Mia Goes Fourth pd-4

by Meg Cabot

  And my heart turned over in my chest like it always does when I see him.

  Are you OK?' he wanted to know, as soon as he got into the limo. His eyes, so brown they are almost black — like the

  peat bogs Mr. Rochester was always striding past out there on the moor, because if you step into a peat bog, you can sink

  in up to your head and never be heard of again . . . which in a way is like what happens every time I look into Michael's eyes:

  I fall and fall and am pretty sure I will never be able to get out of them again, but that's OK, because I love being there -

  looked deeply into mine. My eyes are merely grey, the colour of a New York City sidewalk.

  'I called you last night,' Michael said, as his sister pushed him to move over on the seat so that she could get into the limo, too. 'But your mom said you'd passed out. . .'

  'I was really, really tired,' I said, delighted by the fact that he appeared to have been worried about me. 'I slept for fifteen

  hours straight.'

  'Whatever,' Lilly said. She was clearly not interested in the details of my sleep cycle. 'I heard from the producers of your movie.'

  I was surprised. 'Really? What did they say?'

  'They asked me to take a breakfast meeting with them,' Lilly said, sounding like she was trying not to brag. Only she wasn't succeeding terribly well. You could totally hear the gloating in her voice. 'Friday morning. So I won't be needing a ride.'

  'Wow,' I said. A breakfast meeting? Really? Will they serve bagels?'

  'Probably,' Lilly said.

  I was impressed. I have never been invited to a breakfast meeting with producers before. Just with the Prince of Wales.

  I asked Lilly if she had come up with a list of demands for the producers, and she said she had, but she wouldn't tell me

  what they were.

  I think I am going to have to watch this movie and see what's making her so mad. My mom has it on tape. She said it was

  one of the funniest things she has ever seen.

  But then, my mom laughs all through Dirty Dancing, even the parts that aren't supposed to be funny, so I don't know if she

  is the best judge.

  Uh-oh. One of the cheerleaders (sadly, not Lana) tore her Achilles tendon doing pilates over the break, so they just

  announced they are holding tryouts for a replacement. The team's substitute got transferred to an all girls' school in Northampton due to having too wild a party while her parents were in Martinique.

  I sincerely hope Lilly is too busy protesting about the movie of my life to protest about the new cheerleading try-outs. Last semester she made me walk around with a big sign that said Cheerleading is sexist and not a sport, which I am not even

  sure is technically true, since they have cheerleading championships on the sports channel. But it is a fact that there are no cheerleaders for the female sports in our school. Like Lana and her gang never turn out for the girls' basketball team or the

  girls' volleyball team, but they never miss a boys' game. So maybe the sexist part is true.

  Oh, God, a geek just came in with a hall pass. A hall pass for me! I am being summoned to the office! And I didn't even

  do anything! Well, this time, anyway.

  This is so unfair.

  Wednesday, January 20,

  Outside Principal Guptas Office

  I can't believe it is only the second day of second semester, and already I am sitting here outside the principal's office.

  And I didn't even do anything! I mean, yeah, I didn't finish my homework, but I fully have a note from my stepdad.

  I turned it in to the administrative office first thing. It says:

  Please excuse Mia for not completing her homework for Tuesday, January 19th.

  She was crippled with jetlag and unable to attend to her academic

  responsibilities last evening. She will, of course, make up the work tonight.

  - Frank Gianini

  It kind of sucks when your stepdad is also your teacher.

  But why would Principal Gupta object to this? I mean, I realize it is only the second day of second semester, and already

  I've fallen behind. But I'm not THAT far behind.

  And I haven't even seen Lana today, so it's not like I could have done anything to her or her personal belongings.

  OH, MY GOD. It just occurred to me. What if they realize they made a mistake, putting me back in Gifted and Talented?

  I mean, because I have no gifts or talents? What if I was only put in there in the first place because of some computer glitch, and now they've corrected it, and they're going to put me in Tech. Ed. or Domestic Arts, where I belong? Oh, my God,

  I will have to make a spice rack!!! Or worse, a western omelette!!!

  And I will never see Michael any more! OK, I will see him on the way to school and during lunch and after school and on weekends and holidays, but that's it. By taking me out of Gifted and Talented class, they will be depriving me of five whole hours of Michael a week! And true, during class we don't talk all that much, because Michael really is gifted and talented, unlike me, and needs to use that class period to hone his musical abilities. But still, at least we are together.

  Oh, God, this is awful! WHY didn't Lilly just tell me what my talent is? Then I could throw it in Principal Gupta's face

  when she tries to deport me back to Tech. Ed.

  Wait. . . who does that voice belong to? The one coming from Principal Gupta's office? It sounds kind of familiar.

  It sounds kind of like . . .

  Wednesday, January 20,

  Grandmere's Limo

  I cannot believe Grandmere just did this. I mean, what kind of person DOES this? Just yanks a teenager out of school?

  She is supposed to be the adult. She is supposed to be setting a good example for me. And what does she do instead?

  Well, first she tells a big fat LIE, and THEN she removes me from school property under false pretences.

  I am telling you, if my mom or dad finds out about this, Clarisse Renaldo will be a dead woman.

  She practically gave me a heart attack, you know. Good thing my cholesterol and everything is so low thanks to my

  vegetarian diet, otherwise I might have suffered a serious cardiac infarction, she scared me so bad, coming out of Principal Gupta's office like that and being all, 'Well, yes, we are of course praying for his quick recovery, but you know how these things can be . . .'

  I felt all the blood run out of my face at the sight of her. Not just because, you know, it was Grandmere, talking to

  Principal Gupta, of all people, but because of what she was saying.

  I stood up fast, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might go flying right out of my chest.

  'What is it?' I asked, all panicky. 'Is it my dad? Is the cancer back? Is that it? You can tell me, I can take it.'

  Because the reason that I, a technically illegitimate teenager (seeing as how my mom never married my dad), am heir to the throne of Genovia is that my dad can't have any more kids, on account of having been rendered sterile due to cancer. I was sure, from the way Grandmere was talking to Principal Gupta, that the cancer was back, and that my dad was going to have

  to go through chemo all over again . . .

  'I will tell you in the car,' Grandmere said to me, stiffly. 'Come along.'

  'No, really,' I said, trailing after her, with Lars trailing after me. 'You can tell me now. I can take it, I swear I can. Is Dad

  all right?'

  'Don't worry about your homework, Mia,' Principal Gupta called to us, as we left her office. 'You just concentrate on

  being there for your father.'

  So it was true! Dad was sick!

  'Is it the cancer again?' I asked Grandmere as we left the school and headed down to her limo, which was parked out

  front by the stone lion that guards the steps up to Albert Einstein High. 'Do the doctors think it's treatable? Does he need

&nbs
p; a bone-marrow transplant? Because, you know, we're probably a match, on account of my having his hair. At least, what

  his hair must have looked like, back when he had some.'

  It wasn't until we were safely inside the limo that Grandmere gave me a very disgusted look and said, 'Really, Amelia. There

  is nothing wrong with your father. There is, however, something wrong with that school of yours. Imagine, not allowing their pupils any sort of absences except in the case of illness. Ridiculous! Sometimes, you know, people need a day. A personal

  day, I think they call it. Well, today, Amelia, is your personal day.'

  I blinked at her from my side of the limo. I couldn't quite believe what I was hearing.

  'Wait a minute,' I said. 'You mean . . . Dad isn't sick?' '

  Pfuit!' Grandmere said, her drawn-on eyebrows raised way up. 'He certainly seemed healthy enough when I spoke

  to him this morning.'

  'Then what. . . ?' I stared at her. 'Why did you tell Principal Gupta . . . ?'

  'Because otherwise she would not have allowed you out of class,' Grandmere said, glancing at her gold and diamond

  watch. 'And we are late, as it is. Really, there is nothing worse than an overzealous educator. They think they are helping,

  when in reality, you know, there are many different varieties of learning. Not all of it takes place in a classroom.'

  Comprehension was beginning to dawn. Grandmere had not pulled me out of school in the middle of the day because

  anyone in my family was sick. No, Grandmere had pulled me out of school because she wanted to teach me something.

  'Grandmere,' I cried, hardly able to believe what I was hearing. 'You can't just drive over and yank me out of school

  whenever you want to. And you certainly can't tell Principal Gupta that my dad is sick when he isn't! How could you

  even say something like that? Don't you know anything about karma? I mean, if you go around lying about stuff like

  that all the time, it could actually come true.'

  'Don't be ridiculous, Amelia,' Grandmere said. 'Your father is not going to have to go back to hospital just because

  I told a little white lie to an academic administrator.'

  'I don't know how you can be so sure of that,' I said, angrily. 'And anyway, where do you think you're taking me? I can't

  afford to just be leaving school in the middle of the day, you know, Grandmere. I mean, I've got a lot of catching up to do thanks to the fact that I went to bed so early last night

  'Oh, I am sorry,' Grandmere said, very sarcastically. 'I know how much you enjoy your Algebra class. I am sure it is a

  very great deprivation to you, missing it today . . .'

  I couldn't deny that she was right. At least partially. While I wasn't all that thrilled about the method by which she'd

  done it, the fact that Grandmere had extracted me from Algebra wasn't exactly something I was about to cry over.

  I mean, come on. Integers are not my best thing.

  'Well, wherever we're going,' I said, severely, 'we better be back in time for lunch. Because Michael will wonder where I am.'

  'Not that boy again,' Grandmere said, lifting her gaze to the lirno's sun roof with a sigh.

  'Yes, that boy," I said. 'That boy I happen to love with all of my heart and soul..."

  'Oh, we're here,' Grandmere said, with some relief, as her driver pulled over. 'At last. Get out, Amelia.'

  I got out of the limo, then looked around to see where Grandmere had brought me. But all I saw was the big Chanel store

  on Fifty-Seventh Street. That couldn't be where we were headed. Could it?

  But when Grandmere, untangling Rommel from his Louis Vuitton leash, put him on the ground and then began striding purposefully towards those big glass doors, I saw that Chanel was exactly where we were headed.

  'Grandmere,' I cried, rushing after her. 'Chanel? You pulled me out of class to take me shopping?'

  'You need a gown,' Grandmere said with a sniff, 'for the black-and-white ball at the Contessa Trevanni's this Friday.

  This was the soonest I could get an appointment.'

  'Black-and-white ball?' I echoed, as Lars escorted us into the hushed white interior of Chanel, the world's most exclusive fashion boutique - the kind of store that, before I found out I was a princess, I would have been too terrified ever even to

  set foot in ... although I can't say the same for my friends, as Lilly had once filmed an entire episode of her cable access show from inside a dressing room at Chanel. She'd barricaded herself in and was trying on Karl Lagerfeld's latest creations, refusing to come out until security broke the door down and escorted her to the sidewalk. It had been a show on how haute couture designers are, judging by the way their clothes fit, really sadistic misogynists at heart. 'What black-and-white ball?'

  'Surely your mother told you,' Grandmere said, as a tall, reed-thin woman approached us with cries of, 'Your Royal Highnesses! How delightful to see you.'

  'My mother didn't tell me anything about a ball,' I said. 'When did you say it was?'

  'Friday night,' Grandmere said to me. To the saleslady she said, 'Yes, I believe you've put aside some gowns for my granddaughter. I specifically requested white ones.' Grandmere blinked owlishly at me. 'You are too young for black.

  I don't want to hear any arguing about it.'

  Argue about it? How could I argue about something I hadn't even begun to understand?

  'Of course,' the saleslady was saying, with a big smile. 'Come with me, won't you, Your Highnesses?'

  'Friday night?' I cried, that part, at least, of what was going on beginning to sink in. 'Friday night? Grandmere,

  I can't go to any ball on Friday night. I already made plans with—'

  But Grandmere just put her hand in the centre of my back and pushed.

  And then I was tripping after the saleslady, who didn't even blink an eye, as if princesses in combat boots go tripping

  after her all the time.

  And now I am sitting in Grandmere's limo on my way back to school, and all I can think about is the number of people

  I would like to thank for my current predicament, foremost among which is my mother, for forgetting to tell me that she

  already gave Grandmere permission to drag me to this thing; the Contessa Trevanni, for having a black-and-white ball in

  the first place; the salespeople at Chanel, who, although they are very nice, are really all just a bunch of enablers, as they

  have enabled my grandma to garb me in a white, diamante ball gown and drag me to something I have no desire to attend

  in the first place; my father, for setting his mother loose upon the hapless city of Manhattan without anyone to supervise her;

  and of course Grandmere herself, for completely ruining my life.

  Because when I told her, as the Chanel people were throwing yards of fabric over me, that I cannot possibly attend

  Contessa Trevanni's black-and-white ball this Friday night, as that is the night Michael and I are supposed to have our

  first date, she responded by giving me a big lecture about how a princess's first duty is to her people. Her heart,

  Grandmere says, must always come second.

  I tried to explain how this date could not be postponed or rescheduled, as Star Wars would only be showing at the Screen Room that night, and that after that they would go back to showing Moulin Rouge, which I can't see because I heard

  someone dies at the end.

  But Grandmere refused to see that my date with Michael was anywhere near as important as Contessa Trevanni's black-and-white ball. Apparently Contessa Trevanni is a very socially prominent member of the Monaco royal family,

  besides being some kind of distant cousin (who isn't?) of ours. My not attending her black-and-white ball here in the city

  with all the other debutantes would be a slight from which the royal house of Renaldo might never recover.

 
; I pointed out that my not attending Star Wars with Michael will be a slight from which my relationship with my boyfriend