while gazing upon the Tatooine sands

And knowing that our love by far

has more fire power than the Death Star

And though they may blow up our planet

and kill every creature living on it

Like Leia and Han, in the stars above,

they can never destroy our love—

Like the Millennium Falcon in hyperdrive

our love will continue to thrive and thrive.

Homework:

Algebra: probs at end of Chapt. 11

English: in journal, describe feelings pertaining to reading John Donne's The Bait

Biology: Don't know, Shameeka is doing it for me

Health and Safety: Chapter 2: Environmental Hazards and You

G & T: figure out secret talent

French: Chapitre Onze, ecrivez une narratif, 300 words, double space, plus 500 wds on snails

World Civ.: 500 wds, describe origins of Armenian conflict







Thursday, January 21,

Limo on Way Home from Grandmere's




It takes a big person to admit she's wrong - Grandmere is the one who taught me that.

And if it's true, then I must be even bigger than my five feet nine inches. Because I've been wrong. I've been wrong about Grandmere. All this time, when I thought she was inhuman and perhaps even sent down from an alien moth-ership to

observe life on this planet and then report back to her superiors. Yeah, it turns out Grandmere really is human, just like me.

How did I find this out? How did I discover that the Dowager Princess of Genovia did not, after all, sell her soul to the

Prince of Darkness as I have often surmised?

I learned it today when I walked into Grandmere 's suite at the Plaza, fully prepared to do battle with her over the whole Contessa Trevanni thing. I was going to be all, 'Grandmere, Dad says I don't have to go, and guess what, I'm not going to.'

That's what I was going to say, anyway.

Except that when I walked in and saw her, the words practically died on my lips. Because Grandmere looked as if someone had run over her with a truck! Seriously. She was sitting there in the dark - she had had these purple scarves thrown over the lampshades because she said the light was hurting her eyes - and she wasn't even dressed properly. She had on a velvet lounging robe, a cashmere throw over her knees and some slippers and that was it, and her hair was all in curlers and if her eyeliner hadn't been tattooed on, I swear it would have been all smeared. She wasn't even enjoying a Sidecar, her favourite refreshment, or anything.

She was just sitting there, with Rommel trembling on her lap, looking like death warmed over.

'Grandmere,' I couldn't help crying out, when I saw her. 'Are you all right? Are you sick or something? Do you want me

to get your maid?'

But all Grandmere said was, in a voice so unlike her own normally quite strident one that I could barely believe it belonged

to the same woman, 'No, I'm fine. At least I will be. Once I get over the humiliation.'

'Humiliation? What humiliation?' I went over to kneel by her chair. 'Grandmere, are you sure you aren't sick? You aren't even smoking!'

'I'll be all right,' she said, weakly. 'It will be weeks before I'll be able to show my face in public. But I'm a Renaldo. I'm strong.

I will recover.'

Actually, Grandmere is technically only a Renaldo by marriage, but at that point I wasn't going to argue with her, because I thought there was something genuinely wrong, like her uterus had fallen out in the shower or something (this happened to one

of the women in the condo community down in Boca where Lilly and Michael's grandmother lives).

'Grandmere,' I said, kind of looking around, in case her uterus was lying on the floor somewhere or whatever. 'Do you want

me to call a doctor?'

'No doctor can cure what is wrong with me,' Grandmere assured me. 'I am only suffering from the mortification of having a granddaughter who doesn't love me.'

I had no idea what she was talking about. Sure, I don't like Grandmere so much sometimes. Sometimes I even think I hate

her. But I don't not love her. I guess. At least I've never said so, to her face.

'Grandmere, what are you talking about? Of course I love you . . .'

'Then why won't you come with me to the Contessa Trevanni's black-and-white ball?' Grandmere wailed.

Blinking rapidly, I could only stammer, 'Wh-what?'

'Your father says you will not go to the ball,' Grandmere said. 'He says you have no wish to go!'

'Grandmere,' I said. 'You know I don't want to go. You know that Michael and—'

'That boy!' Grandmere cried. 'That boy again!'

'Grandmere, stop calling him that,' I said. 'You know his name perfectly well. It's Michael.'

'And I suppose this Michael,' Grandmere said, 'is more important to you than I am. I suppose you consider his feelings

over mine in this case.'

The answer to that, of course, was a resounding yes. But I didn't want to be rude. I said, 'Grandmere, tomorrow night

is our first date. Mine and Michael's, I mean. It's really important to me.'

And I suppose the fact that it was really important to me that you attend this ball - that is of no consequence?' Grandmere actually looked, for a moment, as she sat gazing down at me so miserably, as if she had tears in her eyes. But maybe it was

only a trick of the not very clear light. 'The fact that Elena Trevanni has, ever since I was a little girl, always lorded it over me, because she was born into a more respected and aristocratic family than I was? That until I married your grandfather, she always had nicer clothes and shoes and handbags than my parents could afford for me? That she still thinks she is so much better than me, because she married a comte who had no responsibilities or property, just unlimited wealth, whereas I have been forced to work my fingers to the bone in order to make Genovia the vacation paradise it is today? And that I was

hoping that just this once, by revealing what a lovely and accomplished granddaughter I have, I could show her up?'

I was stunned. I'd had no idea why this stupid ball was so important to her. I thought it had just been because she'd wanted

to try to split Michael and me up, or get me to start liking Prince Rene instead, so that the two of us could unite our families in holy matrimony someday and create a race of super-royals. It had never occurred to me that there might be some underlying, mitigating circumstance . . .

. . . such as that the Contessa Trevanni was, in essence, Grandmere's Lana Weinberger.

Because that's what it sounded like. Like Elena Trevanni had tortured and teased Grandmere as mercilessly as I had been tortured and teased by Lana through the years.

I wondered if Elena, like Lana, had ever suggested to Grandmere that she wear Band-Aids on her boobs instead of a bra.

If she had, she was a far, far braver soul than I.

And now,' Grandmere said, very sadly, 'I have to tell her that my granddaughter doesn't love me enough to put aside her

new boyfriend for one single night.'

I realized, with a sinking heart, what I had to do. I mean, I knew how Grandmere felt. If there had been some way, any way

at all, that I could have shown up Lana - you know, besides going out with her boyfriend, which I had already done, but that had ended up humiliating me way more than it had Lana — I'd have done it. Anything.

Because when someone is as mean and cruel and just downright nasty as Lana is - not just to me, either, but to all the girls at Albert Einstein High who aren't blessed with good looks and school spirit - she fully deserves to have her nose rubbed in it.

It was so weird to think about someone like Grandmere, who seemed so incredibly sure of herself, having a Lana

Weinberger in her life. I mean, I had always pictured Grandmere being the type of person who, if Lana flipped her long

blonde on to her desk, would go all Crouching Tiger on her and deliver a kick to the face.

But maybe there was someone even Grandmere was a little bit afraid of. And maybe that person was Contessa Trevanni.

And while it is not true that I love Grandmere more than I love Michael - I do not love anyone more than I love Michael, except of course for Fat Louie — I did feel sorrier for Grandmere at that moment than I did for myself. You know, if

Michael ended up dumping me because I cancelled our date. It sounds incredible, but it's true.

So I went, even as I said them, not quite believing the words were coming out of my mouth, 'All right, Grandmere,

I'll put in an appearance at your ball.'

A miraculous change overcame Grandmere. She seemed to brighten right up.

'Really, Amelia?' she asked, reaching out to grasp one of my hands. 'Will you really do this for me?'

I was, I knew, going to lose Michael forever. But like my mother had said, if he didn't understand then he probably

hadn't been right for me in the first place.

Yeah, right!!! Michael is the most perfect guy in the universe!! Our astrological charts even prove it!!! And I was throwing

it all away for Grandmere, whom I am pretty sure I don't even like!!!

God, I am such a pushover. But she just looked so happy. She flung off the cashmere throw, and Rommel, and rang for her maid to bring her a Sidecar and her cigarettes, and then we moved on to the day's lesson - how to cheat at canasta without being found out, a necessity during games with the highly volatile Bengazi royal family, who, if they aren't allowed to win,

tend to go out the next day and raze entire villages.