Like I'm not freakish enough for FAILING the algebra class my BEST FRIEND SKIPPED! And even worse (and you can't get much worse than that) I found out that because of my Dad's cancer that he can't have anymore children and suddenly I became my worst nightmare.
I became a princess.
You might've think I'd react better to the news than I did, but I happened to like my life, usually. What will I do if I'm not allowed to go to Lilly Moscovitz's apartment whenever I want? Lilly Moscovitz is one of the coolest people ever, and the best friend you could ever have, even if she can be unfairly stubborn and judgmental in her natural genius way, she really is too, you know?
Her parents are these psychoanalysts, who make lots of money so they have this nice apartment in GreenwichVillage where she can have whatever she wants.
And so maybe I lied a little. Lilly isn't always the coolest person ever. Because I am a princess now, (which by the way, I still maintain the fact that it was unfairly forced upon me and that it should be my right to choose what I do with my life, like joining Greenpeaceinstead of running a monarchy) I had to get a make-over.
Apparently I didn't look enough like a freak or a princess, now I look like Lana Weinburger. Or at least, that's what Lilly fricking shouted at me on the landing of her apartment. Like she even knows what I have to deal with. If you think being a princess would be stress free, you are so unenlightened.
I have to have these horrible princess lessons. In which I am subjugated for hours by my Grandmother (but I have to call her Grandmére) into reciting the lineage of the Renaldo line and which Duke currently has control over Genovian tourism and olives. Because everyone knows that being able to trace your lineage back more than twelve generations by name, birth date, and occupation will be so useful to me as a fourteen year old girl attending Albert Einstein High School.
Oh right, I'm sorry. Fourteen year old princess.
But Lilly doesn't know any of this. And when she saw the results of my transformation from a triangle-haired, overall wearing, 'Save the Whales' tee-shirt kind of girl to a 'Lana-wannabe' she was pretty shocked. I was shocked too, when I saw it.
Still, that doesn't justify calling me a Lana-clone. Does she really think I wanted to look like Lana with blond hair that's controlled and actually looks good for once?Couldn't she just be happy for me? God.
And then she started about how I wasn't aggressive enough to even stand up to stop a stupid hair cut, and how if I'm going to let someone else mold me it should be her. Okay, she didn't say it, she implied it. Otherwise, why else would she crack about turning down one day to work on her show? I know she thinks it's the most important thing she's ever done, but I think it's stupid. Its just five more cents at Ho's Deli than the Asian students.
So as she started to get into how bad my hair looked (I just spent the whole day listening to how bad I looked, and I thought I looked pretty good, for me, that is) I got a little upset. Who wouldn't?
"Lilly, shut up."
"What?" Lilly said. "What did you just say to me?"
And I panicked. I didn't know why I shouted at her to shut up. I never tell anyone to shut up. It's just not something I do. I don't know what happened, really.
I looked around the room nervously, I didn't know what I thought I'd find, maybe something to draw strength from. But I was alone, completely alone with raging Lilly Moscovitz, while sporting new hair I was shy about, and fake nails.
I have never felt so alone.
"What did you just say to me?" Lilly repeated, seething.
"I'm sorry," I said near to tears. I don't know where that came from either. I wasn't sorry. I just saw my hair a few minutes ago, and I liked it. It really didn't look that bad. Almost cool, really.
And where did Lilly come off telling me what to do? But I wasn't just about to say that, not after the look of fury had just started to fade from her small beady eyes.
Then, I realized as I mumbled profuse apologizes about hair spray influencing my mood, Lilly was right. I do have a problem being aggressive, and it wouldn't ever get better working under her as one of her many minions.
But how could I ever be aggressive when the one person who is supposed to know me best, understand everything about me, share my secrets and be my best friend, is a control freak?
How do you beat that?
"Hurry up Mia!" Lilly yelled at me on the way to her room.
I knew as I stepped back into her apartment that I had given up. I would become, essentially (with out the repulsive title of course), her slave.
And slaver was outlawed 139 years ago. A/N: based on when PD first came out So why should I have to become Lilly's unofficial slave who obeys her every word? (Because I have no spine! That's why! But, we've already established this.)
I didn't want to dive out of the eye of the storm just yet, (great phrase isn't it?) and get into yet another argument. So I did what I always seem to do lately.
I lied.
"I don't feel good," I mumbled dragging myself slowly and determinedly into Lilly's room. "The chemicals are giving me a really bad head ache."
Lilly eyed me suspiciously, so I winced and rubbed my head for good measure. I refused to crack under her intense scrutiny. "You were fine a few moments ago."
"Have you ever had a full can of hair spray put onto your head?" I lied again, it wasn't hair spray, it was mousse, with only a little amount of hair spray. But I feigned a resigned attitude; playing possum was the best way to go when playing with temperamental kittens like Lilly. Besides, this statement was as close as I dared to get to becoming obnoxious right then. Any more and I'd be on a lonely boat, daring strong winds and blinding rage, whoops—rain, again.
"I'll get you some medicine." Lilly said finally.
At that point my brain had one of those disturbingly frustrating moments when it went completely blank.
Or in other words, as Michael would say, "a brain fart."
I won't even try to begin to imagine where my mind just pulled the name Michael from... I don't even know anyone named Michael, I guess it just sounded like it fit?
I am now making people up to justify my strange expressions.
Anyway, as I was saying, I had a brain fart. And it was at the worst possible moment, the time when I needed an excuse to escape the most... lets just say I wanted to leave for fear of being further subjugated by Lilly's abuse.
But now, before my momentarily feeble mind could fabricate a reason to ditch, my dear best friend (being the helpful person she is) brought back pills to get read of head aches.
"Thanks," I mumbled dejectedly. Seems like lately I can never get ahead.
But Lilly just ignored my measly thanks, and dragged me into her room to edit recent footage for her show.
Ha! Footage Norman, man with a foot fetish would love that.
That night while editing videos, Mia remained unusually quiet and subdued as Lilly fumed silently.
How dare Mia change the way she looks, just because someone told her to. And how day she talk to Lilly that way. She had no right to.
But in the back of her mind, (because her parent's ever-analyzing nature being both contagious and ever-present in her blood) Lilly questioned the motives behind her anger.
Irrational, or justified?
Both she decided succinctly, as she and Mia lay down to sleep. And though it pained her to admit it even to herself, she was a little wrong in the way she had treated Mia.
But only a little. After all, her own small insecurities were nothing compared to Mia's aversion to confrontation.
Or, almost nothing.
Quietly her mind spoke, in almost a Mia like submissive manner, Lilly thought disgusted with herself.
Okay, so she was a little jealous too. Mia seemed to enjoy her new look, at least enough to try and defend it. And Lilly was jealous that Mia looked so cute in it. (Though she'd never admit it.) Mia actually looked cute in a Lana-like style.
That made her scared. What if Mia tried to become Lana? And then Lana's friend?
Lilly had always been pretty secure in her relationships. As strange as her parents were, it was their guidance as a small child that left her usually self assured, and confident.
She had good friends and a potential boyfriend. (Lilly hadn't yet mentioned to Mia how attractive that "strange annoying Russian" Boris had become to her.) And, like normal, she was fairly confident he felt the same about her. Though his methods of being sweet to her were a little er... abnormal, she did appreciate the effort.
But she didn't like losing control (as most people who knew Lilly were quick to confirm). Maybe it was wrong to think of it this way, but Lilly didn't care. What she did care about was losing control of Mia.
As Mia mumbled angrily in her sleep, Lilly resolved that if she'd have to give up control of Mia, it'd be on her own terms and no one else's, and that including Mia.
Editing with Lilly had, in short, been hell. But Mia was too nice to say it, or even let her self think it (for more than half a second). Instead she mourned over what she felt was the freedom she lost.
Lilly, she knew, was still angry. It was obvious to Mia. But she didn't feel like having a whole 'nother fight about Lilly's body language. Mostly because in the end, Mia knew she'd be the one to apologize again, and admittedly, she was just as bad at hiding her emotions. Or so she thought.
Thus it was difficult for her to hide her relief when Lilly decided they were done for the night. Instead of getting angry at Mia's discontent state, she seemed worried that Mia was still not well.
Mia explained she was exhausted from the day, before quickly falling asleep.
"Lilly, shut up."
Unfortunately, right as I was telling Lilly to shut up, Michael, her older brother, came out holding an empty cereal bowl and not wearing a shirt. And while Lilly was about to hyperventilate from fury I decided that if it were the end of the world, Michael wouldn't be such a bad person to procreate with. I mean, he doesn't look that bad with out a shirt, and he makes me laugh. Humor is important right?
"Whoa," he said, backing up. I wasn't sure if he said whoa and backed up because of what I'd said, or how I looked. Was he trying to humor me, and make me think I looked good (did he notice I was staring at his stomach?), or was he really genuinely surprised?
"What?" Lilly said. "What did you just say to me?"
Now she looked more like a pug than ever.
I totally wanted to back down. But I didn't, because I knew she was right: I do have problems being assertive. And what would Michael think if I wimped out?
So instead I said, "I'm tired of you putting me down all the time. All day long, my mom and dad and grandmother and teachers are telling me what to do. I don't need my friends getting on my case, too."
"Whoa," Michael said again. This time I knew it was because of what I said. It felt good to be recognized like that, even if it was Lilly's dorky older brother.
"What," Lilly said, her eyes getting all narrow, "is your problem?"
I went, "You know what? I don't have a problem. You're the one with a problem. You seem to have a big problem with me. Well, you know what? I'm going to solve your problem for you. I'm leaving. I never wanted to help you with your stupid Ho-Gate story anyway. The Hos are nice people. They haven't done anything wrong. I don't see why you have to pick on them. And"—I said this as I opened the door—"My hair is not yellow."
Then I left. I sort of slammed the door behind me, too. Lilly had a huge scowl on her face as I left, she looked like a foaming pug, but Michael was smiling. I think.
While I was waiting for the elevator, I sort of thought Lilly might come out and apologize to me.
But she didn't.
I came straight home, and took a bath, got into bed with my remote control and Fat Louie, who's the only person who likes me the way I am right now. I was thinking Lilly might call to apologize, but so far she hasn't.
Well, I'm not apologizing until she does.
And you know what? I looked in the mirror a minute ago, and my hair doesn't look that bad.
Thoughts? Ideas? Comment? Please review! I will continue the story, but I'd rather do it knowing some one likes the idea, or enjoys it! (Ugh, formatting this thing was a bitch!)