me to call a doctor?'

'No doctor can cure what is wrong with me,' Grandmere assured me. 'I am only suffering from the mortification of having a granddaughter who doesn't love me.'

I had no idea what she was talking about. Sure, I don't like Grandmere so much sometimes. Sometimes I even think I hate

her. But I don't not love her. I guess. At least I've never said so, to her face.

'Grandmere, what are you talking about? Of course I love you . . .'

'Then why won't you come with me to the Contessa Trevanni's black-and-white ball?' Grandmere wailed.

Blinking rapidly, I could only stammer, 'Wh-what?'

'Your father says you will not go to the ball,' Grandmere said. 'He says you have no wish to go!'

'Grandmere,' I said. 'You know I don't want to go. You know that Michael and—'

'That boy!' Grandmere cried. 'That boy again!'

'Grandmere, stop calling him that,' I said. 'You know his name perfectly well. It's Michael.'

'And I suppose this Michael,' Grandmere said, 'is more important to you than I am. I suppose you consider his feelings

over mine in this case.'

The answer to that, of course, was a resounding yes. But I didn't want to be rude. I said, 'Grandmere, tomorrow night

is our first date. Mine and Michael's, I mean. It's really important to me.'

And I suppose the fact that it was really important to me that you attend this ball - that is of no consequence?' Grandmere actually looked, for a moment, as she sat gazing down at me so miserably, as if she had tears in her eyes. But maybe it was

only a trick of the not very clear light. 'The fact that Elena Trevanni has, ever since I was a little girl, always lorded it over me, because she was born into a more respected and aristocratic family than I was? That until I married your grandfather, she always had nicer clothes and shoes and handbags than my parents could afford for me? That she still thinks she is so much better than me, because she married a comte who had no responsibilities or property, just unlimited wealth, whereas I have been forced to work my fingers to the bone in order to make Genovia the vacation paradise it is today? And that I was

hoping that just this once, by revealing what a lovely and accomplished granddaughter I have, I could show her up?'

I was stunned. I'd had no idea why this stupid ball was so important to her. I thought it had just been because she'd wanted

to try to split Michael and me up, or get me to start liking Prince Rene instead, so that the two of us could unite our families in holy matrimony someday and create a race of super-royals. It had never occurred to me that there might be some underlying, mitigating circumstance . . .

. . . such as that the Contessa Trevanni was, in essence, Grandmere's Lana Weinberger.

Because that's what it sounded like. Like Elena Trevanni had tortured and teased Grandmere as mercilessly as I had been tortured and teased by Lana through the years.

I wondered if Elena, like Lana, had ever suggested to Grandmere that she wear Band-Aids on her boobs instead of a bra.

If she had, she was a far, far braver soul than I.

And now,' Grandmere said, very sadly, 'I have to tell her that my granddaughter doesn't love me enough to put aside her

new boyfriend for one single night.'

I realized, with a sinking heart, what I had to do. I mean, I knew how Grandmere felt. If there had been some way, any way

at all, that I could have shown up Lana - you know, besides going out with her boyfriend, which I had already done, but that had ended up humiliating me way more than it had Lana — I'd have done it. Anything.

Because when someone is as mean and cruel and just downright nasty as Lana is - not just to me, either, but to all the girls at Albert Einstein High who aren't blessed with good looks and school spirit - she fully deserves to have her nose rubbed in it.

It was so weird to think about someone like Grandmere, who seemed so incredibly sure of herself, having a Lana

Weinberger in her life. I mean, I had always pictured Grandmere being the type of person who, if Lana flipped her long

blonde on to her desk, would go all Crouching Tiger on her and deliver a kick to the face.

But maybe there was someone even Grandmere was a little bit afraid of. And maybe that person was Contessa Trevanni.

And while it is not true that I love Grandmere more than I love Michael - I do not love anyone more than I love Michael, except of course for Fat Louie — I did feel sorrier for Grandmere at that moment than I did for myself. You know, if

Michael ended up dumping me because I cancelled our date. It sounds incredible, but it's true.

So I went, even as I said them, not quite believing the words were coming out of my mouth, 'All right, Grandmere,

I'll put in an appearance at your ball.'

A miraculous change overcame Grandmere. She seemed to brighten right up.

'Really, Amelia?' she asked, reaching out to grasp one of my hands. 'Will you really do this for me?'

I was, I knew, going to lose Michael forever. But like my mother had said, if he didn't understand then he probably

hadn't been right for me in the first place.

Yeah, right!!! Michael is the most perfect guy in the universe!! Our astrological charts even prove it!!! And I was throwing

it all away for Grandmere, whom I am pretty sure I don't even like!!!

God, I am such a pushover. But she just looked so happy. She flung off the cashmere throw, and Rommel, and rang for her maid to bring her a Sidecar and her cigarettes, and then we moved on to the day's lesson - how to cheat at canasta without being found out, a necessity during games with the highly volatile Bengazi royal family, who, if they aren't allowed to win,

tend to go out the next day and raze entire villages.

All I want to know is: What?

Not about the Bengazis.

I mean what - WHAT???? - am I going to tell Michael? I mean, seriously. If he doesn't dump me now then there's

something wrong with him. And since I know there is nothing wrong with him, I know that I am about to be dumped.

About which all I can say is THERE IS NO JUSTICE IN THE WORLD. NONE.

Since Lilly has her breakfast meeting with the producers of the made-for-TV movie of my life tomorrow morning, I guess

I will break the news to Michael then. That way he can dump me in time for Homeroom. Maybe then I will have stopped

crying before Lana sees me in Algebra second period. I don't think I'll be able to take her mockery, after already having

my heart ripped from my body and flung across the floor.

I hate myself.







Thursday; January 21,

The Loft




I saw the movie of my life. My mom taped it for me while I was in Genovia. She thought Mr. G recorded

Temptation Island over it, but it turned out he didn't.

The girl who played me was way prettier than I am in real life. My mom says that's not true, but I know it is.

I guess I can see why Lilly is so mad, though. I mean, her character wasn't exactly supportive of mine for a good

two-thirds of the movie.

The guy who played Michael was a total babe. In the movie, he and I end up together.

Too bad in real life he is going to dump me tomorrow ... even though Tina doesn't think so.

This is very nice of her, and everything, but the fact is, he is totally going to. I mean, it really is a matter of pride. If a girl

with whom you have been going out for a full thirty-four days cancels your very first date, you really have no choice but to break up with her. I mean, I totally understand. I would break up with me. It is clear now that royal teens can't be like

normal ones. I mean, for people like me and Prince William, duty will always have to come first. Who is going to be able to understand that, let alone put up with it?

Tina says Michael can, and will. Tina says Michael won't break up with me because he loves me. I said yes he will,

because he only loves me as a friend.

'Clearly Michael loves you as more than just a friend,' Tina keeps saying into the phone. 'I mean, you guys kissed!'

'Yes,' I say. 'But Kenny and I kissed, and I did not like him as more than just a friend.'

'This is a completely different situation,' Tina says. 'Because you and Michael are meant to be together!' Tina sounds exasperated. 'Your star chart says so! You and Kenny were never meant for one another, he is a Cancer.'

Tina's astrological predictions notwithstanding, there is no evidence that Michael feels more strongly for me than he does

for, say, Judith Gershner. Yes, he wrote me that poem that mentioned the L word. But that was an entire month ago, during which period I was in another country. He has not renewed any such protestations since my return. I think it highly likely that tomorrow will be the straw that breaks the hot guy's back. I mean, why would Michael waste his time on a girl like me, who can't even stand up to her own grandmother? I'm sure if Michael's grandmother had been all, 'Michael, you've got to go to bingo with me Friday night, because Olga Krakowski, my childhood rival, will be there, and I want to show you off,' he'd

 have been all, 'Sorry, Gran, no can do.'

No, I'm the spineless one. I'm the one completely lacking in backbone.

And I'm die one who now must suffer for it.

I wonder if it is too late in the school year to transfer. Because I really don't think I can take going to the same school as Michael after we are broken up. Seeing him in the hallway between classes, at lunch, and in G and T, knowing he was once mine but that I'd lost him, might just kill me.

But is there another school in Manhattan that might take a talentless, backbone-lacking reject like myself? Doubtful.

For Michael


Oh, Michael, my one true love

We had all new pleasures yet to prove

But I lost you due to my own retardation

before our love had yet found frutation

And now through the years, for you I will pine

and mourn for the days when you were once mine.









Friday, January 22,

Homeroom




Well. That's it. It's over. He dumped me.

All right, not in so many words. But I could see it in his face.

He tried to be nice about it. I mean, he didn't come right out and say, 'Get back, Jack.'

But I could see it in his eyes.

'No, really, Mia,' was what he said. 'I understand. You're a princess. Duty comes first.'

That is what he said. What he meant was:

'Hmmm, I wonder if Judith Gershner has broken up with that guy from Trinity yet? Maybe she's available, since this loser

Mia sure isn't.'

I told him that I would try to get out of the ball early if I could. He said that if I did, I should stop by. The Moscovitzes' apartment, I mean.

I know what this means, of course:

That he is going to dump me there.

Because he can't dump me in my own limo, in front of my bodyguard and driver. I mean, for all Michael knows, Lars might

be trained to beat up boys who try to dump me in front of him. Surely Michael, having a normal sense of self-preservation,

will choose to break off our relationship in the privacy of his own home, where he will be safe from rubber bullets and ninja throwing stars.

I cannot blame him. I would do the same thing.

Now I know how Jane Eyre must have felt when she discovered, on her wedding day, that Mr Rochester had a wife yet

living. No, Michael doesn't have a wife that I know of. But my relationship with him, like Jane's with Mr Rochester, has

come to an end. And I can think of no earthly way it can ever be repaired. I mean, it's possible that tonight, when I go by

the Moscovitzes' place, it wall be in flames, and I will be able to prove myself worthy of Michael's love by selflessly saving

his mother, or perhaps his dog, Pavlov, from the fire.

But other than that, I don't see us getting back together. I will, of course, give him his birthday present, because I went to

all the trouble of stealing it.

But I know it won't do any good. It's over. Like my life.

They just announced the name of the newest member of the Albert Einstein High junior varsity cheerleading squad. It is Shameeka Taylor.

Who even cares?








Friday, January 22,