Meg Cabot - Give Me Five

to bring her DOG to MY BIRTHDAY dinner. I so wish I had seen this. No one would admit it later - not even Mom - but I bet it was really, really, really funny to see Grandmere covered in soup. I swear, if that's all I had got for my birthday, I'd have been totally happy.

But by the time I got out of the bathroom, Grandmere had been thoroughly dabbed by the maitre d'. All you could see of the soup were these wet parts all over her chest. I completely missed out on all the fun (as usual). Instead, I got there just in time to see the maitre d' imperiously ordering the poor busboy to turn in his dish towel: he was fired. FIRED!!! And for something that was fully not his fault! Jangbu - that was the busboy's name - totally looked as if he were going to cry. He kept saying over and over again how sorry he was. But it didn't matter. Because if you spill soup on a dowager princess in New York City, you can kiss your career in the restaurant biz goodbye. It would be like if a gourmet cook got caught going to McDonald's in Paris. Or if P. Diddy got caught buying underwear at Wal-Mart. Or if Nicky and Paris Hilton got caught lying around in their Juicy Couture sweats on a Saturday night, watching National Geographic Explorer, instead of going out to party. It is simply Not Done.

I tried to reason with the maitre d' on Jangbu's behalf, after Michael told me what had happened. I said in no way could Grandmere hold the restaurant responsible for what HER dog had done. A dog she wasn't even supposed to have HAD

in the restaurant in the first place.

But it didn't do any good. The last I saw of Jangbu, he was heading sadly back towards the kitchen.

I tried to get Grandmere, who was, after all, the injured party - or the allegedly injured party, since of course she wasn't in the least bit hurt - to talk the maitre d' into giving Jangbu his job back. But she remained stubbornly unmoved by my pleas on Jangbu's behalf. Even my reminding her that many busboys are immigrants, new to this country, with families to support back

in their native lands, left her cold.

'Grandmere,' I cried in desperation. 'What makes Jangbu so different from Johanna, the African orphan you are sponsoring

on my behalf? Both are merely trying to make their way on this planet we call Earth.'

'The difference between Johanna and Jangbu,' Grandmere informed me, as she held Rommel close, trying to calm him down

(it took the combined efforts of Michael, my dad, Mr G and Lars to finally catch Rommel, right before he made a run for it through the revolving door and out on to Fifth Avenue and freedom on the miniature-poodle underground railroad), 'is that Johanna did not SPILL SOUP ALL OVER ME!'

God. She is such a CRAB sometimes.

So now here I am, knowing that somewhere in the city — Queens, most likely - is a young man whose family will probably starve, and all because of MY BIRTHDAY. That's right. Jangbu lost his job because I WAS BORN.

I'm sure wherever Jangbu is right now, he is wishing I wasn't. Born, that is.

And I can't say that I blame him one little bit.

Friday, May 2,1 a.m., the Loft

My snowflake necklace is really nice, though. I am never, ever taking it off.

Friday, May 2, 1:05 a.m., the Loft

Well, except maybe when I go swimming. Because I wouldn't want it to get lost.

Friday, May 2, 1:10 a,m., the Loft

He loves me!

Friday, May 2, Algebra

Oh, my God. It is all over the city. About Grandmere and the incident at Les Hautes Manger last night, I mean. It must be a slow news day, because even The Post picked it up. It was right there on the front cover at the news-stand on the corner:

A Royal Mess, screams The Post.

Princess and the Pea (Soup), claims The Daily News (erroneously, since it wasn't pea soup at all, but lobster bisque).

It even made the Times. You would think that the New York Times would be above reporting something like that, but there

it was, in the Metro section. Lilly pointed it out as she climbed into the limo with Michael this morning.

'Well, your grandmother's certainly done it this time,' Lilly says.

As if I didn't already know it! As if I wasn't already suffering from the crippling guilt of knowing that I was, even in an indirect manner, to blame for Jangbu's loss of livelihood!

Although I do have to admit that I was somewhat distracted from my grief over Jangbu by the fact that Michael looked so incredibly hot, as he does every morning when he gets into my limo. That is because when we come to pick him and Lilly up

for school, Michael has always just shaved, and his face is looking all smooth. Michael is not a particularly hairy person but it is true that by the end of the day -which is when we usually end up doing our kissing, since we are both somewhat shy people, I think, and we have the cover of darkness to hide our burning cheeks — Michael's facial hair has gotten a bit on the sandpapery side. In fact, I can t help thinking that it would be much nicer to kiss Michael in the morning, when his face is all smooth, than at night, when it is all scratchy. Especially his neck. Not that I have ever thought about kissing my boyfriend's neck. I mean, that would just be weird.

Although as far as boys' necks go, Michael has a very nice one. Sometimes on the rare occasions when we are actually alone long enough to start making out, I put my nose next to Michael's neck and just inhale. I know it sounds strange, but Michael's neck smells really, really nice, like soap. Soap and something else. Something that makes me feel like nothing bad could ever happen to me, not when I am in Michael's arms, smelling his neck.

IF ONLY HE WOULD ASK ME TO THE PROM!!!!!!!!! Then I could spend a whole NIGHT smelling his neck, only it would look like we were dancing, so no one, not even Michael, would know.

Wait a minute. What was I saying before I got distracted by the smell of my boyfriend's neck?

Oh yes. Grandmere. Grandmere and Jangbu.

Anyway, none of the newspaper articles about what happened last night mention the part about Rommel. Not one. There is

not even a hint of a suggestion that the whole thing might possibly have been Grandmere's own fault. Oh no! Not at all!

But Lilly knows about it, on account of Michael having told her. And she had a lot to say about it.

'What we'll do,' she said, 'is we'll start making signs in Gifted and Talented class, and then we'll go over after school.'

'Go over where?' I wanted to know. I was still busy staring at Michael's smooth neck.

'To Les Hautes Manger,' Lilly said. 'To start the protest.'

'What protest?' All I seemed to be able to think about was whether my neck smells as good to Michael as his does to me. To tell the truth, I cannot even remember a time when Michael might have smelt my neck. Since he is taller than me, it is very easy for me to put my nose up to his neck and smell it. But for him to smell mine, he would have to lean down, which might look a bit weird, and could conceivably cause whiplash.

'The protest against their unfair dismissal of Jangbu Pinasa!' Lilly shouted.

Great. So now I know what I am doing after school. Like I don't have enough problems, what with:

a) My princess lessons with Grandmere.

b) Homework.

c) Worrying about the party Mom is having for me Saturday night and the fact that probably no one will show up and even if they do it is entirely possible that my mom and Mr G might do something to embarrass me in front of them, such as complain about their bodily functions or possibly start playing the drums.

d) Next week's menu for The Atom being due.

e) The fact that my father expects me to spend sixty-two days with him in Genovia this summer.