Meg Cabot - Princess in the Spotlight

Of course, it’s always hard to leave Lilly’s. Every time I go there, it’s like taking a vacation from my real life. Lilly has such a nice, normal family. Well, as normal as two psychoanalysts whose son has his own webzine and whose daughter has her own cable-access television show can be. At the Moscovitzes’, the biggest problem is always whose turn is it to walk Pavlov, their sheltie, or whether to order Chinese or Thai take-out.

At my house, the problems always seem to be a little more complicated.

But of course when I finally did work up the courage to come home, my mom was totally happy to see me. She gave me a big hug, and told me not to worry about what had

happened at the interview taping. She said Dad had talked to her, and that she completely understood. She even tried to get me to believe that it was her fault for not having said

anything to him right away.

Which I know isn’t true—it’s still my fault, me and my idiot mouth—but it was nice to hear, just the same.

So then we had a nice, fun time sitting around planning her and Mr. G’s wedding. My mom decided Halloween would be an excellent day to get married, because the idea of marriage is so scary. Since it was going to be at City Hall, that meant I’d probably have to skip school, but that was okay by me!

Since it would be Halloween, my mom decided that instead of a wedding dress, she would go to the courthouse dressed as King Kong. She wants me to dress up as theEmpireStateBuilding (God knows I am tall enough). She was trying to convince Mr. G to dress as Fay Ray when the phone rang, and she said it was Lilly, for me.

I was surprised, since I had just left Lilly’s, but I figured I must have left my toothbrush there, or something.

But that wasn’t why she was calling. That wasn’t why she was calling at all—as I found out when she demanded tartly, “What’s this I hear about you being interviewed on TwentyFour/Seven this week?”

I was stunned. I actually thought Lilly had ESP or something, and had been hiding it from me all these years. I said, “How did you know?”

“Because there are commercials announcing it every five minutes, dorkus.”

I switched on the TV. Lilly was right! No matter what station you put it on, there were ads urging viewers to “tune in tomorrow night” to see Beverly Bellerieve’s exclusive interview with “America’s royal, Princess Mia.”

Oh, my God. My life is so over.

“So why didn’t you tell me you are going to be on TV?” Lilly wanted to know.

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling like I was going to throw up all over again. “It just happened yesterday. It’s no big deal.”

Lilly started yelling so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear.

“NO BIG DEAL??? You were interviewed by Beverly Bellerieve and it was NO BIG DEAL??? Don’t you realize that BEVERLY BELLERIEVE IS ONE OF AMERICA’S MOST POPULAR AND HARDEST-HITTING JOURNALISTS, and that she is my all-time ROLE MODEL and HERO???”

When she finally calmed down enough to let me talk, I tried to explain to Lilly that I had no idea aboutBeverly ’s journalistic merits, much less that she was Lilly’s all-time role model and hero. She just seemed, I said, like a very nice lady.

By that time, Lilly was totally fed up with me. She said, “The only reason I’m not mad at you is that tomorrow you are going to tell me every single little detail about it.”

“I am?”

Then I asked a more important question. “Why should you be mad at me?” I really wanted to know.

“Because you gave me exclusive first rights to interview you,” Lilly pointed out. “For Lilly Tells It Like It Is.”

I have no memory of this, but I guess it must be true.

Grandmère, I could see from the ads, had been right about the blue eyeshadow. Which was surprising, because she’s never been right about much else.

TOP FIVE THINGS GRANDMÈRE HAS BEEN WRONG ABOUT

1. That my dad would settle down when he met the right woman.

2. That Fat Louie would suck out my breath and suffocate me as I slept.

3. That if I didn’t attend an all-girls school, I would contract a social disease.

4. That if I got my ears pierced, they would get infected and I would die of blood poisoning.

5. That my figure would fill out by the time I hit my teens.

Sunday, October 26,8 p.m.

You will not believe what got delivered to our house while I was gone. I was sure it was a mistake, until I saw the following attached. I am going to kill my mother.

JeffersonMarket

The freshest produce—guaranteed

Fast, Free Delivery

Order no. 2803

1 package microwave cheese popcorn

1 case Yoo Hoo chocolate drink

1 jar cocktail olives

1 bag Oreos

1 container fudge ripple ice cream

1 package all-beef hot dogs

1 package hot-dog buns

1 package string cheese

1 bag milk chocolate chips

1 bag barbecue potato chips

1 container beer nuts

1 bag Milano cookies

1 jar sweet gherkins

Toilet paper

6-pound ham

Deliver to:

Helen Thermopolis,1005 Thompson Street, #4A

Hasn’t she the slightest idea how adversely all this saturated fat and sodium will affect her unborn child? I can see that Mr. Gianini and I will have to be hypervigilant for the next seven months. I have given everything except the toilet paper to Ronnie, next door. Ronnie says she is going to hand out the junkiest stuff to any trick-or-treaters who might come by. She has to watch her figure since her sex-change operation. Now that she’s taking all those estrogen injections, everything goes right to her hips.

Sunday, October 26,9 p.m.

Another e-mail from Jo-C-rox!

This one went:

JOCROX:Hi, Mia. I just saw the ad for your interview. You look great.

Sorry I can’t tell you who I am. I’m surprised you haven’t guessed by now. Now stop checking your e-mail and get to work on your Algebra homework. I know how you are about that. It’s one of the things I like best about you.

Your Friend

Okay, this is going to drive me insane. Who could it be? Who????

I wrote back right away:

FTLOUIE:WHO ARE YOU????????????????????????????

???????????????????????????????????????????????

?????????????????????????????????

I was hoping that would get the point across, but he so totally did not write back. I was trying to figure out who I know who knows that I always wait until the last minute to do my Algebra homework. Unfortunately, though, I think everyone knows it.

But the person who knows it best of all is Michael. I mean, doesn’t he help me every day with my Algebra homework in G and T? And he is always chastising me for not putting my carry-overs in straight enough lines and all of that.

If ONLY Jo-C-rox were Michael Moscovitz. If only, if only, if ONLY.

But I’m sure it isn’t. That would simply be too good to be true. And really excellent things like that only happen to girls like Lana Weinberger, never to girls like me. Knowing my luck, it will totally be that weird chili guy. Or some guy who breathes through his mouth, like Boris.