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“You don’t need to worry about that,” I snapped. “Since no one wants to publish it anyway.”
“Well, thank the Lord for that,” Grandmère said. “The last thing this family needs is some tawdry paperback novel writer—”
“It’s not tawdry,” I interrupted her, stung. “It’s a very humorous and moving romance about a young girl’s sexual awakening in the year twelve ninety-one—”
“Oh my God.” Grandmère sounded as if she’d swallowed the wrong way. “Please tell me if you do get published, you’ll be using a pen name.”
“Of course I am,” I said. How much can one person be expected
to take, anyway? “But even if I wasn’t, what’s wrong with it? Why does everyone have to be such a prude? You know, I’ve put up with doing what everybody else wants me to do for nearly four years now. It’s about time I got to do something I want to do—”
“Well, for the love of God,” Grandmère said, “why can’t you take up skiing, or something? Why does it have to be novel writing?”
“Because I like it,” I said. “And I can do it and still have time to be princess of Genovia, and not have paparazzi chase me around, and it isn’t bad for me, and why can’t you just be happy for me that I’ve found my calling?”
“Her calling!” I could tell Grandmère was rolling her eyes. “Her calling, no less. It can’t be your calling if no one will even buy the wretched thing from you, Amelia. Listen, if you want a calling, I’ll pay for you to have cliff-diving lessons. I hear it’s all the rage with the young people down in—”
“I don’t want cliff-diving lessons,” I said. “I’m going to write novels and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. And I’m going to go to college to learn to do it better. I just don’t know where yet. But I will by the prom and the election—”
“Well,” Grandmère said, sounding offended. “Someone didn’t get her beauty sleep!”
“Because I was at your party,” I said. Then I softened my tone, remembering what my dad had said about princesses being kind. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. It was very nice of you to have that party for me, and it was lovely to see Dad, and you and Vigo did an awfully nice job. I just meant—”
“I suppose,” Grandmère said stiffly, “I ought to be relieved I don’t have to have an engagement party for you. No one gives promise-ring parties…do they? But I imagine you’ll expect a book party someday.”
“If I get published,” I said, “it would be nice.”
Grandmère sighed gustily and hung up. I could tell she was going to go have a Sidecar, even though her physicians have expressly ordered her to cut back on them (and I saw her with one in her hand throughout the night last evening. Either her glass was magic and never emptied, or she had several).
So, yeah. Exactly what Dad DIDN’T want: Looks like I’m a Princess with a Reputation.
On the other hand, at this point…I might as well live up to it, I guess.
Wednesday, May 3, Trig final
Okay. Barely passed that.
Moving on.
Wednesday, May 3, Lunch
OH MY GOD!
I was just sitting down at our table in the caf with my tofurkey burger and salad when my phone rang and I saw that it was my dad.
Dad never calls me during school unless it’s an emergency or massively important, so I practically dropped my tray and was all, “WHAT?” into the phone.
Of course J.P. and Tina and Boris and Lana and everyone stopped talking and turned to look at me.
The only things I could think were:
A) Grandmère finally croaked from too many Gitanes, or
B) Somehow the paparazzi got wind of the fact that I’m going to have sex on my prom night and spilled the beans to my parents, and I was busted. Could Tina be right? Had they finally tapped my phone?
Then Dad went, in a completely calm voice, “I thought you’d be interested to know that a brand-new CardioArm was just delivered to the Royal Genovian Hospital, with a card indicating it was a donation courtesy of Michael Moscovitz, President and CEO, Pavlov Surgical Industries.”
I almost dropped my phone into Lana’s fro-yo. “Hey, watch it,” she said.
