by Meg Cabot
“Oh, for God’s sake, Amelia,” Grandmère said, apparently realizing what I was doing. “They’re gone. You made your position on the subject perfectly clear yesterday. There isn’t going to be any television show. At least, not one featuring you.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, throwing down my backpack and making myself comfy on the couch.
Grandmère raised an eyebrow at me. “Amelia,” she said. “Feet.”
I took my feet off her coffee table. I guess the mean elf inside me is also kind of a slob.
“What do you mean, at least not one featuring me?” I asked.
“Well,” Grandmère said. “You didn’t want to go. Although you didn’t have to have your mother telephone your father, you know, Amelia. You could simply have TOLD me you didn’t want to appear on My Super Royal Sweet Sixteen.”
“I DID,” I said.
“In any case,” Grandmère said. “It was too late to change all the plans I made for your party, so Lewis has arranged for another young person to take your place.”
“Another young person?” I gaped at her. “Like who? A Mia Thermopolis look-alike?”
“Certainly not,” Grandmère said with a soft snort. “Instead of your sweet sixteen, we’ll be celebrating the sweet sixteen of someone else—a young man named Andy Milonakis.”
My jaw dropped. “You’re taking ANDY MILONAKIS to GENOVIA?”
“There’s no need to shout, Amelia. And yes, I am. Lewis is very pleased with the way things have turned out. I’ll be taking this boy and ten of his friends—I thought one hundred was a bit excessive, considering he’s not even a family member—to Genovia, to do all the things you and your friends could have done for YOUR birthday, if you weren’t so selfish and stubborn. They’re calling it Andy’s Super Royal Sweet Sixteen. Lewis promises that it’s going to reach millions of viewers. The glories of Genovia will soon be known to that hard-to-reach eighteen-to-thirty-nine-year-old male demographic.”
For once, the mean little elf in me was silent. It didn’t, for instance, goad me into suggesting that the eighteen-to-thirty-nine-year-old males who enjoy Andy Milonakis’s show probably still live at home with their parents and can’t afford a trip to Genovia.
It didn’t prompt me to mention that the ten friends Andy would be bringing with him to Genovia were probably going to include—at least judging from his TV show—his dog, Woobie, the guy who owns the cherry ice stand on the corner, and Rivka, the rooster-headed chicken lady, this old woman Andy forces to wear a hat with two chicken legs sticking out of it.
It also didn’t urge me to tell Grandmère that Andy Milonakis probably turned sixteen ten years ago, and was just using her to get publicity for his show, the same way she was using him to get publicity for Genovia.
Instead, I said, meaning it, “Grandmère. This is the best birthday present you’ve ever given me.”
To which Grandmère replied with a slight snort, and a sip of her Sidecar.
But I could tell she was pleased.
Saturday, May 1, 10 a.m., the loft
Well. That’s it. I’m sixteen. At last. I can now legally have sex in most European countries, including Genovia, and just about every state in America. Except the one I actually live in.
Oh, yeah, and I can apply for a learner’s permit to drive. Which I guess would be a big deal, if I didn’t have to go everywhere in a limo, anyway.
Mr. G made real homemade waffles for breakfast, and then he and Mom and Rocky all sat around the table and watched me open my presents from them, which included, from Mom, a vintage Run Katie Run T-shirt; from Mr. G, an iTunes gift certificate for 50 song downloads (yes!); and from Rocky, a big pile of Mead wide-ruled composition notebooks with black marbled covers, for future journal entries and novel-writing attempts.
Even Fat Louie got me something—a Fiesta Giles action figure to replace the one I sold on eBay to get Michael an original 1977 Star Wars poster last Christmas.
Oh, well.
Mom apologized on Dad’s behalf for his not having called or gotten me anything, but said he hadn’t forgotten—he’s just been super busy with Parliament.
I said Dad already got me a present—he yelled at Grandmère and got me out of having to be on My Super Royal Sweet Sixteen.
That is a gift for the ages.
Then Michael called and asked if I wanted to have the romantic birthday dinner I’d suggested we have in the first place. I said yes, and went to begin beautifying myself. Because even though our dinner isn’t for eight hours, it never hurts to get a head start on the beautifying. Especially if you need a lot of beautifying, the way I do.
Saturday, May 1, 5 p.m.
I’ve received birthday e-mails from around the world! Not just from my friends (although I’ve heard from all of them, too—well, all except for Lilly, but that’s no surprise: She’s probably still sulking over her big chance at appearing on MTV being blown), but from other royals such as Prince William and some of my Grimaldi cousins, including the one no one even knew I had, another illegitimate royal just like me, only this one courtesy of Prince Albert of Monaco.
But best of all was the CUTEST e-card from Princess Aiko of Japan, my favorite royal of all time (besides my dad, of course), of a chihuahua wearing a tiara.
Just had a lovely afternoon of made-for-TV-movie viewing…which is the best way to spend any birthday, if you ask me. Saw a Kellie Martin double feature, Her Last Chance, in which Kellie plays a teen drug addict falsely accused of her boyfriend’s murder, and Her Hidden Truth, in which Kellie plays a teen delinquent falsely accused of her family’s murder.
Good stuff.
Now I seriously have to get ready. Michael will be here to pick me up in one hour. I wonder where we’re going to dinner????
Saturday, May 1, 11 p.m., Rockefeller Center
I’ve been had. I can’t believe they ALL knew—well, everybody except Grandmère—and none of them said anything….
Oh, well. I guess it’s no more than I deserve, being such a party pooper, and all.
Only if I had known in advance about THIS party, I wouldn’t have pooped on it. I SWEAR! It’s like they all got together and tried to figure out what all my favorite things were, and then—
Well, okay, better start from the beginning:
Michael showed up at six on the dot for our date—even though I’d told him it wasn’t necessary to pick me up, since I am perfectly capable of meeting him somewhere, given my limo and personal bodyguard. But he’d insisted. It never occurred to me to wonder why until we stepped outside (with Lars, who kept smirking—but I just assumed that was because he’d gotten Janine-from-MTV’s phone number…. I’d caught him text messaging her the day before) and got into the limo, and Michael didn’t even tell the driver where to go.
But Hans started heading uptown, anyway, like they’d already agreed on their destination.
“Michael,” I said, starting to get suspicious. Actually, I’d already been a little suspicious something might be going on when Mom and Mr. G, right before Michael arrived, had announced they were taking Rocky to see the latest Winnie the Pooh movie over at the Loews Cineplex. I mean, the kid is barely one. And they were taking him to the movies? At night?
But I wasn’t thinking about that when the limo started heading uptown without Michael saying anything.
“Where are we going?” I asked him.
But he just grinned and took my hand.
It was when the limo hit Midtown that I started getting even more suspicious. Michael can’t afford to take me out to eat anywhere in Midtown. Anywhere I’d want to go, anyway.
And then when the limo pulled up alongside Rockefeller Center, I REALLY started freaking out. Where could we possibly be going in or around Rockefeller Center? The rink was closed on account of it being too warm now for ice-skating.
Except…
Except that as we pulled up to it, I saw that it wasn’t. Closed, I mean.
Instead, the skating rink was closed in—with a g
iant white tent, like the kind people rent for weddings.
Seriously. The rink at Rockefeller Center was covered in a giant white tent. People were standing all around it, taking pictures and pointing, like the tent had just magically mushroomed there overnight.
You couldn’t tell what was going on underneath the tent. But you could see there were lights on in there. I thought maybe there was a fashion show, or a special episode of The Apprentice being filmed there, or something.
Except that the limo pulled over right next to the stairs that head down to the rink. And Michael got out of the car, then held the door open for me to follow.
“Michael,” I said. “What is going on?”
“Come and see,” he said, still grinning.
And he took my hand and led me out of the limo and down the steps to the rink, and the entrance to the big white tent…
…where a member of the Royal Genovian Secret Service bowed and lifted the flap for us to enter—
—into a winter wonderland! Seriously! Even though it was the first of May, the ice across the rink was hard and smooth! The air inside the tent was chilly—it was being cooled down by about a hundred portable air conditioners! There were snowmakers in every corner sending flurries of white snowflakes into the air…snowflakes that were glistening in the hair of this huge group of people standing out on the ice, who all shouted, at the same time, “Happy Sweet Sixteen, Mia!”
I couldn’t believe it! A surprise birthday ice-skating party! There was my mom, and Mr. G, and Rocky, and Lilly, and J. P., and Tina, and Boris, and Shameeka, and the guy Shameeka has been dating this year, and Ling Su, and Perin, and the Drs. Moscovitz, and my neighbor Ronnie, and even, of all people, my DAD!!!
I never suspected that they were planning something…something other than Grandmère’s horrible My Super Royal Sweet Sixteen thing.
And I certainly never would have expected an ice-skating party on my birthday, seeing as how it’s just slightly too warm out for skating!
But trust Michael to find a way to give me EXACTLY what I wanted.
Well, pretty much, anyway.
After I’d screamed at everyone for keeping such a big secret from me, I found out that none of them had actually known about it, except for Michael, who’d come up with the idea and arranged the whole thing, and my mom and Mr. G, who’d been in charge of making sure I was in the dark about it. And my dad, who’d paid for it…as well as for twenty stationary bikes, which he was donating in my name to AEHS, so we could have spin classes instead of volleyball from time to time….
It’s not enough to create a personal workout and health program targeted to every student’s own specific health needs. But it was a definite start!
Principal Gupta is going to die when they’re delivered on Monday.
Everyone had a good laugh over my indignation at Grandmère’s plan. “Like I was ever going to let her do any such thing,” was what my dad had to say about it (he said he’d tried to invite Grandmère to the skating party, but that she’d declined the invitation. I didn’t tell him that was because she’s busy taking Andy Milonakis to Genovia. I figured he’ll find that out on his own, soon enough).
Even Lilly was like, “You didn’t REALLY think I was in on her scheme to put you on MTV, did you?”
Um, yeah. I really did. But I didn’t tell her that. Finding out that she really hadn’t been was a totally awesome birthday present—but one that made me feel totally terrible when, while we were all chowing down on cake and lacing up our skates, Lilly came over to me and whispered, looking super weird, “I did it. I told him.”
At first I didn’t think I’d heard her right, because they had the sound system turned up so loud, with Rihanna’s “Pon De Replay” blaring. Then I noticed her expression, which was a mixture of dismay and total embarrassment. And I realized what she’d said.
My God. She’d drunk the fat. LILLY DRANK THE FAT!!!!
Even Ross didn’t drink the fat when Rachel asked him to. He was GOING to, but at the last minute, she stopped him….
Only I hadn’t gotten a chance to stop Lilly from drinking the fat. Because I had never in a million years thought she’d go ahead and do it. I mean, we’re best friends, and all.
But that she’d actually gone ahead and DRUNK THE FAT??? I couldn’t believe it.
“You TOLD him?” I practically shrieked.
“Shhhh!” Lilly pinched me. A birthday pinch to grow an inch, I guess. “Not so loud! Yes, I told him. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? That’s what you said I had to do so you could trust me again. So I did it.”
And then I felt the mean little elf that had sprung alive inside me the day before die a quick, ignominious death. What had I been thinking? Why had I asked Lilly to do something so stupid—and humiliating? Telling J. P. she loved him wasn’t going to keep her from cheating on him with some other random guy, as she’d done to Boris, or keep her from mortifying me at this, or any other future event. I can’t believe I’d asked her to do something so stupid…so practically guaranteed to make him run from her like a startled fawn.
But even more, I couldn’t believe she’d actually done it.
Glancing over to where J. P.—who was turning out not to be the world’s best skater—was being coaxed by Lars to let go of the rink wall, I asked, “What did he say? When you told him, I mean?”
“Thank you,” Lilly said softly.
“You’re welcome,” I said. “I knew if you were just honest with him about your feelings, it would all work out.” I’d actually known no such thing, but it seemed like the right thing to say. “But what did he say?”
“That’s just it,” Lilly said, still not looking very happy. “He said Thank you.”
I blinked at her. “Wait…you told J. P. you love him, and all he said back was Thank you?”
Lilly nodded. She still looked…funny. Like she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
And honestly, I didn’t know which she should do either.
“Not exactly an explosion of passion, huh?” Lilly said.
“Not exactly,” I said. What could J. P. be thinking? Who says Thank you to someone who says they love you? Especially to someone whose tongue has been in your mouth?
Then, because the whole thing was my fault, really, I said, “But it could be, you know, that he didn’t know how to reply. I mean, on account of him not being used to having a girlfriend. Or any sort of human interaction, aside from his parents.”
Lilly brightened a little. “You think?”
“Totally,” I said. And, since Michael had skated up to us at that very moment, I went, “Hey, Michael. If a girl tells a guy that she loves him, and the guy says Thank you, that means he’s just not used to that level of intimacy, doesn’t it?”
“Sure,” Michael says. “Or that he’s not that into her. You got a second?”
“J. P. is TOTALLY into you,” I assured Lilly, who looked like she was about to kill Michael. “Seriously. Stay here, I’ll be right back—”
Then, skating away with Michael, I said, “Why’d you have to say that? She just told J. P. she loves him, and all he said was Thank you!”
“Huh,” Michael said, pulling me to the far side of the rink. “Bummer for her. Open your present now.”
“My present?” All thoughts of Lilly and her romantic travails left me. “Michael, I thought this party was my present! It’s so fantastic…the snow, the skating, you and me…how did you know this was exactly what I wanted?”
“Because I know you,” Michael said, leading me off the ice until we stood in front of a huge box I hadn’t noticed before. And I do mean huge. It was taller than me, practically. “Open it.”
I opened the enormous cardboard box, and found, standing inside it—
“A Segway Human Transporter!” I shrieked.
“Uh,” Michael said quickly. “Not really. I mean, it’s a human transporter, but not a Segway. We promised to make each other gifts from now on, remember? So I made you a self-bala
ncing scooter—it’s just like a Segway, with the same safety features, redundancy and foolproofing, but it’s not the actual—”
“Oh, Michael!” I cried, throwing my arms around his neck. I seriously felt like crying, I was so happy.
Especially when “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life,” from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, came on over the sound system, and I looked out across the rink and saw my mom skating with Mr. G…and Tina skating with Boris…and Lars skating with Janine (don’t ask me where she’d come from)…and Shameeka skating with What’s-His-Name…and Perin skating with Ling Su (I’ll think about that one later)…and Dr. Moscovitz skating with Dr. Moscovitz, even though they were arguing over the collective unconscious…and even my dad skating with Ronnie (I’m sure Ronnie will tell him she used to be a man, sometime)….
But, best of all, J. P. skating with Lilly, and not running from her like a startled fawn, in spite of her having told him that she loved him.
“Come on, Michael,” I said, pulling him back out onto the ice. “Let’s have the time of our lives.”
And so we did.
Books about
PRINCESS MIA
The Princess Diaries
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME II:
Princess in the Spotlight
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME III:
Princess in Love
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME IV:
Princess in Waiting
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME IV AND A HALF:
Project Princess
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME V:
Princess in Pink
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME VI:
Princess in Training
The Princess Present:
A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK (VOLUME VI AND A HALF)
THE PRINCESS DIARIES, VOLUME VII:
Party Princess
Sweet Sixteen Princess:
A PRINCESS DIARIES BOOK (VOLUME VII AND A HALF)
Illustrated by Chesley McLaren
