My dad has already called the Times and demanded that they remove the supplement from all the papers that haven't been delivered yet. He has called the concierge of the Plaza and insisted on Sebastiano being listed as persona non grata, which means the cousin to the Prince of Genovia won't be allowed to set foot on hotel property.

I thought this was a little harsh, but not as harsh as what my dad wanted to do, which was call the NYPD and press charges against Sebastiano for using the likeness of a minor without the authority of her parents. Thank God Grandmere talked him

out of that. She said there'd be enough publicity about this without the added humiliation of a royal arrest.

My dad is still so mad he can't sit still. He is pacing back and forth across the suite. Rommel is watching him very nervously from Grandmere's lap, his head moving back and forth, back and forth, as his eyes follow my dad, as if he were watching the US Open.

I bet if Sebastiano were here, my dad would smash up a lot more than just his mobile phone.






Saturday, December 12, 5 p.m., the Loft

Well.

All I can say is, Grandmere's really done it this time.

I'm serious. I don't think my dad is ever going to speak to her again.

And I know I never will.

OK, she's an old lady and she didn't know what she was doing was wrong, and I should really be more understanding.

But for her to do this — for her not even to take into consideration my feelings - I frankly don't think I will ever be able to forgive her.

What happened was, Sebastiano called right before I was getting ready to leave the hotel. He was completely perplexed

about why my dad is so mad at him. He tried to come upstairs to see us, he said, but Plaza security stopped him.

When my dad, who'd answered the phone, told Sebastiano that the reason Plaza security stopped him was because he'd

been PNG'd, and then explained why, Sebastiano was even more upset. He kept going, 'But I had your permish! I had your permish, Philippe!'

'My permission to use my daughter's image to promote your awful rags?' My father was disgusted. 'You most certainly did not!'

But Sebastiano kept insisting he had.

And little by little, it came out that he had had permission, in a way. Only not from me. And not my dad, either. Guess who, it appears, gave it to him?

Grandmere went, all indignantly, 'I only did it, Philippe, because Amelia, as you know, suffers from a terrible self-image and needed a boost.'

But my dad was so enraged he wouldn't even listen to her.

He just thundered, 'And so to repair her self-image you went behind her back and gave permission for her photos to be used

in an advertisement for women's clothing?'

Grandmere didn't have much to say after that. She just stood there going, 'Uhn . . . uhn . . . uhn . . .' like someone in a horror movie who'd been pinned to a wall with a machete but wasn't quite dead yet (I always close my eyes during parts like this, so

I know exactly what it sounds like). It became clear that even if Grandmere had had a reasonable excuse for her behaviour,

my father wasn't going to listen to it - or let me listen to it, either. He stalked over to me, grabbed my arm and marched me

right out of the suite. I thought we were going to have a bonding moment like fathers and daughters always do on TV, where he'd tell me that Grandmere was a very sick woman and that he was going to send her somewhere where she could take a

nice long rest, but instead all he said was, 'Go home.'

Then he handed me over to Lars - after slamming the door to Grandmere's suite VERY loudly behind him - and stormed off

in the direction of his own suite.

Jeez.

It just goes to show that even a royal family can be dysfunctional.

Couldn't you just see us on Ricki Lake?

Ricki: Clarisse, tell us: why did you allow Sebastiano to put your granddaughter's photos in that Times advertising supplement?

Grandmere: I did it to boost her self-esteem. And how dare you call me by my first name? That's Your Royal

Highness to you, Ms Lake.

I just know that when I get to school on Monday, everybody is going to be all, 'Oh, look, here comes Mia, that big FAKE, with her vegetarianism and her animal-rights activism and her looks-aren't-important-it's-what's-on-the-inside-that-matters-ism. But I guess it's all right to pose for fashion photo shoots, isn't it, Mia?'

As if it wasn't enough I had to be suspended. Now I am going to be sneered at by my peers too.

I'm home now, trying to pretend none of it ever happened. This is difficult, of course, because when I walked back into the

loft I saw that my mom had already pulled the supplement out of our paper and drawn little devil horns coming out of my

head in every picture, then stuck the whole thing on to the refrigerator.

While I appreciate this bit of whimsy, it does not make the fact that I will have to show my face - now plastered all over advertising supplements throughout the tri-state area - in school on Monday any easier.

Surprisingly, there is one good thing that's come out of all of this: I know for sure I look best in the white taffeta number with

the blue sash. My dad says over his dead body am I going to wear it, or any other Sebastiano creation. But there isn't another designer in Genovia who could do as good a job — let alone finish the dress in time. So it looks like it's going to be the dress by Sebastiano, which got delivered to the loft this morning.

Which is one thing off my mind, anyway.

I guess.






Saturday, December 12, 8 p.m., the Loft


I have already gotten seventeen e-mails, six phone calls and one visitor (Lilly) about the fashion thing. Lilly says it's not as bad as I think and that most people throw the supplements away without even looking at them.

But if that's true, I said, why are all these people calling and e-mailing me?

She tried to make out like it was all members of the Students Against the Corporatization of Albert Einstein High School,

calling to show their solidarity with my suspension, but I think we both know better:

It's all people who want to know what I was thinking, selling out like that.

How am I ever going to explain that I had nothing to do with it - that I didn't even know about it? Nobody is going to believe that. I mean, the proof is right there: I'm wearing the proof. There's photographic evidence of it.

My reputation is going down the drain, even as I sit here. Tomorrow morning, millions of subscribers to the New York Times are going to open their papers and be like, 'Oh, look, Princess Mia. Sold out already. Wonder how much she got paid? You wouldn't think she'd need the money, what with being royal and all.'

Finally I had to ask Lilly to please go home, because I'd developed such a headache. She tried to cure it with some shiatsu, which her parents frequently employ on their patients, but it didn't work. All that ended up happening was that I think she burst a blood vessel or something between my thumb and index finger, since it really hurts.

Now I am determined to start studying, even though it's Saturday night and everyone else my age is out having fun.

But haven't you heard? Princesses never get to have any fun.

Here is what I have to do:

• Algebra: review chapters 1-10

• English: term paper, 10 pages, double spaced, utilize appropriate margins; also, review chapters 1-7

• World Civ.: review chapters 1—12

• G & T: none

• French: revue chapitres Un—Neuf

• Biology: review chapters 1-12

• Write out instructions on how to care for Fat Louie.

• Christmas/Hanukkah shopping:

Mom - Bon Jovi maternity T

Dad - Book on anger management

Mr. G — Swiss Army knife

Lilly — blank videotapes

Tina Hakim Baba - copy of Emanuelle

Kenny - combination TV/VCR (I don't think this is too extravagant. And no, it's not guilt, either. He really wants one)

Grandmere - NOTHING!!!!!!

• Paint fingernails (maybe presence of foul-tasting polish will prevent biting them off)

• Break up with Kenny.

• Organize sock drawer.


I am going to start with the sock drawer because that is clearly the most important. You can't really concentrate on anything if your socks aren't right.

Then I will move on to Algebra because that is my worst subject, and also my first test. I am going to pass it if it is the last thing I do. NOTHING is going to distract me. Not this thing with Grandmere, not the fact that four of those seventeen e-mails are from Michael, not the fact that two are from Kenny, not the fact that I am leaving for Europe at the end of next week, not the fact that my mother and Mr. Gianini are in the next room watching Die Hard, my favourite Christmas movie, NOTHING.

I WILL PASS ALGEBRA THIS SEMESTER, and NOTHING IS GOING TO DISTRACT ME FROM STUDYING FOR THE FINAL!!!!!!!!!!!








Saturday, December 12, 9 p.m., the Loft


I just had to go out and see the part where Bruce Willis throws the explosives down the elevator shaft, but now I am back

to work.





Saturday, December 12, 9:30 p.m., the Loft



I was really curious about what Michael could possibly want, so I read his e-mails -just his. One was about the supplement (Lilly had told him, and he wanted to know if I was thinking of abdicating, ha ha) and the other three were jokes that I

suppose were meant to make me feel better. They weren't very funny but I laughed anyway.

I bet Judith Gershner doesn't laugh at Michael's jokes. She's too busy cloning things.






Saturday, December 12,10 p.m., the Loft


How to Care for Fat Louie While I am Away:

a.m.

In the morning, please fill Fat Louie's bowl with dry food. Even if there is already food in the bowl, he likes to have some

fresh served on top so he can feel like he is having breakfast like the rest of us.

In my bathroom is a blue plastic cup sitting by the bathtub. Please fill that every morning with water from the bathroom sink. You must use water from the bathroom sink because water from the kitchen sink isn't cold enough. And you have to put it

in the blue cup because that is the cup Fat Louie is used to drinking out of while I am brushing my teeth.

He has a bowl in the hallway outside my room. Rinse that out and fill it with water from the water filter pitcher in the refrigerator. It must be water from the water filter pitcher because even though New York tap is said to be contaminant-free, it is good for Louie to get at least some water that is definitely pure. Cats need to drink a lot of water to flush out their systems and prevent kidney and urinary tract infections, so always leave lots of water out, and not just by his food bowls but other places as well.

Do not confuse the bowl in the hall with the bowl by the Christmas tree. That bowl is there to discourage Louie from

drinking out of the tree holder. Too much tree resin could make him constipated.

In the morning, Fat Louie likes to sit on the window sill of my room and look at the pigeons on the fire escape. NEVER OPEN THIS WINDOW, but be sure the curtains are open so he can see out.

Also, sometimes he likes to look out the windows by the TV. If he cries while he is doing this, it means you should pet him.

p.m.


At dinnertime, give Fat Louie canned food. Fat Louie only likes three flavours, Chicken and Tuna Feast (Flaked),

Shrimp and Fish Feast (Flaked), and Ocean Fish Feast (Flaked). He won't eat anything with beef or pork.

He must have the contents of the can on a new CLEAN saucer or he won't eat. Also, he won't eat if the contents don't

retain their can-like shape on the plate, so don't chop up his food.

After eating his canned food, Fat Louie likes to stretch out on the carpet in front of the front door. This is a good time to