by Meg Cabot
Lilly: You don't respond to my emails . . .
Me: There's no DSL here. Only dial-up, and it takes forever, and besides, I don't know how to access my account
from Europe . . .
Lilly: I even called your mom, and she gave me the number, and the stupid palace operator wouldn't put me through!
She said something about Prince William. Are you two going out now, or something?
Me: (Way surprised) Me and Prince William? NO! I barely said two words to him. Why? (Starting to panic) Did
the papers say I'm going out with him? Because I'm not. I'm totally not. Does Michael think I'm going out with him?
Lilly: How should I know? I'd have to talk to him.
Me: You two aren't talking? Why aren't you talking? Because he's going out with another girl? Is that it, Lilly?
Michael met another girl, didn't he? Does she know how to boogie board? Oh, my God, I'm going to kill myself.
Lilly: What happens when people go to Europe, anyway? Do they suddenly become insane, or something?
Me: Just tell me the truth, Lilly, I can take it. Has Michael found another girl? Is her name Tiffany? All girls from
warm states are named Tiffany.
Lilly: First of all, for Michael to have met another girl, that would mean he'd have to tear himself from his laptop
and leave the condo, which he hasn't done once the entire time we have been here. He is as pasty-skinned as
ever. Secondly, he is not going to go out with some girl named Tiffany, because he likes you.
Me: (Practically crying with relief) Really, Lilly? You swear?You aren't just lying to make me feel better?
Lilly: No, I'm not. Though I don't know why I should be so nice to you, since you didn't even remember his birthday.
I felt something clutch at my throat. 'His birthday?' I shrieked. 'Oh my God, Lilly, I completely forgot!'
'Yes,' Lilly said. 'You did. But don't worry. I'm pretty sure he didn't expect a card or anything. I mean, you're off being the Princess of Genovia. How can you be expected to remember something as important as your boyfriend's birthday?'
This seemed really unfair to me. Michael and I have only been going out for twenty-one days, and for twenty of them,
I had neither seen nor spoken to him, not even once. Plus, I have been busy. I mean, it is all very well for Lilly to joke,
but I haven't seen her christening any battleships or campaigning among her populace for the rights of bottlenose dolphins.
It may never have occurred to anyone, but this princess stuff is hard work.
'Lilly,' I said. 'Can I talk to him, please? Michael, I mean?'
'I suppose,' Lilly said with a sigh, sounding very tired of me. Then she screamed, 'Michael! Phone!'
It was a long time after that that I finally heard some footsteps, and then Michael going to Lilly, 'Thanks,' and Lilly going, 'Whatever.' Then Michael picked up the phone and went, kind of curiously, since Lilly hadn't told him who it was, 'Hello?'
Just hearing his voice made me forget all about how it was gone two in the morning and I was miserable and hating my life. Suddenly it was like it was two in the afternoon and I was lying on one of the beaches I was working so hard to protect from erosion and pollution by tourists, with the warm sun pouring down on me and someone offering me an icy-cold Orangina from
a silver tray. That's how Michael's voice made me feel.
'Michael,' I said. 'It's me.'
'Mia,' he said, sounding genuinely happy to hear from me. I don't think it was my imagination, either. He really did sound pleased, and not like he was getting ready to dump me at all. 'How are you?'
'I'm OK,' I said. Then, to get it out as soon as possible, I went, 'Listen, Michael, I can't believe I missed your birthday. I suck.
I can't believe how much I suck. I am the most horrible person who ever walked the face of the planet. I should be in jail, like Winona Ryder.'
Then Michael did a miraculous thing. He laughed. Laughed! Like missing his birthday was nothing!
'Oh, that's all right,' he said. 'I know you're busy over there. And there's that time-zone thing, and all. So, how is it? How
did your speech go? The one on Genovian TV? Did your crown fall off? I know you were afraid it might.'
I practically melted right there in the middle of my big fancy royal bed, with the phone clutched to my ear and everything.
I couldn't believe he was being so nice to me, after the terrible thing I had done. It wasn't like twenty-one days had gone by at all. It was like we were still standing in front of my stoop, with the snow coming down and looking so white against Michael's dark hair, and Lars getting mad in the vestibule because we wouldn't stop kissing and he was cold and wanted to go inside already.
I couldn't believe I had ever thought Michael might fall in love with some Floridian girl with boobs and a boogie board.
I mean, I still wasn't exactly sure he was in love with me, or anything. But I was pretty sure he liked me.
And right there, at past two in the morning, sitting by myself in my royal bedchamber in the Palais de Genovia, that was enough.
So I told him about my speech, and how I'd ruined it by going off about the plastic six-pack holders, which Michael agreed was a vitally important issue. Then I told him about the sea turtles, and about my plan to organize teams of volunteers to
patrol the beaches during nesting season to make sure that the eggs were not disturbed by tourists, or by the machines they bring in every morning to comb the sand and pick up all the seaweed that washes up during high tide.
And then I asked him about his birthday, and he told me how they'd gone to Red Lobster, and Lilly had an allergic reaction
to her shrimp cocktail and they'd had to cut the meal short to go to Promptcare because she'd swelled up like Violet in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, and now she has to carry a syringe filled with adrenaline around with her in case she accidentally ingests shellfish ever again, and how Michael's parents got him a new laptop for when he goes to college and
how when he gets back to New York he is thinking about starting a band since he is having trouble finding sponsors for his webzine Crackhead on account of how he did that ground-breaking expose on how much Windows sucks and how he
only uses Linux now.
Apparently a lot of Crackhead's former subscribers are frightened of the wrath of Bill Gates and his minions.
I was so happy to be listening to Michael's voice that I didn't even notice what time it was or how sleepy I was getting until
he went, 'Hey, isn't it like three in the morning there?' which by that point it almost was. Only I didn't care because I was so happy just to be talking to him.
'Yes,' I said, dreamily.
'Well, you'd better get to bed,' Michael said. 'Unless you get to sleep in. But I bet you have stuff to do tomorrow, right?'
'Oh,' I said, still all lost in rapture, which is what the sound of Michael's voice sends me into. 'Just a ribbon-cutting ceremony
at the hospital. And then lunch with the Genovian Historical Society. And then a tour of the Genovian zoo. And then dinner
with Minister of Culture and his wife.'
'Oh, my God,' Michael said, sounding alarmed. 'Do you have to do that kind of stuff every day?'
'Uh-huh,' I said, wishing I were there with him, so that I could gaze into his adorably brown eyes while hearing his adorably deep voice, and thus know whether or not he loved me, since this was, according to Tina, the only way you could tell with boys.
'Mia,' he said, with some urgency, 'you'd better get some sleep. You have a huge day ahead of you.'
'OK,' I said, happily.
'I mean it, Mia,' he said. He can be so authoritative sometimes, just like the Beast in Beauty and the Beast, my favourite Broadway show of all time. Or the way Patrick Swayze bossed Baby around in Dirty Dancing. So, so exciting. 'Hang
up the phone and go to bed.'
'You hang up first,' I said.
Sadly, he got less bossy after this. Instead, he started talking in this voice I had only ever heard him use once before, and
that was on the stoop in front of my mom's apartment building the night of the Non-Denominational Winter Dance, when
we did all that kissing.
Which was actually even more exhilarating than when he was bossing me around, to be truthful.
'No,' he said. 'You hang up first.'
'No,' I said, thrilled to pieces. 'You.'
'No,' he said. 'You.'
'Both of you hang up,' Lilly said, very rudely, over the extension. 'Grandma needs to call Uncle Mort in Schenectady to
see how his toe surgery went.'
So we both said goodbye very hastily and hung up.
But I'm almost positive Michael would have said 'I love you' if Lilly hadn't been on the line.
Saturday, January 9, 2 p.m.,
Royal Genovian Limo
Grandmere can be so mean. Seriously. Imagine pinching me, just because she thought I had dozed off for a few seconds
at lunch! I swear I am going to have a bruise now. It's a good thing I don't have any time to go to the beach, because if I
did and anyone saw the scar she'd left, they'd probably call the Genovian Child Protection Services.
And I'm sorry, but the Genovian Historical Society was really, really boring. Worse than the FOIL system, practically.
How many times can you hear about marauding Visigoths, anyway?
And I wasn't asleep, either. I was just resting my eyes.
Grandmere says it is thoughtless of Michael to keep me up all hours whispering sweet nothings in my ear. I informed her
very firmly that Michael had actually told me to hang up, because he cares very deeply about me, and that I was the one
who kept on talking. And that we don't whisper sweet nothings to one another, we have substantive discussions about art
and literature and Bill Gates's stranglehold on the software industry.
To which Grandmere replied, 'Pfuit!' which is French for Big Deal.
But you can tell she is totally jealous because she would like a boyfriend who is as smart and thoughtful as mine. But that
will so never happen, because Grandmere is too mean, and besides, there is that whole thing she does with her eyebrows.
Boys like girls with real eyebrows, not painted-on ones.
Saturday, January 9, 10 p.m.,
Royal Genovian Bedchamber
I am so excited! Tina, not being able to join her family on the ski slopes, spent all day in an Aspen Internet cafe looking up
all of her friends' horoscopes. She just faxed over my and Michael's astrological chart! I am taping it here in my journal so
I won't lose it. It is so accurate it is making my spine tingle.
Michael — Date of Birth = January 5:
Capricorn is the leader of the Earth signs. Here is a stabilizing force, one of the hardest-working signs of the Zodiac. The Mountain goat has intense powers of self-concentration, but not in an egotistical sense. Members of this sign find a great deal wore confidence in what they do than in who they are. Capricorn is one very high-achiever! Without balance, however, Capricorn can become too rigid, and focus too much on achievement Then they forget the little
joys in life. When the Goat finally relaxes and enjoys life, his or her most delightful secrets emerge. No one has a
better sense of humour than the Capricorn. Oh, that Cap might let us bask in that warm smile!
Mia — Date of Birth = May 1:
Ruled by loving Venus, Taurus has great emotional depth. Friends and lovers rely on the warmth and emotional accessibility of the Bull. Taurus represents consistency, loyalty and patience. Fixed Earth can be very rigid, too cautious to take some of the risks necessary in life. Sometimes the Bull ends up temporarily stuck in the mud. He
or she may not want to rise to every challenge or potential. And stubborn? Ah yes! The Taurus Bull may always surface. This sign's Yin energy can also go too far, causing Taurus to become very, very passive. Still, you cannot
ask for a better lover, or more loyal friend.
Michael + Mia =
Courageous, ambitious Earth signs, Taurus and Capricorn seem to be made for each other. Both value career
success and share a love of beauty and of lasting, classical foundations. Capricorn's irony charms the Bull, while
the latter's expert sensuality rescues the Capricorn from his or her obsession with career. They enjoy talking
together, and communication is excellent. They confide in each other, promising never to offend or betray the
other. This could be a perfect couple.
See! We're perfect for each other! But expert sensuality? Me? Um, I don't think so.
Still . . . I'm so happy! Perfect! You can't get better than perfect!
Sunday; January 10, 10 a.m.,
Palais de Genovia Chapel
Oh, my God, I have only been Michael's girlfriend for twenty-three days, and already I suck at it. The girlfriend thing, I mean.
I can't even figure out what to get him for his birthday. He is the love of my life, the reason my heart beats. You would think
I would know what to get the guy.
But God no. I haven't got a clue.
Tina says the only appropriate thing to get for a boy you have only been officially dating for less than four weeks is a sweater. And she says even that is pushing it as Michael and I have not even been out on an official date yet, so technically, how can
we be dating?
But a sweater? I mean, that is so unromantic. It is the kind of thing I would get my dad — if he wasn't so in need of anger-management manuals, which is what I got for him for Christmas. I would get a sweater for my stepdad for sure.
But my boyfriend?
I was kind of surprised Tina would suggest something so banal, as she is basically the resident romance expert of our little group. But Tina says the rules about what to give boys are actually very strict. Her mom told them to her. Tina's mom used to be a model and international jet-setter who once dated a sultan, so I guess she would know. The rules for presents for guys, according to Mrs Hakim Baba, go:
Length of Time Going Out: Appropriate Gift:
1-4 months Sweater
5—8 months Cologne
9-12 months Cigarette lighter*
1 year + Watch
*Mrs Hakim Baba says that for a non-smoker, an engraved pocket knife or brandy flask may be substituted.
But this is better at least than Grandmere's list of what is appropriate to give boyfriends, which she presented to
me yesterday, as soon as I mentioned to her my horrible faux pas of missing Michael's birthday. Her list goes:
Length of Time Going Out: Appropriate Gift:
1—4 months Candy
5-8 months Book
9-12 months Handkerchief
1 year + Gloves
Handkerchiefs? Who gives handkerchiefs any more? Handkerchiefs are completely unhygienic!
And candy? For a guy????
But Grandmere says the same rules apply for girls as for boys. Michael is not allowed to give me anything but candy
or possibly flowers for my birthday, either!
Overall, I think I prefer Mrs Hakim Baba's list.
Still, this whole dating/present-giving thing is so difficult! Everybody says something different. Like I called my mom and
asked her what I should give Michael, and she said silk boxer shorts.
But I can't give Michael UNDERWEAR!!!!!!!
I wish my mom would hurry up and have this baby already so she would stop acting so weird. She is pretty much useless
to me in her current state of hormonal imbalance.
Out of desperation, I asked my dad what I should get Michael, and he said a pen, so Michael could write to me while I am
in Genovia, instead of my calling him all the time and running up a huge phone bill.
&n
bsp;
