Okay, here's the next update! Cookies for all who review!
Oh, and because I haven't done this in a while: I do not own Princess Diaries. I don't own Mia or Lilly or Michael or Tina. I am a dirt poor college student who is paying her tuition with pennies and dimes. Don't sue me.
September 8th, Homeroom
I wonder what this big surprise is that Grandmére has for me. I mean, it could be a puppy-skin coat, but somehow, I think maybe my animal rights activism may have finally set in her mind.
Hopefully that leaves the coat out.
But what else could it be? Seriously, after the fiasco of my LAST television interview, I really don't think that she would schedule another one of those. Without asking me at least.
I hope.
Or at least, without asking me if I had anything to share with her.
The suspense is killing me! I have to know what it is!
September 8th, G&T
Lilly thinks that I'm overreacting. She says that even though I don't know the surprise yet, I'm automatically thinking that it's something horrible and treacherous.
Tina, on the other hand, hopes it's something really cool. Such as a royal banquet where I meet Prince William, and get his e-mail address for her. I told Tina that I would refuse to attend a banquet like that, because it would mean that Grandmére would be somehow scheming to set me up with a prince. I knew she didn't approve of Michael as my boyfriend, because he was not 'royal consort material' and I had the feeling that Michael would not want me to go to a banquet where the sole purpose would be finding me a proper future husband.
I'm such a slacker.
September 9th, in the limo on the way to the Plaza
Lars knows. He knows what the surprise is.
Is that really fair?? He's on my father's payroll and Grandmére and my father have probably discussed it in front of me. After all, he is my bodyguard. He has to know what's in store for me.
He won't tell me what it is though. That probably means it's really really bad and I'm going to HATE the surprise. And he doesn't want to be the person that I freak out on.
But still, he should be on my side! Everyone should be on my side against Grandmére!
Oh, great. We're here.
September 9th, the loft
Oh my god.
It's not a puppy-skin coat, that's for sure.
It's worse.
I can't believe my father is just letting her DO this to me! My own father! One would think he would be on my side!
Here's what happened:
I walk into the Plaza. Thank goodness they have finally gotten to know me and don't even have to stop me anymore. That could be because of Lars though. Lars does live here. I haven't been here in almost a month because Grandmére was on vacation.
I go up to the penthouse. The pink really has grown on me. At first, I just couldn't see the point of having everything the same shade of pink. I mean, what if a guy had to stay here overnight. Like Tony Blair? No offense, but I don't think Tony Blair would appreciate opening his eyes in the morning to this much pink. I'm sure #12 Downing Street is blue or something.
Anyway, Grandmére and Dad were already there, discussing the surprise. She had some tea set out for me, and I sat, trying to remember all of my princess lessons and drink without slurping.
I swear, two months without princess lessons from Grandmére and I become as bad as the prolateriat.
"I'm sure that someone will appeal in this case. There are so many fine ones out there."
"Yes, but don't forget, this is Mia we're talking about."
I cleared my throat. "Ahem, excuse me? I'm in the room, you don't have to keep referring to me in the third person."
"Honestly, Amelia, must you interrupt?"
"Well, this concerns me, so yes. What are you talking about?"
And then she told me.
They were throwing a ball. The Genovian Independence Day Ball.
And they had sent out an all-points bulletin to every prince in the world.
Every year, the ball had a purpose. In the past, it was for building tourism awareness, to end world hunger, to promote peace between France and Italy as they are our neighbors in Genovia.
This year's ball's purpose was evidentally to find me a royal consort.
I guess I was expecting it. Especially when Vigo, Grandmére's expert on royal protocol also the person who planned my mother's wedding that she eventually ditched in favor of elopement in Cancun with Mr. G filled me in on the duties of my royal consort last year.
I was livid.
"You want to find me a WHAT?" I screamed.
"No need to shout. This year is the perfect year for you to start looking for an appropriate prince to marry."
I nearly fainted. "Grandmére, what about my boyfriend?"
"Now, I know that you really fancy that boy, but honestly, do you think he would make a good prince?"
"Yes, I think he would."
"Mia..." started Dad, attempting to soothe the whole thing over.
"Don't Mia... me, Dad. I am NOT going to be set up for a ball. If I even go, and if I have a date, it will be Michael. Not some strange prince that you and her see as fit prince material."
Boy did I let them have it. And then Grandmére had to ruin the whole thing by saying, "Well, I've already sent out the invitations, and I am sorry to say that your Michael is not invited."
My mouth dropped open. I could not believe that she was trying to do this to me.
"Honestly, Amelia, do shut your mouth. Is that any way for a princess to act?"
"Well, if I have to break up with my boyfriend, whom I love with every fiber of my being, in order to please you and do my royal duties, than maybe I'm just not cut out to be a princess."
I would have stormed out of the place, but my father blocked the way. "Mia, you are going to this ball. It is a royal function. You can't NOT go. It would look bad on our country and our family."
I hung my head. Why did my permanent "job" always have to come first?
"Fine," I whispered. "I will go to the ball. I will dance with the other princes. But I will NOT date any of them. I am dating Michael. I don't want to date or marry or anything anyone BUT Michael. And I don't want you scheming against me, Grandmére."
With that, I shoved past Dad and I stomped out of the Plaza.
I walked through the door and Mom took one look at me and said, "You know, if the wind changes, your face will get stuck like that."
"Shut up, Mom."
It was a sign of exactly how mad I was. I told MY MOM to shut up. NO ONE told my mom to shut up. She looked at me like she had been slapped.
"I'm sorry, Mom. It's just that Grandmére and Dad sprung something on me." I poured the entire story out to her.
"Mia, if you don't want to go, then just don't go."
"I can't NOT go. It would look bad for Genovia. How am I going to explain this one to Michael?"
"If Michael loves you as much as I think he does, I think he'll understand. Why don't you try to call him?" she said, throwing the phone at me.
Well, here goes. I've got his number and I'm going to call him.
September 9th, the loft
Okay, I chickened out. I couldn't tell him.
Gah, I'm such an idiot. I don't DESERVE such a great guy as Michael if I can't even tell him about my royal ball of which I must have a royal date to.
And there it is. You know the drill! R&R!
3 Wendy
