Or that anyone noticed my huge bodyguard, who discreetly chose to wear a pair of wraparound shades with his black suit jacket and matching black shirt, tie, and pants.

And Mamaw didn’t stand out too much in her hot pink size-extra-large Juicy Couture knock-off sweat suit (instead of Juicy, it says Spicy on the butt. Spicy is one word you definitely don’t want to associate with your grandma’s butt. Juicy is another).

Good thing Papaw refused to conform to New York City fashion dictates, and kept on his good old green and yellow John Deere tractor baseball cap—though he did let Mamaw buy him a new one that saidLegally Blonde: The Musical . Which I will pay hard cash to see him wear.

Much was made over showing Rocky the polar bears and monkeys, his two favorite animals. And I will admit, my kid brother is cute, especially when it comes to doing a monkey imitation, with the underarm scratching and whatnot (an ability he clearly inherited from his father. No offense, Mr. G).

Mamaw was pretty excited to be spending time with me, not just her grandson. The good thing is, after this, we get to spend even more time together…we’re spending quality time over dinner at a restaurant of Mamaw and Papaw’s choice. And the restaurant they chose was…Applebee’s.

Yes! It turns out there is an Applebee’s in Times Square, and that is where my grandparents want to go. I turned to Lars when I heard this and said, “Please put a bullet in my brain now,” but he wouldn’t do it.

And Mom told me to shut my piehole or she’d shut it for me.

Seriously, though. Applebee’s? Out of all the restaurants in Manhattan? Why a chain restaurant that can be found in nearly every city in America?

I told Mamaw that I have a black American Express card and could afford to take them to any restaurant they wanted if price was a problem. Mamaw said it wasn’t the price. It was Papaw. He didn’t like eating strange food. He liked always going to the same place, so he’d know exactly what he was getting.

The whole fun of eating out is getting to try new things!

But Papaw said trying new things isn’t fun at all.

I just pray to every single god that exists in the heavens—Yahweh, Allah, Vishnu, etc.—that no paparazzi show up and snap photos of me, the princess of Genovia, coming out of an Applebee’s during this crucial time in my father’s campaign.

Anyway, Mamaw keeps wanting to talk about college. As in, where I’m going (welcome to the club, Mamaw). She’s got a lot of advice as to what I ought to be studying. In her opinion, what I ought to be studying is…nursing. She says there are always jobs for nurses, and as the American population ages, good nurses will always be in high demand.

I told Mamaw that while she’s quite right, and that nursing is a very noble profession, I didn’t think I’d be able to pursue it, what with my being a princess, and all. I mean, I have to choose a career where I’ll be able to spend at least a largish chunk of my time in Genovia, doing princess stuff like christening ships and hosting benefits and all of that.

Being a nurse wouldn’t exactly be conducive to that.

But being a writer would, because you can do that in the privacy of your own palace.

Plus with my SAT score I think the last thing anyone wants me doing is trying to measure out their medicine. I would probably kill way more people than I’d save.

Thank God we have people like Tina, who are good at math, going into the medical profession instead of me.

Speaking of Tina, I’ve snuck into the penguin enclosure to wait for her while Mom and those guys are getting Rocky a freeze pop or something he saw someone else eating and threw a very special soon-to-be-three-year-old tantrum for. They’ve fixed this place up a bit since the last time I was here. It isn’t nearly as smelly and the light’s a lot better to write by. But there are so many more people! I swear, New York City is becoming the Disneyland of the Northeast. I thought I heard someone ask where the monorail was. But maybe they were joking.

Even so, how am I supposed to leave this place to go to college? How??? I love it so much!!!!

Oh, here’s Tina now. She looks…concerned.Possibly she heard where I’m going to dinner?

I’m kidding….

 

Sunday, April 30, 6:30 p.m., the ladies’ room at the Times Square Applebee’s

Okay, I am FREAKING OUT OVER WHAT TINA TOLD ME IN THE EDGE OF THE ICEPACK PENGUIN EXHIBIT.

I’m just going to write this down the way it happened and try to ignore the squashed French fry on the floor underneath me (who eats French fries on the toilet? WHO??? Who eats ANYTHING on the toilet???? Excuse me, but gross, also, ew) and the fact that I am writing this in an Applebee’s ladies’ room, the only place I could go to get away from my grandparents:

So, Tina came up to me in the penguin house and was like, “Mia, I’m so glad I found you, we have to talk.”

And I was all, “Tina, what’s wrong? Did you hate my book, or something?”

Because, I have to admit, I mean, I know my book isn’t the greatest or anything—if it were, I’m sure someone would have wanted to publish it by now.

But I didn’t think it could be SO bad that Tina would have to meet me in the Edge of the Icepack penguin exhibit at the Central Park Zoo to tell me in person.

Plus, she looked kind of pale underneath her kohl and lipstick. But it could have been the blue glow from the penguin tank.

But then she grabbed my arm and was like, “Oh my God, Mia, no! I loved your book! It was so cute! And it had beer in it! I thought that was so funny, because of your bad experience with beer, remember, in tenth grade, when you tried to be a party princess, and you drank that beer and did the sexy dance with J.P. in front of Michael?”

I glared at her. “I thought we agreed we were never going to speak of the sexy dance again.”

She bit her lip. “Oops. Sorry,” she said. “But it’s just so cute. I mean, that you wrote about beer! I love that! No, when I said I needed to talk to you about your book, what I meant was—”

And she gave Lars this total look, like—GO AWAY!

And he got the message and went over to join Wahim, Tina’s bodyguard, looking at the cute penguins swimming around, both of them keeping an eye on the two of us, but out of earshot.

And the whole time, I was like, in my head, Okay, I wrote about beer, I mean, there’s beer in my book, does Tina think I’m an alcoholic? Is she here to perform an intervention on me? I’ve totally seen that showIntervention on TV, is that what’s happening right now?

And I was looking around for the camera crew, wondering how I was going to get out of going to rehab, because, seriously, I don’t evenlike beer—

Then Tina turned to me and asked me the question that still has me shaking to my very core. I mean, she was smiling as she asked it, and her eyes were shining, but she looked super serious, too.

And as I’m writing this, I still can’t believe it. I mean—TINA! TINA HAKIM BABA! Of all people.

I’m not judging. I just never, ever expected it.

Or suspected it.

It’s just…TINA!

Anyway, she turned to me and said, “Mia, I just had to ask—I mean, I was reading your book, and—don’t get me wrong, I like it—but…I started wondering—and I know it’s none of my business, but—have you and J.P. had sex?”

I could only stare at her. This was so far from anything I’d been expecting her to say—especially in the Edge of the Icepack penguin exhibit, with our bodyguards a few yards away, and all the little kids around, going, “Look, Mommy!Happy Feet! ”—that for a few seconds I think I was simply too shocked to speak.

“It’s just,” Tina went on quickly, seeing that I had been rendered mute, “the sex scenes in your book seem kind of realistic, and I just couldn’t help thinking that maybe you and J.P. have. Had sex, I mean. And if you have, I want you to know, I’m not judging you or anything for not waiting until prom night, like we agreed. I totally understand. In fact, Imore than understand, Mia. The truth is, I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time that Boris and I…well, we already had sex, too.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“The first time was last summer,” she went on, after I just stared at her in total silence, doing my Rob Lowe inThe Stand imitation again. “At the house my parents rented in Martha’s Vineyard? You remember, Boris came out for two weeks to visit? Well, that’s when it first happened. I tried to wait, Mia. I really did. But seeing him every day in his swimsuit—it was just too much to resist. I finally just…well, we did it. After my parents went to sleep. And we’ve been doing it pretty regularly ever since, whenever Mr. and Mrs. Pelkowski aren’t home.”

I think my eyes must have looked like they were about to roll out of my sockets because Tina reached over to shake my arm.

“Mia?” she asked, looking concerned. “Are you all right?”

“You?”I finally managed to choke out. “AndBoris ?” I wasn’t sure if I was going to throw up or pass out. Or both.

It wasn’t so much the fact that Tina—TINA!—of all people had given up on her dream of losing her virginity on prom night.

It was that she’d just said the sight of Boris in a swimsuit had been too much for her to resist. I’m sorry but…

While it’s true that Boris had undergone an incredible transformation from nottie to hottie in recent years—and actually has annoying violin groupies who worship him and follow him around begging him to sign his headshot whenever he appears in recital halls—I just couldn’t—CANNOT—see him in that way.

Maybe if I had never known him back when he’d worn a bionater and been such a scrawny sweater tucker-inner—and dated Lilly—I could see it.