Meg Cabot - Forever Princess

I just got a text from Tina!

OMG I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU WROTE A ROMANCE NOVEL AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME!!!!!!!!!! YOU R SO AWESOME!!!!!!!!! I LUV U!!!!!!!!! ROMANCE NOVELS 4EVER!!!! I’VE STARTED IT ALREADY AND IT’S SO CUTE!!!! YOU HAVE TO TRY TO GET THIS PUBLISHED!!!!!! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU WROTE A WHOLE BOOK!!!!!!!! Tina

P.S. I have to talk to you about something. It’s nothing I can put in a text. It’s not a bad thing. But it’s something I thought of because of your book. CALL ME ASAP!!!!!

It was as I was reading this that my phone rang, and I saw it was J.P. I picked up, and before I could say anything, even “Hello,” he was all, “Wait…you wrote aromance novel ?”

He was laughing. But not in a mean way. In an affectionate,I can’t believe it way.

Before I knew it, I was laughing, too.

“Yeah,” I said. “Remember my senior project?”

“The one about the history of Genovian olive oil presses, circa 1254–1650?” J.P. sounded incredulous. “Of course.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Well, actually, I sort of…lied about that.” Oh, dear God in heaven, I prayed. Don’t let him hate me for lying. “My senior project was really a historical romance novel. The one I just sent you. It’s medieval, set in 1291 England. Do you hate me?”

“Hate you?” J.P. laughed some more. “Of course I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. But aromance novel ?” he said, again. “Like the kind Tina reads?”

“Yeah,” I said. Why did he sound like that? It wasn’tthat strange. “Well, notexactly like the kind she likes to read. But sort of. See, Dr. K told me it was great that I helped Genovia become a constitutional monarchy, and all, but that I should really do something formyself , not just for the people of Genovia. And since I love writing, I thought—and Dr. K agreed—maybe I should write a book, because I want to be an author, and all, and I was always writing in my journal anyway. And, well, I love romance novels…they’re so satisfying, and proven to be stress relievers—did you know many of the Domina Rei, leaders in the business and political world, read romance novels to relax? I did some research, and over twenty-five percent of all books sold are romances. So, I figured if I was going to write something that had a hope of being published, statistically, a romance had the best shot—”

Okay. I was babbling. I mean, did I really just tell him over twenty-five percent of all books sold were romances? No wonder he wasn’t saying anything.

“You wrote aromance novel ?” he finally said. Again.

Weirdly, J.P. was turning out to be less upset about the fact that I’d lied to him than he was about the fact that I’d written a romance novel.

“Um, yeah,” I went on, trying not to focus too much on how stunned he sounded. “See, I did a whole lot of research on medieval times—you know, like when Princess Amelie lived? Then I wrote my book. And now I’m trying to get it published—”

“You’re trying to get itpublished ?” J.P. echoed, his voice breaking a little on the wordpublished .

“Yes,” I said, a little surprised by his surprise. What was up with that? Isn’t that what you did when you wrote a book? I mean, he’d written a play, and I was pretty sure he was trying to get it produced. Right? “Only not very successfully. No one seems to want it. Except vanity presses, of course, who wantme to paythem . But that’s not unusual, I guess. I mean, J.K. Rowling’s first Harry Potter novel got rejected numerous times before she—”

“Do the publishers know the book is byyou ?” J.P. interrupted. “The princess of Genovia?”

“Well, no, of course not,” I said. “I’m using a pseudonym. If I said it was by me, they’d totally want to publish it. But then I wouldn’t know for sure if they really liked it and thought it was good and worth publishing, or if they just wanted to publish a book written by the princess of Genovia. Do you see the difference? I don’t even want to be published if it’s going to happen that way. I mean, I just want to see if I can do it—be a published author—without it happening because I’m a princess. I want it to happen because what I wrote is good—maybe not the best. But okay enough to be sold at Wal-Mart or wherever.”

J.P. just sighed.

“Mia,” he said. “What are youdoing ?”

I blinked. “Doing? What do you mean?”

“I mean, why are you selling yourself short? Why are you writing commercial fiction?”

I had to admit, he completely lost me there. What was he talking about, “selling myself short”? And commercial fiction? What other kind of fiction was I supposed to write? Fiction based on real-life people? I’d tried that once…a long time ago. I wrote a short story based on real people—it was about J.P., as a matter of fact, before I had gotten to know him.

And I’d had the character based on him kill himself at the end by throwing himself under the F train!

Thank GOD I’d realized at the last minute—just before the story was about to be distributed to the entire school via Lilly’s literary magazine—that you just can’tdo that. You can’t write stories based on real people and have them throwing themselves under the F train at the end.

Because you’ll just end up hurting their feelings if they happen to read it and recognize themselves in it.

And I don’t want to hurt anybody!

But I couldn’t tell J.P. that. He didn’t know about the short story I’d written about him. I’d kept that a secret this whole time we’d been going out.

So, in answer to his commercial-fiction question, I said, “Well. Because…it’s fun. And I like it.”

“But you’re so much better than that, Mia,” he said.

I have to admit, this kind of stung. It was like he was saying my book—which I’d spent almost two years working on, and which he hadn’t even read yet—wasn’t worth anything.

Wow. This wasreally not the reaction I’d hoped for from him.

“Maybe you should read it first,” I said, trying to keep the tears that had suddenly popped into my eyes—I don’t know from where, I’m really not usually that sensitive—from spilling over, “before you make judgments about it.”

J.P. sounded instantly contrite.

“Of course,” he said. “You’re right. Sorry. Listen…I have to get back to rehearsal. Can we talk more about this tomorrow?”

“Sure,” I said. “Call me.”

“I will,” he said. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” I said. And hung up.

The thing is, it’s going to be fine. I know it will. He’ll readRansom My Heart , and he’ll love it. I know he will. Just like I’ll seeA Prince Among Men on opening night next week, and I’ll love it. Everything’s going to be fine! That’s why we’re so well suited for each other. Because we’re both so creative. We’re artists.

I mean, J.P. will probably have a few editorial notes to make aboutRansom My Heart . No book is perfect. But that’s okay, because that’s how creative couples are. Like Stephen and Tabitha King. I welcome his input! I’ll probably have a few notes onA Prince Among Men as well. We’ll go over his notes on my book together tomorrow, and—

OH MY GOD I’M MEETING MICHAEL FOR COFFEE TOMORROW!!!!!!!!!!

How am I ever going to get to sleep NOW?????

Sunday, April 30, 3 a.m., the loft

Questions to ask Michael for the Atom:

1. What inspired you to invent the CardioArm?

2. What was it like to live in Japan for twenty-one months, assuming you were there this whole time and not actually back in this country before now and just not calling me, which would have been totally fine because we’re broken up anyway?

3. What did you miss most about America?

4. What did you like best about Japan?

(I can’t ask him this! What if he says Micromini Midori? I won’t be able to bear it! Plus, I can’t put that answer in a school paper! Oh…maybe I should just ask it anyway…he could say something like sushi…)

4. What did you like best about Japan? (PLEASE DON’T LET HIM SAY MICROMINI MIDORI!!!!)

5. How long is the wait list for one of Pavlov Surgical’s CardioArms?

I can’t ask this either! Because it sounds like I’m asking to see how long it would take Genovia to get one, and that I’m hinting that I want one….

5. Hypothetically, if a very small country were to request a CardioArm for one of their hospitals (and were willing to pay cash for it, of course), what type of procedure would they follow? Does Pavlov Surgical accept checks or could a country pay with a black American Express card and if so could I possibly pay for it now?

6. If you could be any animal what would it be and why? (God, this is the stupidest question, but it seems like everyone who ever interviews me asks this, so I guess I’d better ask it, too.)

7. How long do you plan on staying in New York? Is this a permanent move or do you think you’ll go back to Japan? Or do you see yourself moving, perhaps, to Silicon Valley in California, which is where all the young computer titans, such as the founders of Google and Facebook, seem to live these days?

8. As an AEHS grad, what is your best memory of your time at our school? (Nondenominational Winter Dance. Please say Nondenominational Winter Dance your senior year.)

9. Do you have any words of inspiration for this year’s AEHS graduating class?

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH THESE ARE SO LAME!!!!!!

Sunday, April 30, noon, the loft

Okay, I still haven’t thought of any better questions for Michael, but those were the best I could come up with after what happened with J.P. being allYou wrote a romance? Not to mention the nine hundred text messages I’ve received from Tina telling me we have to talk “in person.” I have no idea what could be so important that we can’t discuss it over the phone.

But Tina is totally convinced that René might have hackers secretly taping my cell phone transmissions (just like Prince Charles and Camilla and the “tampon” incident), so for the moment, she won’t say or text anything too inflammatory to me via cellular transmission.

Which makes me think whatever it is that’s on her mind, I probably don’t want to hear it.

Possibly the reason that I can’t come up with any better questions for Michael might have something to do with the fact that I woke up this morning to Rocky banging on my face with his fist, yelling, “Soopwise!”

I was “soopwised” all right. Surprised he was in my room, since he isn’t supposed to be allowed in it—and he isn’t supposed to be able to get in it with the special slippy thing I put over the doorknob that only adults know how to work.

Only it turned out an adult had opened the door for him. An adult who was peering down at me with a big happy grin on her face.

“Well, hey there, Mia! How you doin’?”

Oh my God. It was Mamaw. With Papaw right next to her. In my room. MyBEDROOM .

That’s it. I’m moving out of this place. Just as soon as I can figure out where I’m going to go to college. Which I have a little less than a week to decide.

“Happy birthday, in advance!” Mamaw yelled. “Look atchoo, lying in bed at ten o’clock! Who do you think you are, anyway? Some kinda princess?”

This caused Mamaw and Papaw to explode with laughter. At their own joke. It caused me to pull the covers up over my head and yell, “MO-O-OOOM!!!”

“Mother.” I could hear Mom show up. “Please. I’m sure Mia’s very excited to see you, but let’s give her a chance to get up and greet you properly. You’ll have plenty of time to visit each other.”

“I don’t see when,” Mamaw said. I could tell by her voice that she was scowling. “Y’all have us visitin’ so many museums and tours and whatnot.”

“Well, I’m sure Mia will be more than happy to go on some of those tours with you,” I heard Mom say.

It was at that point I flipped the covers down and glared at her. Mom just glared right back.

So, apparently, I’m taking Mamaw and Papaw to the Central Park Zoo later today.

I understand that it’s the least I can do in my capacity as their only granddaughter. Still.It’s not like I don’t exactly have other things to do.

One of them being get ready for my coffee date, I mean interview, with Michael. Which I need to continue doing right now. Even though it’s hard because my hands are trembling so much I can barely hold my eye pencil to outline my lids.

And I really wish Lana would quit texting me to tell me what to wear because that’s not helping, either.

Although I refuse to take her advice, and I’m going with something casual. Just my 7 For All Mankind jeans, the Christian Louboutin boots, my off-the-shoulder Sweet Robin Alexandra top, all my bangles, my Subversive lava bead cameo choker, and my chandelier earrings. That’s not too much at all! I mean, it’s not like I’m trying to get him to like me in a sexy way. We’re just friends now.