Princess in Waiting

by Meg Cabot

  But what about Lilly? I mean, Lilly was totally going to be there. How can I hug Michael in front of Lilly? And okay, it is partly because of Lilly that Michael and I got together in the first place. But that does not mean that I feel perfectly comfortable participating in, you know, public displays of affection with him right in front of her .

  If this were Genovia it would be all right to kiss him on both cheeks, because that is the standard form of greeting there.

  But this is America, where you barely even shake hands with people, unless you’re, like, the mayor.

  Plus there was the whole Jane-Eyre thing. I mean, Tina and I had resolved we were not going to chase our boyfriends, but we hadn’t said anything about how to greet them again after not having seen them for thirty-two days.

  I was almost going to ask Lars what he thought I ought to do when I had a brainstorm right as we were pulling up to the Moscovitzes’ building. Hans, the driver, was going to hop out and open the door for Lilly and Michael, but I went, “I’ve got it,” and then I hopped out, instead.

  And there was Michael, standing there in the slush, looking all tall and handsome and manly, the wind tugging at his dark hair. Just the sight of him set my heart going about a thousand beats per minute. I felt like I was going to melt….

  Especially when he smiled once he saw me, a smile that went all the way up to his eyes, which were as deeply brown as I remembered, and filled with the same intelligence and good humor that had been there the last time I had gazed into them, thirty-two days earlier.

  What I could not tell was whether or not they were filled with love. Tina had said I’d be able to tell, just by looking into his eyes, whether or not Michael loved me. But the truth was, all I could tell by looking into his eyes was that Michael didn’t find me utterly repulsive. If he had, he’d have looked away, the way I do when I see that boy in the caf at school who always picks the corn out of his chili.

  “Hi,” I said, my voice suddenly super-squeaky.

  “Hi,” Michael said, his voice not squeaky at all, but really very thrillingly deep and Wolverine-like.

  So then we stood there with our gazes locked on each other, and our breath coming out in little puffs of white steam, and people hurrying down Fifth Avenue on the sidewalk around us, people I barely saw. I hardly even noticed Lilly go, “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” and stomp past me to climb into the limo.

  Then Michael went, “It’s really good to see you.”

  And I went, “It’s really good to see you, too.”

  From inside the limo, Lilly went, “Hello, it’s like two below outside, will you two hurry it up and get in here already?”

  So then I went, “I guess we better—”

  And Michael went, “Yeah,” and put his hand on the limo door to hold it open for me. But as I started to duck in there, he put his other hand on my arm, and when I turned around to see what he wanted (even though I kinda already knew) he went, “So can you go, on Friday night?”

  And I went, “Uh-huh.”

  And then he kind of pulled on my arm in a very Mr. Rochester-like manner, causing me to take a step closer, and faster than I’d ever seen him move before, he bent down and kissed me, right on the mouth, in front of his doorman and all the rest of Fifth Avenue!

  I have to admit, Michael’s doorman and all of the people passing by, including everyone on the M1 bus that went barreling down the street at that very moment, didn’t seem to take very much notice that the Princess of Genovia was getting kissed right there in front of them.

  But I noticed. I noticed, and it felt great. It made me feel like maybe all my worrying about whether Michael loved me as a potential life partner as opposed to just as a friend had maybe been stupid.

  Because you don’t kiss a friend like that.

  I don’t think.

  So then I slid into the back of the limo with Lilly, a big silly smile on my face that I was totally afraid she might make fun of, but I couldn’t help it, I was so happy, because in spite of not having on my Queen Amidala underwear, I was already having a good semester, and it wasn’t even fifteen minutes old!

  Then Michael got in beside me and closed the door, and Hans started to drive and Lars said, “Good morning,” to Lilly and Michael and they said good morning back and I didn’t even notice that Lars was smirking behind his latte until Lilly told me when we got out of the limo at school.

  “Like,” she said, “we didn’t all know what you were doing out there.”

  But she said it in a nice way.

  I was so happy, I hardly even heard what Lilly was talking about on our way in to school, which was the whole movie thing. She had sent, she said, a certified letter to the producers of the movie of my life, and had no response, even though they had had it for more than a week.

  “It is,” Lilly said, “just another example of how those Hollywood types think they can get away with whatever they want. Well, I’m here to tell them they can’t. If I don’t hear back from them by tomorrow, I’m going to the news media.”

  That got my attention. I blinked at her. “You mean you’re going to have a press conference?”

  “Why not?” Lilly shrugged. “You did it, and up until recently, you could barely formulate a coherent sentence in front of a camera. So how hard can it be?”

  Wow. Lilly is really mad about this movie thing. I guess I’m going to have to watch it myself to see how bad it is. The other kids at school don’t seem to have thought much about it. But then they were all in St. Moritz or their winter homes in Ojai when it came on. They were too busy skiing or having fun in the sun to watch any stupid made-for-TV movie about the life of one of their classmates.

  From the looks of the number of casts people are wearing—Tina was by far not the only one to sprain something on her vacation—everyone had a much better time on their break than I did. Even Michael says he spent most of the time at his grandparents’ condo sitting on the balcony and writing songs for his new band.

  I guess I am the only one who passed the whole of my break sitting in parliamentary sessions, trying to negotiate parking rates for casino garages in downtown Genovia.

  Still, it’s good to be back. It’s good to be back because for the first time in my whole entire academic career, the guy I like actually likes—maybe even loves— me back. And I get to see him between classes and in Gifted and Talented fifth period—

  Oh, my God! I totally forgot! It’s a new semester! They are assigning us all new schedules! They are passing them out at the end of Homeroom, after the announcements. What if Michael and I aren’t in the same Gifted and Talented class anymore? I am not even supposed to be in Gifted and Talented at all, seeing as how I am neither. They only put me in there when it became clear I was flunking Algebra, so I have an extra period for independent study. I was supposed to be in Tech Ed for that period. TECH ED! WHERE THEY MAKE YOU BUILD SPICE RACKS!

  Second semester is Domestic Arts. IF I GET PUT IN DOMESTIC ARTS THIS SEMESTER INSTEAD OF GIFTED AND TALENTED I WILL DIE!!!!!!!

  Because I ended up getting a B minus in Algebra last semester. They don’t give you independent study periods if you are making B minuses. B minus is considered good. Except, you know, to people like Judith Gershner.

  Oh, God, I knew it. I just KNEW something bad was going to happen if I didn’t wear my Queen Amidala underwear.

  So if I’m not in G and T, then the only time I will see Michael will be at lunch and between classes. Because he is a senior, and I am only a freshman, so it’s not like I’ll be in advanced calculus with him, or that he’ll be in French II with me.

  And I might not even be able to see him at lunch! We could conceivably not have the same lunch periods!

  And even if we do, what is the likelihood that Michael and I are even going to sit together at lunch? Traditionally I always have sat with Lilly and Tina, and Michael always has sat with the Computer Club and upperclassmen. Is he going to come sit by me now? No way can I go sit at his table. All those guys over ther
e ever do is talk about things I don’t understand, like how Steve Jobs sucks and how easy it is to hack into India’s missile defense system….

  Oh, God, they are passing out the new class schedules now. Please don’t let me be in Domestic Arts. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

  Tuesday, January 20, Algebra

  HA! My Queen Amidala underwear might be missing, but the power of the Force is with me nonetheless. My class schedule is EXACTLY the same as last semester’s, except that by some miracle, I now have Bio third period instead of World Civ (Oh, God, please don’t let Kenny, my former Bio partner and ex-boyfriend, have been switched to third-period Bio, too). World Civ is now seventh. And instead of PE fourth period, we all have Health and Safety.

  And no Tech Ed or Domestic Arts, thank GOD!!!!! I don’t know who told the administration that I am gifted and talented, but whoever it was, I am eternally grateful, and I will definitely try to live up to it.

  And I happen to know that not only does Michael still have fifth-period G and T, but he has the same lunch hour as I do, too. I know that because after I got here to Algebra and sat down and got out my notebook and my Algebra I–II textbook, Michael came in!

  Yes, he came right into Mr. G’s second-semester freshman Algebra class, like he belonged there, or something, and everyone was staring at him, including Lana Weinberger, because you know seniors don’t generally just go walking into freshman classes, unless they are working for the attendance office and bringing someone a hall pass or something.

  But Michael doesn’t work for the attendance office. He popped into Mr. G’s class just to see me. I know, because he came right up to my desk with his class schedule in his hand and went, “What lunch have you got?” and I told him, “A,” and he said, “Same as me. You have G and T after?” and I said, “Yes,” and he said, “Cool, see you at lunch.”

  Then he turned around and walked out again, looking all tall and collegiate with his JanSport backpack and New Balances.

  And the way he said, “Hey, Mr. G,” all casually to Mr. Gianini—who was sitting at his desk with a cup of coffee in his hands and his eyebrows all raised—as he went walking out…

  Well, you just can’t get cooler than that.

  And he had been in here to see me. ME. MIA THERMOPOLIS. Formerly the most unpopular person in the entire school, with the exception of that guy who doesn’t like corn in his chili.

  So now everyone who had not seen Michael and me kissing at the Nondenominational Winter Dance knows that we are going out, because you don’t walk into someone else’s classroom between periods to look at their schedule unless you are dating.

  I could feel all the gazes of my fellow Algebra sufferers boring into me, even as the bell was ringing, including Lana Weinberger’s. You could practically hear everybody going, “He ’s going out with her ?”

  I guess it is a little hard to believe. I mean, evenI can hardly believe it’s true. Because of course it’s common knowledge that Michael’s the third best looking boy in the whole school, after Josh Richter and Justin Baxendale (though if you ask me, having seen Michael plenty of times without a shirt on, he makes those other guys look like that Quasimodo dude), so what is he doing withme , a talentless freak with feet the size of skis and no breasts to speak of and nostrils that flare when I lie?

  Plus I am a lowly freshman, and Michael is a senior who has already been accepted early decision to an Ivy League school right here in Manhattan. Plus Michael is co-valedictorian of his class, being a straight-A student, whereas I barely scraped by Algebra I. Plus Michael is way involved with extracurriculars, including the Computer Club, Chess Club, and Physics Club. He designed the school’s website. He can play, like, ten instruments. And now he is starting his own band.

  Me? I’m a princess. That’s about it.

  And that’s onlyrecently . Before I found out I was a princess, I was just this massive reject who was flunking Algebra and always had orange cat hair all over her school uniform.

  So yeah, I guess you could say that a lot of people were kind of surprised to see Michael Moscovitz come striding up to my desk in Algebra to compare class schedules. I could feel them all staring at me after he left and the bell rang, and I could hear them buzzing about it among themselves. Mr. G tried to bring everybody to order, going, “Okay, okay, break’s over. I know it’s been a long time since you last saw one another, but we’ve got a lot to tackle in the next nine weeks,” only of course nobody paid any attention to him but me.

  In the desk in front of me, Lana Weinberger was already on her cell phone—the new one that I’d paid for, on account of my having stomped her old one to bits in a semi-psychotic fit last month—going, “Shel? You are not going to believe what just happened. You know that freaky girl in your Latin class, the one with the TV show and the flat face? Yeah, well, her brother was just in here comparing class schedules with Mia Themopo—”

  Unfortunately for Lana, Mr. Gianini has a thing about cell phone usage during class time. He fully pounced on her, snatched her phone away, put it up to his ear and said, “Ms. Weinberger can’t speak to you right now as she is busy writing a thousand word essay on how rude it is to make cell phone calls during class time,” after which he threw her phone in his desk drawer and told her she’d get it back at the end of the day, once she’d handed in her essay.

  I wish Mr. G would give Lana’s cell phone to me, instead. I would fully use it in a more responsible manner than she does.

  But I guess even if the teacher is your stepdad, he can’t just confiscate things from other students and give them to you.

  Which is a bummer because I could really use a cell phone right now. I just remembered I never asked my mom what Grandmère wanted when she called last night.

  Oh, crud. Integers. Gotta go.

  B = (x : x is an integer such that x > 0)

  Defn: When integer is squared, the result is called a perfect square

  Tuesday, January 20, Health and Safety

  This is so boring —MT

  You’re telling me. How many times in our academic careers are they going to tell us having unprotected sex can result in unwanted pregnancy and AIDS? Do they think it didn’t soak in the first five thousand times or something? —LM

  Apparently. Hey, did you see Mr. Wheeton open the door to the teachers’ lounge, look at Mademoiselle Klein, then leave? He is so obviously in love with her.

  I know, you can totally tell, he is always bringing her lattes from Ho’s. What is THAT about, if not luv? Wahim will be devastated if they start going out.

  Yeah, but why would she choose Mr. Wheeton over Wahim? Wahim has all those muscles. Not to mention a gun.

  Who can explain the vagaries of the human heart. Not I. Oh, my God, look, he’s moving on to vehicular safety. Could this BE more boring? Let’s make a list. You start it.

  OK.

  MIA THERMOPOLIS’S *NEW AND IMPROVED* LIST OF HOTTEST GUYS with commentary by Lilly Moscovitz

  Michael Moscovitz (Obviously I can’t agree due to genetic link to said individual. Will concede h
e is not hideously deformed. )

  Ioan Griffud from the Horatio Hornblower series (Agreed. He can shiver me timbers anytime he wants. )

  The guy from Smallville (Duh—only they should have him join the school swim team because he needs to take his shirt off more per episode. )

  Hayden Christensen (Again, duh. Ditto swim team. There must be one for Jedis. Even ones who have embraced the Dark Side. )

  Mr. Rochester (Fictional character, but I agree he exudes certain rugged manliness. )

  Patrick Swayze (Um, okay, maybe in Dirty Dancing, but have you seen him lately? The guy is older than your dad! )

  Captain von Trapp from The Sound of Music (Christopher Plummer was a hottie extraordinaire. I would pit him against the Nazi horde anytime.)

  Justin Baxendale (Agree. I heard an eleventh grader tried to kill herself because he looked at her. Seriously. Like, his eyes were so hypnotic, she went full-on Sylvia Plath. She is in counseling now. )

  Heath Ledger (Oooh, in the rock-and-roll knight movie, totally. Not so much in Four Feathers ,though. I found his performance in that film somewhat stilted. Plus he didn’t take his shirt off enough. )

  Beast from Beauty and the Beast (I think I know someone else who needs counseling. )

  Tuesday, January 20, Gifted and Talented

  I am so depressed.

  I know I shouldn’t be. I mean, everything in my life is going so great.

  Great Thing Number One: The boy I have been madly in love with my entire life, practically, loves, or at least really likes, me back, and we are going out on our first real date on Friday.