Meg Cabot - Mia Goes Fourth

head in order to keep my eardrums intact. 'I was your number one most supportive friend through the whole thing!'

This was so patently untrue, I thought Lilly was joking. But then I realized when she greeted my laughter with stone-cold

silence that she was totally serious. Apparently Lilly has one of those selective memories, where she can remember all the

good things she did, but none of the bad things. Kind of like a politician.

Because, of course, if it were true that Lilly had been so supportive of me, I never would have become friends with

Tina Hakim Baba, whom I only started sitting with at lunch back in October because Lilly wasn't speaking to me, on

account of the whole princess thing.

'I sincerely hope,' Lilly said, 'that you are laughing in disbelief over the idea that I was ever anything less than a good friend

to you, Mia. I know we've had our ups and downs, but any time I was ever hard on you, it was only because I thought you weren't being true to yourself.'

'Um,' I said, getting serious fast. 'OK.' 'I am going to write a letter,' Lilly went on, 'to the studio that produced that piece of libellous trash, demanding a written apology for their irresponsible screenwriting. And if they do not provide one - and publish

it in a full-page ad in the New York Times - I will sue. I don't care if I have to take my case to the Supreme Court. Those Hollywood types think they can throw anything they want to in front of a camera and the viewing public will just lap it up.

Well, that might be true for the rest of the proles, but I am going to fight for more honest portrayals of actual people and

events. The man is not going to keep me down!'

I asked Lilly what man, thinking she meant the director or something, and she just went, 'The man! The man!' like I was mentally challenged, or something.

Then Michael got back on the phone and explained that 'the man' is a figurative allusion to authority, and that in the way

that Freudian analysts blame everything on 'the mother', blues musicians have historically blamed their woes on 'the man'. Traditionally, Michael informed me, 'the man' is white, financially successful, in his mid to late forties, and in a position of considerable power over others.

We discussed calling Michael's band The Man, but then dismissed it as having possible misogynistic undertones.

Eight days until I can once again be in Michael's arms. Oh, that the hours would fly as fleetly as winged doves!

I just realized - Michael's description of The Man sounds a lot like my dad! Although I doubt all those blues musicians

were talking about the Prince of Genovia. As far as I know, my dad has never even been to Memphis.

Monday, January 11, 2 p.m.,

Dowager Princess's Private Terrace

Just when it seems like maybe, just maybe, things might be starting to go my way, something always has to come

along to ruin it.

And, as usual, this time it was Grandmere.

I guess she could tell, because I was so sleepy again today, that I'd been up all night talking to Michael. So this morning, between my ride with the Genovian Equestrian Society and my meeting with the Genovian Beachfront Development

Society, Grandmere sat me down and gave me a lecture. This time it wasn't about the socially acceptable gifts to give

a boy on his birthday. Instead, it was about Appropriate Choices.

'It is all very well and good, Amelia,' Grandmere said, for you to like that boy. But I do not think it wise of you to

allow your affection for this Michael fellow to blind you to other, more suitable consorts such as—'

I interrupted to tell Grandmere that if she said the words Prince William I was going to jump off the Pont des Vierges.

Grandmere told me not to be more ridiculous than I already am. I could never marry Prince William anyway on account of

his being Church of England. However, there are apparently other, infinitely more suitable romantic partners for a princess of the royal house of Renaldo than Michael. And Grandmere said she would hate for me to miss the opportunity to get to know these other young men, just because I think I have to be faithful to Michael. She assured me that, were the circumstances reversed, and Michael were the heir to a throne and a considerable fortune, she highly doubted he would be as scrupulously faithful as I was being.

I objected to this assessment of Michael's character very much. I informed Grandmere that in every aspect of Michael's life, from his being editor in chief of the now defunct Crackhead, to his role as treasurer in the Computer Club, he has shown nothing but the utmost loyalty and integrity. I also explained, as patiently as I could, that it hurt me to hear her saying

anything negative about a man to whom I have pledged my heart.

'That is just it, Amelia,' Grandmere said, rolling her scary eyes. 'You are entirely too young to pledge your heart to anyone.

I think it very unwise of you, at the age of fourteen, to decide with whom you are going to spend the rest of your life.'

I informed Grandmere that I will be fifteen in four months, and also that Juliet was fourteen when she married Romeo.

To which Grandmere replied, 'And that relationship turned out very nicely, didn't it!'

Grandmere clearly has never been in love. Furthermore, she has no appreciation whatsoever of fine literature.

'And in any case,' Grandmere added, 'if you hope to keep that boy, you are going about it all wrong.'

I thought it was very unsupportive of Grandmere to be suggesting that I, after only having had a boyfriend for

twenty-four days, during which time I had seen him exactly once, was already in danger of losing him, and said so.

'Well, I'm sorry, Amelia,' Grandmere said. 'But I can't say you know what you're about if it's true you actually want

to keep this young man. You call him at all hours of the night—'

'Actually,' I said, 'where he is, it is a perfectly civilized time for me to call, right after he and his grandparents and

sister get back from their Early Bird special dinner.'

But Grandmere wasn't listening,

'You do not give him any reason to doubt your affections,' she went on.

'Of course not,' I said, horrified. 'Why would I do that? I love him!'

'But you mustn't let him know that!' Grandmere looked ready to throw her mid-morning Sidecar at me. Are you

completely dense? Never let a man be sure of your affections for him! You did a very good job at first, with the

business of forgetting his birthday. But now you are ruining everything by calling all the time. If that boy realizes

how you really feel, he will stop trying to please you.'

'But Grandmere.' I was way confused. 'You married Grandpa. Surely he figured out you loved him if you went ahead

and married him.'

'Grandpere, Mia, please, not this vulgar Grandpaw you Americans insist upon.' Grandmere sniffed and looked insulted. 'Besides which, your grandfather most certainly did not "figure out" my feelings for him. I made quite certain he thought

I was only marrying him for his money and title. And I don't think I need to point out to you that we had forty blissful years together. And without separate bedrooms,' she added, with some malice, 'unlike some royal couples I could mention.'

'Wait a minute.' I stared at her. 'For forty years you slept in the same bed as Grandpere, but you never once told him that

you loved him?'

Grandmere drained what was left of her Sidecar and laid an affectionate hand on top of her miniature poodle Rommel's

head. Since returning to Genovia, most of Rommel's fur has started to grow back. According to the royal Genovian vet,