Princess Diaries Series: Third Time Lucky Part 15

FtLouie: It's different for you. You're her brother. She has to remain on speaking terms

with you. You live together.

CracKing: Not for much longer. Thank G.o.d.

Oh, right. He's going away to college soon. Well, not too far away. About a hundred blocks or so.

FtLouie: That's right. You got accepted to Columbia. Early decision too. I never did congratulate you. So, congratulations.

CracKing: Thanks.

FtLouie: You must be happy that you'll know at least one other person there. Judith Gershner,

I mean.

CracKing: Yeah, I guess so. Listen, you're still going to be in town for the Winter Carnival, right? I mean, you're not leaving for Genovia before the 18th, are you?

All I could think was, Why is he asking me this? I mean, he can't be going to ask me to the dance. He must know I'm going with Kenny. I mean, if Kenny ever gets around to asking me, that is. Besides, it isn't as if Michael is available. Isn't he going with Judith? Well? ISN'T HE?

FtLouie: I'm leaving for Genovia on the 19th.

CracKing: Oh, good. Because you should really stop by the Computer Club's booth at the Carnival and check out this program I've been working on. I think you'll like it.

I should have known. Michael isn't going to ask me to any dance. Not in this lifetime, anyway. I should have known it was just his stupid computer program he wanted me to see. Who even cares? I suppose dumb Army guys will pop out at me, and I'll have to shoot them or whatever. Judith's idea.

I'm sure.

I wanted to write to him, Don't you have the slightest idea what I'm going through? That the only person whom

I can see myself committing to for all eternity is YOU? Don't you KNOW that by now????

But instead I wrote: FtLouie: Can't wait. Well, I have to go. Bye.

Sometimes I completely hate myself.

Wednesday; December 9, 3 a.m.

You're never going to believe this. Something Grandmere said is keeping me awake.

Seriously. I was dead asleep - well, as asleep as you can be with a twenty-five-pound cat purring on your abdomen a" when all of a sudden I woke up with this totally random phrase going around in my head: 'Well, you're his girlfriend now, aren't you?'

That's what Grandmere said when I asked her what was so ingenious about Kenny having sent me those anonymous love letters.

And do you know what?

SHE'S RIGHT.

It seems totally bizarre to admit that Grandmere might be right about something, but I think it's true. Kenny's anonymous love letters DID work. I mean, I AM his girlfriend now.

So what's to keep me from writing some anonymous love letters to the boy / like? I mean, really? Besides the fact that I

already have a boyfriend, and the guy I like already has a girlfriend?

I think this is a plan that might have some merit. It needs further work, of course, but hey, desperate measures call for desperate times. Or something like that. Too sleepy to figure it out.

Wednesday, December 9, Homeroom OK, I was up all night thinking about it, and I'm pretty sure I've got it figured out. Even as I sit here, my plan is being put into action, thanks to Tina Hakim Baba and a stop at Ho's Deli before school started.

Actually, Ho's didn't really have what I wanted. I wanted a card that was blank inside, with a picture on the front that was sophisticated but not too s.e.xy. But the only blank cards they had at Ho's (that weren't plastered with drawings of kittens on them) were ones with photos of fruit being dipped into chocolate sauce.

I tried to choose a non-phallic fruit, but even the strawberry I got is kind of s.e.xier than I would have liked. I don't know

what's s.e.xy about fruit with chocolate sauce dripping off it, but Tina was like, Whoa, when she saw it.

Still, she gamely agreed to print my poem on the inside of the card, so Michael won't recognize my handwriting. She even

liked my poem, which I came up with at five this morning:

Roses are red Violets are blue You may not know it But someone loves you.

Not my best work, I will admit, but it was really hard to come up with something better after only three hours of sleep last night.

I hesitated somewhat over the use of the L word. I thought maybe I should subst.i.tute Like for Love. I don't want him to think there's a creepy stalker after him, and all.

But Tina said Love was absolutely right. Because, as she put it, 'It's the truth, isn't it?'

And since it's anonymous, I guess it doesn't matter that I am laying open my soul.

Anyway, Tina goes by Michael's locker right before we have PE, so she's going to slip it to him then.

I can't believe that this is the low I have stooped to. But like Dad said, faint heart never won fair lady.

Wednesday; December 9, Later in Homeroom Lars just pointed out that I'm not exactly risking anything, seeing as how I didn't sign the card and even went to the extreme

of having someone else write out the poem for me (Lars knows all about this, on account of the fact I had to explain to him

why we had to go into Ho's at eight-fifteen in the morning). He helped pick the card, but I would be happy if that was the extent of his contribution to this particular project. As a man, I cannot imagine his input is at all valuable.

Besides, he's been married like four times, so I highly doubt he knows anything about romance.

Also, he should know by now we're not allowed to talk during homeroom.

Wednesday, December 9, Algebra, 9:30 a.m.

I just saw Lilly in the hallway. She whispered, 'DON'T FORGET! TEN O'CLOCK! DON'T LET ME DOWN!'

Well, the truth is, I did forget. The walkout! The stupid walkout!

And poor Mr Gianini, standing up there going over Chapter Five, not suspecting a thing. It's not his fault Mrs Spears didn't like Lilly's term paper topic. Lilly can't just arbitrarily punish all the teachers in school for something one teacher did.

It's already nine thirty-five. What am I going to do?

Wednesday, December 9, Algebra, 9:45 a.m.

Lana just leaned back and hissed, 'You gonna walk out with your fat friend?'

I take real objection to this. Only in a culture as screwed up as ours, where girls like Christina Aguilera are held up as models of beauty, when clearly they are in fact suffering from some sort of malnutrition (scurvy?), would Lilly ever be considered fat. Because Lilly isn't fat. She is just round, like a puppy.

Wednesday, December 9, Algebra, 9:50 a.m.

Ten minutes until the walkout. I can't take this. I'm getting out.

I hate it here.

Wednesday, December 9, 9:55 a,m.

OK. I'm standing in the hallway next to the fire alarm by the second-floor drinking fountain. I got a hall pa.s.s from Mr.G.

I told him I had to go to the bathroom.

Lars is with me, of course. I wish he'd stop laughing. He does not seem to realize the seriousness of the situation. Plus Justin Baxendale just walked by with a hall pa.s.s of his own, and he gave us this really weird look.

Yeah, I probably do look a little strange, hanging out in the hallway with my bodyguard, who is currently experiencing a fit of the giggles, but still. I do not need to be looked at weirdly by Justin Baxendale.

His eyelashes are really long and dark and they make his eyes look sort of smoky . . .

OH MY G.o.d! I CAN'T BELIEVE I AM WRITING ABOUT JUSTIN BAXENDALE'S EYELASHES AT A TIME.