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Thank God all of that’s over. Now I can concentrate on what’s important:
My social life.
I am serious. It is in a state of total disrepair. Everyone at school—with the exception of my friends—thinks I am this total sellout. They’re like, “You talk the talk, Mia, but you don’t walk the walk.”
Well, I’m going to show them. Right after the World Civ exam yesterday, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I knew exactly what to do. It’s what Grandmère would do.
Well, okay, maybe not quite what Grandmère would do, but it will solve the whole problem. Granted, Sebastiano isn’t going to like it very much. But then, he should have asked ME, not Grandmère, if it was all right to run those photos in an ad for his clothes. Right?
I have to say, this is the most princessy thing I’ve done so far. I am very, very nervous. Seriously. You wouldn’t believe how much my palms are sweating.
But I cannot continue to lie back and meekly take this abuse. Something must be done about it, and I think I know what.
The best part is, I am doing it all by myself, with no help from anyone.
Well, all right, the concierge at the Plaza helped by getting me a room, and Lars helped by making all the calls on his cell phone.
And Lilly helped me write down what I was going to say, and Tina did my makeup and hair just now.
But other than that, it was all me.
Okay, we’re here.
Here goes nothing.
Thursday, December 18, 7 p.m.
I have now watched myself on all four major networks, plus New York 1, CNN, Headline News, MSNBC, and Fox News Channel. Apparently, they are also going to show it on Entertainment Tonight, Access Hollywood, and E! Entertainment News.
And I have to say, for a girl who supposedly has issues with her self-image, I think I did a fine job. I didn’t mess up, not even once. If I maybe spoke a little too fast, well, you could still understand me. Unless, you know, you’re a non–English-speaker or something.
I looked good, too. I probably should have worn something other than my school uniform, but you know, royal blue comes off pretty good on TV.
The phone has been ringing off the hook ever since the press conference was first aired. The first time it rang, my mom picked it up, and it was Sebastiano, screaming incomprehensibly about how I’ve ruined him.
Only he can’t say ruined. It just came out “rued.”
I felt really bad. I mean, I didn’t mean to ruin him. Especially after he was so nice about designing me that dress for the dance.
But what was I supposed to do? I tried to make him look on the bright side:
“Sebastiano,” I said, when I got on the phone, “I haven’t ruined you. Really. It’s just the proceeds from the sales of the dresses I’m wearing in the ad that will go to Greenpeace.”
But Sebastiano completely failed to look at the big picture. He kept screaming, “Rued! I’m rued!”
I pointed out that, far from ruining him, his donating all the proceeds from sales of the dresses I modeled to Greenpeace was going to be perceived in the industry as a brilliant stroke of marketing genius, and that I wouldn’t be surprised if those dresses flew off the racks, since girls like me, who are really the people his fashions are geared for, care a great deal about the environment.
I must have picked up a thing or two during my princess lessons with Grandmère, since in the end, I totally won him over. By the time I hung up, I think Sebastiano almost believed the whole thing had been his idea in the first place.
The next time the phone rang, it was my dad. I may have to scratch the plan to get him a book on anger management, because he was laughing his head off. He wanted to know if it had been my mom’s idea, and when I said, “No, it was all me,” he went, “You really have got the princess thing down, you know.”
So, in a weird way, I feel like I passed that final, too.
Except of course that I’m still not speaking to Grandmère. Not a single one of the calls I’ve gotten tonight—from Lilly and Tina and Mamaw and Papaw back in Indiana, who saw the broadcast on a local affiliate—have been from her.
Really, I think she should be the one to apologize, because what she did was totally underhanded.
Almost as underhanded, my mom pointed out to me over dinner from Number One Noodle Son,
