Princess Diaries Series: Princess In Love Part 14

Fat Louie's box needs to be scooped out EVERY DAY. Always use clumping litter, and then just scoop out the clumps into a Grand Union bag and dispose. Nothing could be simpler. He tends to do number 2 about two hours after his evening meal. You will be able to tell from the odor wafting from his box in my bathroom.

MOST IMPORTANT OF ALL.

Remember not to disturb Fat Louie's SPECIAL AREA BEHIND THE TOILET in my bathroom. That is where he keeps his collection of s.h.i.+ny objects. If he takes something of yours and you find it there, be sure not to take it out while he is looking, or for weeks he will try to bite you every time he sees you. I talked to the vet about it, but she said short of hiring an animal behaviorist at $70/hr there is nothing that can be done. We just have to put up with it.

ABOVE ALL, BE SURE TO PICK FAT LOUIE UP SEVERAL TIMES A DAY AND HUG AND SQUEEZE HIM!!!!! (HE LIKES THIS.).

Sat.u.r.day, December 13, Midnight, the loft

I can't believe it's midnight already, and I am still only on Chapter One of An Introduction to Algebra!

This book is incomprehensible. I sincerely hope whoever wrote it did not make very much money off of it.

I should just go and ask Mr. G what's going to be on the final.

No, that would be cheating.

Wouldn't it?

Sunday, December 14, 10 a.m., the loft

Only forty-eight hours until the Algebra final, and I am still on Chapter One.

Sunday, December 14, 10:30 a.m., the loft

Lilly just came over again. She wants to study for World Civ together. I told her I can't worry about World Civ when I am only on Chapter One in my Algebra review, but she said we could alternate: She would quiz me on Algebra for an hour, then I could quiz her on World Civ for an hour. I said okay, even though it really isn't fair: She is getting an A in Algebra, so her quizzing me isn't really helping her any, while my quizzing her in World Civ helps me study for it, too.

But that's what friends are for, I guess.

Sunday, December 14, 11 a.m., the loft

Tina just called. Her little brother and sisters are driving her crazy. She wanted to know if she could come down and study here. I said sure.

What else could I say? Besides, she promised to stop at H and H for bagels and vegetable cream cheese. And she said she thought the photos of me in the supplement were beautiful and that I shouldn't care if people call me a sellout, because I look so hot.

Sunday, December 14, Noon, the loft

Michael told Boris where Lilly is, so now Boris is here, too.

Lilly's right. Boris really does breathe too loudly. It's very distracting.

And I wish he wouldn't put his feet on my bed. The least he could do is take his shoes off first. But when I suggested it, Lilly said that would be a bad idea.

Ew. I don't know why Lilly puts up with a boyfriend who is not only a mouth breather but also has stinky feet.

Boris may be a musical genius, but he has a lot to learn about hygiene, if you ask me.

Sunday, December 14, 12:30 p.m., the loft

Now Kenny's here. I don't know how I am supposed to get any studying done with all of these people around. Plus, Mr. Gianini has decided that now would be a good time to practice his drums.

Sunday, December 14, 8 p.m., the loft

I told Lilly, and she agreed, that once Boris and Kenny showed up, the whole studying thing kind of went down the drain. Plus, Mr. G's drumming didn't help. So we decided it would be best to take a study break and go to Chinatown for dim sum.

We had a good time at Great Shanghai eating vegetable dumplings and dried sauteed string beans with garlic sauce. I ended up sitting by Boris, and he really made me laugh, engineering it so that whenever the waiters brought something new, the only empty spot on the table was in front of him, so they had to put it there, and then Boris and I got first dibs on it.

Which made me realize that in spite of the sweaters and the mouth-breathing, Boris really is a funny and nice person. Lilly is so lucky. I mean, that the boy she loves actually loves her back. If only I could love Kenny the way Lilly loves Boris!

But I don't seem to have any control over who I fall in love with. Believe me, if I did, I would NOT love Michael. I mean, for one thing, he is my best friend's older brother, and if Lilly ever found out I liked him, she would NOT understand. Also, of course, he is a senior and is graduating soon.

And oh, yeah, he already has a girlfriend.

But what am I supposed to do? I can't make myself fall in love with Kenny any more than I can make him stop liking me, you know, in that special way.

Although he still hasn't asked me to the dance. Or mentioned it, anyway. Lilly says I should just call him and be like, "So are we going, or not?" After all, she keeps pointing out, I had the guts to smash up Lana's cell phone. Why don't I have the guts to call my own boyfriend and ask him whether or not he is taking me to the school dance?

But I smashed up Lana's cell phone in the heat of pa.s.sion. I cannot summon up anything like pa.s.sion where Kenny is concerned. There is a part of me that doesn't want to go to the dance with him at all, and that part of me is relieved that he hasn't mentioned anything about it.

Okay, it is a very small part of me, but it's still there.

So actually, even though I was having fun sitting by Boris at the restaurant and all, it was also a little depressing, on account of the whole Kenny thing.

And then things got even more depressing. That's because some little Chinese-American girls came up to me as I was opening my fortune cookie and wanted to know if they could have my autograph. Then they handed me pens and the advertising supplement that had appeared in that day's Times for me to sign.

I seriously thought about killing myself, only I couldn't think how I'd do it, except for maybe stabbing myself through the heart with a chopstick.

Instead I just signed the stupid thing for them and tried to smile. But inside, of course, I was FREAKING OUT, especially when I saw how happy the little girls were to have met me. And why? No, not because of my tireless work on behalf of the polar bears or the whales or starving kids. Which I haven't actually done yet, but I fully intend to do.

No, because I'd been in a magazine in a bunch of pretty dresses, and I'm tall and skinny like a model.

Which is no accomplishment at all!

After that, my headache came back, and I said I had to go home.

n.o.body protested very much, I think because everybody realized all of a sudden how much time we'd wasted, and how much studying we all had left to do. So we left, and now I am home again, and my mom says that while I was gone, Sebastiano called four times, AND he had another dress delivered.

Not just any dress, either. It is a dress Sebastiano designed just for me, to wear to the Nondenominational Winter Dance. It's not s.e.xy. It isn't s.e.xy at all. It's dark green velvet with long sleeves and a wide, square neckline.

But when I put it on and looked at my reflection in the mirror in my room, something funny happened: I looked good. Really good.

There was a note attached to the dress that said, Please forgive me.

I promise this dress will not make him think of you as his little sister's best friend.

S.

Which is very sweet. Sad, but sweet. Sebastiano can't know, of course, that the Michael situation is completely hopeless, and that no dress is going to make any difference, no matter how nice I look in it.

But hey, at least Sebastiano apologized. That's a lot more, I've noticed, than Grandmere has done.

Of course I forgive Sebastiano. I mean, none of it is his fault, really.

And I guess someday I'll probably forgive Grandmere, since she's too old to know any better.

But the person I will never, ever forgive is myself, for getting into this situation in the first place. I totally should have known better. I should have told Sebastiano, No photos, please. Only I was so carried away, looking at myself in all those beautiful dresses, that I forgot that being a princess is more than just wearing pretty dresses: It's being an example to a lot of people . . . people you don't even know and may not ever even meet.

Which is why if I don't pa.s.s this Algebra test, I am dead.

Monday, December 15, Homeroom

Here are the number of students at Albert Einstein High School who (so far) have felt compelled to make comments to me about my smas.h.i.+ng Lana Weinberger's cell phone last Friday: 37 Here are the number of students at Albert Einstein High School who (so far) have felt compelled to mention my suspension last Friday: 59 Here are the number of students at Albert Einstein High School who (so far) have felt compelled to make comments to me about my appearance in an advertising supplement to The New York Times over the weekend: 74 Total number of comments made to me so far today by students at Albert Einstein High School: 170 Oddly, after wading through all of this, when I got to my locker, I found something that seemed extremely out of place: a single yellow rose, sticking out of the door.

What can this mean? Can there be someone in this school who does not despise me?

Apparently so. But when I looked around, wondering who my one supporter could be, I saw only Justin Baxendale, being stalked (as usual) by a horde of wors.h.i.+pful girls.

I suppose my anonymous rose-leaver must be Kenny, trying to cheer me up. He will not admit it, but who else could it be?

It is Reading Day today, which means we are supposed to spend the whole day-except for lunch-sitting in Homeroom, studying for our finals, which begin tomorrow. This is fine by me, since at least this way, there's no chance I'll run into Lana. Her homeroom is on a whole other floor.

The only problem is that Kenny's in this cla.s.s. We have to sit alphabetically, so he's way up at the front of this row, but he keeps pa.s.sing notes back to me. Notes that say things like, Keep on smilin'! and Hang in there, Suns.h.i.+ne!

He won't fess up to the rose thing, though.

By the way, want to know the total number of comments made to me so far today by Michael Moscovitz? 1 And it wasn't even really a comment. He told me in the hallway that my combat boot had come untied.

And it had.

My life is so over.

Four days until the Nondenominational Winter Dance, and still no date.

Distance formula: d 10xrt r = 10 t = 2 d = 10 + (10)(2) = 10 + 20 = 30.