Mia's POV:
"Amelia! Get over here! AMELIA! DON'T WALK AWAY FROM ME! AMELIA!" She was shouting on account of the fact that I was walking right past her like I didn't notice her. As soon as I got out of the building, I broke into a run. Michael was on my heels. Grandmére was puffing along somewhere behind.
Finally we got back. Grandmére finally caught up.
"Amelia! Why are you running away from me? Is that any way to greet your grandmother?" I glared at her. She was totally putting on an act to seem like a good grandmother in front of Michael, so that everyone else would just think that I was hallucinating when I said she was evil.
As soon as Michael was out of earshot she would be totally yelling.
But Michael didn't know that. He just saw a nice, helpless grandma and her disobedient granddaughter. Darn her.
"Ma'am, can I help you in any way?"
"Why yes, young man. You may carry this…and this and this and this." She shoved everything she was carrying, including Rommel, at Michael.
"Grandmére, I'm sorry I reacted like that. I thought you were someone else. Now, you can go on ahead, I'll help Michael carry all of this." But she wasn't about to let me off the hook that fast. Oh, no.
"Amelia…do you think it possible that we, ah, have some sort of…ball after I freshen up? Wouldn't it be fun?" Freshen up? Fun? She had a lot to learn if she thought that she could a) "freshen up" in a cabin, b) get food service in that cabin, and c) convince a bunch of kids that a ball in honor of her would be in the least bit "fun."
But yet, she totally convinced me. This was account of her whispering, in my ear, "Amelia, if you do not watch yourself, you will be spending the rest of your summer—and possibly the rest of your life—in Genovia, Mitchell or no Mitchell, your father's contract or no contract. Understand?"
"It's Michael," I corrected her.
"Whatever," she said, rolling her eyes in a way not unlike the way I do it. Only, I don't have mascara tattooed to my eyelids. Can you say, ew?
"Yeah, okay, Grandmére."
She stalked off, shaking her head.
"Well, Mia," Michael said, from behind me. "She doesn't seem as bad as you make her sound."
I snorted. "You don't really know Grandmére."
"Okay, then, Mia," he challenged. "We'll just see how bad she is at this…ball. Why is she planning a ball?"
"Because," I said, frustrated. "She's Grandmére. That's the kind of thing she does."
—Two Hours Later—
Just to make Grandmére peeved, I pulled on my favorite pair of overalls. I walked down to the, um, field that the ball was to take place in. Everyone else had borrowed a dress or tux from Grandmére's endless closet of fancy clothes for all occasions.
Grandmére groaned when she saw me. "Amelia, have I taught you nothing? You never show up at a ball wearing those hideous things."
Lana smirked from behind Josh. "Go old lady!"
Grandmére shot her a look of disapproval. "That's Dowager Princess of Genovia to you, you snotty little brat."
Just because she did that, I felt so gratified to her that I changed like she wanted me to.
I was actually kind of glad that I did because then when Michael saw me later he went, "Mia, you look so beautiful tonight. Even more beautiful than usual…which is quite an achievement."
This was so sweet that I had no choice but to kiss him on the lips right there. "You are so sweet."
"Ah, but mademoiselle, there is nothing sweeter than you."
"Oh, excusez -moi, but you are mistaken, mon copain! Nothing or no one on the face of the earth is sweeter than YOU!" This went on for a time, before I decided to say, "Want to go for a walk?"
"Mademoiselle, I'd be delighted."
"Merci, monsieur!" So he took my arm and we walked deep into the forest, where we made out for maybe 15 minutes before Grandmére realized I was gone and yelled, "Amelia! Where ARE you? You are supposed to dance the first dance!"
I rolled my eyes. Dance schmance.
I yelled, "Coming Grandmére!" And Michael and I walked back to the ball, where we were forced to start the dancing (although I did get to smell his neck, so it wasn't all bad).
That night, he walked me to my cabin. I said, "Monsieur, do I have the pleasure of your company in the cabin on this fine evening?"
He looked surprised, but all he said was, "But of course," only it sounded like "But of carse," because he was talking in a French accent that totally mocked Grandmére.
So we talked (mostly in English, but some in francais as well), laughed, and joked for the rest of the evening. Finally, at around 11:00, my cabin-mate, Charlotte, was getting fed up with us keeping her awake, and she shooed Michael out, but it was still one of the best nights of my life.
