Party Princess pd-7

by Meg Cabot

  SKINNERBX: So you’ll come, right? The guys were trying to tell me there was no way you’d want to. On account of the whole princess thing.

  !

  FTLOUIE: The princess thing? What did they mean by that?

  SKINNERBX: Just, you know. I mean, it’s not like you’re much of a party girl.

  Not much of a party girl? What does that even mean? Of course I’m not a party girl. I mean, Michael is not exactly a party guy—

  At least, he didn’t used to be. Before he went to college.

  Oh, God. Maybe it would behoove me to indicate that I am not adverse to partying. Just the date-rape and vomit part.

  FTLOUIE: I am TOO a party girl. I mean, given the right circumstances. I mean, I like to party just as much as the next girl.

  I do, too. This isn’t even a lie. I’ve partied. Maybe not in recent memory. But I’m sure I’ve partied. Like at my birthday party just last year.

  And okay, it ended in disaster when my best friend got caught making out with a busboy in the closet.

  But technically, it was still a party. Which makes me a party girl.

  And okay, maybe not a party girl like Paris Hilton is a party girl. I mean, I like Red Bull and all. Well, not really, since I drank one can from my dad’s minibar in his suite at the Plaza and it made me stay up until four in the morning dancing to the disco channel on digital cable.

  But you know. Who wants to be like Paris, anyway? She can’t even keep track of her dog’s whereabouts half the time. I mean, you have to find a BALANCE with the party thing. You can’t party ALL the time. Or you might forget where you left your chihuahua. Or someone might release an embarrassing video of you, um, partying.

  Limit the amount of partying—and Red Bull—and you limit the amount of embarrassing videos.

  That’s all I’m saying.

  SKINNERBX: That’s exactly what I said. Great! So I’ll talk to you later. Love you. ’Night!

  SKINNERBX: terminated

  Oh, God. What have I gotten myself into?

  From the desk of

  Her Royal Highness

  Princess Amelia Mignonette

  Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo

  Dear Dr. Carl Jung,

  I realize that you are still dead. However, things have suddenly gotten significantly worse, and I’m now convinced I will NEVER transcend my ego and achieve self-actualization.

  First I find out I’ve bankrupted the student government and will shortly be killed by the small but extremely strong senior class valedictorian.

  Then my short story gets rejected by Sixteen magazine.

  And now my boyfriend thinks I’m going to a party he’s having in his parents’ apartment while they are away.

  I can’t really blame him for thinking this, because I sort of said I would go.

  But I said I’d go because if I said no, I’ll seem like a killjoy and non-party princess.

  Of course, there’s no way I would even be considering going if I didn’t happen to remember that March is not a month in which Michael is allowed to broach the subject of S-E-X to me, since last month was his allotted time to bring it up. So it’s not like there can be any of THAT on his mind. You know, like, during the party.

  Still. I will have to socialize with people I don’t know. Which I realize I do all the time in my capacity as princess of Genovia.

  But socializing with college students is quite different from socializing with other royals and dignitaries. I mean, other royals and dignitaries don’t tell you all accusingly that your limo is a significant contributor to the destruction of the ozone layer, as oversize cars, such as SUVs and, yes, royal limos, cause 43 percent more global-warming pollution and 47 percent more air pollution than an average car, the way a girl in front of Michael’s dorm pointed out to me last week when I pulled up to visit him.

  Could things possibly GET any worse?

  I REALLY need to self-actualize. Like, right NOW. PLEASE SEND HELP.

  Your friend,

  Mia Thermopolis

  Wednesday, March 3, Homeroom

  In the limo on the way to school this morning, I asked Lilly what her parents could be thinking, letting Michael have a big party in their apartment while they’re away. She was like, “Whatever. Do I look like Ruth and Morty’s keeper?”

  Ruth and Morty are Lilly’s parents’ first names. I think it is very disrespectful of her to call her own parents by their given names. I don’t even call them by their given names, and they’ve asked me to about a million times.

  Still, even considering how long I’ve known them—almost as long as Lilly has—I can only call them Dr. Moscovitz. Sometimes I call them Mr. Dr. Moscovitz and Mrs. Dr. Moscovitz (but only behind their backs) when I need to specify one over the other.

  But I’ll never call them Ruth and Morty. Not even when Michael and I are married, and they are my in-laws. They will always be the Drs. Moscovitz to me.

  “They do realize YOU’RE going to be there, don’t they?” I asked Lilly. “I mean, at the party?”

  “Duh,” Lilly said. “Of course. What is the matter with you?”

  “Nothing. I just—I’m kind of surprised that your parents are letting Michael have a party when they aren’t home. It’s not like them. That’s all.”

  “Yeah, well,” Lilly said, “I think Ruth and Morty have bigger things to worry about.”

  “Like what?”

  Only I never did find out. Because right then the limo hit one of those huge potholes in front of the entrance to the FDR, and Lilly and I both went sailing into the air and hit our heads on the sunroof.

  So then Lilly made me go to the nurse’s office with her when we got to school, to see if we could get notes to get out of PE, on account of having possible concussions.

  But the nurse just laughed at us.

  I bet she would have given us notes if she knew they were making us play volleyball. AGAIN. Why can’t we ever do cool sports like Pilates and yoga, like they get to in suburban high school?

  It’s so not fair.

  Wednesday, March 3, U.S. Economics

  Okay, so after what happened yesterday with the government money, I am fully going to start paying attention in this class now:

  Scarcity—refers to the tension between our limited resources and our unlimited wants and needs

  Some examples of resources we want and need, but which are limited (scarce), include:

  Goods

  Services

  Natural resources

  Funds for the rental of gathering halls in which to conduct senior graduation

  Because all resources are limited in comparison to our wants and needs, individuals as well as governments have to make decisions regarding what goods and services they can buy and which ones they must forgo.

  (For instance, a government might decide that what its population really needs are recycling bins with built-in can crushers inside and the words “Paper, Cans, and Battles” emblazoned across the lids.)

  All individuals and governments, each having different levels of (scarce) resources, form some of their values only because they must deal with the problem of resource scarcity.

  (If only Amber Cheeseman would learn to value recycling over giving the valedictory address at Alice Tully Hall.)

  So, because of scarcity, people and governments must make decisions over how to allocate their resources.

  (But that’s what I DID!!! I made a decision about how to allocate AEHS resources—in the form of buying recycling bins—and it turned around and bit me on the butt!!!! Because I allocated incorrectly!!! WHERE IS THE PART ABOUT THIS IN THE TEXTBOOK????)

  Wednesday, March 3, English

  OMG, Mia! I heard about what happened at the meeting yesterday! The whole running-out-of-money thingg! I can’t believe those recycling bins ended up being so expensive! And those “Cans and Battles” stiickers! I can’t figure out how that happened! I am so sorry!—Tina

  It’s okay. They’re replacing the “Cans and
Battles” stickers. And we’ll think of some way to get it. The money, I mean. Just don’t tell anyone, all right? We’re trying to keep it a secret until we figure out what we’re going to do.

  Totally! I won’t tell a soul! But I had an idea. About how to raise money. Have you seen those scented candles the band was selling to raise money for their trip to Nashville?

  WE ARE NOT SELLING SCENTED CANDLES.

  It was just a suggestion. I thought they were kind of nice. They have these cute little ones shaped like strawberries.

  NO CANDLES.

  Okay. But I know I could sell a ton to my aunts and uncles back in Saudi Arabia.

  NO CANDLES.

  Okay! I get it. No candles. Is there something wrong? I mean, besides the money thing? Because, no offense, but you seem…kinda upset. I mean, about the candles.

  It’s not about the candles.

  What is it, then?

  Nothing. Michael’s parents are going out of town this weekend, and he’s throwing a party in their apartment while they’re gone, and he wants me to come.

  But that sounds like fun!

  FUN???? Are you crazy??? There are going to be COLLEGE GIRLS there.

  So?

  So??? What do you mean, So??? Don’t you see, Tina? If Michael sees me around a bunch of college girls at a party, he’s going to realize I’m not a party girl.

  But Mia. You AREN’T a party girl.

  I know that! But I don’t want MICHAEL to know that!

  But Michael knows you aren’t a party girl. He knew you weren’t much of a party girl when he met you.. I mean, you have NEVER been a party girl. You never even GO to parties. I mean, girls like Lana Weeinberger, THEY go to parties, but not girls like us. We don’t get INVITED to parties. We stay home Saturday nights and watch whatever is on HBO, or maybe we go out with our boyfriends, or have a sleepover with our friends. But we don’t go to PARTIES. It’s not like we’re POPULAR.

  Thanks, Tina.

  Well, you know what t I mean. What’s wrong with not being a party girl? Why can’t you just go to the party and have a good time hanging out and meeting some new people?

  Because the whole idea of hanging out with a bunch of cool college girls who are going to think I’m a dorky princess makes my palms feel sweaty.

  Ew. But they won’t think you’re a dorky princess, Mia, once they get to know you. Because you AREN’T a dorky princess.

  Hello, have you MET me?

  Well, okay. You’re a princess. But you’re not a dork. I mean, you’re practically failing Geometry. How dorky is that?

  But that’s exactly what I mean! These girls are SMART, they got into an Ivy League university, and I’m…practically failing Geometry.

  If you really don’t want to go, why don’t you tell Michael you have to do something with your grandmother that night?

  I can’t! Michael was so excited when I said yes!!!! I don’t want to break his heart AGAIN. I mean, it’s bad enough I have to do it every three months when he asks me whether I’ve changed my mind about the whole sex thing (like there’s really a chance I’m going to. And okay, he’s a guy, so it’s not like he’s ever seen Kirsten Dunst’s heart-wrenching portrayal of an unwed teen mom in Fifteen and Pregnant on the Lifetime Channel). But still. I am ONLY FIFTEEN. I’m not ready to give up the golden bough of my virginity!

  Not until your Senior Prom anyway! On a king-size featherbed at the Four Seasons!

  Totally. And while I know Michael is the most faithful and steadfast of lovers, if I don’t go to the party, the lure of an exotic college girl, dancing suggestively on his parents’ coffee table, might be too much even for HIM to resist! Do you see my difficulty now?

  Hey you guys. Guess what?

  Oh! Hi, Lilly!

  Um. Hi, Lilly.

  What were you guys just talking about?

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  Yeah, you so clearly were NOT talking about nothing. But whatever. I think I may have the solution to our financial problems anyway. Guess who said she’d be the advisor for our new literary magazine?

  Lilly, I totally appreciate your enthusiasm about this, and all, but a literary magazine isn’t going to generate enough income to make up for what we’ve already lost. In fact, with printing costs and all, it’s just going to cause us to have to spend MORE money we don’t have.

  A literary magazine? That sounds like so much fun! And then you’ll have a place to publish “No More Corn!”, Mia!

  I can’t let “No More Corn!” be printed in a school literary magazine.

  Oh, I suppose your story is too good to be in a mere student-published periodical.

  That’s not it at all. I just don’t want the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili to read it. I mean, come on. He KILLS himself at the end.

  Oh! That WOULD be awkward! I mean, if he realized the story is about him. It might hurt his feelings.

  Exactly.

  Funny how this didn’t worry you when you were trying to get your story published in Sixteen, a national magazine with a million readers.

  No self-respecting boy would be caught dead reading Sixteen magazine, and you know it, Lilly. But he’s totally likely to read a school-run literary magazine!

  Whatever. Look, Ms. Martinez loves the idea of a school lit mag. I asked her just before class, and she said she thought it was great, since Albert Einstein High School has a newspaper, but not a literary magazine, and it will be a great opportunity for the student population’s many artists, poets, and storytellers to see their craft in print.

  Um, yeah, but unless we’re going to CHARGE them to publish their stuff, I don’t see how that’s going to raise US any cash.

  Don’t you see, Mia? We can charge people for copies of the magazine once we’ve printed it. I bet we’ll sell LOTS of copies!

  Thank you, Tina. The lack of jadedness in your response is quite refreshing compared to SOME people’s negative attitudes.

  I’m sorry. I’m really not trying to be negative. I’m just trying to be practical. We’d be better off selling candles.

  Oooooh, you should see the cute Noah’s Ark candles they have! They’ve got all the animals, two by two…even tiny little unicorns! Are you SURE you don’t want to consider candle-selling, Mia?

  AAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!

  Oh, sorry. I guess not.

  Wednesday, March 3, French

  I heard about what’s going on.—Shameeka

  WHO TOLD YOU????

  Ling Su. She feels awful about it. She doesn’t know how she messed up like that.

  Oh, the money thing. Well, it’s not really her fault. And listen, we’re kind of trying to keep it a secret. So could you not mention it to anyone?

  I totally understand. I mean, when the seniors find out, they are NOT going to be happy. Especially Amber Cheeseman. She may look small, but I hear she’s strong as an ape.

  Yeah, that’s what I mean. That’s why we’re trying to keep it on the down low.

  Gotcha. My lips are sealed.

  Thanks, Shameeka.

  Hey, you guys. Is it true?—Perin

  Is WHAT true?

  About the student government being broke.

  WHO TOLD YOU?

  Um, I heard it from the receptionist this morning in the attendance office when I brought in my latte pass. But don’t worry, I won’t tell. She said not to.

  Oh. Well. Yes. It’s true.

  And you’re starting a literary magazine too make up for the lost revenue?

  Who told you that?

  Lilly. Can I just say that, even though I think starting a literary magazine is a neat idea and all, when we needed to make some money fast at my old school, we sold the cutest scented candles in the shapes of actual fruits, and we made a mint!

  What a great idea! Don’t you think so, Mia?

  NO!

  Wednesday, March 3, G & T

  So at lunch today Boris Pelkowski put his tray down next to mine and said, “So I hear
we’re broke.”

  And I seriously lost it.

  “YOU GUYS,” I yelled at the entire lunch table. “YOU HAVE TO STOP TALKING ABOUT THIS. WE’RE TRYING TO KEEP IT A SECRET.”

  Then I explained about how much I value my life, and how I would not care for it to be cut short by an enraged hapkido brown-belt valedictorian with monkeylike strength in her upper torso (even if, by killing and/or maiming me, she would actually be doing me a favor, since then I wouldn’t have to live with the humiliation of having my boyfriend forsake me because I am not a party girl).

  “She would never kill you, Mia,” Boris pointed out helpfully. “Lars would shoot her first.”

  Lars, who was showing Tina’s bodyguard, Wahim, all the games on his new Sidekick, looked up upon hearing his name.

  “Who is planning to kill the princess?” Lars asked alertly.

  “No one,” I said, from between gritted teeth. “Because we’re going to get the money before she ever finds out. RIGHT????”

  I think I must have really impressed them with my seriousness, since they all went, “Okay.”

  Then, thankfully, Perin changed the subject.

  “Uh-oh, looks like they did it again,” she said, pointing to the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili. Because he was sitting in his usual place by himself, disgustedly picking pieces of corn from his bowl of chili, and flicking them onto his lunch tray.

  “That poor guy,” Perin said with a sigh. “I feel so bad whenever I see him sitting alone like that. I know how that feels.”

  There was a painful pause as we all recalled how Perin had sat by herself at the beginning of the school year because she was new. Until we adopted her, that is.

  “I thought he got a girlfriend,” Tina said. “Didn't you say you saw him buying prom tickets last year, Mia?”

  “Yes,” I replied, with a sigh. “But I was wrong. It turned out he was only asking the people who were selling the prom tickets if they knew where the closest F train station was.”

  Which, incidentally, is what inspired my short story about him.

  “It's so sad,” Tina said, gazing in the direction of the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili. “It makes me think that what happens in Mia’s short story about him could happen in real life.”