Meg Cabot - Forever Princess

And it has to be something pretty bad if she’s afraid TMZ might pick it up, and it would damage my dad in the polls even worse than he is doing now.

“Meet me inside the Edge of the Icepack penguin enclosure at four fifteen,” she says, sounding just like Kim Possible. If Kim Possible ever asked people to meet her inside penguin enclosures.

Still, I’m not surprised. Somehow, the Central Park Zoo penguin enclosure is where I always end up during my hours of darkest need.

“Can you just give me a hint?” I ask. “What does it have to do with? Boris? Michael? J.P.?”

“Your book,” Tina says. And hung up.

Mybook ? What could my book have to do with anything? Unless…

Could it bethat bad?

Great. And both J.P. and Michael are reading copies of itright now. RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE!

I could throw up just thinking about it.

I should just go over to Eighth Street, buy a wig from one of the drag queen stores, and ditch town. I’m practically legal, and there’s nothing left for me here. I’ve been humiliated in every way a person possibly can be. I might as well just grab a bus for Canada.

If only I could figure out a way to get rid of my bodyguard….

Sunday, April 30, 4 p.m., Edge of the Icepack penguin exhibit at the Central Park Zoo

Wow.

Between having my current boyfriend tell me I’m selling myself short writing popular fiction, then spilling hot chocolate all over the jeans of my ex-boyfriend (who is currently reading my book—RIGHT THIS VERY MOMENT), then having my best friend say she has to meet me because there’s a PROBLEM with that book—the same book I spent twenty-one months working on—I really didn’t think my twenty-four hours could get any worse.

But that was before I got to the zoo with my mother, stepfather, baby brother, grandparents, and bodyguard in tow.

I guess I was just born under a particularly lucky star seventeen years, three hundred and sixty-four days ago.

The Central Park Zoo wasn’t too crowded on the first perfectly sunny Sunday afternoon of the spring, so it wasn’t like we had any problems navigating Rocky’s enormous stroller through the crowds (NOT!!!!!).

Or that anyone noticed my huge bodyguard, who discreetly chose to wear a pair of wraparound shades with his black suit jacket and matching black shirt, tie, and pants.

And Mamaw didn’t stand out too much in her hot pink size-extra-large Juicy Couture knock-off sweat suit (instead of Juicy, it says Spicy on the butt. Spicy is one word you definitely don’t want to associate with your grandma’s butt. Juicy is another).

Good thing Papaw refused to conform to New York City fashion dictates, and kept on his good old green and yellow John Deere tractor baseball cap—though he did let Mamaw buy him a new one that saidLegally Blonde: The Musical . Which I will pay hard cash to see him wear.

Much was made over showing Rocky the polar bears and monkeys, his two favorite animals. And I will admit, my kid brother is cute, especially when it comes to doing a monkey imitation, with the underarm scratching and whatnot (an ability he clearly inherited from his father. No offense, Mr. G).

Mamaw was pretty excited to be spending time with me, not just her grandson. The good thing is, after this, we get to spend even more time together…we’re spending quality time over dinner at a restaurant of Mamaw and Papaw’s choice. And the restaurant they chose was…Applebee’s.

Yes! It turns out there is an Applebee’s in Times Square, and that is where my grandparents want to go. I turned to Lars when I heard this and said, “Please put a bullet in my brain now,” but he wouldn’t do it.

And Mom told me to shut my piehole or she’d shut it for me.

Seriously, though. Applebee’s? Out of all the restaurants in Manhattan? Why a chain restaurant that can be found in nearly every city in America?

I told Mamaw that I have a black American Express card and could afford to take them to any restaurant they wanted if price was a problem. Mamaw said it wasn’t the price. It was Papaw. He didn’t like eating strange food. He liked always going to the same place, so he’d know exactly what he was getting.

The whole fun of eating out is getting to try new things!

But Papaw said trying new things isn’t fun at all.

I just pray to every single god that exists in the heavens—Yahweh, Allah, Vishnu, etc.—that no paparazzi show up and snap photos of me, the princess of Genovia, coming out of an Applebee’s during this crucial time in my father’s campaign.

Anyway, Mamaw keeps wanting to talk about college. As in, where I’m going (welcome to the club, Mamaw). She’s got a lot of advice as to what I ought to be studying. In her opinion, what I ought to be studying is…nursing. She says there are always jobs for nurses, and as the American population ages, good nurses will always be in high demand.

I told Mamaw that while she’s quite right, and that nursing is a very noble profession, I didn’t think I’d be able to pursue it, what with my being a princess, and all. I mean, I have to choose a career where I’ll be able to spend at least a largish chunk of my time in Genovia, doing princess stuff like christening ships and hosting benefits and all of that.

Being a nurse wouldn’t exactly be conducive to that.

But being a writer would, because you can do that in the privacy of your own palace.

Plus with my SAT score I think the last thing anyone wants me doing is trying to measure out their medicine. I would probably kill way more people than I’d save.

Thank God we have people like Tina, who are good at math, going into the medical profession instead of me.

Speaking of Tina, I’ve snuck into the penguin enclosure to wait for her while Mom and those guys are getting Rocky a freeze pop or something he saw someone else eating and threw a very special soon-to-be-three-year-old tantrum for. They’ve fixed this place up a bit since the last time I was here. It isn’t nearly as smelly and the light’s a lot better to write by. But there are so many more people! I swear, New York City is becoming the Disneyland of the Northeast. I thought I heard someone ask where the monorail was. But maybe they were joking.

Even so, how am I supposed to leave this place to go to college? How??? I love it so much!!!!

Oh, here’s Tina now. She looks…concerned.Possibly she heard where I’m going to dinner?

I’m kidding….

Sunday, April 30, 6:30 p.m., the ladies’ room at the Times Square Applebee’s

Okay, I am FREAKING OUT OVER WHAT TINA TOLD ME IN THE EDGE OF THE ICEPACK PENGUIN EXHIBIT.

I’m just going to write this down the way it happened and try to ignore the squashed French fry on the floor underneath me (who eats French fries on the toilet? WHO??? Who eats ANYTHING on the toilet???? Excuse me, but gross, also, ew) and the fact that I am writing this in an Applebee’s ladies’ room, the only place I could go to get away from my grandparents:

So, Tina came up to me in the penguin house and was like, “Mia, I’m so glad I found you, we have to talk.”

And I was all, “Tina, what’s wrong? Did you hate my book, or something?”

Because, I have to admit, I mean, I know my book isn’t the greatest or anything—if it were, I’m sure someone would have wanted to publish it by now.

But I didn’t think it could be SO bad that Tina would have to meet me in the Edge of the Icepack penguin exhibit at the Central Park Zoo to tell me in person.

Plus, she looked kind of pale underneath her kohl and lipstick. But it could have been the blue glow from the penguin tank.

But then she grabbed my arm and was like, “Oh my God, Mia, no! I loved your book! It was so cute! And it had beer in it! I thought that was so funny, because of your bad experience with beer, remember, in tenth grade, when you tried to be a party princess, and you drank that beer and did the sexy dance with J.P. in front of Michael?”