by Meg Cabot
I am going to the prom. I, Mia Thermopolis, am going to the prom. With my boyfriend and one true love, Michael Moscovitz. Michael and I are going to the prom.
MICHAEL AND I ARE GOING TO THE PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
TO THE PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!
PROM
HOMEWORK
Algebra: Who cares? Michael and I are going to the prom!!!!!
English: Prom!!!!
Biology: I’m going to the prom!!!!!!!!
Health and Safety: PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! G & T: As if
French: Vous allez au promme!!!!!!
World Civ: WORLD PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
PROM!
Friday, May 9, 7 p.m. the loft
I really do not have time for all of this bickering between my mom and Grandmère. Don’t these women know I have more important things to worry about? I AM GOING TO THE PROM TOMORROW WITH MY BOYFRIEND. I am supposed to be getting plenty of rest and anointing my body with precious unguents right now, not refereeing fights between the postmenopausal and the hormonally challenged.
WHY CAN’T YOU BOTH SHUT UP??????????? I want to scream at them.
But that, of course, wouldn’t be very princesslike.
I am going to put on my headphones and try to drown out the noise with the mix Michael made for my birthday party. Perhaps the dulcet tones of the Flaming Lips will calm my fractious nerves.
Friday, May 9, 7:02 p.m.
Not even the Flaming Lips can drown out Grandmère’s strident tones. Am switching to Kelly Osbourne.
Friday, May 9, 7:04 p.m.
Success! Finally, I can hear myself think.
Michael just e-mailed to let me know that he and the band would probably be up all night practicing for their first big gig. But it is fully all right for the GUY to show up at the prom with dark circles under his eyes (look at that guy who ended up at the Time Zone dance with Melissa Joan Hart in Drive Me Crazy). It’s just not okay for the GIRL to look less than petal smooth and daisy fresh.
The guys in the band aren’t exactly stoked about the whole playing at the prom thing. In fact, rumor has it Trevor even said, “Oh, man, can’t we just stick forks in our eyes, instead?”
But Michael says he told him a gig is a gig, and that beggars can’t be choosers.
Michael signed off on his e-mail with this:
See you tomorrow night. Love, M
Tomorrow night. Oh, yes. Tomorrow night, my love, when I enter the prom on your arm, and see the jealous gazes of all of my peers. Well, just Lana, because she’s the only freshman besides me who is going. Except for Shameeka. Only she would never look at me jealously, because she is my friend.
Oh, and Tina. Because it turns out Tina is going to the prom, too. Because of course Boris is in Michael’s band, and since he is going to be there, he is allowed to bring one guest, and he chose Tina, because she, as he put it at lunch today, “is my new muse, and sole reason for living.”
Oh, how thrilled Tina looked to hear these words uttered from the lips of her new love! I swear, she practically choked on her Snapple. She beamed across the table at Boris, and though I never thought I would write these words, I swear they are true:
Boris almost looked handsome as he basked in the hearth glow of her affection.
Seriously. Like, even his underbite didn’t look that pronounced. And his chest kind of puffed out.
Either that, or he’s been working out or something.
AHHHHH! The phone! Oh please God let it be my dad to say the strike is over and he’s sending the limo down to pick Grandmère up….
Friday, May 9, 7:10 p.m.
It wasn’t my dad. It was Michael, to ask if I agree with the lineup of songs Skinner Box plans on playing tomorrow. It includes many old prom standbys, such as the Moldy Peaches’ “Who’s Got the Crack” and Switchblade Kittens’ “All Cheerleaders Die,” in addition to edgier stuff such as “Mary Kay” by Jill Sobule and “Call the Doctor” by Sleater-Kinney. This is not to mention Skinner Box’s original songs, such as “Rock-Throwing Youths” and “Princess of my Heart.”
I did feel compelled to suggest Michael replace “Rock-Throwing Youths” with something a little less controversial, like “When It’s Over” by Sugar Ray or “She Bangs” by Ricky Martin, but he said he would sooner show up in the middle of Times Square wearing nothing but a cowboy hat (oh, how I wish he would!). So I suggested some old school Spoon or the White Stripes instead.
Then Michael went, “What is all that shouting in the background?”
“Oh,” I said airily, “that’s just Grandmère and my mom, arguing. Grandmère keeps insisting that my mom let her smoke in the loft, but Mom says it’s not good for me or for the baby. Grandmère just accused my mother of being a fascist. She says when she had Hitler and Mussolini over to the palace for tea at the height of World War II, they both let her smoke, and if it was good for those guys, it should be good enough for my mom.”
“Uh, Mia,” Michael said. “You do know your grandmother’s age, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I said, remembering Grandmère’s birthday with all too much clarity: she had insisted on my going back to Genovia with her to celebrate it, only I had had midterms (THANK GOD) and so was unable to. Don’t think I didn’t hear about THAT ad nauseam for weeks.
“Well, Mia,” Michael said. “I know math’s not your strong point, but you do know that your grandmother was a small child during the height of World War II. Right? I mean, she couldn’t have had Hitler and Mussolini for tea at the Genovian Palace, because she wouldn’t have even been living there yet, unless she married your grandfather when she was, like, five.”
I was stunned into total and complete silence by that one. I mean, can you believe it? My own grandmother has been lying to me MY WHOLE LIFE. All Grandmère ever tells me about is how she saved the palace from being shelled by the Nazi hordes by having Hitler over for soup or something. All this time, I’ve thought about how brave she was, and what a diplomat, stopping the imminent military incursion into Genovia with SOUP and her charming (well, back then, maybe) smile.
AND NOW I FIND OUT IT’S NOT EVEN TRUE????????????????????????
Oh, my God. She’s good. Really good.
Although—and I never thought I would say this—it’s sort of hard to be mad at her. Because… well…
She did save the prom.
Friday, May 9, 7:30 p.m.
Tina just called. She is kvelling over getting to go to the prom. It is, she says, like a dream come true. I told her I couldn’t agree more. She asked me how I thought we’d come to be so lucky.
I told her: Because we are both kind and pure of heart.
Friday, May 9, 8 p.m.
Oh, my God. I never thought I would say this, but poor Lilly.
Poor, poor Lilly.
She just found out that Boris is taking Tina to the prom. She overheard Michael and I talking a little while ago. Lilly is on the phone with me now, barely able to speak, she is trying so hard to hold back her tears.
“M-Mia,” she keeps choking. “W-What have I d-done?”
Well, it is very clear what Lilly’s done: Ruined her own life, that’s all.
But of course I can’t tell her that.
So instead I go on about how a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle and about how Lilly will learn to love again, blah blah blah. Basically all the same stuff Lilly and I said to Tina back when she got dumped by Dave Farouq El-Abar.
Except of course that Boris didn’t dump Lilly: SHE dumped him.
But I can’t point this out to Lilly, as it would be like kicking her when she was already down.
It is sort of hard dealing with Lilly’s personal crisis when
I am so happy, and
my mom and Grandmère are still fighting in the background.
I just had to excuse myself for a moment and put the phone down. Then I went out into the living room and shrieked, “Grandmère, for the love of God, would you please call Les Hautes Manger and a
sk them to hire Jangbu back so you can go return to your suite at the Plaza and leave us in PEACE?”
But Mr. Gianini, who was sitting at the kitchen table, pretending to be reading the paper, went, “I think it’s going to take a little more than young Mr. Panasa getting his job back to end this strike, Mia.”
Which I must say is extremely disappointing to hear. Because I can barely find anything in my room, due to the fact that Grandmère’s stuff is strewn everywhere. It is a little demoralizing to be looking around in my underwear drawer for a pair of Queen Amidala panties only to find the BLACK SILK-AND-LACE THONGS Grandmère wears.
My grandma has sexier underwear than I do. This is fully disturbing. I will probably be in therapy for years because of it, too.
But no one seems to worry about the mental health of the children, do they?
So when I come back into my room just now and pick up the phone, Lilly is still going on about Boris. Really. It’s like she doesn’t even know I was gone.
“—but I just never appreciated what we had together until it was gone,” she’s saying.
“Uh-huh,” I go.
“And now I am going to grow old and die a spinster with maybe some cats or something. Not that there is anything wrong with that, because of course I don’t need a man to be fulfilled as a human being, but still, I always pictured myself with a live-in lover at the very least….”
“Uh-huh,” I go. I just now noticed to my extreme annoyance that Rommel has decided to use my backpack as his own personal bed. Also that Grandmère has very cavalierly draped her sleep mask over one of my Disney Princess snowglobes.
“And I know that I took him for granted and never even let him get to second base, but seriously, he can’t really think Tina is going to let him, can he? I mean, she is fully the type of girl who will demand a marriage proposal at the very least before she even lets him look under her shirt—”
Ooooh. This conversation suddenly got very interesting. “Really? You and Boris never got to second base?”
“Well, it never really came up,” Lilly says, sounding very forlorn.
“What about you and Jangbu?”
Silence on the other end of the phone. Guilty silence, though. I can tell.
Still, it’s good to know she and Boris never engaged in any full-frontal chestal activities. I mean, it will make Tina happy… as soon as I can get off the phone with Lilly and tell her, I mean.
I wonder if Michael and I will get to second base tomorrow night… after all, I’ll be wearing my first strapless gown.
And it IS the prom….
Saturday, May 10, 7 a.m.
One would think that a PRINCESS would get to sleep in on the day of her first PROM.
BUT OH NO.
Instead of being wakened by the sound of birdsong, like princesses in books, I was wakened by the sound of Rommel shrieking as Fat Louie beat him senseless for getting into his bowl of Fancy Feast.
I am having a hard time summoning up any real sympathy for Rommel. After all, if it weren’t for his behavior on my birthday, he wouldn’t be in this position right now.
Although it is wrong to think Rommel could really have behaved any differently. He didn’t exactly ASK Grandmère to bring him along to my birthday dinner. And it is clear to me now, having lived with him for several days, that Rommel, more than anyone I know, suffers from Asperger’s syndrome.
Oh God. I can hear the Gorgon stirring even now….
Maybe if I go grab my prom dress and run out the door now, I can hightail it uptown to Tina’s and prepare for the Big Night in the relative privacy of her place….
Oh, my God. That’s it. That’s exactly what I’ll do! Why didn’t I think of it before? I hate to leave my mom and Mr. G alone with Grandmère all day again, but really, what choice do I have? THIS IS THE PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
If ever there was a time for emergency action, this is it.
Saturday, May 10, 2 p.m., Tina’s place
Well, I did it. I escaped from Casa Horrifico.
Tina and I are safely ensconced in her room, having our pores unclogged by heat-action mud masks. We just had our nails done at Miz Nail down the street (well, I basically just had my cuticles done, since I don’t really have any nails), and in a little while, Mrs. Hakim Baba’s hairdresser is coming over to do our coiffures.
This is so how you are supposed to spend your prom day: beautifying yourself instead of listening to your mother and your grandmother bicker over who drank the last of the Pedialyte (Grandmère, it turns out, likes it with a splash of vodka).
Of course, I feel badly that my mother doesn’t get to share in this very important day in my formative development as a woman. However, she has more important things to worry about. Such as gestating. And doing her breathing exercises, to keep herself from killing Grandmère.
Reports from the strike negotiations are not promising. Last time we turned on New York One, the mayor was urging all New Yorkers to stock up on staples such as bread and milk, since we were no longer going to be able to turn to our local Chinese restaurants or pizzerias for sustenance.
Really, I don’t know what Mr. G and Mom and Grandmère are going to eat without delivery from Number One Noodle Son. They better hope they can pick up some prepared food at Jefferson Market….
Not that any of that is my concern. Not today. Because today, the only thing I am going to worry about is looking beautiful for the prom.
Because today, I am just like any other girl on her prom day. Today, I am a
PROM
PRINCESS!!!!!!!!
Saturday, May 10, 8 p.m., in the limo on the way to the prom
Oh, my God, I am so excited, I can barely contain myself. Tina and I look FABULOUS, even if I do say so myself. When the boys see us—we are meeting them at the prom, as they had to go early to set up—they are going to PLOTZ.
Of course, it does suck a little that Tina and I, instead of just having adorable little beaded clutches at our sides, have to bring along a couple of bodyguards. Seriously. They never mention this in the Seventeen magazine prom issue. You know: How to Accessorize Your Bodyguard.
You should have heard Lars and Wahim grousing about having to get into tuxes.
But then I reminded them that Mademoiselle Klein was going to be there, and that to my certain knowledge, she was going to be wearing a dress with a slit up the side. That seemed to spark their interest, and they didn’t even complain when Tina and I pinned on their matching boutonnieres. They look so cute together… kind of like Paris and Nicky Hilton. Minus the low-rise jeans and nose jobs and all.
I didn’t mention that Mr. Wheeton was going to be there, too… and that, in fact, he’d be escorting Mademoiselle Klein. Somehow, I didn’t think that information would be very well received.
Oh, my God, I am so nervous, I am actually SWEATING. I am telling you, fifteen is turning out to be the best age EVER. I mean, already I have gotten to play my first game of Seven Minutes in Heaven AND I’m going to my first ever prom….
I truly am the luckiest girl in the world.
Oh, my gosh. WE’RE HERE!!!!!!!!!!!
Saturday, May 10, 9 p.m., the Empire State Building observation deck
I never thought I would say this, but Grandmère rules.
Seriously. I am SO glad she brought Rommel to my birthday dinner, and that he escaped, and that Jangbu Panasa tripped over him, and that Les Hautes Manger fired him, and that Lilly adopted his cause and created a citywide hotel, restaurant, and porters union strike.
Because if she hadn’t, the prom might never have been canceled, and Lana and the rest of the prom committee would have gone ahead and had it at Maxim’s instead of being forced to have it on the observation deck of the Empire State Building—something arranged entirely by Grandmère, who is like this with the owner—and Michael would have continued to refuse to go to the prom at all, and so instead of standing under the stars in my totally rocking Jennifer Lopez-engagement-ring pink prom dress, listening to MY BOYF
RIEND’S BAND, I’d be stuck at home, Instant Messaging my friends.
So as I stare out at the twinkling lights of Manhattan, all I can say is:
Thank you, Grandmère. Thank you for being such a complete freak. Because without you, my dream of entering the prom on the arm of my one true love would never have come true.
And okay, it kind of sucks that we can’t dance because the only time there’s any music is when Skinner Box is playing.
But the band took a break a little while ago, and Michael came over with a glass of punch for me (pink lemonade with Sprite in it… Josh tried to spike it, but Wahim totally caught him and threatened him with his nunchaks) and we went over to the telescopes and stood with our arms around each other, gazing out at the Hudson River, snaking silverly along in the moonlight, and…
Well, I’m not sure, but I think we got to second base.
I’m not sure because I don’t know if it counts if a guy feels you up THROUGH your bra. I will have to consult with Tina on this, but I think the hand actually has to get UNDER the bra for it to count.
But there was no way Michael was getting under MY bra, given as how I am wearing one of those strapless ones that are so tight it feels like you are wearing an Ace bandage around your boobs.
But he tried. I’m pretty sure, anyway.
There really is no doubting it now. I am a woman. A woman in every sense of the word.
Well, almost. Probably I should go into the ladies’ room and take this stupid bra off so if he goes for it again I might actually be able to feel something….
Oh, my God, somebody’s cell phone is ringing. That is so rude. And in the middle of “Rock-Throwing Youths,” too. You would think people would show some respect for the band and turn off their—
Oh, my God. That’s MY cell phone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sunday, May 11, 1 a.m., St. Vincent’s maternity ward
Oh… my… God.
I can’t believe it. I really can’t. Tonight, not only did I become a woman (maybe) but I also became a big sister.