Princess Diaries Series: Forever Princess Part 10

Sat.u.r.day, April 29, 7 p.m., the loft I decided that Dr. K is right.

I really have to stop lying so much. I mean, if I'm going to meet Michael tomorrow for this newspaper interview thing (which there's no way I can get out of, because if I don't do it then I have to admit that I wasn't there today to interview him for the Atom, and there is absolutely no way I'm fessing up that I was really there to ask him for a CardioArm...or, worse, to spy on him with my giggling girlfriends), then I'm going to have to give him a copy of my senior project.

I'm just going to have to. There's no way I can get around it. He totally remembered-don't ask me how, when he's obviously the busiest man in the universe.

And if I'm going to come clean with my ex-boyfriend regarding the truth about my senior project, well, that means I have to tell the truth about it to the people in my life who are more important than he is. Such as, my best friend, and my actual boyfriend.

Because otherwise, it's just not fair. I mean, for Michael to know the truth about Ransom My Heart, but not Tina or J.P.?

So I decided that I'm just going to bite the bullet and give ALL of them a copy. This weekend.

In fact, I e-mailed Tina hers just now. I've got nothing but free time tonight, since J.P. is at rehearsal, and I'm babysitting Rocky while Mom and Mr. G are at a community meeting to discuss NYU's rampant expansionism and what they can do to stop it before the only people who can afford to live in the Village are twenty-year-old Tisch film students with trust funds.

I sent Tina a copy of my ma.n.u.script with this message: Dear T, I hope you won't be mad, but remember when I said my senior project was about Genovian olive oil presses, circa 12541650? Well, I was sort of lying. Actually, my senior project was a four-hundred-page medieval romance novel called Ransom My Heart set in 1291 England about a girl named Finnula who kidnaps and holds for ransom a knight just back from the Crusades, so she can get money for her pregnant sister to buy hops and barley to make beer (a common practice in those days).

However, what Finnula doesn't know is that knight is really the earl of her village. And Finnula has some secrets the earl doesn't know, as well.

I'm sending Ransom My Heart to you now. You don't have to read it or anything (unless you want to). I just hope you'll forgive me for lying. I feel really stupid for that. I don't know why I did it, I guess because I was embarra.s.sed because I wasn't sure if it was any good. Plus, there are a lot of s.e.x scenes in it.

I really hope you'll still be my friend.

Love,

Mia

I haven't heard back from her, but that's because the Hakim Babas usually have dinner all together this time of day, and Tina's not allowed to check her messages at the table. It's a family rule that even Mr. Hakim Baba follows now that his doctor warned him about his high blood pressure.

I kind of feel sick-sick and excited at the same time. About sending Ransom My Heart to Tina, I mean. I can't imagine what she's going to say. Will she be mad at me for lying to her? Or stoked, because romance novels are her favorite thing in the whole world? It's true she prefers contemporary romance novels, and usually ones with sheiks in them.

But it's possible she might like mine. I put a ton of references to the desert in it.

More importantly, what's J.P. going to say about it when I tell him? I mean, he knows I love writing, and that I want to be an author someday.

But I've never actually mentioned romance writing to him before.

Well, I guess I'm going to find out what he thinks soon enough. I'm sending him a copy, too.

Although, who knows when he'll actually open it up and read it. His play rehearsals have been known to go on until midnight.

And now Rocky is begging me to watch Dora the Explorer with him. I understand that millions of kids love Dora and have learned to read or whatever from her show. But I wouldn't mind if Dora fell off a cliff and took her little pals with her.

Sat.u.r.day, April 29, 8:30 p.m.

I just got a text from Tina!

OMG I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WROTE A ROMANCE NOVEL AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME!!!!!!!!!! YOU R SO AWESOME!!!!!!!!! I LUV U!!!!!!!!! ROMANCE NOVELS 4EVER!!!! I'VE STARTED IT ALREADY AND IT'S SO CUTE!!!! YOU HAVE TO TRY TO GET THIS PUBLISHED!!!!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WROTE A WHOLE BOOK!!!!!!!! Tina P.S. I have to talk to you about something. It's nothing I can put in a text. It's not a bad thing. But it's something I thought of because of your book. CALL ME ASAP!!!!!

It was as I was reading this that my phone rang, and I saw it was J.P. I picked up, and before I could say anything, even "h.e.l.lo," he was all, "Wait...you wrote a romance novel?"

He was laughing. But not in a mean way. In an affectionate, I can't believe it way.

Before I knew it, I was laughing, too.

"Yeah," I said. "Remember my senior project?"

"The one about the history of Genovian olive oil presses, circa 12541650?" J.P. sounded incredulous. "Of course."

"Yeah," I said. "Well, actually, I sort of...lied about that." Oh, dear G.o.d in heaven, I prayed. Don't let him hate me for lying. "My senior project was really a historical romance novel. The one I just sent you. It's medieval, set in 1291 England. Do you hate me?"

"Hate you?" J.P. laughed some more. "Of course I don't hate you. I could never hate you. But a romance novel?" he said, again. "Like the kind Tina reads?"

"Yeah," I said. Why did he sound like that? It wasn't that strange. "Well, not exactly like the kind she likes to read. But sort of. See, Dr. K told me it was great that I helped Genovia become a const.i.tutional monarchy, and all, but that I should really do something for myself, not just for the people of Genovia. And since I love writing, I thought-and Dr. K agreed-maybe I should write a book, because I want to be an author, and all, and I was always writing in my journal anyway. And, well, I love romance novels...they're so satisfying, and proven to be stress relievers-did you know many of the Domina Rei, leaders in the business and political world, read romance novels to relax? I did some research, and over twenty-five percent of all books sold are romances. So, I figured if I was going to write something that had a hope of being published, statistically, a romance had the best shot-"

Okay. I was babbling. I mean, did I really just tell him over twenty-five percent of all books sold were romances? No wonder he wasn't saying anything.

"You wrote a romance novel?" he finally said. Again.

Weirdly, J.P. was turning out to be less upset about the fact that I'd lied to him than he was about the fact that I'd written a romance novel.

"Um, yeah," I went on, trying not to focus too much on how stunned he sounded. "See, I did a whole lot of research on medieval times-you know, like when Princess Amelie lived? Then I wrote my book. And now I'm trying to get it published-"

"You're trying to get it published?" J.P. echoed, his voice breaking a little on the word published.

"Yes," I said, a little surprised by his surprise. What was up with that? Isn't that what you did when you wrote a book? I mean, he'd written a play, and I was pretty sure he was trying to get it produced. Right? "Only not very successfully. No one seems to want it. Except vanity presses, of course, who want me to pay them. But that's not unusual, I guess. I mean, J.K. Rowling's first Harry Potter novel got rejected numerous times before she-"

"Do the publishers know the book is by you?" J.P. interrupted. "The princess of Genovia?"

"Well, no, of course not," I said. "I'm using a pseudonym. If I said it was by me, they'd totally want to publish it. But then I wouldn't know for sure if they really liked it and thought it was good and worth publis.h.i.+ng, or if they just wanted to publish a book written by the princess of Genovia. Do you see the difference? I don't even want to be published if it's going to happen that way. I mean, I just want to see if I can do it-be a published author-without it happening because I'm a princess. I want it to happen because what I wrote is good-maybe not the best. But okay enough to be sold at Wal-Mart or wherever."

J.P. just sighed.

"Mia," he said. "What are you doing?"

I blinked. "Doing? What do you mean?"

"I mean, why are you selling yourself short? Why are you writing commercial fiction?"

I had to admit, he completely lost me there. What was he talking about, "selling myself short"? And commercial fiction? What other kind of fiction was I supposed to write? Fiction based on real-life people? I'd tried that once...a long time ago. I wrote a short story based on real people-it was about J.P., as a matter of fact, before I had gotten to know him.

And I'd had the character based on him kill himself at the end by throwing himself under the F train!

Thank G.o.d I'd realized at the last minute-just before the story was about to be distributed to the entire school via Lilly's literary magazine-that you just can't do that. You can't write stories based on real people and have them throwing themselves under the F train at the end.

Because you'll just end up hurting their feelings if they happen to read it and recognize themselves in it.

And I don't want to hurt anybody!

But I couldn't tell J.P. that. He didn't know about the short story I'd written about him. I'd kept that a secret this whole time we'd been going out.

So, in answer to his commercial-fiction question, I said, "Well. Because...it's fun. And I like it."

"But you're so much better than that, Mia," he said.

I have to admit, this kind of stung. It was like he was saying my book-which I'd spent almost two years working on, and which he hadn't even read yet-wasn't worth anything.

Wow. This was really not the reaction I'd hoped for from him.

"Maybe you should read it first," I said, trying to keep the tears that had suddenly popped into my eyes-I don't know from where, I'm really not usually that sensitive-from spilling over, "before you make judgments about it."

J.P. sounded instantly contrite.

"Of course," he said. "You're right. Sorry. Listen...I have to get back to rehearsal. Can we talk more about this tomorrow?"

"Sure," I said. "Call me."

"I will," he said. "I love you."

"Love you too," I said. And hung up.

The thing is, it's going to be fine. I know it will. He'll read Ransom My Heart, and he'll love it. I know he will. Just like I'll see A Prince Among Men on opening night next week, and I'll love it. Everything's going to be fine! That's why we're so well suited for each other. Because we're both so creative. We're artists.

I mean, J.P. will probably have a few editorial notes to make about Ransom My Heart. No book is perfect. But that's okay, because that's how creative couples are. Like Stephen and Tabitha King. I welcome his input! I'll probably have a few notes on A Prince Among Men as well. We'll go over his notes on my book together tomorrow, and- OH MY G.o.d I'M MEETING MICHAEL FOR COFFEE TOMORROW!!!!!!!!!!

How am I ever going to get to sleep NOW?????

Sunday, April 30, 3 a.m., the loft Questions to ask Michael for the Atom: 1. What inspired you to invent the CardioArm?

2. What was it like to live in j.a.pan for twenty-one months, a.s.suming you were there this whole time and not actually back in this country before now and just not calling me, which would have been totally fine because we're broken up anyway?

3. What did you miss most about America?

4. What did you like best about j.a.pan?

(I can't ask him this! What if he says Micromini Midori? I won't be able to bear it! Plus, I can't put that answer in a school paper! Oh...maybe I should just ask it anyway...he could say something like sus.h.i.+...) 4. What did you like best about j.a.pan? (PLEASE DON'T LET HIM SAY MICROMINI MIDORI!!!!) 5. How long is the wait list for one of Pavlov Surgical's CardioArms?

I can't ask this either! Because it sounds like I'm asking to see how long it would take Genovia to get one, and that I'm hinting that I want one....

5. Hypothetically, if a very small country were to request a CardioArm for one of their hospitals (and were willing to pay cash for it, of course), what type of procedure would they follow? Does Pavlov Surgical accept checks or could a country pay with a black American Express card and if so could I possibly pay for it now?

6. If you could be any animal what would it be and why? (G.o.d, this is the stupidest question, but it seems like everyone who ever interviews me asks this, so I guess I'd better ask it, too.) 7. How long do you plan on staying in New York? Is this a permanent move or do you think you'll go back to j.a.pan? Or do you see yourself moving, perhaps, to Silicon Valley in California, which is where all the young computer t.i.tans, such as the founders of Google and Facebook, seem to live these days?

8. As an AEHS grad, what is your best memory of your time at our school? (Nondenominational Winter Dance. Please say Nondenominational Winter Dance your senior year.) 9. Do you have any words of inspiration for this year's AEHS graduating cla.s.s?

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH THESE ARE SO LAME!!!!!!.

Sunday, April 30, noon, the loft Okay, I still haven't thought of any better questions for Michael, but those were the best I could come up with after what happened with J.P. being all You wrote a romance? Not to mention the nine hundred text messages I've received from Tina telling me we have to talk "in person." I have no idea what could be so important that we can't discuss it over the phone.

But Tina is totally convinced that Rene might have hackers secretly taping my cell phone transmissions (just like Prince Charles and Camilla and the "tampon" incident), so for the moment, she won't say or text anything too inflammatory to me via cellular transmission.

Which makes me think whatever it is that's on her mind, I probably don't want to hear it.

Possibly the reason that I can't come up with any better questions for Michael might have something to do with the fact that I woke up this morning to Rocky banging on my face with his fist, yelling, "Soopwise!"

I was "soopwised" all right. Surprised he was in my room, since he isn't supposed to be allowed in it-and he isn't supposed to be able to get in it with the special slippy thing I put over the doork.n.o.b that only adults know how to work.

Only it turned out an adult had opened the door for him. An adult who was peering down at me with a big happy grin on her face.

"Well, hey there, Mia! How you doin'?"

Oh my G.o.d. It was Mamaw. With Papaw right next to her. In my room. My BEDROOM.

That's it. I'm moving out of this place. Just as soon as I can figure out where I'm going to go to college. Which I have a little less than a week to decide.

"Happy birthday, in advance!" Mamaw yelled. "Look atchoo, lying in bed at ten o'clock! Who do you think you are, anyway? Some kinda princess?"

This caused Mamaw and Papaw to explode with laughter. At their own joke. It caused me to pull the covers up over my head and yell, "MO-O-OOOM!!!"

"Mother." I could hear Mom show up. "Please. I'm sure Mia's very excited to see you, but let's give her a chance to get up and greet you properly. You'll have plenty of time to visit each other."

"I don't see when," Mamaw said. I could tell by her voice that she was scowling. "Y'all have us visitin' so many museums and tours and whatnot."

"Well, I'm sure Mia will be more than happy to go on some of those tours with you," I heard Mom say.

It was at that point I flipped the covers down and glared at her. Mom just glared right back.

So, apparently, I'm taking Mamaw and Papaw to the Central Park Zoo later today.

I understand that it's the least I can do in my capacity as their only granddaughter. Still. It's not like I don't exactly have other things to do.

One of them being get ready for my coffee date, I mean interview, with Michael. Which I need to continue doing right now. Even though it's hard because my hands are trembling so much I can barely hold my eye pencil to outline my lids.

And I really wish Lana would quit texting me to tell me what to wear because that's not helping, either.

Although I refuse to take her advice, and I'm going with something casual. Just my 7 For All Mankind jeans, the Christian Louboutin boots, my off-the-shoulder Sweet Robin Alexandra top, all my bangles, my Subversive lava bead cameo choker, and my chandelier earrings. That's not too much at all! I mean, it's not like I'm trying to get him to like me in a s.e.xy way. We're just friends now.

I'm going to brush my teeth one more time, though, just to be safe.

Mr. G and Rocky are putting on a drum recital for Mamaw and Papaw.

Please, let me get out of here without developing a cl.u.s.ter headache.