Meg Cabot - Princess on the Brink

But I DON’T CARE.

I CAN’T let him move to Japan. I just CAN’T. I am very sorry for all the open-heart surgery patients who may suffer because of this very selfish decision on my part.

But sometimes, a girl has to do what a girl has to do just to stay sane in a topsy-turvy world where one minute, you’re eating cold sesame noodles, and the next minute, your boyfriend is leaving for Japan.

That’s just how it’s going to have to be.

Oh my God. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Should I do this? SHOULD I DO THIS????

As usual, asking questions of my journal is no help whatsoever. I don’t even know why I bother.

ME, A PRINCESS???? YEAH, RIGHT.

A Screenplay by Mia Thermopolis

(first draft)

Scene 16

INT/DAY—The penthouse suite at the Plaza Hotel. A scary-looking old woman with tattooed eyeliner (DOWAGER PRINCESS CLARISSE) is glaring at MIA, who cowers across from her in a chair. A hairless toy poodle (ROMMEL) shivers nearby.

DOWAGER PRINCESS CLARISSE

Now, let’s see if I’ve got this straight. Your father tells you that you are the princess of Genovia, and you burst into tears. Why is this?

MIA

I don’t want to be a princess. I just want to be me, Mia.

DOWAGER PRINCESS CLARISSE

Sit up straight in that chair. Do not drape your legs over the arm. And you are not Mia. You are Amelia. Are you telling me you have no desire to assume your rightful place upon the throne?

MIA

Grandmère, you know as well as I do that I’m not princess material. So why are we even wasting our time?

DOWAGER PRINCESS CLARISSE

You are the heir to the crown of Genovia. And you will take my son’s place on the throne when he dies. This is how it is. There is no other way.

MIA

Yeah, whatever, Grandmère. Look, I got a lot of homework. Is this princess thing going to take long?

Thursday, September 9, Homeroom

I’m going to do it. I mean, Do It. Tonight. I was up all night thinking about it, and I know now—this is the only way.

I know it’s selfish. I know I will be keeping a shining beacon of hope from all of the many heart patients Michael could be helping with his invention.

But that is just too bad for them. Plenty of people have had open-heart surgery and were just fine. Look at David Letterman. And Bill Clinton. People are just going to have to suck it up. Maybe if they ate less meat, they wouldn’t NEED open-heart surgery. Did anyone think of that?

Oh, God. Did I really just write that? I can’t believe I just wrote that. WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME? I’m becoming one of those militant vegetarians, the ones who think the Heifer Project, an organization that gives cows and goats to poor widows so they will have an income from selling the milk, and be able to buy food for their children, is bad because it enslaves animals.

I don’t know what’s happening to me. It’s like I’ve gone mental. I even checked to make sure I still had my condoms left over from when we were forced to go buy them during Health and Safety as part of our Safer Sex project. Of course, I made my selections on the basis of color. I mean, there were just SO MANY to choose from. I knew I should have gone to Duane Reade and not Condomania. I have strawberry and piña colada in my backpack right now (I didn’t realize the ones I bought were FLAVORED until I checked their expiration dates this morning. Thank heaven they’re still good).

I am willing to sacrifice my virginity for the sake of keeping my love in the same hemisphere as me.

But I just realized, that during the course of this, I may actually have to Touch It.

For the first time, however, this prospect is not making me say, or even think, the wordEw.

I must be maturing.

Thursday, September 9, Intro to Creative Writing

Describe a person you know:

His hair, at first glance, appears merely dark, but upon closer inspection is actually many strands of chestnut brown, gold, and black. He wears it long, for a guy, not because doing so is “in,” but because he’s too busy with his many interests to remember to get it cut regularly. His eyes seem dark at first glance, as well, but are actually a kaleidoscope of russets and mahoganies, flecked here and there with ruby and gold, like twin lakes during an Indian summer, into which you feel as if you could dive and swim forever. Nose: aquiline. Mouth: imminently kissable. Neck: aromatic—an intoxicating blend of Tide from his shirt collar, Gillette shaving foam, and Ivory soap, which together spell: my boyfriend.

B–

Better. I would have liked more description on what exactly about his mouth you find so imminently kissable.

—C. Martinez

Thursday, September 9, English

Now the big question is: Do I tell Tina?

I mean, obviously, I can’t tellLilly. She’ll see right through my plan and know what I’m trying to do. Which is not to express my undying love and devotion for her brother, but to try to control him.

With sex.

I highly doubt she’d approve.

Plus, she’ll totally accuse me of violating the feminist code by using feminine wiles instead of my brain as a means to get what I want.

But isn’t that what Gloria Steinem did when she went undercover as a sex kitten to expose the poor wages and long hours of the Playboy Bunnies, helping to improve their working conditions in the Grotto? I’m doing the same thing, basically. I am sacrificing my virginity in order to keep a valuable asset of our community from leaving it for a far-off shore. In the long run, my sleeping with Michael tonight will only benefit the U.S. economy.

You could almost say it’s my duty as a citizen to Do It.

On the other hand, if Lilly and J.P. really did consummate their relationship over the summer (although I have been observing them both closely at lunch, the only period we all three share together, and beyond the Yodel exchange, I have seen no overt signs of shared intimacy. They don’t even hold hands in the hallway or kiss when they see each other in the morning. Which may just be because they save all the lovey-dovey stuff for when they’re alone together. OR it may be because they haven’t gotten as far, intimacy-wise, as rumor would have it), Lilly ought to totally understand.

I mean, hormones are VERY POWERFUL things. It’s not easy to fight them. Surely Lilly, of all people, would understand.

Except, of course, if you give up fighting them for the Wrong Reason.

Mia—what are you doing? Are you taking notes? I thought you readFranny and Zooeyalready!

No. I’m not taking notes. I’m writing in my journal. Tina, I have something to ask you. But I’m scared you might hate me for it.

I could never hate you! Besides, anything is better than listening to her going on about Salinger’s fusion of Judeo-Christian and Eastern religions.

Well, here’s the thing: I don’t think I’m going to be one of the Last Virgins at AEHS after tonight.

WHAT??? YOU AND MICHAEL ARE GOING TO DO IT!!!! OH, MIA!!!! WHEN DID YOU TWO DECIDE THIS????

Well, WE didn’t decide it. I decided it. Don’t hate me, okay? But Grandmère gave me the key to the suite she’s not using over at the Ritz, and I’m going to take Michael there tonight and surprise him.

You mean you’re going to make sweet tender love to him so he’ll have a beautiful memory to carry with him as he heads halfway across the world in order to prove himself worthy of you? Mia, that is SO ROMANTIC!!!!!!

Um, actually, I was going to make sweet tender love to him so he’d change his mind and stick around New York. Because what guy is going to move to Japan if he can get regular sex right in his own neighborhood?

Oh. Well. That’s good, too. I guess.

Seriously? You don’t think I’m evil for trying to manipulate him emotionally? Using my Precious Gift?