I mean, seriously. I totally fell for Grandmere's whole riff about wanting to show up Elena Trevanni with her pretty and accomplished — yeah, at looking like a snowdrop — granddaughter. I actually felt sorry for her. I had empathy for Grandmere, not realizing then - as I do now - that Grandmere is completely devoid of human emotion, and that the whole

thing was just a charade to trick me into coming so she could parade me around as PRINCE RENE'S NEW GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

To his credit, Rene seems to have known nothing about it.

He looked as surprised as I was when Grandmere presented me to her supposed arch-rival, who, thanks to the skill of

Lana's plastic surgeon dad, looks about thirty years younger than Grandmere, though they are supposedly the same age.

But I think the contessa maybe went a little far with the surgery thing - it is so hard to know when to say 'when', I mean, look

at poor Michael Jackson - because she really does, just like Grandmere said, resemble an anteater. Like her eyes are sort of far apart on account of the skin around them being stretched so tight, which makes her nose look extra long and skinny.

When Grandmere introduced me - 'Contessa, may I present to you my granddaughter, Princess Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Renaldo' (she always leaves out the Thermopolis) - I thought everything was going to be all right. Well, not everything, of course, since directly after the ball, I knew I was going to go over to my best friend's house and get dumped by her brother. But you know, everything at the ball.

But then Grandmere added, 'And of course you know Amelia's beau, Prince Pierre Rene Grimaldi Alberto.'

Beau? BEAU??? Rene and I exchanged quick glances. It was only then that I noticed that, standing right behind us in the reception line was none other than Lana Weinberger, her dad, and her mom. RIGHT THERE BEHIND US.

And Lana's mom, I saw, had allowed Lana to wear black instead of white to the black-and-white ball, even though I had been told, on no uncertain terms, that it was unseemly for a girl of my tender years to wear black. And Lana is the same age as me.

Lana, of course, totally overheard Grandmere's remark about me and Rene, and she got this look on her face . . .

Well, let's just say I'm surprised she didn't pull out her mobile then and there and call everyone she knew to tell them that

Mia Thermopolis was two-timing her best friend's brother.

So while I was standing there getting totally red in the face, and probably not resembling a snowdrop any more as much as

a candy cane, the contessa looked down her foot-long nose at me and went, 'So that rascal Rene has finally been snatched

up, and by your granddaughter, Clarisse. How satisfying that must be for you.'

Then Grandmere said, 'Isn't it, though, Elena?' And then to Rene and me she went, 'Come along, children,' and we followed her, Rene looking amused. But me? I was seething.

'I can't believe you did that,' I cried, as soon as we were out of the contessa's earshot.

'Did what, Amelia?' Grandmere asked, nodding to some guy in traditional African garb - a member of the Bengazi royal

family, no doubt.

'Told that woman that Rene and I are going out,' I said, 'when we most certainly are not. Grandmere, how many times do

I have to tell you, I'm going out with Michael Moscovitz!' At least I was until tonight, anyway.

'Rene,' Grandmere said, sweetly. She can be very sweet when she wants to be. 'Be an angel and see if you can find us

some champagne, would you?'

Rene, still looking cynically amused - the way I imagined Mr Rochester must have looked a lot of the time before he went

blind and got his hand chopped off - moved off in search of libation.

'Really, Amelia,' Grandmere said, when he was gone. 'Must you be so rude to poor Rene? I am only trying to make your cousin feel welcome and at home.'

'There is a difference,' I said, 'between making my cousin feel welcome and wanted, and trying to pass him off as my boyfriend!'

'Well, what's so wrong with Rene, anyway?' Grandmere wanted to know. All around us, elegant people in tuxedos and

evening gowns were heading to the dance floor, where a full orchestra was playing that song Audrey Hepburn sang in that movie about Tiffany's. Everyone was dressed in either black or white or both. The contessa's ballroom bore a significant resemblance to the penguin enclosure at the Central Park Zoo, where I had once sobbed my eyes out after discovering the truth about my heritage.

'He's extremely charming,' Grandmere went on, 'and quite cosmopolitan. Not to mention devilishly handsome. How can you possibly prefer a high school boy to a prince?'

'Because, Grandmere,' I said, 'I love him.'

'Love,' Grandmere said, looking towards the big glass ceiling overhead. 'Pfuit'

'Yes, Grandmere,' I said. 'I do. The way you loved Grandpere - and don't try to deny it, because I know you did. Now

you've got to stop harbouring a secret desire to make Prince Rene your grandson-in-law, because it is not going to happen.'

Grandmere looked blandly innocent. 'I don't know what you can mean,' she said, with a sniff.

'Cut it out, Grandmere. You want me to marry Prince Rene, for no other reason than that he is a royal. Well, it isn't going to happen. Even if Michael and I were to break up . . .' which was going to happen sooner than she thought '... I wouldn't get together with Rene. He's not my type. He smokes. And he likes to gamble. And he has no sympathy whatsoever for the

plight of the giant sea turtle.'

Grandmere finally began to look as if she might believe me. Tine,' she said, without much grace. 'I will stop calling Rene

your beau. But you must dance with him. At least once.'

'Grandmere.' The last thing in the world I felt like was dancing. 'Please. Not tonight. You don't know—'

'Amelia,' Grandmere said, in a different tone of voice from the one she'd used thus far. 'One dance. That is all I am asking

for. I believe you owe it to me.'

'I owe it to you?'  I couldn't help bursting out laughing at that one. 'How so?'

'Oh, only because of a little something,' Grandmere said, all innocently, 'that was recently found to be missing from the

palace museum.'

All of my Renaldo fighting spirit went right out the contessa's French doors to her backyard patio when I heard this. I felt

as if someone had punched me in my snowdrop stomach. Had Grandmere really said what I thought she'd said???

Swallowing hard, I went, 'Wh-what?'

'Yes.' Grandmere looked at me meaningfully. 'A priceless object - one out of a group of several, almost identical items that

was given to me by my very dear friend, Mr. Richard Nixon, the deceased former American president - has been found to

be missing. I realize the person who took it thought it would never be missed, because it wasn't the only such item, and they

all did look much alike. Still, it held great sentimental value for me. Dick was such a dear, sweet friend to Genovia while he

was in office, for all his later troubles. But you wouldn't happen to know anything about any of this, would you, Amelia?'

She had me! She had me, and she knew it. I don't know how she knew - undoubtedly through the black arts, in which I suspect Grandmere of being highly well-versed -but clearly, she knew. I was dead. I was so, so dead. I don't know if,

being a member of the royal family, and all, I was above the law back in Genovia, but I for one did not want to find out.

I should, I realize now, merely have dissembled. I should have been all, 'Priceless object? What priceless object?'

But I couldn't, on account of my nostrils. Instead, I went, in this squeaky, high-pitched voice I barely recognized as my own, 'You know what, Grandmere? I'll be happy to dance with Rene. No problem!'

Grandmere looked extremely satisfied. She said, 'Yes, I thought you would feel that way.' Then her drawn-on eyebrows

went up. 'Oh, look, here comes Prince Rene with our drinks. Sweet of him, don't you think?'

Anyway, that's how it happened that I was forced to dance with Prince Rene - who is a good dancer, but, whatever,

he's no Michael. I mean, he's never even seen Buffy the Vampire Slayer and he thinks Bill Gates is a pretty swell guy.

While we were dancing, though, this incredible thing happened. Rene went, 'Who is this blonde girl who keeps staring at us? Do you know her?'

I looked over to see who he was talking about, and sure enough, Lana was dancing nearby with some old guy who must

have been a friend of her father's. She looked extremely pained, like the old guy was talking to her about his investment portfolio or something, and, I have to admit, the looks she was throwing in my direction were pretty envious.

Well, I guess, to a girl like Lana, I was in an enviable position. I looked like a snowdrop, and I was dancing with the handsomest guy in the room. Too bad I was in love with somebody else.

So then, I don't know what came over me, but I actually sort of started feeling sorry for Lana. I mean, she's so shallow.

She can't see past how somebody looks. She never bothers to stop and try to see the person they might be inside.

I don't know, maybe being the daughter of a plastic surgeon makes her insecure, or something. But it's like, if you don't

look or dress a certain way, Lana won't even give you the time of day.

And yeah, I knew that on Monday she was going to be going around school, telling everybody she could get to listen about how she saw me with another guy. But by that time Michael and I would be broken up anyway. So what did it matter?

So for the second time in two days, I did something because I felt sorry for someone whom I'd formerly considered pretty much an enemy. I looked up at Rene and said, 'Yeah, I know her. Her name is Lana. She goes to my school. When this

dance is over, you should ask her for the next one.'

Rene looked dubious. 'Really?'

'Trust me,' I said. 'It'll be the thrill of her life to dance with a handsome prince.'

'But not so much for you, eh,' Rene said, still wearing his cynical smile.

'Rene,' I said. 'No offence. But I already met my prince, long before I ever met you. The only problem is, if I don't get out

of here soon, I don't know how much longer he's going to be my prince, because I already missed the movie we were supposed to see together, and pretty soon it's going to be too late even for me to stop by . . .'

'Never fear, Your Highness,' Rene said, twirling me around. 'If fleeing the ball before the clock strikes twelve is your

desire, I will see to it that your wish is fulfilled.'

I looked at him kind of dubiously. I actually needed to get out of the ball by nine, not twelve, if I still wanted to make it to Michael's at a decent hour. Also, I couldn't tell whether or not Rene was joking.

'Um,' I said. 'OK.'

And that's how I ended up in this bathroom. Rene told me to hide, and that he'd get Lars to flag down a cab, and once he'd

got one, and the coast was clear, Rene would knock three times, signalling that Grandmere was too otherwise occupied to notice my defection. Then, Rene promised, he'd tell her I must have eaten a bad truffle, since I'd looked queasy, and Lars

had taken me home.

It doesn't matter, of course. Any of this, I mean. Because I am just going to end up at Michael's in time for him to dump me. Maybe he'll feel bad about it, you know, after I give him his birthday present. Then again, maybe he'll just be glad to be rid

of me. Who knows? I've given up trying to figure out men. They are a breed apart.

Oops, there's Rene's knock. Gotta go.

To meet my fate.

Friday, January 22,11 p.m.

The Moscovitzes' Bathroom





Oh, my God, I am FREAKING OUT.

Now I know how Jane Eyre must have felt when she returned to Thornfield Hall to find it all burnt to the ground and

everyone telling her everybody inside of it was killed in the fire.

Only then she finds out Mr. Rochester didn't die, he just lost his sight and his hand and his crazy wife and everything,

and Jane's like super happy, because, you know, in spite of what he tried to do to her, she loves him.

That's how I feel right now. Super happy. Because I fully don't think Michael is going to break up with me after all!!!!

I was sure he was going to when I was standing outside the Moscovitzes' apartment, you know, with my finger on the buzzer.