Still Monday, 8:38 PM, my balcony at the Plaza

Lars has started knocking on the door, calling my name. I think he thinks I might jump. Off the balcony, I mean. I am seriously considering it.

But, if I did, who will care for Fat Louie?

So, when I showed up for my princess lessons today, Grandmère was waiting in her personal parlor. She was dressed in another very purple ensemble, only this one looked very much like a kimono. When I pointed this out to her, she snapped,"This is not one of those poulet outfits. This is pure silk."

If Lilly was here, she would have said something about how condoning stereotypes of Japanese women is only justifying chauvinists everywhere, and made the topic a theme for Lilly Tells It Like It Is. But, me having already been through enough today, didn't say anything. Plus, Grandmère had already left the room while I dissected her words.

I really need to achieve self-actualization.

Grandmère returned with Rommel in her arms. "Come here, Amelia, and hold Rommel."

I gaped at her, completely shocked. "Grandmère! Last time he saw me, he used my broken ankle as a litter box!"

"Stop whining, Amelia, and hold Rommel while I put on my coat." And then, she dumped him in my arms.

He started shaking right away. How would I ever help Greenpeace if this was how animals reacted to me?

"Amelia, we are meeting a colleague of mine for tea today. She has a granddaughter your age who will be joining us. Make yourself look presentable."

I rolled my eyes. Look presentable? By Grandmère's standards, I would never be presentable until I completely gave in to her and Paolo. She started walking away, and I followed her.

"And no crutches."

"Grandmère! I broke my ankle!"

"I had no crutches or pain medicine at my debutante ball, Amelia, I'm sure you can manage," she snipped.

Sometimes, I wonder if Grandmère has ever heard of empathy.

"Where are we meeting them?" I asked, shifting Rommel.

"Le Cirque," she replied, taking Rommel out of my arms and handing him to a maid. "Give him whatever he wants," she instructed the girl in English. I set my crutches by the door, and we left.

The ride to Le Cirque was pretty uneventful. Grandmère was redrawing her eyebrows in the mirror that dropped down from the limo's ceiling. I was staring out the window, watching all the cars sitting in traffic. Some scientists say that New York will be an all-day rush hour by 2025. I think that whoever came up with that has never actually visited New York. Because if they had seen this place, they'd know we were already there.

Of course, this fact was not helped by the two privately owned Genovian limos that had recently taken up residence in the city.

After the limo pulled to a stop, Lars opened the door and we got out. Grandmère had rented out the entire restaurant for her meeting, because "people in this city are just so vulgar, Amelia. Yesterday, while I was waiting at Paolo's I saw one of those people who can't figure out if they are a man or a woman, and he or she cussed at me!" Sometimes, I wish I could cuss at Grandmère. I think it would be funny to see just how many different shades of purple her face can turn. But, of course, this is not proper behavior for the future monarch of a country.

Even if said country is only a mile long.

The manager of Le Cirque opened the door and, whilst kissing Grandmère's hand and bowing to me repeatedly like he had some OCD complex, I saw who was waiting inside. An elderly woman was chatting with a girl about my age in German. Then, the girl turned her head, and I nearly passed out. It was LANA!

How did Grandmère know Lana? Was the whole city in some conspiracy to keep me from being happy? I mean, I'm failing Algebra (even though my mom dated and married my teacher- plus, now she's having his baby!), found out I was a princess, one of the boys I liked ended up pulling a total Monica Lewinsky-only asking me out for his fifteen minutes of fame- for the Cultural Diversity Dance, I got sent to the principal's office for "dealing narcotics", was sent love letters from and eventually asked out by Kenny Showalter, woke up on the chest of the other guy I like, my ankle is broken, I'm still not self-actualized, and now have to share a bedroom with my insane grandmother at the fanciest hotel in New York. Why not throw in tea with my mortal enemy?

"Amelia, this is-," Grandmère began.

"Grandmère, how could you?" I yelled. My face was red, I knew, and tears started forming in my eyes.

"Amelia!" she snapped. "Do not converse with me in English."

I gritted my teeth. "I don't really care."

Grandmère rolled her eyes and turned to Lana and the other woman. "I am very sorry, Amelia must be pre-menstrual. She has certainly never acted this way before-"

Lana started snickering, and my face heated up even more. "I am not PMSing, Grandmère! That's it, I'm out of here." I turned on my heel and ran, ignoring the pain in my ankle. Lars saw me and sprinted to catch me. "Are you alright?" he asked. I didn't answer. I thought the tears did a good enough job. He sighed. "At least tell me where you are going."

"I'm going to the shelter," I said, turning on left on 3rd and ignoring all the tourists gawking at me.

Lars sighed. "I'm coming with you," he stated. I was silent. I knew the drill. It was another "perk" of royalty. The whole no-privacy-not-even-one-teensy-bit thing, I mean. I took a right turn and another left, and then I was in front of the Humane Society. I gave Lars a pleading look, and he took up his post outside the door. Lars doesn't hover, but that doesn't mean he wasn't totally serious about his job. It meant that he also cared about my feelings, which was no easy feat, what with Grandmère and the rest of my issues.

But, I figured, the closest I can get to normalcy right now is looking at adorable little kittens.

I really miss Fat Louie right now.

Oh, nothing bad happened to him or anything. He's staying at the Plaza with me until my mom and Mr. G get back. Except for that fact that Grandmère hates him. She's always been convinced that he'll smother me while I sleep, which has yet to happen. To "prevent the death of the future monarch of Genovia", she kept telling my dad that I had to leave him at the loft.

But, I argued, who would take care of him there? We have no staff, and Louie is still confused as to how come a foosball table is now occupying his favorite nap spot?, which I have tried to explain. Plus, who would feed him? With staying at the Plaza and school and princess lessons, I don't have a reason (or a consistent time) to go to the loft, which would mean no guarantee of his daily meals.

My dad had just looked at the two of us and sighed. Then, he said, "Mother, Mia has gone through enough schedule upset with staying at the Plaza. Her cat can stay here with her."

But, of course, Grandmère had to have her way. At least a little bit. So she said, "Fine, Phillipe, but he will not sleep in her room." I knew this was coming. "And he will stay in a closet when Rommel is around, because cats bring on his epilepsy." Okay, that was completely unfair. Rommel shook at the sight of anything-or anyone-foreign. He even shook when Grandmère was holding him.

But this, I knew from personal experience, was probably out of fear.

Still, I accepted the compromise. As long as my cat was safe, I was fine. The only problem, of course, was that Fat Louie usually sat in my room while I wrote in this diary, and now it was like something was missing. Whenever I reached out to pet his head, my hand only touched air.

So, seeing all those homeless cats and dogs, and knowing that they might never be loved or have proper homes and owners, made me start crying. I wasn't crying hard, but I was still crying. I tried to pick up as many as I could, petting and hugging them, and letting them feel loved.

I swear, if I ever did getting around to turning the royal palace in Genovia into an animal shelter, like I had told Lilly that time when I slept over and she was filming and put it on her show, I would make Grandmère's rooms into the cat wing.

It was while I was holding two little gray kittens who had fallen asleep in my arms that the door clanged open. I looked at who had walked in, and it was Michael!

I don't think I've ever been that shocked. Except for maybe the whole princess thing. And the Algebra baby.

"Michael? What are you doing here?" I whisper-screamed, so not to wake up the kittens.

He stood there looking a little uncomfortable. "I came to get Pavlov's dog food," he said awkwardly. Only I knew that he always buys Pavlov's food and toys at American Kennels on Lexington Avenue, because he knows the clerk and gets the employee discount. Plus, it's a lot closer to his house.

"What are you d-are you crying Thermopolis?" he said, looking at my face closer.

"Shut up," I grumbled.

"No, it's-are you okay?" he asked, in a softer voice. Which is weird, considering I just told him to shut up.

"I don't know," I answered, my voice wavering and turning a little squeaky. "It's just that I have to sleep in Grandmère's room at the Plaza while my mom's still in Mexico with Mr. G, and I miss my cat, and my sub in algebra is completely unfair and mean, and I had to go to tea with Lana Weinberger, and most of the animals won't ever be loved," I blurted out. He sort of stared at me like I had turned into one of those shriveled up sea things from the Disney version of The Little Mermaid. You know, when the sea witch takes their souls because they couldn't pay the price of whatever she gave them?

Well, I couldn't really blame him. I went sort of crazy and dumped all my problems on him. Boys can't really deal with that much emotional baggage.

Or so I thought, because then Michael said, all thoughtfully, "Well, Mia, I'm sure you could spend the night at our house, or your friend Tina's house, until your mom gets back. And your cat could come with you. You know, as long as my parents don't know and Pavlov can't get to him. I can help you more in algebra, but if your sub gets to be too much of a problem, you'll have to talk to Principal Gupta. I have no idea what went on during tea with Lana, or why you even went, but it couldn't have been too bad because you still look and sound like yourself. And about the animals, well, you want to work for Greenpeace, right? So you can help as many animals as possible then, even if you can't now."

God. God, he was right about everything! He had fixed my entire life!

Well, there was still the princess thing. And Grandmère. And achieving self-actualization. But those issues couldn't really be helped.

So, I sort of looked up at Michael and said, all sniffly, "Thank you. I mean, about the whole algebra thing. And, you know, helping me through all of that. Plus, just being here, and..."

Not being a jerk, I wanted to say. But that would have been mean, because he has been totally not jerk-like lately. Plus, he had just solved every problem I had be upset about.

He looked at me with a strange expression on his face. I didn't really know what it was. Pity, maybe? "Thermopolis..." he said. Then, he gave me a hug.

It wasn't romantic, or anything. I knew he saw me as a little sister, and that was what he would have done for Lilly. If she wasn't a certifiable genius who had achieved self-actualization and never had breakdowns, of course.

Just as I started enjoying the feeling of Michael's strong arms around me and the smell of his neck (which was strangely intoxicating, but calming at the same time), those kittens in my arms started yawning and rolling over. Michael pulled out of the hug, looked down at the kittens-who looked like they were getting paid to be adorable!-and sort of laughed, running his fingers through his hair. I ended up laughing a little, too. Because it had all turned out okay. Yeah, maybe I still had to see Lana in school tomorrow, and maybe Grandmère would yell at me when I got back to the Plaza, but for now, I was fine.

And it felt good.

I ended up leaving with Michael around 8:15, me in a limo, him walking to catch the subway. I had offered to take him to the Subway, or his house, whichever he preferred, but he said that he was fine. Lars drove me back to the Plaza. While we were waiting at a red light, I asked him, "Lars, did you call Michael and tell him to go to the shelter?" But he didn't answer. I think I already knew, though. How else would he have known I was there? "Thank you," I said. Lars was still quiet.

When we got to the Plaza, I quickly sneaked into one of the other guest rooms. Or at least, I would have, if Mamaw hadn't seen me. "Mia! What are you doing? Clarisse, I found the runaway!" Mamaw gave me a huge hug, saying the whole time, "Mia, you can't just run off like that!"

When Grandmère saw me, her lips pressed into that thin little line again. "Amelia, I have never been so humiliated. What makes things worse is that the girl is your classmate. It was extremely rude of you to do that!" she screamed.

Only it was French, so instead of Mamaw hearing me getting verbally abused, she just kept oohing and ahhing.

"Amelia, that woman has obviously not raised you to be respectful," she said.

"My mom is the best there is!" I yelled.

"Princesses do not screech!" Grandmère snipped.

"I never wanted to be a princess," I screamed, sobbing again. "I'm sick of this!" I added, storming away into my room. Childish, I know, but it (hopefully) got my point across.

Or so I thought. The next thing I knew, the lock was being turned, and I was a prisoner.

And here I am. Lars keeps asking me if I'm okay. I don't really know what to tell him. If I say yes, I'll just stay in here crying all night. If I say no, he'll break down the door and probably call me dad.

I wonder if my dad will let me get away from Grandmère. Probably not.

I think I'll just say I'm fine.

To-do:

Achieve self-actualization

Stop making a fool of myself in front of Michael Moscovitz

Stop thinking about Michael Moscovitz

Ask Lilly/Tina if I can spend the night at her house tomorrow/for the rest of the week

Keep Fat Louie away from Mom and Mr. Gianini's baby when he/she is born, in case of accidental smothering

Understand algebra

Try to be nice to Lana Weinberger