Meg Cabot: Mia Goes Fourth

the allergy that caused it all to fall out was to New York City in general. White fuzz was starting to come out all over him,

like down on a baby chicken. But it didn't make him look any less repulsive.

'That,' Grandmere said, 'is precisely what I am telling you. I kept your grandfather on his toes, and he loved every minute

of it. If you want to keep this Michael fellow, I suggest you do the same thing. Stop this business of calling him every night.

Stop this business of not looking at any other boys. And stop this obsessing over what you are going to get him for his

birthday. He should be the one obsessing over what he is going to buy to keep you interested, not the other way around.'

'Me? But my birthday isn't until May!' I didn't want to tell her that I had already figured out what I was getting for Michael.

I didn't want to tell her because I had sort of snitched it out of the back of the Palais de Genovia museum.

Well, nobody else was using it, so I don't see why I can't. I'm the Princess of Genovia, after all. I own everything in that museum anyway. Or at least the royal family does.

'Who says a man should give a woman gifts only on her birthday?' Grandmere was looking at me like she pretty much despaired of me as a Homo sapiens. She held up her wrist. Dripping from it was a bracelet Grandmere wears a lot, one

with diamonds big as European one cent pieces "hanging off it. 'I got this from your grandfather on March 5, 1967. Why? March fifth is not my birthday, nor is it any kind of holiday. Your grandfather gave it to me on that day merely because he thought that the bracelet, like myself, was exquisite.' She lowered her hand back down to Rommel's head. 'That, Amelia,

is how a man ought to treat the woman he loves.'

All I could think was poor Grandpa. He couldn't have had any idea what he was getting himself into when it came to Grandmere, who'd been a total babe back when she was young, before she'd gotten her eyeliner tattooed and plucked

out all her eyebrows. I'm sure Gramps just took one look at her across that dance floor where they met back when he

was just the dashing heir to the throne and she was a pert young debutante, and froze, like a deer caught in headlights,

never suspecting what lay ahead . . .

Years of subtle mind games and Sidecar shaking.

'I don't think I can be like that, Grandmere,' I said. 'I mean, I don't want Michael to give me diamonds. I just want him

to ask me to the prom.'

'Well, he won't do it,' Grandmere said, 'if he doesn't know there's a possibility you're entertaining offers from other boys.'

'Grandmere!' I was shocked. 'I would never to go to the prom with anybody but Michael!' Not like there was a big chance

of anybody else asking me, either, but I felt that was beside the point.

'But you must never let him know that, Amelia,' Grandmere said, severely. 'You must keep him always in doubt of your feelings, always on his toes. Men enjoy the hunt, you see, and once their quarry has been taken, they tend to lose all

interest. Here. This is for you to read. I believe it will adequately illustrate my point.'

And then from her Gucci bag, Grandmere drew out a book, which she handed to me. I looked down at it incredulously.

'Jane Eyre?' I couldn't believe it. 'Grandmere, no offence, but I saw the movie and it was way boring.'

'Movie?' Grandmere said, with a sniff. 'Read that book, Amelia, and see if it doesn't teach you a thing or two about

how men and women relate to one another.'

'Grandmere,' I said, not sure how to break it to her that she was way behind the times. 'I think people who want to know

how men and women relate to one another are reading Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus these days.'

'Read it!' Grandmere yelled, so loudly that she scared Rommel clear off her lap. He slunk off to cower behind a potted geranium.

I swear I don't know what I did to deserve a grandmother like mine. Lilly's grandma totally worships her boyfriend, Boris Pelkowski. She is always sending him Tupperware tubs of kreplach and stuff. I don't know why I have to get a grandma

who is already trying to get me to break up with a guy I've only been going out with for twenty-four days.

Seven days, twenty-three hours and forty-five minutes until I see him again.

Tuesday, January 12, 10 a.m.,

Session of Genovian Parliament

Jane Eyre is boring, so far nothing but orphanages, bad haircuts and a lot of coughing.

Tuesday, January 12, 2 p.m.,

Still in a Session of Genovian Parliament

Jane Eyre looking up. She has gotten a job as a governess in the house of very rich guy, Mr Rochester.

Mr Rochester is bossy, much like Wolverine, or Michael.

Tuesday; January 12, 5 p.m.,

Still Sitting in on Session of Genovian Parliament

Mr Rochester = total hottie. Going on my list of Totally Hot Guys between Hugh Jackman and that

Bosnian dude from ER.

Tuesday, January 12, 7 p.m.,

Ivory Dining Room

Jane Eyre = total idiot! It was not Mr Rochester's fault! Why is she being so mean to him?

Wednesday, January 13, 3 a,m.,

Royal Genovian Bedchamber

OK, I guess I understand what Grandmere was getting at with this book. But seriously, that whole part where Mrs Fairfax warns Jane not to get too chummy with Mr. Rochester before the wedding was just because back in those days there was

no birth control. Well, and also the part about him already having a wife.

Still - and I may have to consult with Lilly on this - I am pretty sure it is unwise to pattern one's behaviour on the advice

of a fictional character, especially one from a book written in 1846.

However, I do get the general gist of Mrs Fairfax's warning, which was this: Do not chase boys. Chasing boys can lead

to horrible things like mansions going up in flames, hand amputations and bigamous marriages. Have some self-respect

and don't let things go too far before the wedding day.

Which in modern parlance translates to Don't Put Out Until Senior Prom.

I get this. I so get this.

But what is Michael going to think if I just stop calling???? I mean, he might think I don't like him any more!!!!

I guess that is Grandmere's point. I guess you are supposed to keep boys on their toes this way.

I don't know. But it seemed to work with Grandpa. And for Jane, in the end. I guess I could give it a try.

But it won't be easy. It is nine o'clock at night in Florida right now. Who knows what Michael is doing? He might have

gone down to the beach for a stroll and met some beautiful, homeless musician girl, who is living under the boardwalk

and making a living off the tourists, for whom she plays wryly observant folk songs on her Stratocaster. She could be

wearing fringy things and be all busty and snaggle-toothed, like Jewel. No boy could be expected just to walk on by

when a girl like that is standing there.

No. Grandmere and Mrs Fairfax are right. I've got to resist. I've got to resist the urge to call him. When you are less

available, it drives men wild, just like in Jane Eyre.

Though I think changing my name and running away to live with distant relations like Jane did might be going a bit too far.

Five days, ten hours, and fifty-eight minutes until I see him again.

Thursday; January 14, 11 p.m.,

Royal Genovian Bedchamber

Tina spent all day yesterday reading Jane Eyre as per my recommendation and agrees with me that there might be