by Meg Cabot
‘Oh yes,’ Marguerite said. ‘My mother says that once a boy is in love with you, you can make him do anything you want.’
‘Yes,’ Luisa agreed. ‘So as soon as Prince Khalil and I are going out, I will make him do whatever I say, including give up herpetology, then dance every dance with me at the wedding reception ball, under the moonlight by the fountain in the Royal Genovian Gardens. It will be so romantic!’
I had to try really hard not to gag out loud at that. None of what Luisa was describing sounded romantic to me . . . especially the part about dancing with a boy by the fountain in the Royal Genovian Gardens!
Of course, Luisa doesn’t know how many iguanas there are back here. One of them is bound to fall out of the palm trees on to their heads.
I only hope I’m there to see it when this happens.
‘Luisa Ferrari thinks far too highly of herself,’ Grandmère said now, stuffing a tea cake into her mouth. ‘Just like her grandmother. Did you know that her grandmother, the Baroness Bianca Ferrari, had the nerve to suggest to me that Luisa be the one to carry your bridal train in the wedding, Mia? She said she thinks Olivia doesn’t have enough experience yet as a royal to do it, and might embarrass the family on international television.’
What? I almost choked on a tea cake of my own at hearing this. How hard is it to carry abridal train? It’s only a dress, for goodness’ sake.
Also, I’ve had lots of experience in front of the camera! I’ve been doing the Smile and Wave for weeks.
‘Grandmère,’ Mia said in a warning voice, possibly because she’d noticed my expression once again.
‘Of course,’ Grandmère went on, ‘Luisa probably would have carried your train if we hadn’t found Olivia. The fact that Luisa still gets to be a junior bridesmaid ought to be enough for her grandmother. Did you know that woman had the nerve to ask me for ten extra tickets to your reception, Amelia? How we’re ever going to fit all the people we’ve invited, I don’t know, let alone the riffraff Bianca Ferrari thinks she can—’
‘Grandmère!’ Mia must have noticed that I looked a little freaked out, since she asked, ‘Are you all right, Olivia? You’re not worried about starting this new school, are you?’
Uh, yes! And I could think of a million reasons – not even counting Luisa! – that I should be.
At my last school back in New Jersey, a girl had really, really disliked me, for no better reason than that I’d been born.
Well, born a princess. But still!
And now they want me to go to a school that’s filled with girls (and boys) who’ve been royal their whole lives, and have had years of training at it, while I’ve only been at it for a few weeks?
I’m a pretty confident person, as Nishi would agree. She says I’m an optimist (not only because I’m a Sagittarius but because we took a quiz online at her house once that confirmed it). I really don’t let things get me down for long.
But it’s kind of hard to feel optimistic about this new school – especially knowing that Lady Luisa is going to be there, too. In fact, I think I could turn out to be an even worse disaster there than I was at my old school! People like me, who enjoy drawing better than sports or playing video games or fashion or dancing, are usually never that popular anyway.
And princesses who’ve only just found out they’re princesses and who also like to draw?
Well, I’m not sure, but there’s a chance I could be the first person in my family to flunk out of the Royal Genovian Academy.
But all I said in answer to Mia’s question was, ‘No. I’m sure everything is going to be great!’
Because there’s one last thing royals are supposed to do:
Project a positive attitude.
Even though positive is not what I’m feeling right now, about school, this wedding, or much of anything, really.
Sunday 14 June 11.00 p.m.
My Room Genovian Palace
Tomorrow is my first day at the Royal Genovian Academy – or, as Nishi still keeps calling it, ‘princess school’ – and I can’t sleep.
And it’s not because Nishi keeps texting me, wanting to know:
What I’m going to wear (no choice: there’s a uniform)
How I’m going to do my hair (headband)
Whether or not she’s going to need to bring a hair dryer (no: all the bedrooms in the palace have their own en-suite bathrooms, which means each has a hairdryer and of course mini soaps and bottles of shampoo and conditioner made from the essence of real Genovian orange blossom)
Because after answering her zillionth question, I finally turned my phone off.
(I HAVE to make her understand about the time difference. Genovia is six hours ahead of the United States. But I don’t think she’s ever going to grasp that fact until she gets here.)
At dinner Grandmère was like, ‘Don’t forget, Olivia, tonight you’re really going to need your beauty sleep. Every woman should sleep at least eight hours a night so that she can wake refreshed upon the morning to battle the new day!’
But I can’t get any kind of sleep, beauty or even regular.
Which is ridiculous because I’m lying in a canopy bed shaped like a boat under a ceiling painted to look like the night sky, with Snowball cuddled up to me.
And sitting on the nightstand next to me is a tray that had warm milk and cookies on it that the royal kitchen sent up to help me doze off. I ate every single one!
So why can’t I sleep?
Maybe it’s what my dad said when he came in to wish me goodnight and I asked him – quietly, so Grandmère and Mia wouldn’t overhear – if he thought I was going to make any friends in school tomorrow.
‘Of course!’ he said, looking surprised. ‘Your problem isn’t going to be not making any friends, Olivia, but making too many friends. You’re going to make so many friends, we’re not going to be able to fit them all here in the palace!’
I laughed because this was a joke, of course. The maximum capacity for the ballroom is five hundred (I know because there’s a tiny gold sign on the wall that says so, as required by Genovian fire code, and also because that’s how many are invited to the wedding).
But it was also a joke because only 120 students go to the Royal Genovian Academy (from kindergarten through to twelfth grade). Also because no one could possibly have five hundred friends in real life . . .
Unless, of course, she’s a princess. This was something Mia had warned me about at dinner.
‘Just to let you know . . . it’s possible that at this new school some people might only want to become your friend so they can use you for your celebrity status,’ she’d said over the very delicious ‘back to school’ dinner that the kitchen staff had thoughtfully prepared for me (with all my favourite things): mini-burgers, skinny fries, coconut shrimp, mac and cheese, with ice-cream sundaes for dessert.
(Grandmère asked Chef Bernard for his resignation letter when she saw all this, because, she said, there wasn’t a single green thing on the table. But then he brought her a salade niçoise, so she forgave him.)
‘Just be careful that the people you hang out with like you for you, and not because you’re a princess who might get them a ton of likes on their social media pages, or last-minute invitations to my wedding, or something,’ Mia said.
I must have looked alarmed, since she’d quickly added, ‘Not that this is going to happen to you! It’s just . . . well, it might have happened to me once.’
It’s possible that this piece of advice is contributing to my inability to sleep.
Even Grandmère wasn’t as comforting as she usually is when she came in to say goodnight.
‘I’ve ordered the bulletproof car to take you to school tomorrow, Olivia. It will be ready for you at eight o’clock. Don’t be late, as after it drops you off, I’ll need it to return to the palace to take me to a sporting goods shop in Cap-d’Ail. They supposedly stock an air rifle that’s superb for pest control.’
I sat straight up in bed. Carlos! ‘Grandmère, no! P
lease don’t shoot any of the iguanas. I’m sure we can think of some other way to get rid of them.’
‘Shoot the iguanas?’ She looked at her reflection in the gold-framed mirror above my dressing table and straightened her tiara. ‘I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean. I only mean to frighten them into going to someone else’s garden . . . Bianca Ferrari’s, perhaps. If there’s anyone who deserves iguanas in her pool, it’s her.’
‘Grandmère, don’t. And why can’t I walk to school? The RGA is right around the corner from the palace.’
‘A princess, walk to school?’ Grandmère sniffed. ‘Certainly not. You’ll ride in the bulletproof Mercedes with your bodyguard, Serena.’
‘Why?’ I asked curiously.
‘Once you become a well-known public figure, there’ll always be someone out there looking to kidnap you. It’s wiser not to make it easier for them by giving them the opportunity.’
My sister (who happened to be walking down the hall at that very moment) gasped and said, ‘Grandmère, really? You’re going to frighten her.’
‘I’m not frightened,’ I said. ‘Serena has been giving me self-defense lessons.’
‘Nevertheless.’ Mia looked stern. ‘This is an unsuitable topic of discussion for bedtime.’
‘Pfuit,’ Grandmère said. ‘No one has been kidnapped in Genovia in years – which is unfortunate because I can think of quite a few people I’d like to get rid of, especially this week. Bianca Ferrari comes to mind.’
Mia frowned. ‘Say goodnight to Olivia, Grandmère.’
‘Goodnight, Olivia,’ Grandmère said, and went to her own room, probably to look up more ways to get rid of iguanas.
It’s hard to sleep when you’re starting a new school in the morning . . . especially one where everyone is royal.
But I guess I have no choice but to believe my dad that I’m going to make so many friends, we’re not even going to be able to fit them all in the palace. Why shouldn’t I? He’s never lied to me before . . .
Well, except for neglecting to tell me for my whole life up until recently that he’s the prince of a foreign country.
But that wasn’t a lie, exactly, because my mom asked him not to tell me, for my own safety. And that turned out OK in the end.
So far, anyway.
Monday 15 June 11.25 a.m.
Royal Genovian Academy
OK, I’m having a hard time projecting a positive attitude. Things are not going well at the new school.
And I’ve only been here for three hours!
But I’m not going to text my bodyguard, Serena, to come and get me (she’s playing cards outside in the courtyard with all the rest of the drivers and bodyguards), because then the paparazzi will only make fun of me for being a quitter.
I could tell things at this school were going to go badly right away when Mia and I walked in and there was Madame Alain – the head of the school – standing in front of her office waiting for us . . .
. . . with my cousin Lady Luisa!
Of course Lady Luisa looked amazing in her school uniform – which is at least better than the uniform I used to have to wear at my old school, because it’s blue and white, not plaid and white, and the girls have the option to wear shorts if they want (which I do, because who wouldn’t want to, in a school that’s across the street from a beach?).
But it’s still a uniform, and so not exactly stylish.
But who looks stylish in it, anyway?
My cousin Lady Luisa, that’s who!
Although of course she’d chosen to wear the skirt instead of shorts. But she’d had the skirt hemmed as short as it could possibly be and still meet the minimum dress-code requirement.
‘Welcome, Princess Olivia,’ Madame Alain said, after the band got done playing the Genovian national anthem.
That’s right. The entire school band was there to greet me! It burst into the Genovian national anthem the minute we walked in.
This was totally embarrassing, even though it happens pretty much everywhere I go now.
But I didn’t expect it at my new school.
‘We’re so delighted to have you here at last.’
Somehow Madame Alain said the words at last like I’d just been lounging around the palace pool for the past few weeks, doing nothing, which isn’t at all true!
I was lounging around there reading books from the palace library with my sister.
And when I wasn’t doing that, I was doing work of national importance, such as visiting sick children in the Genovian hospital and helping to pick out floral arrangements for the tables at the prenuptial and reception banquets. It’s very hard to find purple flowers that won’t look too small on a table for fifty (of which there are going to be at least ten, so far).
But I said thanks, because that’s what princesses are supposed to do.
Madame Alain curtsied and said, ‘The Royal Genovian Academy is so honoured to receive you. As you can see, here we train young royals from all over the world.’ She raised a hand to show me all the portraits on the wall of the royals who’d graduated from the RGA, each wearing a crown and a smile on their face. ‘All of them can represent their sovereign nation with pride because of the excellent education they received here. Some of our students come from nations so far away that they must board with us, while others, like yourself, Princess, have family nearby, and so are day students.’
‘Oh,’ I said, staring at all the portraits. Some were so faded by all the bright Genovian sunlight pouring in through the windows that you could barely make out if they were men or women. That’s how old they were. ‘Neat.’
‘Madame Alain,’ Mia said, in a kind-of-fake voice. She looked about as thrilled to be there as I was. I think she knew Madame Alain from somewhere, but I don’t know where. ‘Thank you so much for accepting Olivia so late into the term. I’m sure she’ll make you very proud, as she has all of us.’
Oh no! This was way too much pressure. I could see Luisa staring down at me from under her eyelids with a tiny superior smile on her face. I couldn’t believe that if I had to have a relative my own age in this school, it had to be her, with her long legs and long nails and long, silky blond hair.
‘I’m sure Princess Olivia will do marvellously here at the RGA,’ Madame Alain went on with a wide smile. ‘And to make sure, we’ve selected one of our best and most popular day students, Lady Luisa Ferrari, to be her royal guide for the next few days. Luisa’s been attending the RGA since kindergarten, so she knows everything there is to know about our training academy for modern royals.’
‘I really do,’ Luisa said with a curtsy to my sister.
‘Oh,’ Mia said. ‘That’s so sweet of you, Luisa.’
Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh.
‘Wonderful,’ Madame Alain said, beaming. ‘I can see that these girls are going to be best friends already.’
I know this isn’t a very princess-y thing to write or even think, but Madame Alain must be blind. ‘Uh,’ Mia said, looking around, because even though the walls of the school are pretty thick – almost every building in Genovia is made of three-foot-wide stone, since the village was built in medieval times with the goal of keeping out marauding invaders – you could hear someone screaming from somewhere in the lower-form building. I couldn’t believe it. Rocky. ‘I think I’ll just leave Olivia in your very competent hands, then, Madame, and go and . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
‘Er,’ Madame Alain said. The screaming was getting louder.
‘Yes. Perhaps I’d better go with you . . .’
Perhaps? With that kind of noise, perhaps they’d better call the fire department, the police department, and the entire Genovian army.
Rocky had already had one major meltdown at breakfast – insisting he wouldn’t wear the school uniform, because ‘future paleontologist-astronauts’ like him shouldn’t have to dress like everyone else (which makes no sense, because astronauts wear uniforms. They’re called space suits).
He’d even t
hrown his shoes at Michael (who made me laugh when he expertly caught them and threw them back, even though Mia said he shouldn’t have done this, because future princes aren’t supposed to throw shoes at their brothers-in-law at breakfast).
But I think Rocky deserved it. I feel like nine-year-olds (even ones who are trying to adjust to living in a palace in a new country) should know better than to throw their shoes at people. Even worse, Rocky’s poor mom, Helen, and my dad had to drag him screaming and kicking (with his shoes off) to school in one car while Mia took me to school in the bulletproof one that Grandmère was so anxious to have back so she could go shopping later.
Although this ended up being fine with me because even though I’ve never had a parent take me to school before, I definitely didn’t want my dad, the retired prince of the country, taking me to school on my first day. Talk about embarrassing!
And even though I’d never say this in front of Dad – because I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings – everyone likes Princess Mia better than him anyway. I think it’s because Mia wears better clothes. Dad wears boring old suits and ties. Mia always wears pretty dresses with high heels and hats, and of course her big engagement ring that Michael gave her, which is a genuine ENGINEERED diamond, so it’s conflict-free and environmentally friendly.
But Rocky having a meltdown that you could hear all the way from a different building at school wasn’t even the worst thing that’s happened yet.
As soon as Mia and Madame Alain hurried away to go and see if they could help Dad and Helen with Rocky, Luisa turned to me and went, ‘Kee-yow, Olivia.’
Kee-yow! Kee-yow instead of ciao!
This made me so mad – even though she had one of her tiny Luisa Ferrari smiles on her face to show she was only kidding or whatever – I thought I was going to burst.
‘Look, Luisa,’ I said. ‘I told you before, I made a mistake mispronouncing that word. Everyone makes mistakes. The polite thing to do is forget it and move on. So can we please just do that?’