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Maybe I should try flunking all my finals (in the case of Trig, I won’t even have to try). Then I really will have no choice but to go to L’Université de Genovia next year.
But that won’t work. I don’t want to be that far from Rocky.
OH, NO! Principal Gupta just called for me to come to the office right away due to a family emergency!
Monday, May 1, Elizabeth Arden Red Door Spa
Yeah. I should have known.
There was no family emergency. Grandmère faked one, as usual, to have me pulled out of school so I could spend my birthday getting pampered with her at her favorite day spa before my birthday bash this evening.
The good thing is, I’m not here alone with her. And this time, she didn’t just invite people she thinks I should hang out with, like my cousins from the royal family of Monaco or the Windsors or whoever.
No, she actually invited my real friends. Only a few of them (Perin and Ling Su, who actually care about their grades) were conscientious enough to say no and stay in school to study for finals instead. Tina, Shameeka, Lana, and Trisha are all here getting pedicures right next to me, while Grandmère is in the next room, having a difficult ingrown toenail removed. Which, thank God isn’t happening right in front of me, because I think I’d probably throw up. It’s bad enough to have to look at Grandmère’s toenails when they’re au naturel, but an ingrown toenail operation on top of that? No, thank you.
It’s kind of touching though that after all these years Grandmère finally gets it. I mean, that I have friends who I care about, and that she can’t just force me to hang out with whoever she feels would make me a suitable companion (although the majority of the people coming to the party tonight are her friends…or Domina Rei).
Sometimes Grandmère does kind of rock.
Although I’m glad she wasn’t there at that particular moment because the conversation was definitely not one you’d want your grandmother to overhear.
“Oh, the Waldorf,” Trisha was saying in response to a question Shameeka asked her, while the lady doing her feet rubbed gigantic salt granules all over her calves. “Brad and I got a room.”
“There weren’t any rooms left by the time I called,” Shameeka was saying, all mournfully.
“Me, either.” Lana had cucumbers over her eyelids. “Well, there were rooms, but not suites. Derek and I are staying at the Four Seasons instead.”
“But that’s across town!” Trisha practicall
y yelled.
“I don’t care,” Lana said. “I won’t stay anywhere that only has one bathroom. I’m not sharing a bathroom with some random guy.”
“But you’ll have sex with him,” Trisha pointed out.
“That’s different,” Lana said. “I want to be able to use the bathroom without having to wait for someone else to be through with it. I can’t be expected to share.”
About which, I’d just like to ask, WHO is the princess in the room?
“Where are you and J.P. staying after the prom, Mia?” Shameeka wanted to know, gracefully changing the subject.
“He still hasn’t asked her yet,” Tina told them matter-of-factly. “So, they’ll probably be joining you at the Four Seasons, Lana.” I didn’t have the heart to correct Tina on this. “Oh, Mia…can I tell them?”
Shameeka looked excited. “Tell us about what?”
“About…you know.” Tina raised her eyebrows excitedly at me.
I seriously panicked when Tina came up with her Can I tell them, Mia? I thought—really—that she was referring to our conversation in the penguin exhibit yesterday. About Michael, and how I’d smelled him, and all of that.
And seeing as how I’d just gotten his note about my book—Love, Michael—and was holding his Princess Leia USB flash drive in my pocket, and the whole thing had made me feel a little…I don’t know. I guess crazy would be the appropriate word. If unicorns can get crazy.
Plus, I was already extra sensitive about the fact that they were all talking about their boyfriends, and where they were taking them after the prom, and mine hadn’t even asked me properly, let alone ever even touched me below the neck….
Well, I guess you could say I overreacted, a little.
Because suddenly I heard myself saying, way too loudly, as the woman who was giving me a pedicure ground away at one of my heel calluses, caused from standing around in too-high heels at too many royal benefits, “Look, I’ve never had sex, all right? J.P. and I have never done it. So sue me! I’m eighteen, and I’m a princess, and I’m a virgin. Is that all right with everyone? Or should I go wait in the limo until you’re all done with your sexy talk?”
For a second all four of them (well, nine if you count the ladies who were doing our feet) just stared at me in stunned silence. The silence was finally broken by Tina, who said, “Mia, I just meant, would it be okay if I told them how you’d written a romance novel.”
