Princess Diaries Series: Third Time Lucky Part 29

That is because - aside from my many other problems -I think I know who my Secret Snowflake is.

Really, there is no other explanation. Why else would Justin Baxendale a" who, even though he's so new is still totally popular, not to mention way good-looking - be hanging around my locker so much? I mean, seriously. This is the third time I've spotted him lurking around there this week. Why would he do that except to leave those roses?

Unless he's planning on blackmailing me about the whole fire alarm thing.

But Justin Baxendale doesn't exactly strike me as the blackmailer type. I mean, he looks to me like somebody who'd have something better to do than blackmail a princess.

Which leaves only one other explanation: he is my Secret Snowflake.

And how totally embarra.s.sing is it going to be if I go out there when the bell rings, and Justin comes up to me to confess - because that's the rule, it turns out: you have to reveal your ident.i.ty to your Secret Snowflake today - and I have to look up into his smoky eyes with those long lashes and give a big fake smile and go, 'Oh, gee, thanks, Justin. I had no idea it was you!'

Whatever. But actually, this is the least of my problems, right? I mean, considering that I am the only girl in this entire school who does not have a date to the dance tonight. And that tomorrow I have to leave for a country I am princess of, with my lunatic grandmother who isn't speaking to my father, and who, I know from past experience, is not above smoking in the airplane lavatory, if the urge to do so strikes her.

Really. Grandmere is a flight attendant's worst nightmare.

But that's not even half of it. I mean, what about my mom and Mr. Gianini? Sure, they are acting like they don't mind that I am going to be spending the holidays in another country.-And, yes, we are going to have our own private little Christmas amongst ourselves before I leave. But really, I bet they mind. I bet they mind a lot.

And what about my grade in Algebra? Oh, Mr. Gianini says it's fine, but what is fine, exactly? A D? A D is not fine. Not considering the number of hours I've put into raising my grade from an F, it isn't. A D is not acceptable.

And what - oh, G.o.d, what - am I going to do about Kenny?

At least I got Tina's present out of the way. I went on-line last night and signed her up for a teen romance book-of-the-month club. I printed out the certificate, saying she is an official member, and will give it to her when the bell rings.

Which is also when I have to go out there and face Justin Baxendale.

It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for those eyes of his. Why does he have to be so good-looking? And why did someone like him have to pick me as his Secret Snowflake? Beautiful people, like Lana and Justin, can't help but be repulsed by ordinary-looking people like me.

He probably didn't even pull my name from that jar at all. Probably, he picked Lana's name and has been putting those roses

in my locker, thinking it is Lana's, seeing as how G.o.d knows she never hangs out in front of her own locker.

What's even worse is that Tina told me yellow roses mean love everlasting.

Which of course was why I figured maybe Kenny was the one doing it after all.

Oh, great. They are pa.s.sing around the printouts with our grades on them. I am not looking. I don't even care. I DO NOT CARE ABOUT MY GRADES.

Thank G.o.d for the bell. I'm just going to slip out of here a" totally not looking at my grades - and go about my business like nothing out of the ordinary is going on.

Except, of course, when I get to my locker, Justin is there, looking for someone. Lana is there too, waiting for Josh.

You know, I really don't need this. Justin revealing that he is my Secret Snowflake right in front of Lana, I mean. G.o.d only knows what she's going to say - the girl who has been suggesting I wear Band Aids instead of a bra every day since the two

of us. .h.i.t p.u.b.erty. Plus it isn't like she's been super-happy with me since the whole mobile phone thing. I'll bet she'll have something extra-mean all prepared for the occasion . . .

'Dude,' Justin says.

Dude? I am not a dude. Who is Justin talking to?

I turn around. Josh is standing there, behind Lana.

'Dude, I've been looking for you all week,' Justin says, to Josh. 'Do you have those Trig notes for me or not? I've got to make-up the Final in one hour.'

Josh says something, but I do not hear him. I do not hear him because there is a roaring sound in my ears. Because standing behind Justin is Michael.

Michael Moscovitz,.

And in his hand is a yellow rose.

Friday, December 18, Winter Carnival Oh, G.o.d.

I am in so much trouble.

Again.

And it isn't even my fault this time. I mean, I couldn't help myself. It just happened. And it doesn't mean anything. It was just, you know, one of those things.

Besides, it's not what Kenny thinks. Really. I mean, if you think about it, it is a complete and total letdown. For me, anyway.

Because, of course, the first thing Michael says when he sees me standing there gaping at him while he is holding that flower,

is, 'Here. This just fell out of your locker.'

I took it from him in a complete daze. I swear to G.o.d my heart was beating so hard, I thought I was going to pa.s.s out.

Because I thought they'd been from him. The roses, I mean. For a minute there, I really did think Michael Moscovitz had

been leaving me roses.

But of course this time, there's a note attached to the rose. It says: Good luck with your trip to Genovia! See you when you get back!

Your Secret Snowflake,

Boris Pelkowski

Boris Pelkowski. Boris is the one who has been leaving those roses. Boris is my Secret Snowflake.

Of course, Boris wouldn't know that a yellow rose represents love everlasting. Boris doesn't even know not to tuck his

sweater into his trousers. How would he know the secret language of flowers?

I don't know which was actually stronger, my feeling of relief that it wasn't Justin Baxendale leaving those roses after all ...

... or my feeling of disappointment that it wasn't Michael.

Then Michael went, 'Well? What's the verdict?'

To which I responded by staring at him blankly. I still hadn't quite gotten over it. You know, those brief few seconds when

I'd thought - I'd actually thought, fool that I am - that he loved me.

'What did you get in Algebra?' he asked slowly, as if I were dense.

Which, of course, I am. So dense that I never realized how much in love with Michael Moscovitz I was until Judith Gershner came along and swept him right out from under my nose.

Anyway, I opened the computer printout containing my grades, and would you believe that I had raised my F in Algebra all

the way up to a B minus?

Which just goes to show that if you spend nearly every waking moment in your life studying something, the likelihood is that

you are going to retain at least a little of it.

Enough to get a B minus on the Final, anyway.

I'm trying really hard not to gloat, but it's difficult. I mean, I'm so happy.

Well, except for the whole not-having-a-date-to-the-dance thing.