Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the book series "The Princess Diaries" by Meg Cabot, nor will I ever. I do not own any characters or settings you recognize, and I do not profit from this in any way. "A Princess Predicament" is a story written by me (IceCreamGurl6455), purely for my own entertainment and the entertainment of others. No part of this story can be duplicated, quoted, or replicated without my permission and proper citation. Thank you for understanding the terms on which this story was and continues to be written. I appreciate your time and thank you in advance for complying by my personal standards, rules, and international laws.

Sunday November 2, 1:25 AM
The armchair in Lilly's room

Okay, I know I shouldn't be writing this late. I mean, I could hardly keep my eyes open through Dirty Dancing, which, as you know, is pretty much my favorite movie of all time. Not even when Lilly went off on a rant about Johnny's objectifying of women, which usually gets at least bit of a response from me.

Plus, I think my fever came back a little.

Then, I looked at the clock and saw that it was past 11, which explained everything. After Rocky Horror and the almost-wedding yesterday, not to mention agreeing to date Kenny Showalter, I was completely wiped out.

And here I am, almost an hour and a half later, totally and completely awake.

I have no idea how I'm supposed to fall asleep! I don't want to take any more cough medicine, since then I will probably die of an overdose, whenever I finally get to sleep. I already tried counting sheep. Maybe if I tried repeating all of those algebra formulas Mr. G and Michael keep trying to get me to remember...

1:27 AM
Still the armchair in Lilly's room

I can't believe this: I don't remember any of the formulas they taught me!

I'm not joking. My mind is blank. Could selective amnesia be a side effect of having a fever and taking cough medicine?

1:31 AM
Laying down on Lilly's floor in my sleeping bag and holding this diary up to the window for some light

I think I am just going to close my eyes for now. If I'm still up in twenty minutes, don't worry, I'll be back.

Did I really just use a quote from The Terminator in my diary?

God, I am the lamest princess ever!

7:39 AM
Sitting at the Moscovitzes'kitchen table

So, I ended up falling asleep last night.

And then, I woke up at 5:25 because Pavlov had jumped on my face and was almost suffocating me, just like Grandmère is convinced Fat Louie will do to me. So I was just laying there, with a fifty to sixty pound lump of dog on my face, thinking of the irony that this would be the one thing Grandmère was right about.

Oh yeah, I was sleep-deprived. Looking back on it, I have no idea why I didn't just take him off myself. Maybe I was oxygen-deprived as well.

So, anyway, after a minute or so, I heard muffled footsteps, and then Pavlov was lifted off of my face and I could start breathing again.

I blinked up and saw that it was Michael. He was in a pair of boxers, obviously not expecting me (or anyone else) to see him. His hair was all mussed up, like he had been sleeping. Plus, he looked sort of tired. He just had his dog in his arms-like I hold Fat Louie, only Pavlov is about three times the size of my already-overweight cat, so I knew Michael had to be using his muscles. Then, I saw he was about to leave, so I had to say something, because I knew I wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. Also, he looked kind of nice without a shirt on. This is how the conversation went:

Me: Thank you.
Michael: Mia? It's 5:30 in the morning, why are you awake?
Me: Um, Pavlov jumped on my face, and I couldn't breathe.
Michael: Oh. Right. Sorry about that...
Me: I'm fine. Why are you up at 5:30 in the morning on a Sunday?
Michael: I couldn't sleep. I'm watching a movie in the living room. Sorry I woke you up so early.
Me: What movie?
Michael: It's called GATTACA. It focuses on the shortcomings of a society driven by liberal eugenics where potential children are selected through preimplantation genetic diagnosis.
Me: Oh.
Pavlov barks, so Michael shushes him.
Me: Um, I don't know if I will be able to get back to sleep, so...do you mind if I watch the movie with you?
Michael: I don't mind.

So, I followed him into the Moscovitzes' living room and sat next to him on the couch. The movie was already halfway over, so I didn't really have any idea what was going on. There was this guy who everyone called Jerome, but he wasn't really Jerome, because the real Jerome was crippled. And then, Uma Thurman was there, telling the impostor guy to run across traffic even though his contacts weren't in and he couldn't see very well. There was this other thing about DNA, but I didn't have the slightest clue what they were talking about.

Anyway, I must have ended up falling asleep, because the next thing I saw was a bare chest. Then, I realized it was MICHAEL'S chest. I felt my cheeks turn red, and I froze. What if I drooled all over him? He would probably tell everyone he knew. Well, he would tell the Computer Club.

Kenny! Kenny Showalter was in the Computer Club! Kenny, the boy who had asked me out not even 36 hours before!

I was the worst girlfriend ever. If I acted like this with my first boyfriend, how would I act when I had more experience with the whole thing?

If I didn't work to change this, Michael would never even think of looking at me.

Michael, whose chest my head was laying on right now.

I yanked my head off his strong, warm chest and stood up quickly. I looked back at Michael, and he was sleeping! If I played it cool, no one but me would ever know.

Michael's eyes fluttered and found me, standing over him like some sort of five foot, nine inch tall royal stalker. "Oh, it's just you, Mia," he said, yawning and sitting up slowly.

"Um, yeah," I said blushing again. Wait, he called me Mia! Did this mean he really did love me but was too afraid to let his true feeling be shown for fear of his sister's wrath?

"I was wondering when you were going to wake up, but I guess I fell asleep, too," he said, sheepishly.

Nope, he was just tired.

He got up and walked into the kitchen Pavlov, who had been laying under the table, ran over to Michael and wagged his tail. "You hungry, Thermopolis?" he asked.

"A little," I said, shrugging. He got out the orange juice and poured each of us a glass. Then, he grabbed a few pieces of bread and put them in the toaster.

"So, what are you and my sister doing today? Anything illegal for that dumb show of hers?"

"Lilly's show promotes individuality while standing united against the injustices of our nation," I recited, partly because I felt it was my duty to, and partly because I didn't want her to hear me dis her show. If she was eavesdropping.

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Thermopolis. How was the wedding?" he asked as he got the toast, set it on a waiting plate, buttered each slice, and began to eat.

He hadn't been around when the Drs. Moscovitz had psychoanaylzed my mother and Mr. G's decision to elope.

"There wasn't one. They went to Mexico instead."

He studied my face. "You seem crushed."

"They didn't want the big production," I shrugged. "I guess I'm going to the Plaza to give back the dress, today."

He turned to put his dishes in the sink, so I couldn't see his face. "Have fun."

"What are you doing today?" I asked him.

"The Computer Club is going to a lecture at Colombia University about advances in medicine with technology," he explained.

"Fun," I said. He laughed.

"See you, Thermopolis," he called, walking away toward his room.

Sometimes, I have no idea what has gotten into him. Are all guys this bipolar? I have to think not, because I surprising amount of men are married. I doubt many sane woman would put up with a man who can't make up his mind.

But then again, men aren't the only ones who are crazy. After all, Grandmère got married.