Wednesday, January 2nd,
2 o'clock, on my bed
Oh my God. I'm going to go hide under the covers on my bed and never come out. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. Why does everything happen to me?
First of all, I'm the princess of a small European country. That's really great, because I only found out four years ago. I'm over the shock and everything, but it still sucks that my parents lied to me for the first fourteen years of my life. Secondly, my mother is married to the guy who's trying valiantly to teach me trig. I've gone all the way up to a C-minus in math, but considering that my teacher's also my stepfather, that's kind of sad.
And now, I'm pregnant. Isn't that just great? I'm going to crawl under my covers now, I think.
Two minutes later
Well, at least I know that the father's Michael Moscovitz. It's not like I've had sex with anyone else, and I only did it with him once. ONCE, I tell you! Is this fair? I think not.
Oh my God. What am I going to tell Michael? What am I going to tell Lilly? What am I going to tell Mom and Frank and Dad and Izzy? What am I going to tell Grandmere?!
My life is over. It's time to curl up and die.
Five minutes later
Izzy came into my room and asked me why I was sitting under the covers. Apparently, when one is having a crisis at two o'clock in the afternoon, one looks silly sitting in bed.
So of course, she climbed up and sat on my chest--what little there is, definitely NOT an improvement on what I had before--and yanked at my hair until I paid attention to her.
Me: Stop it, Izzy!
Izzy: Make me pancakes, Mia! You're all sad looking. Pancakes make people happy. Make pancakes!
How can you argue with that kind of logic? So now I'm making pancakes in the middle of the afternoon. Izzy is WAY too demanding for a three year old. Did I act like that as a toddler? I really don't think so.
Still Wednesday, 3 o'clock
God, I'm just brilliant. Motormouth Mia can't hold a secret for more than a good three seconds. I just got off the phone with Lilly. The conversation went something like
Lilly: Hi, Mia.
Me: I'm pregnant.
Lilly: WHAT?!?
Needless to say, Lilly wasn't pleased that I was carrying around her brother's love child. After telling me how stupid of a move it was to have unprotected sex with her brother (it was protected! It's not my fault that condoms don't work every time!), she asked me what I was planning on doing about the baby.
I really don't know. It doesn't really seem right to have an abortion, but I don't really want to have a kid. I wonder what Michael would think, but I really don't want to tell him.
Of course, knowing me, it'll slip out the next time I see him at Jefferson Market. At least I remembered to threaten Lilly with dismeberment in hopes of making her keep the secret. Now what am I going to tell everyone else? This majorly sucks. I had enough fun watching Mom when she was pregnant with Izzy. I REALLY do NOT want to go though that myself.
I'm going to go read a nice book. Yes, books are very nice. Books are safe. Books do not yell and scream and generally make very, very loud noises that could be detrimental to my frail mental condition. I like books.
I'm not reading a book. The first one I picked up was Big Trouble by Dave Barry. The next one was a kid's book called Nothing but Trouble, Trouble, Trouble. Somebody up there hates me, or I have strange luck that allows me to pick up books with titles that make me feel worse than I already do. Either way, it kind of sucks.
I'll go join Izzy and watch tv. Maybe she'll let me eat some pancakes. Maybe if I explain to her that she has to be nice to me because I have to go to school tomorrow and she doesn't, she'll feel bad and let me pick what we watch, too. Maybe Baywatch is on.
Still Wednesday, 7 o'clock
God, I hate my life even more than I already did. I've just proved to be the worst secret keeper in the world. I hope no one tells me anything very important when I'm ruler of Genovia, because I won't hold out against torture for very long.
Now Mom knows, and Frank knows, and even Izzy knows (well, sort of)! Why'd I open my mouth at dinner?
Mom and Frank got home around five and we had pasta for dinner. My natural ability to lie has deserted me at the time I need it most! At dinner, Mom tried to make some conversation. I helped out by dropping a bombshell.
Mom: So how was your day, Mia?
Mia: Uh...err, I found out I'm pregnant.
Frank: WHAT? (He spit out the milk he was drinking at this point)
Izzy: (She's laughing because of the mess. I don't think she caught the whole "Mia's pregnant!" thing)
Mom: Izzy? Can you go? I think we need to talk to Mia in private.
Izzy: Why?
Mom: Izzy, just go to your room for a while, okay? (She was trying to control her temper, but she failed pretty miserably)
Izzy: But why, Mom?
Mom: Isabelle Margaret Gianini, go to your room!
Izzy: (Runs off)
What followed was pretty much me getting chewed out by Mom and Frank. I don't think I've ever seen Mom this mad before, and Frank's usually pretty easy-going. Of course, their (step) daughter has never accidentally gotten pregnant at the age of 18 before. I decided not to bring up the fact that Mom did somewhat the same thing in having me.
Of course, Mom was in college and she wasn't 18 years old. Well, at least that means she can't hold anything against Michael.
Oh my God, I still haven't told him. Mom knows, Frank knows, Izzy almost knows. His own freaking sister knows! It must suck not to be clued in. How am I going to tell him? More importantly, when? Preferably before he either reads it in the New York Times or Lilly tells him.
Bleh. This sucks. This majorly sucks.
A/N: Well, how did you like the story so far? This is our first Princess Diaries fic, and we're darn proud of it at this point. Note the use of correct grammar, spelling, and capitalization; it makes us feel special to know that we have a grasp on the basics of the English language.
Notes of interest:
--Darn Meg and her details! Because Meg can write an entire book that spans about ten days (*cough* Princess in the Spotlight!), we don't know anything about Mia's little sibling, so we made it all up. (In other words, we flipped a coin to see whether she'd be male or female) Isabelle is our character, so please ask before using her, if you have any actual interest in doing so.
Wow. No other notes of interest. That was short. Umm, for fun, do us a favour and tell us whether you think Mia should keep the kid or give it up for adoption. We might consider your opinions...if they're the same as ours. ^_~
DISCLAIMER: Shock, surprise, and amazement. We do not own The Princess Diaries. Meg Cabot owns the books and Disney owns the movie(s; after all, they're making a sequel). However, we own this story and we own the following characters: Isabelle Margaret Gianini, commonly called Izzy, and the child of Mia, whom we cannot name at this point because it would ruin the surprise.
This story is copyright Nakia Apel and Caleah Zarnstoff, July 2002.
Thanks for reading! Please review!
Love, Kia and Cal
2 o'clock, on my bed
Oh my God. I'm going to go hide under the covers on my bed and never come out. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. Why does everything happen to me?
First of all, I'm the princess of a small European country. That's really great, because I only found out four years ago. I'm over the shock and everything, but it still sucks that my parents lied to me for the first fourteen years of my life. Secondly, my mother is married to the guy who's trying valiantly to teach me trig. I've gone all the way up to a C-minus in math, but considering that my teacher's also my stepfather, that's kind of sad.
And now, I'm pregnant. Isn't that just great? I'm going to crawl under my covers now, I think.
Two minutes later
Well, at least I know that the father's Michael Moscovitz. It's not like I've had sex with anyone else, and I only did it with him once. ONCE, I tell you! Is this fair? I think not.
Oh my God. What am I going to tell Michael? What am I going to tell Lilly? What am I going to tell Mom and Frank and Dad and Izzy? What am I going to tell Grandmere?!
My life is over. It's time to curl up and die.
Five minutes later
Izzy came into my room and asked me why I was sitting under the covers. Apparently, when one is having a crisis at two o'clock in the afternoon, one looks silly sitting in bed.
So of course, she climbed up and sat on my chest--what little there is, definitely NOT an improvement on what I had before--and yanked at my hair until I paid attention to her.
Me: Stop it, Izzy!
Izzy: Make me pancakes, Mia! You're all sad looking. Pancakes make people happy. Make pancakes!
How can you argue with that kind of logic? So now I'm making pancakes in the middle of the afternoon. Izzy is WAY too demanding for a three year old. Did I act like that as a toddler? I really don't think so.
Still Wednesday, 3 o'clock
God, I'm just brilliant. Motormouth Mia can't hold a secret for more than a good three seconds. I just got off the phone with Lilly. The conversation went something like
Lilly: Hi, Mia.
Me: I'm pregnant.
Lilly: WHAT?!?
Needless to say, Lilly wasn't pleased that I was carrying around her brother's love child. After telling me how stupid of a move it was to have unprotected sex with her brother (it was protected! It's not my fault that condoms don't work every time!), she asked me what I was planning on doing about the baby.
I really don't know. It doesn't really seem right to have an abortion, but I don't really want to have a kid. I wonder what Michael would think, but I really don't want to tell him.
Of course, knowing me, it'll slip out the next time I see him at Jefferson Market. At least I remembered to threaten Lilly with dismeberment in hopes of making her keep the secret. Now what am I going to tell everyone else? This majorly sucks. I had enough fun watching Mom when she was pregnant with Izzy. I REALLY do NOT want to go though that myself.
I'm going to go read a nice book. Yes, books are very nice. Books are safe. Books do not yell and scream and generally make very, very loud noises that could be detrimental to my frail mental condition. I like books.
I'm not reading a book. The first one I picked up was Big Trouble by Dave Barry. The next one was a kid's book called Nothing but Trouble, Trouble, Trouble. Somebody up there hates me, or I have strange luck that allows me to pick up books with titles that make me feel worse than I already do. Either way, it kind of sucks.
I'll go join Izzy and watch tv. Maybe she'll let me eat some pancakes. Maybe if I explain to her that she has to be nice to me because I have to go to school tomorrow and she doesn't, she'll feel bad and let me pick what we watch, too. Maybe Baywatch is on.
Still Wednesday, 7 o'clock
God, I hate my life even more than I already did. I've just proved to be the worst secret keeper in the world. I hope no one tells me anything very important when I'm ruler of Genovia, because I won't hold out against torture for very long.
Now Mom knows, and Frank knows, and even Izzy knows (well, sort of)! Why'd I open my mouth at dinner?
Mom and Frank got home around five and we had pasta for dinner. My natural ability to lie has deserted me at the time I need it most! At dinner, Mom tried to make some conversation. I helped out by dropping a bombshell.
Mom: So how was your day, Mia?
Mia: Uh...err, I found out I'm pregnant.
Frank: WHAT? (He spit out the milk he was drinking at this point)
Izzy: (She's laughing because of the mess. I don't think she caught the whole "Mia's pregnant!" thing)
Mom: Izzy? Can you go? I think we need to talk to Mia in private.
Izzy: Why?
Mom: Izzy, just go to your room for a while, okay? (She was trying to control her temper, but she failed pretty miserably)
Izzy: But why, Mom?
Mom: Isabelle Margaret Gianini, go to your room!
Izzy: (Runs off)
What followed was pretty much me getting chewed out by Mom and Frank. I don't think I've ever seen Mom this mad before, and Frank's usually pretty easy-going. Of course, their (step) daughter has never accidentally gotten pregnant at the age of 18 before. I decided not to bring up the fact that Mom did somewhat the same thing in having me.
Of course, Mom was in college and she wasn't 18 years old. Well, at least that means she can't hold anything against Michael.
Oh my God, I still haven't told him. Mom knows, Frank knows, Izzy almost knows. His own freaking sister knows! It must suck not to be clued in. How am I going to tell him? More importantly, when? Preferably before he either reads it in the New York Times or Lilly tells him.
Bleh. This sucks. This majorly sucks.
A/N: Well, how did you like the story so far? This is our first Princess Diaries fic, and we're darn proud of it at this point. Note the use of correct grammar, spelling, and capitalization; it makes us feel special to know that we have a grasp on the basics of the English language.
Notes of interest:
--Darn Meg and her details! Because Meg can write an entire book that spans about ten days (*cough* Princess in the Spotlight!), we don't know anything about Mia's little sibling, so we made it all up. (In other words, we flipped a coin to see whether she'd be male or female) Isabelle is our character, so please ask before using her, if you have any actual interest in doing so.
Wow. No other notes of interest. That was short. Umm, for fun, do us a favour and tell us whether you think Mia should keep the kid or give it up for adoption. We might consider your opinions...if they're the same as ours. ^_~
DISCLAIMER: Shock, surprise, and amazement. We do not own The Princess Diaries. Meg Cabot owns the books and Disney owns the movie(s; after all, they're making a sequel). However, we own this story and we own the following characters: Isabelle Margaret Gianini, commonly called Izzy, and the child of Mia, whom we cannot name at this point because it would ruin the surprise.
This story is copyright Nakia Apel and Caleah Zarnstoff, July 2002.
Thanks for reading! Please review!
Love, Kia and Cal
