Princess in Love

by Meg Cabot

  Now my dad was really annoyed: “You may take after your mother as far as your aptitude with numbers is concerned, but you take after me in every other respect.”

  This was surprising to hear. I stuck out my chin and tried to believe it. “Yeah,” I said.

  “And you and I, Mia, are not unintelligent,” my dad went on. “If you want this Michael fellow, you must let him know it.”

  “You think I should just go up to him and be like, ‘Hey, I like you’?”

  My dad shook his head in disgust. “No, no, no,” he said. “Of course you must be more subtle than that. Tell him by showing how you feel.”

  “Oh,” I said. I may take after my father in every respect except my math aptitude, but I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “We’d better get back in,” my father said. “Or your grandmother will suspect us of plotting against her.”

  So what else is new? Grandmère is always suspecting somebody of plotting something against her. She thinks the launderers at the Plaza are plotting against her. She blames the soap they use on their linens for making all of Rommel’s fur fall out.

  Reminded of plots, I asked my dad, “Do you think Sebastiano’s plotting to kill me so he can ascend the throne himself?”

  My dad made a strangled noise, but he managed not to burst out laughing. I guess that wouldn’t have seemed very princely.

  “No, Mia,” he said. “I do not.”

  But my dad, he really doesn’t have much of an imagination. I have decided to stay on alert about Sebastiano, just in case.

  My mom just poked her head into my room to say that Kenny is on the phone for me.

  I suppose he wants to ask me to the Nondenominational Winter Dance. Really, it is about time.

  Sunday, December 7, 11 p.m.

  Okay. I am in shock. Kenny so did NOT ask me to the Nondenominational Winter Dance. Instead, this is how our conversation went:

  Me: Hello?

  Kenny: Hi, Mia. It’s Kenny.

  Me: Oh, hi, Kenny. What’s the matter?

  Kenny sounded funny, which is why I asked.

  Kenny: Well, I just wanted to see if you were okay. I mean, if your tongue was okay.

  Me: It’s a little better, I guess.

  Kenny: Because I was really worried. You know. I really, really didn’t mean to—

  Me: Kenny, I know. It was just an accident.

  This is when I started realizing I’d asked my dad the wrong question. I should have asked him what’s the best way to break up with somebody, not what’s the best way to let someone know you like them.

  Anyway, to get back to what Kenny said:

  Kenny: Well, I just wanted to call and wish you a good night. And say that I hope you feel better. And also to let you know . . . well, Mia, that I love you.

  Me: . . . .

  I didn’t say anything right away, because I was completely FREAKED OUT!!!! It wasn’t exactly as if it happened out of the blue, because we are sort of going out, after all.

  But still, what kind of guy calls a girl on the phone and says I love you??? Except for weird psycho stalkers? And Kenny’s not a weird psycho stalker. He’s just Kenny. So what’s he doing calling me on the phone and telling me he loves me????

  And then, brilliant me, here’s what I do. Because he was still on the phone, waiting for an answer, and all. So I go:

  Me: Um, okay.

  Um, okay.

  A boy says he loves me, and this is how I respond: “Um, okay.” Oh, yeah, good thing my future career lies in the diplomatic corps.

  So then, poor Kenny, he’s like waiting for some response other than “Um, okay,” as anybody would.

  But I am perfectly incapable of giving him one. Instead, I just go:

  Me: Well, see you tomorrow.

  AND I HUNG UP!!!!!

  Oh, my God, I am the meanest, most ungrateful girl in the world. After Sebastiano kills me, I am going to burn in hell.

  Seriously.

  TO DO BEFORE LEAVING FOR GENOVIA

  Detailed list for Mom and Mr. G: How to care for Fat Louie while I am away

  Stock up on cat food, litter

  Christmas/Hannukah presents! For:

  Mom—electric breast pump? Check on this.

  Mr. G—new drumsticks

  Dad—book on vegetarianism. He should eat better if he wants to keep his cancer in remission.

  Lilly—what she always wants, blank videotapes for her show

  Lars–See if Prada makes a shoulder holster that would fit his Glock

  Kenny—gloves? Something NON-romantic

  Fat Louie—catnip ball

  Grandmère–What do you get for the woman who has everything, including an eighty-nine-carat sapphire pendant given to her by the Sultan of Brunei? Soap on a rope?

  Break up with Kenny. . . . Only how can I? He LOVES me.

  But not enough to ask me to the Nondenominational Winter Dance, I’ve noticed.

  Monday, December 8, Homeroom

  Lilly doesn’t believe me about Kenny calling and saying he loves me. I told her in the car on the way to school this morning (thank God Michael had a dentist appointment and wasn’t there. I would sooner die than discuss my love life in front of him. It’s bad enough having to discuss it in front of my bodyguard. If I had to discuss it in front of this person I’ve been worshiping for half my life, I think I’d probably go completely borderline personality disorder).

  Anyway, so Lilly went, “I categorically refuse to believe Kenny would do something like that.”

  “Lilly,” I said. I had to keep my voice down so the driver wouldn’t hear. “I am dead serious. He told me he loves me. I love you. That is what he said. It was completely random and weird.”

  “He probably didn’t say that. He probably said something else, and you misunderstood him.”

  “Oh, what? I glove you?”

  “Well, of course not,” Lilly said. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

  “Well, then what? What could Kenny have said that sounded like I love you, but wasn’t I love you?”

  Lilly got mad then. She went, “You know, you have been acting weird about Kenny for the past month. Since the two of you started going out, practically. I don’t know what’s wrong with you. All I ever heard before was ‘Why don’t I have a boyfriend? How come everybody I know has a boyfriend but me? When am I going to get a boyfriend?’ And now you’ve got one and you aren’t the least bit appreciative of him.”

  Even though what she was saying was true, I acted offended, because I have been trying really hard not to let the fact that I am not in love with Kenny show.

  “That is so false,” I said. “I completely appreciate Kenny.”

  “Oh, yeah? I think the truth of the matter is, you, Mia, simply aren’t ready to have a boyfriend.”

  Boy did I see red after that remark.

  “Me? Not ready to have a boyfriend? Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting my whole life to have a boyfriend!”

  “Well, if that’s true”—Lilly was looking very superior—“why won’t you let him kiss you on the lips?”

  “Where did you hear that?” I demanded.

  “Kenny told Boris, of course, who told me.”

  “Oh, great,” I said, trying to remain calm. “So now our boyfriends are talking about us behind our backs. And you’re condoning this?”

  “Of course not,” Lilly said. “But I do find it intriguing, from a psychological point of view.”

  This is the problem with being best friends with someone whose parents are psychiatrists. Everything you do is interesting to them from a psychological point of view.

  “Where I let anybody kiss me,” I exploded, “is my business! Not yours, and not Boris’s, either.”

  “Well,” Lilly said. “I’m just saying, if Kenny did say what you say he said—you know, the L word—then maybe he said it because he can’t express the depth of his feelings any other way. You know. Other than verbally. Since you won’t let him, physically.�
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  So I suppose that technically I should be thankful that Kenny chose merely to say the words I love you, rather than enacting them physically, which, God knows, might have actually involved his tongue.

  Oh, God, I don’t even want to think about it anymore.

  Monday, December 8, Homeroom

  They just passed out the final exam schedules. Here is mine:

  FINAL EXAM SCHEDULE

  December 15

  Reading Day

  December 16

  Periods One and Two

  For me, that means the Algebra and English finals will be on the same day. But that’s okay. I’m doing pretty good in English. Well, except for that sentence diagramming thing. As if I’ll ever need to do that in my future role as princess of the smallest nation in Europe.

  Unfortunately, Algebra, I am told, I will probably need to know. DAMN!

  December 17

  Periods Three and Four

  World Civ: Easy. I mean, Grandmère has told me enough stories about post–World War II Europe for me to pass any test. I probably know more about it than the teacher. And PE? How can you give a final in PE? We already had the Presidential Fitness Test (I did okay on everything but the V-sit reach).

  December 18

  Periods Five, Six, and Seven

  Gifted and Talented? No exam there. They don’t give finals in classes that are basically study hall. That will be a snap. I have French sixth period. I do okay in oral, not so great in written. Fortunately Tina’s in the same class. Maybe we can study together.

  But I have Bio seventh period. That won’t be so easy. The only reason I’m not flunking Bio is because of Kenny. He slips me most of the answers.

  And if I break up with him, that will be the end of that.

  December 19

  Nondenominational Winter Carnival and Dance

  The Winter Carnival should be fun. All the different school clubs and groups are going to have booths, with traditional winter fare, like hot cider. This will be followed in the evening by the dance I am supposed to go to with Kenny. If he ever asks me to it, I mean.

  Unless, of course, I do the right thing and break up with him.

  In which case, I won’t be able to go at all, because you can’t go without a date.

  I wish Sebastiano would just hurry up and off me already.

  Monday, December 8, Algebra

  WHY???? WHY can’t I ever remember my Algebra notebook?????

  FIRST—Evaluate exponents

  SECOND—Multiply and divide in order, left to right

  THIRD—Perform addition and subtraction in order, left to right

  EXAMPLE: 2 x 3 – 15 ÷ 5 = 6 – 3 = 3

  Oh, God. Lana Weinberger just tossed me a note.

  What now? This can’t be good. Lana’s had it out for me forever. Don’t ask me why. I mean, I could kind of understand her resenting me for when Josh Richter asked me to the Cultural Diversity Dance instead of her. But he only asked me because of the princess thing—and they got back together right after. Besides, Lana hated me long before that.

  So I open the note. Here’s what it says:

  I heard what happened to you at the skating rink this weekend. Guess the BF is going to have to wait a little longer if he wants to see any tongue action, huh?

  Oh, my God. Does everyone in the entire school know that Kenny and I have not yet French kissed?

  It is all Kenny’s fault, of course.

  What next? The cover of the Post?

  I’m telling you, if our parents knew what actually goes on every day in the typical American high school, they would totally opt for homeschooling.

  Monday, December 8, World Civ

  It’s clear what I have to do.

  I’ve always known it, of course, and if it hadn’t been for, you know, the dance, I would have done it long before now.

  But it is clear now that I cannot afford to wait until after the dance. I should have done it last night when he called, but you can’t really do something like that over the phone. Well, I mean, a girl like Lana Weinberger probably could, but not me.

  No, I don’t think I can put it off another day: I have got to break up with Kenny. I simply cannot continue living this lie.

  Fortunately, I do have the support of at least one person in this plan: Tina Hakim Baba.

  I didn’t want to tell her. I didn’t plan on telling anybody. But it all sort of slipped out today in the girls’ room between second and third periods while Tina was putting on her eye makeup. Her dad won’t let her wear makeup, you see, so Tina has to wait until she gets to school to put it on. She has a deal with her bodyguard, Wahim. Tina won’t tell her parents how much Wahim flirts with Mademoiselle Klein, our French teacher, if Wahim doesn’t tell Mr. and Mrs. Hakim Baba about Tina’s Maybelline addiction.

  Anyway, all of a sudden I just couldn’t take it anymore, and I ended up telling Tina what Kenny said last night on the phone—

  And a lot more than that actually.

  But first the part about Kenny’s phone call:

  Unlike Lilly, Tina believed me.

  But Tina also had the totally wrong reaction. She thought it was great.

  “Oh, my God, Mia, you are so lucky,” she kept saying. “I wish Dave would tell me he loves me! I mean, I know he is fully committed to our relationship, but his idea of romance is paying to have my fries super-sized at Mickey D’s.”

  This was so not the kind of support I was looking for.

  “But, Tina,” I said. I felt Tina, with her extensive reading of romances, would understand. “The thing is, I don’t love him.”

  Tina widened her mascaraed eyes at me. “You don’t?”

  “No,” I said, miserably. “I mean, I really like him, as a friend. But I’m not in love, or anything. Not with him.”

  “Oh, God,” Tina said, reaching out and grabbing my wrist. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

  We only had a few minutes before the bell rang. We both had to get to class.

  And yet, for some reason, I chose this moment to make my big confession. I don’t know why. Maybe since I’d already spilled it to my dad, it didn’t seem too hard to tell someone else, especially Tina. Also, I can’t stop thinking about what my dad said. You know, about showing the guy I like how I feel. Tina, I felt, was the only person I knew who would know how to help me do that.

  So I went, “Yes.”

  Tina nearly spilled her cosmetics bag, she was so excited.

  “I knew it!” she yelled. “I knew there was a reason you wouldn’t let him kiss you!”

  My jaw dropped. “You know about that, too?”

  “Well.” Tina shrugged. “Kenny told Dave, who told me.”

  Jeez! What’s that Oprah always complaining about, about how men aren’t in touch with their emotions, and don’t share enough? It sounds to me like Kenny’s been doing enough sharing recently to make up for several centuries’ worth of masculine reticence.

  “So who is he?” Tina asked, all eager as she packed up her eyelash curler and lipliner. “The guy you like?”

  I went, “It doesn’t matter. Besides, the whole thing is completely futile. He sort of has a girlfriend. I think.”

  Tina whipped her head around to look at me, making her thick, black braid smack her in her own face, which is chubby, but in a good way.

  “It’s Michael, isn’t it?” she demanded, grabbing my arm again. She was holding on so tight it hurt.

  My instinct, of course, was to deny it. In fact, I even opened my mouth, all set to have the word No come out of it.

  But then I was like, Why? Why should I deny it to Tina? Tina wouldn’t tell anyone. And Tina might be able to help me.

  So instead of saying No, I took a deep breath, and said, “If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you, understand? KILL YOU.”

  Tina did a strange thing then. She let go of my arm and started jumping up and down in a circle.

  “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it,” she said, as she jumped. The
n she stopped jumping and grabbed my arm again. “Oh, Mia, I always thought you two would make the cutest couple. I mean, I like Kenny and all, but he’s, you know.” She wrinkled up her nose. “Not Michael.”

  If I had thought it felt strange last night telling my dad the truth about my feelings for Michael, that was nothing—NOTHING—compared to how it felt to be telling someone my own age. The fact that Tina hadn’t burst out laughing or gone, “Yeah, right,” in a sarcastic way meant more to me than I ever would have expected.

  And the fact that she seemed to understand—even applaud—my feelings for Michael made me want to fling my arms around her and give her a great big hug.

  Only there was no time for that, since the bell was about to ring.

  Instead, I gushed, “Really? You really don’t think it’s stupid?”

  “Duh,” Tina said. “Michael is hot. And he’s a senior.” Then she looked troubled. “But what about Kenny? And Judith?”

  “I know,” I said, my shoulders slumping in a manner that would have caused Grandmère to rap me on the back of the head, if she’d seen them. “Tina, I don’t know what to do.”

  Tina’s dark eyebrows furrowed with concentration.

  “I think I read a book where this happened once,” she said. “Listen to My Heart, it was called, I think. If I could just remember how they resolved everything—”

  But before she could remember, the bell rang. We were both totally late to class.

  But if you ask me, it was worth it. Because now, at least, I don’t have to worry alone. I have somebody else worrying with me.

  Monday, December 8, G & T

  Lunch was a disaster.

  Considering that everybody in the entire school seems to know, in the minutest detail, exactly what I’ve been doing—or not doing—with my tongue lately, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. But it was even worse than I could have imagined.