by Meg Cabot
if it was good for those guys, it should be good enough for my mom.'
'Uh, Mia,' Michael said. 'You do realize that your grandmother just turned sixty-five.'
'Yeah,' I said, remembering Grandmere's birthday with all too much clarity: she had insisted on me going back to Genovia
with her to celebrate it, only I had had midterms (THANK GOD) and so was unable to. Don't think I didn't hear about
THAT ad nauseam for weeks.
'Well, Mia,' Michael said. 'I know maths is not your strong point, but you do know that your grandmother could only have
been about five years old during the height of World War Two. Right? I mean, she couldn't have had Hitler and Mussolini for tea at the Genovian Palace, because she wouldn't have even been living there yet, unless she married your grandfather when
she was like, four.'
I was stunned into total and complete silence by that one. I mean, can you believe it? My own grandmother has been lying
to me MY WHOLE LIFE. All Grandmere ever tells me about is how she saved the palace from being shelled by the Nazi hordes by having Hitler over for soup or something. All this time, I've thought about how brave she was, and what a diplomat, stopping the imminent military incursion into Genovia with SOUP and her charming (well, back then, maybe) smile.
AND NOW I FIND OUT IT'S NOT EVEN TRUE????????????????????????
Oh, my God. She's good. Really good.
Although - and I never thought I would say this - it's sort of hard to be mad at her.
Because . . . well. . .
She did save the prom.
Friday, May 9, 7:30 p.m.
Tina just called. She is kevelen over getting to go to the prom. It is, she says, like a dream come true. I told her I couldn't
agree more. She asked me how I thought we'd come to be so lucky.
I told her: Because we are both kind and pure of heart.
Friday, May 9, 8:00 p.m.
Oh, my God. I never thought I would say this, but poor Lilly.
Poor, poor Lilly.
She just found out that Boris is taking Tina to the prom. She overheard Michael and I talking a little while ago. Lilly is on
the phone with me now, barely able to speak, she is trying so hard to hold back her tears.
'M-Mia,' she keeps choking. 'W-What have I d-done?'
Well, it is very clear what Lilly's done: ruined her life, that's all.
But of course I can't tell her that.
So instead I went on about how a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle and about how Lilly will learn to love again, blah blah blah. Basically all the same stuff Lilly and I said to Tina back when she got dumped by Dave Farouq El-Abar.
Except of course that Boris didn't dump Lilly: SHE dumped him.
But I can't point this out to Lilly, as it would be like kicking her when she was already down.
It is sort of hard dealing with Lilly's personal crisis when a) I am so happy, and b) my mom and Grandmere are still fighting
in the background.
I just had to excuse myself for a moment and put the phone down. Then I went out into the living room and shrieked, 'Grandmere, for the love of God, would you please call Les Hautes Manger and ask them to hire Jangbu back so you
can go return to your suite at the Plaza and leave us in PEACE?'
But Mr. Gianini, who was sitting at the kitchen table, pretending to be reading the paper, went, 'I think it's going to take
a little more than young Mr. Pinasa getting his job back to end this strike, Mia.'
Which I must say is extremely disappointing to hear. Because I can barely find anything in my room, due to the fact that Grandmere's stuff is strewn everywhere. It is a little demoralizing to be looking around in my underwear drawer for a pair of Queen Amidala panties only to find the BLACK SILK AND LACE THONGS Grandmere wears. My grandma has sexier underwear than me. This is fully disturbing. I will probably be in therapy for years because of it, too.
But no one seems to worry about the mental health of the children, do they? So when I came back into my room just now
and picked up the phone, Lilly was still going on about Boris. Really. It's like she doesn't even know I was gone.'. . . but I
just never appreciated what we had together until it was gone,' she's saying.
'Uh-huh,' I go.
'And now I am going to grow old and die a spinster with maybe some cats or something. Not that there is anything wrong
with that, because, of course, I don't need a man to be fulfilled as a human being, but still, I always pictured myself with a
live-in lover at the very least. . .'
'Uh-huh,' I go. I just now noticed to my extreme annoyance that Rommel has decided to use my backpack as his own
personal bed. Also that Grandmere has very cavalierly draped her sleep mask over one of my Disney Princess snowglobes.
'And I know that I took him for granted and never even let him get to second base, but seriously, he can't really think Tina is going to let him, can he? I mean, she is fully the type of girl who will demand a marriage proposal at the very least before she even lets him look under her shirt. . .'
Ooooh. This conversation suddenly got very interesting. 'Really? You and Boris never got to second base?'
'Well, it never really came up,' Lilly said, sounding very forlorn.
'What about you and Jangbu?'
Silence on the other end of the phone. Guilty silence, though. I could tell.
Still, it's good to know she and Boris never engaged in any full-frontal chestal activities. I mean, it will make Tina happy ... as soon as I can get off the phone with Lilly and tell her, I mean.
I wonder if Michael and I will get to second base tomorrow night... after all, I'll be wearing my first strapless gown.
And it IS the prom . . .
Saturday, May 10, 7 a,m.
One would think that a PRINCESS would get to sleep in on the day of her first PROM.
BUT OH NO.
Instead of being wakened to the sound of birdsong, like princesses in books, I was wakened to the sound of Rommel
shrieking as Fat Louie beat him senseless for getting into his bowl of Fancy Feast.
I am having a hard time summoning up any real sympathy for Rommel. After all, if it weren't for his behaviour on my birthday, he wouldn't be in this position right now. Although it is wrong to think Rommel could really have behaved any differently. He didn't exactly ASK Grandmere to bring him along to my birthday dinner. And it is clear to me now, having lived with him for several days, diat Rommel, more than anyone I know, suffers from Asperger's syndrome.
Oh, God. I can hear the Gorgon stirring even now . . .
Maybe if I go grab my prom dress and run out of the door now, I can hightail it uptown to Tina's and prepare for my Big Night in the relative privacy of her place . . .
Oh, my God. That's it. That's exactly what I'll do! Why didn't I think of it before? I hate to leave my mom and Mr G alone with Grandmere all day again, but really, what choice do I have? THIS IS THE PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
If ever there was a time for emergency action, this is it.
Saturday, May 10, 2 p.m.
Well, I did it. I escaped from Casa Horrifico.
Tina and I are safely ensconced in her room, having our pores unclogged by heat-action mud masks. We just had our nails done at Miz Nail down the street (well, I basically just had my cuticles done, since I don't really have any nails) and, in a little while, Mrs. Hakim Baba's hairdresser is coming over to do our coiffures.
This is so how you are supposed to spend your Prom Day: beautifying yourself instead of listening to your mother and your grandmother bicker over who drank the last of the PediaLyte (Grandmere, it turns out, likes it with a splash of vodka).
Of course, I feel badly that my mother doesn't get to share in this very important day in my formative development as a
woman. However, she has more important things to worry about. Such as ge
stating. And doing her breathing exercises, to keep herself from killing Grandmere.
Reports from the strike negotiations are not promising. Last time we turned on New York One, the Mayor was urging all
New Yorkers to stock up on staples such as bread and milk, since we were no longer going to be able to turn to our local Chinese restaurants or pizzerias for sustenance.
Really, I don't know what Mr. G and Mom and Grandmere are going to eat without delivery from Number One Noodle Son. They'd better hope they can pick up some prepared food at Jefferson Market. . .
Not that any of that is my concern. Not today. Because today, the only thing I am going to worry about is looking beautiful for the prom.
Because today, I am just like any other girl on her prom day. Today, I am a
PROM
PRINCESS!!!!!
Saturday, May 10, 8 p.m., in the limo on the way to the prom
Oh, my God, I am so excited I can barely contain myself. Tina and I look FABULOUS, even if I do say so myself. When
the boys see us — we are meeting them at the prom, as they had to go early to set up - they are going to PLOTZ. Of course,
it does suck a little that Tina and I, instead of just having adorable little beaded clutches at our sides, have to bring along a couple of bodyguards. Seriously. They never mention this in the Seventeen Magazine prom issue. You know: How to Accessorize Your Bodyguard.
You should have heard Lars and Wahim grousing about having to get into tuxes. But then I reminded them that Mademoiselle Klein was going to be there, and that to my certain knowledge she was going to be wearing a dress with a slit up the side.
That seemed to spark their interest, and they didn't even complain when Tina and I pinned on their matching boutonnieres.
They look so cute together . . . kind of like Siegfried and Roy. Minus the tigers, and fake tans and all.
I didn't mention that Mr. Wheeton was going to be there, too . . . and that, in fact, he'd be escorting Mademoiselle Klein. Somehow, I didn't think that information would be very well received.
Oh, my God, I am so nervous, I am actually SWEATING. I am telling you, fifteen is turning out to be the best age EVER.
I mean, already I have got to play my first game of Seven Minutes in Heaven AND I'm going to my first ever prom ... I truly
am the luckiest girl in the world. Oh, my gosh. WE'RE HERE!!!!!!!!!!!
May 10, 9 p.m., The Empire State Building Observation Deck
I never thought I would say this, but Grandmere rules.
Seriously. I am SO glad she brought Rommel to my birthday dinner, and that he escaped, and that Jangbu Pinasa tripped
over him, and that Les Hautes Manger fired him, and that Lilly adopted his cause and created a city-wide hotel, restaurant,
and porters' unions strike.
Because if she hadn't, the prom might never have been cancelled, and Lana and the rest of the Prom Committee would have gone ahead and had it at Maxim's instead of being forced to have it on the observation deck of the Empire State Building - something arranged entirely by Grandmere, who is like this with the owner - and Michael would have continued to refuse to
go to the prom at all, and so instead of standing under the stars in my totally rocking Jennifer Lopez-engagement-ring pink
prom dress, listening to MY BOYFRIEND'S BAND, I'd be stuck at home, instant messaging my friends.
So as I stare out at the twinkling lights of Manhattan, all I can say is:
Thank you, Grandmere. Thank you for being such a complete freak. Because without you, my dream of entering the prom
on the arm of my one true love would never have come true.
And OK, it kind of sucks that we can't dance because the only time there's any music is when Skinner Box is playing.
But the band took a break a little while ago, and Michael came over with a glass of punch for me (pink lemonade with Sprite
in it ... Josh tried to spike it, but Wahim totally caught him and threatened him with his numb-chucks) and we went over to
the telescopes and stood with our arms around each other, gazing out at the Hudson River, snaking silverly along in the moonlight, and . . .
Well, I'm not sure, but I think we got to second base. I'm not sure because I don't know if it counts if a guy feels you up THROUGH your bra.
I will have to consult with Tina on this, but I think the hand actually has to get UNDER the bra for it to count.
But there was no way Michael was getting under MY bra, given as how I am wearing one of those strapless ones that are
so tight it feels like you are wearing an Ace bandage around your boobs.
But he tried. I'm pretty sure, anyway. There really is no doubting it now. I am a woman. A woman in every sense of the word.
Well, almost. Probably I should go into the ladies' room and take this stupid bra off so if he goes for it again I might actually
be able to feel something . . .
Oh, my God, somebody's mobile is ringing. That is so rude. And in the middle of 'Princess of my Heart' too. You would
think people would show some respect for the band and turn off their—
Oh, my God. That's MY mobile!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sunday, May 11, 1 a.m., St Vincent s Maternity Ward
Oh . . . my . . . God.
I can't believe it. I really can't. Tonight, not only did I become a woman (maybe) but I also became a big sister.
That's right. At 12:01 a.m., Eastern Standard Time, I became the proud big sister of Rocky Thermopolis-Gianini.
He is six weeks early, so he only weighed four pounds, fifteen ounces. But Rocky, like his namesake - I guess Mom was too weak to argue for Sartre any more. I'm glad. Sartre would have been a lousy name. The kid would have got beaten up all the time for sure with a name like Sartre - is a fighter, and will have to spend some time in an 'isolet' to 'gain and grow'. Both mother and Y-chromosomed oppressor, however, are expected to be fine . . .
Though I don't think the same can be said for the grandmother. Grandmere is slumped beside me in an exhausted heap. In
fact, she appears to be half asleep, and is snoring slightiy. Thank God there is no one around to hear it. Well, no one except
for Mr. G, Lars, Hans, my dad, our next-door neighbour, Ronnie, our downstairs neighbour, Verl, Michael, Lilly and me,
I mean.
But I guess Grandmere has a right to be tired. According to my mother's extremely grudging report, if it hadn't been for Grandmere, little Rocky might have been born right there in the Loft. . . and with no helpful midwife in attendance, either.
And seeing as how he came out so fast, and is so early, and needed a hit of oxygen before his lungs really started going,
that could have been disastrous!
But with me away at the prom, and Mr. Gianini having left the Loft to go 'buy some Lottery tickets down at the deli' (translation: he'd needed to get out of there for a few minutes, not being able to stand the constant bickering any more),
only Grandmere was around when Mom's waters suddenly broke (thank God in her bathroom and not on the futon couch.
Or else where would I sleep tonight????).
'Not now,' Grandmere apparently heard my mother wailing from the toilet. 'Oh, God, not now! It's too soon!'
Grandmere, thinking Mom was talking about the strike, and that she didn't want it to end so soon because it meant she'd be deprived of the delightful company of the Dowager Princess of Genovia, of course went bustling into my mom's room to ask which newscast she was watching . . .
Only to find that my mother wasn't talking about something she'd seen on TV at all. Grandmere said she didn't even think
about what she did next. She just ran out of the Loft, screaming, 'A cab! A cab! Somebody get me a cab!'
She didn't even hear my mother's mournful cries of, 'My midwife! No! Call my midwife!'
Fortunately our next-door neighbour, Ronnie, was home - a rarity for her on a Saturday night, as Ronnie is
quite the femme fatale. But she was just recovering from a bout of the flu and had decided to stay in for the night. She opened her door and stuck her head out and went, 'Can I help you, miss?'
