Princess Diaries Series: Third Time Lucky Part 10

And what about the dance? I mean, if I break up with him, who am I going to go to the Non-Denominational Winter Dance with? I know it is horrible to think things like this, but this is the first dance in the history of my life to which I already have a date.

Well, I mean, if he'd ever get around to asking me, anyway.

And how about that Final, huh? Our Bio. Final, I mean. No way am I going to be able to pa.s.s without Kenny's notes.

NO WAY.

But what else can I do? I mean, considering what happened today at the salad bar.

This is it. Goodbye, date for the Non-Denominational Winter Dance. h.e.l.lo, Sat.u.r.day night television.

Dear Kenny, It isn't that I don't think of you as a very dear friend. It's just thata"

Monday, December 7, 3 p.m., Mr Gianni's Algebra Review OK, so the bell rang before I had time to finish my note.

That doesn't mean I'm not going to tell Kenny exactly how I feel. I totally am. Tonight, as a matter of fact. I don't care if it's cruel to do something like that over the phone. I just can't take it any more.

Homework: Algebra: review questions at the end of Chapters 1-3

English: term paper

World Civ.: review questions at the end of Chapters 1a"4

G & T: none

French: review questions at the end of Chapters 1a"3

Biology: review questions at the end of Chapters 1-5

Tuesday; December 8, Homeroom All right. So I didn't break up with him.

I totally meant to.

And it wasn't even because I didn't have the heart to do it over the phone, either.

It was something GRANDMERE, of all people, said.

Not that I feel right about it. Not breaking up with him, I mean, It's just that after Algebra review I had to go to the showroom where Sebastiano is flogging his latest creations, so that he could have his flunkies take my measurements for my dress. Grandmere was going on about how from now on, I should really only wear clothes by Genovian designers, to show my patriotism or whatever. Which is going to be hard, because, uh, there's only one Genovian clothing designer that I know of

and that's Sebastiano. And let's just say he doesn't make very much out of denim.

But whatever. I so had more important things to worry about than my spring wardrobe.

Which I guess Grandmere must have caught on to, because midway through Sebastiano's description of the beading he was going to have sewn on to my gown's bodice, Grandmere slammed down her Sidecar and shouted, 'Amelia, what is the matter with you?'

I must have jumped about a foot in the air. 'What?' 'Sebastiano asked if you prefer a sweetheart or square-cut neckline.'

I stared at her blankly. 'Neckline for what?' Grandmere gave me the Evil Eye. She does this quite frequently. That's why my father, even though he has the neighbouring hotel suite, never stops by during my princess lessons.

'Sebastiano,' my grandmother said. 'You will please leave the princess and myself for a moment.'

And Sebastiano - who was wearing a new pair of leather trousers, these in a tangerine colour (the new grey, he told me.

And white, you might be surprised to know, is the new black.) - bowed and left the room, followed by the slinky ladies

who'd been taking my measurements.

'Now,' Grandmere said, imperiously. 'Something is clearly troubling you, Amelia. What is it?'

'It's nothing,' I said, turning all red. I knew I was turning all red because a) I could feel it, and b) I could see my reflection in

the three full-length mirrors in front of me.

'It is not nothing.' Grandmere took in a healthy drag from her Gitanes, even diough I have asked her repeatedly not to smoke

in my presence since breathing second-hand smoke can cause just as much lung damage as actually smoking. 'What is it? Trouble at home? Your mother and the maths teacher fighting already, I suppose. Well, I never expected that marriage to last. Your mother is much too flighty.'

I have to admit, I kind of snapped when she said that. Grandmere is always putting my mother down, even though Mom has raised me pretty much single-handedly and I certainly haven't gotten pregnant or shot anyone yet.

'For your information,' I said, 'my mom and Mr. Gianini are blissfully happy together. I wasn't thinking about them at all.'

'What is it, then?' Grandmere asked, in a bored voice.

'Nothing,' I practically yelled. 'I just - well, I was thinking about the fact that I have to break up with my boyfriend tonight,

that's all. Not that it's any of your business.'

Instead of taking offence at my tone, which any self-respecting grandparent would have found insolent, Grandmere only took

a sip of her drink and suddenly looked way interested.

'Oh?' she said, in a totally different tone of voice a" the same tone of voice she uses when someone mentions a stock tip she thinks might be useful for her portfolio. 'What boyfriend is this?'

G.o.d, what did I ever do to be cursed with such a grandmother? Seriously. Lilly and Michael's grandma remembers the names of all their friends, makes them rugelach all the time, and always worries that they're not getting enough to eat, even though their parents, the Drs. Moscovitz, are wholly reliable at bringing home groceries or at least ordering out.

Me? I get the grandma with the hairless poodle and the nine-carat diamond rings whose greatest joy in life is to torture me.

And why does she enjoy that so much? I've never done anything to her. Nothing except be her only living grandchild, anyway. And it isn't exactly like I go around advertising how I feel about her. You know, I've never actually told her I think she's a mean old lady who contributes to the destruction of the environment by wearing fur coats and smoking filterless French cigarettes.

'Grandmere,' I said, trying to remain calm. 'I have only one boyfriend. His name is Kenny.' I've only told you about fifty thousand times, I added, in my head.

'I thought this Kenny person was your Biology partner,' Grandmere said, after taking a sip of her Sidecar.

'He is,' I said, a little surprised that she'd managed to remember something like that. 'He's also my boyfriend. Only the other night he went completely schizo on me and told me he loves me.'

Grandmere patted Rommel, who was sitting in her lap looking miserable (his habitual expression), on the head.

'And what is so wrong,' Grandmere wanted to know, 'about a boy who says he loves you?'

'Nothing,' I said. 'Only I'm not in love with him, see? So it wouldn't be fair of me to, you know, lead him on.'

Grandmere raised her painted-on eyebrows. 'I don't see why not.'

How had I ever gotten into this conversation? 'Because, Grandmere. People just don't go around doing things like that. Not nowadays.'

'Is that so? Well, I've never observed such a thing. Except, of course, if one happens to be in love with someone else. Then shedding an undesirable suitor might be considered wise, so that one can make oneself available for the man one truly likes.' She eyed me. 'Is there someone like that in your life, Amelia? Someone, ahem, special?'

'No,' I lied, automatically.

Grandmere snorted. 'You're lying.'

'No, I'm not,' I lied.

'Indeed you are. I oughtn't to tell you this, but I suppose as it is a bad habit for a future monarch you ought to be made aware of it, so that in the future you can try to prevent it. When you lie, Amelia, your nostrils flare.'