Dad gave me a sour look. “Mia, you know that’s not what I mean.”

“Yes, it is! If this had been written by one of our MALE ancestors—Prince Francesco himself—you’d totally have presented it to parliament when they meet in session next month. TOTALLY. But because it was written by a teenage girl, who was only princess for twelve days before she died horribly and all alone, you plan on completely disregarding it. Does the freedom of your own people really mean so little to you?”

“Mia,” Dad said, sounding weary. “Genovia is consistently rated among the best places to live on theplanet , and the Genovian population the most content. The median temperature is seventy-two degrees, it’s sunny almost three hundred days out of the year, and no one there pays any taxes, remember? Genovians have certainly never expressed the slightest reservations about their freedom, or lack of it, since I’ve been on the throne.”

“How can they miss what they’ve never had, Dad?” I asked him. “And that’s not even the point. The point is that one of your ancestors left behind a legacy—something she intended to be used to protect the people she cared about. Her uncle threw it away, the same way he tried to throwher away. If we don’t honor her last request, we’re every bit as bad as he was.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “Mia. It’s late. I’m going back to my suite. We’ll talk about this some more tomorrow. If,” I distinctly heard him mutter, “you haven’t gotten over it by then.”

Which really gets to the heart of the matter, doesn’t it? He thinks I’m just suffering from some adolescent female histrionics…the same kind that prompted him to put me into therapy, and Princess Amelie into signing that bill in the first place.

The bill he is ignoring because—basically—a girl wrote it.

Nice. Really nice.

And Grandmère was no help whatsoever. I mean, you would think a fellow woman would have some sympathy for my—and Amelie’s—plight.

But Grandmère is just like all those other women who go around wanting the same rights as men, but don’t want to call themselves feminists. Because that isn’t “feminine.”

After Dad left, she just looked at me and was like, “Well, Amelia, I’m still not sure what all that was about, but I told you not to bother with that dusty old diary. Now, are you ready for your speech tomorrow? Your suit has been delivered here, so I suppose the best thing would be for you to come straight over after school and change here.”

“I can’t come straight over after school,” I said to her. “I have therapy tomorrow.”

She blinked at me a few times—I was never sure how much Dad had told her about Dr. Knutz. But now I know it’s nothing—and went, “Well. After that then.”

!!!!!

Seriously. My grandmother finds out I’m in therapy, and all she says is for me to come over AFTERWARD to change for the speech I am ONLY giving because SHE wants to be a Domina Rei.

I could kill both of them right now. Dad AND Grandmère.

I came home so mad, I couldn’t even speak. I just went into my room and shut the door.

Not that Mom or Mr. G even noticed. They finally got all the seasons so far ofThe Wire on Netflix and are glued to the TV.

The TV in their BEDROOM.

Because no one took THEIR TV away.

I thought about going in there and telling them—well, Mom, anyway—what was going on. Except that I knew the information would cause her head to explode. Her former boyfriend and his mother robbing a woman of her basic human rights (because that’s what Dad and Grandmère are doing to Amelie)? Mom would beso on the warpath. She would get all her Riot Grrls on the phone and be down picketing the Genovian Embassy in no time. Then if that didn’t work, she’d karate chop Dad in the neck (she’s been working off her leftover pregnancy weight and is back up to her brown belt).

Except…

Except that’s not what I want.

For one thing, domestic violence is never the answer.

And for another, I don’t want my MOM to fix this. I need advice on howI can fix this. ME.

I can’t believe any of this. Can this actually—truly—be my life?

And if so…how did thishappen ?

Friday, September 24, English

Mia! Are you all right? You look like you didn’t get much sleep last night!

Yeah. That’d be because I didn’t.

Why???? Oh my gosh, did d something happen with J.P.? Or MICHAEL???

Ha. No, Tina. Believe it or not, this has nothing to do with a boy. Well, except my dad.

Did he give you that speech again about how if you don’t study harder you won’t get into an Ivy League school and then you’ll end up married to a circus performer like your cousin Princess Stephanie? Because I’ve been meaning to say, I really think MOST people don’t end up getting into Ivy League schools, and very few of them end up married to contortionists, so I don’t think this is a very valid concern.

No. It’s worse than that.

Oh my God, did he find out about how you were going to give your Precious Gift to Michael??? Except Michael didn’t want it????

No. Something way, way more important…

More important than your Precious Gift? What is it, then???????

Well—

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

I will not pass notes in class.

Friday, September 24, Lunch period, third-floor stairwell

I don’t even know what to say. I bet the words on this page are all smeary from my tears.

Only I’m crying so hard I can’t tell, since I can barely see the page anyway.

I just—I just don’t understand how she could have SAID that.

Let alone DONE that.

I don’t even know what I was thinking.

It’s just that this is so much WORSE than the fact that my longtime boyfriend has dumped me. Worse than my best friend’s ex claiming to be in love with me. Worse than the fact that my former enemy now sits with me at lunch. Worse than the fact that I’m barely passing Precalc.

I mean, my father is trying to bilk the Genovian people out of their one shot at being a democratic society.

And there’s really only a single person I know of who can tell me what I ought to do about all of this (instead of, like, my mom taking over and doing it all herself).

And she’s not speaking to me.

But I thought we could rise above the petty stuff. I really thought we could.

Seriously. I just felt like Ineeded to talk to Lilly. Because Lilly would know what I should do.

And what, I thought, would be the worst thing that could happen if I just TOLD her? What if I just walked up andtold her what was going on? She’d HAVE to respond, right? Because it’s such an injustice, she wouldn’t be able to help it. She’s LILLY. Lilly can’t stand idly by while an injustice is being perpetrated. She’s physically incapable of it. She’d HAVE to say something.

And most likely, what she’d say was, “You have GOT to be kidding me. Mia, you have to—”

And then she’d tell me what to do. Right?

And then I’d be able to stop feeling like I’m sliding farther and farther down Papaw’s cistern.

I mean, maybe we wouldn’t be friends again.

But Lilly would never let a country be cheated out of government by the people. Right? As opposed as she is to the monarchy?

That was my reasoning, anyway. That’s why I went up to her just now in the cafeteria.

I swear that’s all I did. I just walked over to her. That’s it. All I did was go over to where she was sitting—ALONE, by the way, because Kenny is suspended, and Perin was off at an orthodontist’s appointment, and Ling Su had chosen to stay in the art room to finish a collage of herself she’s calling,Portrait of the Artist in Ramen Noodles and Olives —and go, “Lilly? Can I talk to you a second?”

And okay, maybe it was a bad idea to approach her in public. I probably should have waited in the girls’ room, since she always goes in there to wash her hands when she’s done eating. Then I could have talked to her in private, and if she reacted badly, no one would have seen or heard it but me and maybe a few freshmen.

But like an IDIOT I went up to her in front of everyone and slid into the seat across from hers and went, “Lilly, I know you’re not speaking to me, but I really need your help. Something terrible has happened: I found out that nearly four hundred years ago one of my ancestresses signed a bill making Genovia a constitutional monarchy, but no one found the bill until the other day, and when I showed it to my dad he basically dismissed it because it was written by a teenage girl who only ruled for twelve days before succumbing to the Black Death, and besides which, he doesn’t want a merely ceremonial role in the Genovian government, even though Itold him he should run for prime minister. You know everyone would vote for him. And I just feel like this enormous injustice is being done, but I don’t know what I can do about it, and you’re so smart, I figured you could help me—”