him feel welcome and wanted . . .'

I narrowed my eyes at her. 'What is going on here?' I demanded. 'Grandmere, are you trying to fix up Prince Rene and me?'

'Certainly not,' Grandmere said, looking genuinely appalled by the suggestion. But then, I'd been fooled by Grandmere's expressions before. Especially the one she puts on when she wants you to think that she is just a helpless old lady. 'Your imagination most definitely conies from your mother's side of the family. Your father was never as fanciful as you are, Amelia, for which I can only thank God. He'd have driven me to an early grave, I'm convinced of it, if he'd been half as capricious as you tend to be, young lady.'

'Well, what else am I supposed to think?' I asked, feeling a little sheepish over my outburst. After all, the idea that Grandmere might, even though I am only fourteen, be trying to fix me up with some prince that she wants me to marry is a little outlandish.

I mean, even for Grandmere. Still, if it walks like a duck, and talks like a duck ... 'I mean, first that thing with making us dance together

'For a magazine pictorial,' Grandmere sniffed.

'. . . and then your not liking Michael. . .'

'I never said I didn't like him. I think he is a perfectly charming boy. I just want you to be realistic about the fact that you, Amelia, are not like other girls. You are a princess, and have the good of your country to think of.'

'... and then Rene showing up like this, and your announcing that he's taking me to the black-and-white ball...'

'Is it wrong of me to want to see the poor boy have a nice time while he is here? He has suffered so many hardships, losing

his ancestral home, not to mention his own principality.'

'Grandmere,' I said. 'Rene's principality got absorbed into Italy, like, three hundred years ago. He wasn't even alive when it happened.'

'A man without a country,' Grandmere said, 'is like a man without a soul.'

Great. And this is my date for the Contessa Trevanni's black-and-white ball. A man without a soul. What next, I ask you? Brunch with Count Dracula?

And what am I supposed to do now? About Michael, I mean? I can't bring both him and Prince Rene to the ball. I mean,

I look weird enough, with my half-grown-out hair and my androgyny (although judging by Grandmere's description of her,

the contessa might look even weirder than I do) without hauling two dates and a bodyguard around with me.

This new year is not turning out to be very propitious for any of us. I mean, first Tina sprains her ankle, then loses her one

true love; then I get saddled with Prince Rene, a black-and-white ball, and the realization that I am one hundred percent not talented at anything . . . well, except for maybe one thing, only I don't know what it is, and the person who does know won't tell me because I am supposed to figure it out on my own.

But I can't even figure out how to explain to my boyfriend that I can't make our very first date with one another. How am I supposed to figure out what my secret talent is?????








Wednesday, January 20,

The Loft




Well, my mom getting hold of my dad was a washout. Apparently the whole parking fees debate has gotten way out of

control. The Minister of Tourism is conducting a filibuster, and there can't be a vote until he stops talking and sits down. So

far he's been talking for twelve hours, forty-eight minutes. I don't know why my dad doesn't just have him arrested and put

in the dungeon. According to my mom, that would be a violation of the minister's right to free speech. But what about my

dad's right to take phone calls from the mother of his only child? Who is safeguarding that right, I would like to know?

I am really starting to be afraid that I am not going to be able to get out of this ball thingy.

'You better let Michael know,' my mom just poked her head in to say, helpfully, 'that you won't be able to make it Friday.

Hey, are you writing in your journal again? Aren't you supposed to be doing your homework?'

Trying to change the subject from my homework (hello, I am totally doing it, I am just taking a break right now), I went,

'Mom, I am not saying anything to Michael until we've heard from Dad. Because there's no point in my running the risk of Michael breaking up with me if Dad's just going to turn around and say I don't have to go to the stupid ball.'

'Mia,' my mom said, 'Michael is not going to break up with you just because you have a familial commitment you cannot

get out of.'

'I wouldn't be so sure,' I said, darkly. 'Dave Farouq El-Abar broke up with Tina today because she didn't return his call.'

'That's different,' my mom said. 'It's just plain rude not to return someone's calls.'

'But Mom,' I said. I was getting tired of having to explain this stuff to my mom all the time. It is a wonder to me she ever got

a single guy in the first place, let alone two of them, when she clearly knows so little about the art of dating. 'If you are too available, the guy might think all the thrill has gone out of the chase.'

My mother looked suspicious. 'Don't tell me. Let me guess. Your grandmother told you that?'

'Urn,' I said. 'Yes.'

'Well, let me give you a little tip my mother once gave me,' my mom said. I was surprised. My mom doesn't get along so well with her parents, Mamaw and Papaw, who run the Handy Dandy Hardware Store of Versailles, Indiana. It is rare that she mentions either of them ever giving her a piece of advice worthy of passing down to her own daughter, as my mom ran away from home as soon as she was financially able to, and has only been back there, like, twice.

'If you think there's a chance you might have to cancel on Michael for Friday night,' she said, 'you'd better cat-on-the-roof

him now.'

I was understandably perplexed by this. 'Cat on the whatta?'

'Cat on the roof,' my mother said. 'You need to begin mentally preparing him for the disappointment. For instance, if

something had happened to Fat Louie while you were in Genovia—' My mouth must have fallen open, since my mom went, 'Don't worry, nothing did. But I'm just saying, if something had, I would not have blurted it right out to you, over the phone.

I'd have prepared you gently for the eventual letdown. Like I might have said, "Mia, Fat Louie escaped through your window and now he's up on the roof, and we can't get him down".'

'Of course you could get him down,' I protested. 'You could go up by the fire escape and take a pillowcase and when you

get near him, you could throw the pillowcase over him and scoop him up and carry him back down again.'

'Yes,' my mom said. 'But supposing I told you I'd try that. And the next day I called you and said it hadn't worked, Fat Louie had escaped to the neighbour's roof—'

Td tell you to go to the building next door and make someone let you in, then go up to their roof.' I really did not see where

this was going. 'Mom, how could you be so irresponsible as to let Fat Louie out in the first place? I've told you again and

again — you've got to keep my bedroom window closed, you know how he likes to watch the pigeons. Louie doesn't have

any outdoor survival skills . . .'

'So naturally,' my mom said, 'you wouldn't expect him to survive two nights out of doors.'

'No,' I practically wailed. 'I wouldn't.'

'Right. See. So you'd be mentally prepared when I called you on the third day to say despite everything we'd done, Louie

was dead.'

'OH, MY GOD!' I snatched up Fat Louie from where he was lying beside me on the bed. 'And you think I should do that

to poor Michael? He has a dog, not a cat! Pavlov's never going to get up on the roof!'

'No,' my mother said, looking tired. Well, and why not? She was hauling around a dozen or so extra pounds all of a sudden. 'I'm saying you should begin mentally preparing Michael for the disappointment he is going to feel if, indeed, you need to

cancel him on Friday night. Call him and tell him you might not be able to make it. That's all. Cat-on-the-roof him.'

I let Fat Louie go. Not just because I finally realized what my mom was getting at, but because he was trying to bite me in

order to get me to loosen the stranglehold I had on him.

'Oh,' I said. 'You think if I do that - start mentally preparing him for my not being able to go out with him on Friday - he

won't dump me when I get around to breaking the actual news?'

'Mia,' my mom said. 'No boy is going to dump you because you have to cancel a date. If any boy does, then he wasn't

worth going out with anyway. Much like Tina's Dave, I'd venture to say. She's probably better off without him. Now.

Do your homework.'

Only how could anyone expect me to do my homework after imparting a piece of information like that?

Instead I went online. I meant to instant message Michael, but I found that Tina was instant messaging me.

Iluvromance: Hi, Mia. What R U doing?

She sounded so sad! She was even using a blue font!

FtLouie: I'm just doing my Bio. How are you?

Iluvromance: OK, I guess. I just miss him so imichimmmilimiim I wish I had never even

             heard of stupid Jane Eyre.

Remembering what my mom had said, I wrote:

FtLouie: Tina, if Dave was willing to break up with you just because you didn't return

         his calls, then he was not worthy of you. You will find a new boy, one who

         appreciates you.

Iluvromance: Do U really think so?

FtLouie: Absolutely.