Valentine Princess

by Meg Cabot

  My boyfriend is so smart!!!!!!!!!! Also, his neck smells good. Not that I got to smell it until later, when we got out of the car. But when I did, it smelled good. REALLY good. I realize it’s just the pheromones Michael gives off that elevate the serotonin levels in my brain, thus making me feel all nice and relaxed when he’s around, like we learned in Bio.

  But I really, really like Michael’s pheromones. They are WAY better than some Leo Boy’s pheromones. I’m sure of it.

  “Later,” Michael went on, “Christian priests, in an attempt to rid the land of heathen practices, changed the name of the feast from Lupercalia to Valentine’s Day, and matched children’s names to saints, so they could try to emulate the life of the saint whose name they were paired with. But being paired up with a member of the opposite sex proved more popular.”

  “God,” Lilly said. “I guess so. Would you want to have to go around emulating some guy who got clubbed and beheaded?”

  “WHATEVER.” I couldn’t believe how the conversation had gotten sidetracked. “What are you and Boris doing to celebrate Valentine’s Day, Lilly?”

  “I already told you,” Lilly said. “NOTHING. I don’t take part in barbaric pagan rituals. I’ve never celebrated Valentine’s Day. You know that, Mia. I mean, have I ever given you a Valentine? Except when some dumb teacher MADE us sit there and make Valentines, because it meant she could sneak off for half an hour to smoke while we were doing busywork, another example of how inferior our educational system is to the rest of the world’s?”

  “Well.” I was genuinely shocked to hear all this. “No. But I mean, this is your first Valentine’s Day with an actual boyfriend. Aren’t you even going to get Boris a card?”

  “And contribute some of my hard-earned income to the already burgeoning coffers of Hallmark, who by the way barely pay a living wage to the artists who work for them? Not likely.”

  Which is when the limo pulled up, and we had to get out of the car.

  But I wouldn’t let that daunt me. Because as we went into school, I said to Michael, “But you don’t feel that way about Valentine’s Day, do you, Michael? That it’s a barbaric pagan ritual?”

  “What?” Michael looked amused. “No. But I agree that it’s become a gross commercial byproduct of the card manufacturing, floral, and candy industries, and that the best way to protest that kind of materialism is to refuse to take part in it. Have fun in Algebra.”

  Then he kissed me—causing my oxytocin levels to rise—and ran off to his own class.

  I’m pretty sure when Tina hears about this, she isn’t going to take it as a good sign.

  I mean about the Valentine’s thing. Not about my oxytocin levels.

  Wednesday, February 12, Gifted and Talented

  I was right! Today at lunch—which was the first time I got to talk to Tina all day—when I told her what Lilly and Michael said, she was like, “That’s bad, Mia.”

  We were standing in the jet line to get Nutty Royales for dessert, while Lilly and everyone else were back at the lunch table. So it wasn’t like we had to worry about anyone overhearing us. Well, except other people in the lunch line. But there was no one behind us and the only person in front of us was the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili, so that didn’t matter.

  “I know,” I said. “But what am I supposed to do? Michael’s a Valentine Hater.”

  “You’ve got to cure him,” Tina said. “He may hate Valentine’s Day only because he’s never actually experienced a good one.”

  “Neither have I,” I pointed out.

  “That’s all the more reason why you have to work to make this, your first Valentine’s Day together, the most special one ever.”

  “But I told you, Tina,” I said, “I don’t have any money.”

  “You don’t need to spend money to make a gift special,” Tina said. “That’s the part Lilly and Michael are right about. Don’t let the greeting card and candy companies—and jewelers and florists—make you think that unless you purchase something spectacular for your loved one, you obviously don’t love them very much. Homemade gifts are more meaningful, because they truly come from the heart. Why don’t you make Michael a Valentine?”

  “Oh, right,” I said. “You mean because I’m so crafty? Remember when I got that second-degree burn putting my tile in the oven at Our Name Is Mud? Besides, it’s going to be lame if I give him something and he doesn’t give me anything. It’s just going to make him think his girlfriend is so weak, she’s succumbed to the pressure of a commercial holiday.”

  “No, it won’t,” Tina said, looking shocked. “He’ll think it’s sweet.”

  It was right then that Lana Weinberger came up behind us in line, talking really loudly into her cell phone (even though we aren’t supposed to use them in school), going, “That’s right, Trish, it turns out I can’t make the concert Friday after all. Josh finally got his act together and asked me to go with him to One if by Land, Two if by Sea, you know, that former carriage house that’s been renovated into one of the most romantic restaurants in New York City? Yeah, he reserved the table by the fireplace so the two of us can snuggle. And his dad is making sure we get a bottle of Cristal. It’s going to be the most romantic Valentine’s Day ever.”

  It was really hard not to throw up, but somehow Tina and I managed. At least until the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili was like, “Is there corn in this?” to the lady behind the hot food counter, and she was like, “Yes,” and the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili was like, “Do you have any without corn in it?” and the lady behind the counter was like, “No,” and Lana, behind us, lowered her phone and was all, “OH MY GOD, COULD THIS LINE BE GOING ANY SLOWER?”

  “God, Lana, relax,” I said. Because I really did feel badly for the the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili, since he’d just been asking a question. “It’s not like your Zone bar is going to go bad while you wait,” since that was all she was buying.

  To which Lana didn’t even bother replying, she just got back on her phone and was like, “God, I can’t WAIT until I’ve graduated and don’t have to spend all my time with so many CHILDREN,” which, good luck to her, isn’t going to be for another three and a half years.

  But that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is when I got to G and T, Boris was all, “Mia, come here,” when Lilly was busy showing Mrs. Hill the tiny prosthetic foot she made out of challah for a scene she’s shooting for this week’s episode of Lilly Tells It Like It Is (an exploration of self-mutilation in the pursuit of beauty in cultures throughout history, starting with foot binding in the T’ang Dynasty and leading up to breast augmentation in the modern U.S. adult entertainment field).

  So I followed Boris into the supply closet, which is where we force him to practice because otherwise we all get headaches. I had actually never been in there before. But really, I don’t see what he’s complaining about all the time; it’s quite pleasant, except for the lack of natural light. And I happen to enjoy the smell of Pine-Sol.

  “So I got this for Lilly for Valentine’s Day,” Boris said, digging something out of his violin case. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

  And there, in his hand, was a small velvet box containing—

  A genuine simulated ruby-encrusted heart pendant from Kay Jewelers, just like the one Tina had always wanted!

  I have to say, the way it sparkled, as it caught the light from the single naked bulb hanging overhead, took my breath away.

  “Boris,” I said, my heart weeping for him. Because, of course, I fully know what Lilly is getting him for Valentine’s Day: nothing. “It’s the most gorgeous necklace ever. She’ll LOVE it.”

  “I hope so,” Boris said, looking embarrassed. “I mean, I know she doesn’t usually wear things like that. But I thought maybe that’s because no one has ever given her anything like this.”

  I swear, this almost made me burst out crying.

  WHO KNEW BORIS PELKOWSKI WAS SUCH A ROMA
NTIC?????

  Wednesday, February 12, 4 p.m., limo on the way home from the Plaza

  Today when I got to the Plaza, Grandmère was getting ready to go out, and when she saw me, she was like, “Oh, Amelia! I don’t have time today. Go home.”

  Seriously. Nice way to be greeted by your grandmother, right?

  “But what about princess lessons?” I wanted to know. I mean, we’re right in the middle of learning how to put on a sari, in the event I am ever gifted with one and have to wear it to a state dinner.

  “No time,” Grandmère said, as she was drawing on her eyebrows. “Dr. Steve’s going to be on Larry King tonight, and I promised I’d go to the studio with him for moral support. He’s nervous, poor dear.”

  “You’re going WITH him?” I demanded.

  “Well, yes, of course,” Grandmère said. “Not everyone is used to having cameras and bright lights on them and giving interviews to journalists at the drop of a hat like we are, Amelia.”

  I liked how she said we—because I will NEVER get used to having cameras and bright lights on me, and I hate giving interviews. But still.

  “Grandmère,” I said. I knew this was going to be touchy. Still, I felt a moral obligation to ask. “Aren’t you taking things with this Steve guy—”

  “DR. Steve.”

  “With this DR. Steve guy a little fast? I mean, you only just met him.” VIRGIN HAIR. That’s all I could think about. In 1977, when they finally knocked down Rasputin’s house, they found box after box of HAIR he’d hidden in the walls.

  “Amelia.” Grandmère stopped rushing around for a minute to glare at me. “Dr. Steve is a genius. When a genius asks you for your help, of course you oblige him. As I’ve often told you, by spending time in the company of truly gifted people, you yourself will only grow and improve as a person, merely from the acquaintance.”

  Well, this totally explains why I hang out with Michael so much (I mean, besides the pheromones). But Dr. Steve, a genius? I don’t know. I’m starting to get worried. What if this guy really IS a Rasputin-type character? I wish my dad were in town so I could ask him what he thinks about all this. Because what if Dr. Steve is some type of svengali—you know, one of those charismatic schemers who hypnotizes women into doing his bidding with his charm alone, like that David Koresh dude from that cult in Waco, or all those fundamentalist Mormon guys who get their thirteen-year-old stepdaughters to marry them?

  And what if Grandmère becomes some sort of slave to Dr. Steve, and decides to follow him around the globe, like he’s her guru?

  Whoa. I might never have princess lessons again.

  YIPPEE!!!!

  No, wait, that’s no good. I mean, not about the princess lessons, but about my grandma being bamboozled by some flimflam astrologist. Should I call Dad?

  Yeah, I guess I should.

  Well, maybe next week. It’ll be nice to have the next few days off from princess lessons so I can concentrate on what I’m going to do about Michael and Valentine’s Day.

  God. And I thought, once I finally got Michael to fall in love with me, all my problems would be solved. HA!

  Wednesday, February 12, 10 p.m., the loft

  I just asked Mom what she and Mr. Gianini were doing for Valentine’s Day, and she just laughed in an evil way and went, “Nothing.”

  Mr. Gianini was in the room at the time, sorting laundry, and he looked all hurt and said, “What do you mean, nothing? I’m taking you out!”

  Which just caused Mom to raise her feet from where she was resting them on, like, twenty pillows and go, “Not with these swollen ankles, bub.”

  “Fine, then,” Mr. Gianini said. “We’ll order in. But we’re doing something for Valentine’s Day, Helen.”

  And then my mom forgot her pregnancy hormone rage and looked at him all dewy-eyed and went, “Oh, honey,” and Mr. G looked all lovey-dovey back at her.

  And I had to leave the room really quick before I gagged.

  It’s so not fair. Even my MOM has a Valentine. And Mr. G, while he may not be a genius, is a really smart guy. How come HE believes in Valentine’s Day, and Michael doesn’t? WHAT IS WRONG WITH MICHAEL??? Did he have some horrible Valentine’s Day experience that scarred him for life? Did he once sustain some hideous paper cut opening a Valentine? That wouldn’t stop bleeding? And he ended up in the hospital? And had to get stitches? WHAT IS IT ABOUT VALENTINE’S DAY THAT HE HATES SO MUCH?

  Oh, great, his sister is IMing me. Maybe she can help clear this up.

  WOMYNRULE: Hey. I need help constructing my diorama depicting the hijra. Can I borrow your old Ken dolls?

  FTLOUIE: Is this for your self-mutilation thing?

  WOMYNRULE: Yeah….

  FTLOUIE: No, you can’t borrow my Ken dolls! You’re just going to cut pieces off them!

  WOMYNRULE: No, I’m not. See, the hijra are eunuchs in India, who’ve had both their testes and penis removed. They go around blessing brides and grooms at weddings. And you know Ken is totally smooth down there. So he’ll be perfect.

  FTLOUIE: Oh. Also, gross. Well, I guess in that case, you can borrow them. Can I ask you something, though? Something about Michael?

  WOMYNRULE: Can I stop you, much as I might like to?

  FTLOUIE: Why does Michael hate Valentine’s Day so much?

  WOMYNRULE: Oh, God. Not this again.

  FTLOUIE: Come on, Lilly, it’s our first Valentine’s Day together as a couple! MY first Valentine’s Day when I actually have a Valentine. And Michael doesn’t want any part of it. WHY?????

  WOMYNRULE: He told you WHY. He thinks it’s a stupid holiday invented by the greeting card companies to take advantage of simple-minded schmos like you.

  FTLOUIE: Mr. G and my mom are doing something for Valentine’s Day, and they are not simple-minded schmos.

  WOMYNRULE: I meant simple-minded schmo figuratively. Look, Mia, I know how much you want one of those genuine simulated ruby heart pendants from Kay Jewelers (snerk), but Michael isn’t the simulated-ruby-heart-pendant type.

  I can’t believe she mentioned the simulated ruby heart pendant! The one Boris got her! Does she know about it, somehow? Or was she just being sarcastic? Why did she write snerk after it? Does she really think they’re dorky? What’s she going to do when Boris gives her the one he got her? Is she going to say snerk out loud? That will break Boris’s heart!

  FTLOUIE: I don’t see what’s wrong with those ruby heart pendants. I think they’re pretty!!!! I’d be totally touched if a boy gave me one.

  WOMYNRULE: You would. But don’t expect one from Michael. He’s not the simulated-ruby type. In fact, he’s not the Valentine’s-Day type. I can’t believe you haven’t realized that by now.

  Not the Valentine’s-Day type? What does that even mean? How can someone not be the Valentine’s-Day type? Valentine’s Day is all about flowers and chocolate and funny cards. Who doesn’t like those kinds of things? WHO????

  God, what if Dr. Steve’s prediction about my ending up with a Leo is right? Because I really don’t see how two people with such very different opinions about a holiday could ever end up working it out and staying together. I mean, if I give Michael a Valentine, he’ll think I’m a simple-minded schmo. And if he doesn’t give me one, I’m going to feel like he’s an uncaring jerk (well, I will).

  And then some LEO is going to move in and sweep me off my feet!

  Why can’t Michael see that by refusing to participate in Valentine’s Day, he could be threatening our future happiness??????

  Thursday, February 13, Algebra

  Today, before class, I went up to Mr. G and was like, “Can I talk to you?” and he went, “Mia, if you’re about to tell me you didn’t finish all the problems at the end of the chapter, when I happen to know you were up until eleven o’clock IMing with Lilly—”

  “No, I finished them,” I explained hastily. God, it sucks to have to live with your Algebra teacher. “What I wanted to know was, um, have you always believed in Valentine’s Day? Or just since you starte
d seeing my mom?”

  Mr. G looked at me kind of funny, but he seemed to give the matter some thought. “Well, no, I can’t say I have always been a proponent of Valentine’s Day. But now that I’m with your mother, I think it’s a nice way to acknowledge her and what she means to me.”

  “See!” I said. “That’s how I feel! But Michael is, like, totally anti–Valentine’s Day! How can I get him to realize it’s a perfectly legitimate holiday?”

  “Well,” Mr. G said, kind of dryly. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that Valentine’s Day is a perfectly legitimate holiday. But you know, Mia, whether or not you believe in Valentine’s Day doesn’t really matter. What matters is whether or not you’re a good friend to the people you care about, and who care about you.”

  And I know Mr. G is right. It doesn’t matter whether or not Michael believes in Valentine’s Day. All that matters is that we care about each other.

  But still. WHAT ABOUT LEO BOY????

  Thursday, February 13, G&T

  Even though it was Thursday, Michael sat with us at lunch today because the Computer Club’s meeting was canceled due to three of the members being out with the flu. I think he sort of regretted it though because Lilly was telling us all about how rib removal, with abdominoplasty, is the new up-and-coming thing in the plastic surgery field, and that women seeking an hourglass figure are lining up to have it done, in the false belief that there’s a historic precedent for this kind of surgery, because Victorian women used to have it done to achieve their own wasp waists.