by Meg Cabot
“I think so. That woman from your school said there was some kind of program you kids were doing that Mia would want to see. Why, is that a problem?”
“I guess not,” I said, shrugging. “It might turn out okay. But I think Mia and Michael are probably going to have a lot of other stuff they’re going to need to do instead.”
“Like what?” Dad asked, fiddling around with the laptop on his desk.
“Um,” I said. “I don’t know. Greet all the guests. Pack for their honeymoon. Rehearse for the wedding. Stuff like that.”
“Oh, honey,” Dad said. “We have staff to do all that for them. Well, most of it.”
“Oh,” I said. “Okay. Well, see you at dinner. Good luck with the yelling.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.” He turned back to his phone. “No, not in two years, two months. I want it done in two months. Do you even know who I am?”
Hmmmm. Probably I should tell Mia—or at least Grandmère—what’s going on.
But then I remembered Madame Alain’s face when she said the performance was supposed to be a surprise and a wedding gift from the school, and how happy and excited she looked.
I don’t want to be the one to spoil it! They’ve all worked so hard.
And of course Princess Komiko said a royal doesn’t tattle (except, as I pointed out, in cases where someone might be hurt).
I can’t see how anyone is going to get hurt from this, except maybe my fingers, and they’ll probably survive.
So when everyone else asked how school went today, I only said, “Great!”
Nobody asked for many details because they were too busy dealing with Rocky. He may be the one person hurt from all this. I completely forgot about the lederhosen. You could see how a nine-year-old boy from New York City might not want to wear them, even as a surprise wedding gift for his sister.
He hasn’t told anyone about them, though. Like me, he’s keeping the school’s secret. All he said was that he’s going to build a rocket ship, powered by his own farts, and fly to the moon and live there with the dinosaurs.
Then he ran up to his room and slammed the door.
“Oh dear,” I overheard Mia say to her mom. “I don’t think Rocky had a very good day at school.”
Of course he didn’t! They made him promenade a lady up and down the room all day in his class, too! When he wasn’t being forced to sing about how all roads lead to Genovia, land of green and blue.
But instead of saying that when Mia’s mom asked me worriedly if I knew what might be wrong with him, I said, “Gee, I don’t know. Why don’t I go check on him?”
“Would you?” She smiled in relief. “I hate to ask, since I know you’ve had a long day, too, but Rocky really looks up to you.…”
This was news to me. Usually Rocky was getting me into trouble.
“Sure,” I said. “No problem.”
So I did.
Rocky has a room that’s almost as nice as mine, but instead of having birds and clouds painted on the walls and ceiling, it has hunting scenes and sailing ships, and his bed doesn’t have a canopy.
But he doesn’t spend much time in bed, anyway, since he prefers to spend his time in the large cardboard box he’s painted to look like a spaceship. That’s where I found him.
“Rocky, I know why you’re upset,” I said, kneeling beside the box, while Snowball sniffed all around it. “I think the song is stupid, too. And so is the dance. But we’re doing it for Mia and Michael. So at least it’s for a good reason.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” He pressed some fake buttons he’d painted inside his ship to nowhere. “You don’t have to wear overall shorts!”
“I have it worse. I have to dance with Prince Gunther. He flicks boogers at the teacher and makes fart noises with his mouth.”
Rocky looked impressed. “He sounds awesome!”
“Well, he’s not. I’d trade Prince Gunther for lederhosen any day.”
“I think we should both run away,” Rocky said. “Get in. I’m going to the moon.”
I knew Rocky was only pretending about going to the moon. But I got the feeling he wasn’t pretending about wanting to run away. Rocky’s adjustment to living in Genovia has been a bit like his name: rocky.
Maybe there was something I could do to help make it a tiny bit easier on him.
So I said, “I’ll run away to the moon with you for a little while if you promise that when we come back you’ll help me practice dancing, because Mademoiselle Justine says I’m really terrible and I need to work on it. But we can’t go to the moon forever, Rocky, because problems aren’t something you can run away from. You have to face them, or they’ll never get solved.”
He thought about it. “Okay. Get in.”
So Snowball and I got into the fake rocket ship behind him (after I made him promise not to fart on us).
These are the things you sometimes have to do when you’re someone’s older sibling. When I’m an aunt, I suppose I’ll have to be doing things like this all the time. I might even have to do worse things, like change diapers (although Mia says there’ll be a nanny. Michael wants to build a robot nanny, but Mia said no).
After we got to the “moon,” I acted like a velociraptor was eating me, so Rocky could “save” me—even though velociraptors do not really live on the moon, and if they did, and one started eating me, I would have been able to save myself, and Snow-ball, too.
This seemed to make Rocky feel much better, and by the time we went downstairs to dinner, he told everyone at the table that the Royal Genovian Academy wasn’t so bad after all, and he’d go back tomorrow.
Rocky wasn’t the only one who seemed to feel better. His mom was so happy that she whispered “Thank you so much” to me across the twenty-foot dining table, and even from so far away, I could see that she had tears in her eyes.
And Dad was so relieved about the change in Rocky’s behavior, he let us both go outside to play after dinner, instead of making us spend “family time” with him and all the guests (which, no offense, can get very boring).
Michael said I was a real trooper, and Grandmère said, “Well, I suppose there’s a possibility the RGA might know a thing or two about training royals that I don’t—though I doubt it.” Even Mia gave me an extra hug and kiss before I went to bed.
“Olivia, you’re the best,” she whispered. “What on earth did you say to Rocky to get him to want to go to school?”
I shrugged and told her I didn’t know. It’s okay to lie if the lie doesn’t hurt anyone.
“Well, whatever it was, keep it up, please. You’ve taken one huge worry off my shoulders.”
Maybe that can be my wedding gift to her: taking worries off her shoulders.
It’s going to have to be, since I don’t have money to buy her anything. I forgot to ask if, as a princess, I get an allowance.
Tuesday, June 16
2:17 A.M.
Royal Genovian Bedroom
Great. Now I can’t sleep because Nishi is mad at me.
Well, truthfully, it’s also because my sister and all of her friends are out by the pool, laughing and singing, even though every once in a while I hear Mia say, “Shush, you guys. People are trying to sleep!”
But then they just laugh even harder.
I also can’t sleep because when I went to get a drink of water, I saw that the majordomo—who is basically the head of the entire household staff—had slipped a note under my door informing me that while I was at school today, Snowball stole a piece of ham, a stick of butter, and a loaf of fresh-baked bread from the kitchens. One of Chef Bernard’s assistants found the bread later on the tennis court. It had little gnaw marks all over it.
The last part of the note said:
Princess Olivia, Chef Bernard would appreciate it if you would kindly control your dog.
Kindest regards,
Henri, Majordomo
Royal Palace
Genovia
Ugh!!!! What am I going to do???
&n
bsp; Although I can understand why Snowball gets bored while I’m gone. None of the other dogs at the palace will play with her—Grandmère’s dog, Rommel, is too busy following her around, and the rest are all bomb-sniffing dogs doing important work for the Royal Genovian Guard.
And what dog wouldn’t get tired of eating dog food? If I had to eat dog food all day, every day, I’d get tired of it, too. Honestly, I think Snowball was trying to make a ham sandwich.
Tuesday, June 16
2:15 P.M.
Royal Genovian Academy
Something good actually happened!
Well … something I thought was good, at least. I was practicing drawing kangaroos at lunch—because kangaroos are still my favorite. I love seeing joeys all snuggled into their pouches—when one of the older students said, “You know, you’re quite good at drawing, Princess Olivia.”
!!!!
I know! I was so surprised. Especially because the girl who said it is a queen!
We don’t have kings or queens in Genovia, because it’s a principality. In principalities, the country is ruled by a prince (or princess). Well, Genovia is actually governed by a prime minister. But the prince (or princess) helps!
Of course, the queen sitting next to me—Queen Amina—doesn’t do any actual governing either (her country is in Africa).
But still. A queen thinks I’m good at drawing!!!
We get an hour and a half for lunch at the RGA, and the food is very, very delicious. There are menus and waiters, and we can order whatever we want (within reason).
The only downside is that there is randomly assigned seating. That’s so no “friend groups” can be formed, because Madame Alain thinks royals should be “friends with everyone.”
That’s how today I got to sit next to Queen Amina.
I knew it was rude to be drawing at the table while waiting for my food to be served (especially while sitting next to a queen), but I was doing it out of desperation because Luisa was telling a very long and boring story about what she was going to wear to my sister’s wedding (after Luisa changes out of her bridesmaid gown, which Luisa says she’s going to do as soon as our duties at the ceremony are over).
I’ve never heard of a bridesmaid changing out of her bridesmaid dress for the reception—even a junior bridesmaid. But Luisa says that it’s quite normal in America.
I said, “Well, I’m from America, and I’ve never heard of that.”
Luisa said, “Kee-yow, Your Highness,” and started laughing.
So then I took out my notebook and said nothing. She is so annoying!
That’s when Queen Amina leaned over to ask me, “How long have you been drawing, Princess Olivia? You’re quite good at it.”
I couldn’t believe it! I was freaking out. Not only is Queen Amina a queen, and very beautiful, but she’s a high school boarding student, and very tall. She is about six foot two and on the RGA soccer team (which is co-ed). According to the rumors, she scored twenty-seven points against The Royal Academy in Switzerland (TRAIS), the RGA’s fiercest rival.
“I’ve been drawing all my life,” I squeaked. “Thank you so much, Your Royal Majesty!”
In the dining room we’re supposed to address one another by proper title. But they’re all so hard to remember:
• King or Queen—Your Majesty
• Prince or Princess—Your Highness
• Duke or Duchess—Your Grace
• Earl or Countess—Lord or Lady
• Baron or Baroness—also Lord or Lady
• Everyone else—Sir or Ma’am
“May I show your drawing to the rest of the table?” Queen Amina asked.
I nearly choked. “Yes, Your Majesty, you may.”
I couldn’t believe it! A queen liked my drawing enough to show it to other people!!!
“Cool drawing,” said several of them.
All except Luisa. She looked mad, probably because her boring story got cut off.
“Excuse me,” Luisa said. “Did I happen to mention that the gown I’m changing into for the reception is by Claudio, the hottest designer in Rome, and that it has a long skirt that is detachable, so it turns into a minidress when the dancing starts?”
“Wow,” I said. I felt a little bad, because I only have one dress for the entire wedding, and I’m the sister of the bride. Plus, the skirt doesn’t detach.
“I know,” Luisa said, and ate some of her lobster tail, since our food had finally been served. “It truly is on the cutting edge.”
“Pardon me, but may I see that?” Prince Khalil asked. He wasn’t even sitting at our table. He was sitting at the table next to our table. But he was looking at my notebook, which the queen was still holding up. “Is that an iguana?”
“Uh,” I said, embarrassed for him that he couldn’t tell a kangaroo from an iguana. One is a mammal, and the other is a reptile. “No. It’s a kangaroo.”
“No, on the other side.”
Sure enough, it turned out there was a sketch of Carlos on the next page, the one turned toward him. I’d totally forgotten about it.
Then I felt embarrassed for myself.
“Oh,” I said, blushing. “Yes, that’s an iguana.”
“You like iguanas?”
I didn’t want to say no, since he seemed so excited, so instead I said, “Well … some of them.”
This wasn’t a lie. I do like one iguana … Carlos. Sometimes I leave him strawberries I save from my breakfast plate, with the stems cut off.
“Did you know iguanas are amongst the most endangered species in the world?” Prince Khalil asked.
“No,” I said, surprised. “I did not know that. We have a lot of them at the palace.”
“You do?” Prince Khalil looked amazed. “They’re not native to this area.”
“No,” I said. “I know. My dad says someone probably released a pair near the Royal Genovian Gardens, and now they, um.” I decided it was probably better not to go into detail about all the iguana babies.
But it turned out I didn’t have to, since Prince Khalil already knew. He nodded excitedly. “Iguanas make excellent pets, because they’re very social, laid-back, and can live for up to twenty years.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s a long time. We actually have so many that we’d like to get rid of them.”
“Well,” he said, still looking excited, “I could probably—”
“Khalil, please!” Luisa cried. Her nostrils were getting very pinched. My pony Chrissy’s nostrils flare when she’s nervous or upset, but Luisa’s nostrils get smaller when she feels this way. “No one wants to hear facts about lizards while they’re trying to eat their lunch!”
“Um,” I said. “I don’t mind, Luisa. It’s kind of interesting—OW.”
The OW was because Luisa had kicked me under the table.
“No, it’s not interesting, Princess Olivia,” she said.
“Oh,” I said. My ankle throbbed. Luisa wears very high-heeled shoes. “I guess it’s not interesting.”
“I find it interesting,” Queen Amina said.
Luisa looked like she’d bitten into a lemon or something all of a sudden. Her eyes got squinty and her mouth shriveled up into the size of a grape.
“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty,” she said politely. “Of course. Lizards are very interesting.”
Ha! HA HA HA HA HA!
But then one of the waiters arrived with the dessert cart … really, a trolley piled high with all different kinds of desserts, from which we get to pick whatever we want. There’s pretty much every sort of dessert you can think of, from cream puffs to chocolate layer cake, plus delicious ripe fruit, too, if you want to be healthy.
So everyone forgot what we were talking about and concentrated on picking out what they wanted for dessert. I picked out the chocolate mousse because that’s my favorite.
I guess the RGA isn’t really that bad, except for the singing. And the dancing. And some of the people, particularly the Flexer, who is still flexing. I haven’t tho
ught of a way to make him stop. I’m starting to lose all feeling in my fingers.
This could become a problem for my future career as a wildlife illustrator. It’s hard to draw when you have no feeling in your fingertips.
Tuesday, June 16
8:30 P.M.
Royal Genovian Bedroom
Nishi finally texted me back. But it wasn’t a very nice text.
Why is she accusing me of being princessy? I’m the least princessy person I know! I’m way less princessy than the other girls at the Royal Genovian Academy (besides Komiko, who hardly ever talks, so it’s nearly impossible to tell what she’s like).
And why is being princessy even a bad thing? My sister is a princess, and she’s great! She found housing for all the war refugees who’ve come here, and Genovia is the smallest country in Europe!
(And okay, the housing is on cruise ships. But that’s only temporary. Who wouldn’t want to live on a cruise ship? I would. Cruise ships have huge swimming pools with slides.)
Of course, we still don’t have room for all the wedding guests who’ve said they’re coming. At dinner tonight we got the latest count from Vivianne, the director of Palace Affairs, and she said that even though we only sent out 500 invitations, we’ve had over 550 replies saying yes!
That’s more than the maximum number of people allowed in the ballroom! The fire marshal isn’t going to be very happy.
“It’s all the fault of that Bianca Ferrari,” Grandmère said. “She must be making copies of the reception tickets, then handing them out to all her friends.”
“She can’t,” Michael said. “I made sure the tickets were printed with special holograms so they couldn’t be reproduced … unless of course Bianca Ferrari has a 3-D holographic printer.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past that woman!” Grandmère sniffed.
Mia’s friend Lilly, who is also Michael’s sister, said, “Who cares? Just throw some extra tables and chairs in the garden. People can always grab a cocktail and a plate of appetizers and mingle around the pool.”
