WOMYNRULE: In that case, why hasn't he exploded already? Unless you're implying I'm not the right woman to unlock his heart.

ILUVROMANCE: I'm not saying that! I'm just saying that it won't be easy.

FTLOUIE: Yeah. Like it wasn't easy for Belle to win the Beast's trust.

WOMYNRULE: Whatever! It took her, like, two songs!

ILUVROMANCE: Yeah, but real life isn't like a musical. Unfortunately.

FTLOUIE: Maybe if you said you loved him first, it would cause the first crack in his hard outer shell


WOMYNRULE: I AM NOT SAYING I LOVE HIM FIRST!!!!

SKINNERBX: Mia? Are you still there?

My boyfriend! I had gotten so involved talking about Lilly's boyfriend, I totally forgot about my own!


FTLOUIE: Of course I am. Hang on a minute.

FTLOUIE: YOU guys, I have to go, but one last thing: I AM NOT HAVING A SWEET SIXTEEN PARTY ANDTHAT'S FINAL. GOT IT?

WOMYNRULE: God, alright already. You don't have to shout.

ILUVROMANCE: Mia, no one wants you to do anything you don't want to do. But your sweet sixteen IS a big deal

FTLOUIE: NO PARTY.

WOMYNRULE: Well, better make sure your grandma knows that, then.

FTLOUIE: Wait. What is THAT supposed to mean?

WOMYNRULE: Nothing. I have to go now.

FTLOUIE: LILLY!!! ARE YOU AND GRANDMÈRE PLOTTING SOMETHING BEHIND MY BACK AGAIN????

WOMYNRULE: terminated

FTLOUIE: I'm going to kill her.

ILUVROMANCE: She can't help it. You know how upset she's been since her parents' separation. Not to mention this Andy Milonakis thing. And the fact that J. P. won't admit his true feelings for her. Oops, I hear my mom calling. I have to go. Bye!

ILUVROMANCE: terminated

Great. Just great.

FTLOUIE: Michael, do you know if your sister and my grandmother are planning something for my birthday? Like a surprise party?

SKINNERBX: Not that I'm aware of. Can you imagine what kind of party those two would come up with?

Actually, I can:

The kind of party I'd really, really hate.



Thursday, April 29, Homeroom


I asked my mom at breakfast this morning if Grandmère and Lilly were planning a surprise party for my sweet sixteen, and she choked on her fresh- squeezed OJ from Papaya King and went, "Sweet Jesus, I hope not."

To which Mr. Gianini added, "Don't expect me to chaperone if they are. I saw enough grinding at the Nondenominational Winter Dance this year to last me a lifetime."

Which is true. Grinding does seem to be all the rage around Albert Einstein High lately. I wish it were krumping, instead. But no. My peers (all except for Michael, who is opposed to grinding for reasons he has yet to share with me, beyond saying it's "stupid looking") seem only to want to rub their private parts against one another.

Too bad they won't let us do THAT in PE.

"I thought you didn't want a party this year," my mom said. "Because of what happened at your party last year. "

"I don't," I said. "But, you know... people don't always listen to me."

By people, of course, I meant Grandmère.

As my mom well knew.

"Well, you can rest easy," my mom said. "I haven't heard anything about Lilly and your grandmother planning any party."

I quizzed Lilly at length about my suspicions in the limo on the way to school, but she never once cracked.

Perhaps I was only imagining the whole Grandmère/Lilly plot to fete me against my will.

Which isn't any wonder, really, if you think about all the stuff they've gotten up to behind my back in the past. Really, they are like the Snape/Malfoy pairing of the Muggle world. Only without the capes.

I observed J. P. closely all through lunch to see if I could detect any signs that he might explode in a vol- cano of passion, as Tina suggested he was going to someday.

He must have noticed me staring at him though, because at one point when Lilly got up to get a second helping of mac and cheese (her mother's low-carb diet has had the opposite effect she'd evidently hoped for where Lilly is concerned—it has only turned Lilly into even more of a raging carboholic), he looked at me and went, "Mia. Do I have some- thing on my face?"

I was like, "No. Why?"

"Because you keep looking at me."

Busted! How embarrassing!

"Sorry," I muttered into my Diet Coke, hoping he wouldn't notice how I was blushing. Only how could he not, under the unforgiving glare of the fluorescent overheads? (Note to self: Look into cost of getting new, more flattering lighting in caf.) "I was just... checking something."

"Checking what?"

"Nothing," I said hastily, and dug into my bean salad.

"Mia," J.P. started to say, in a soft—but deep- voice, that (not surprisingly, considering the fact that Boris, across the table, had his violin out, and was showing Tina, Ling Su, and Perin how easy it was to pluck out the chords to the Foo Fighters' "Best of You") only I could hear. "Do you-"

But he never got to finish whatever it was he was going to say to me, because at that moment Lilly returned.

"Can you believe they were out of mac and cheese?" she asked. "I had to settle for four slices of bread and a bag of Doritos." She seemed to over- come her disappointment pretty quickly, though, if how fast she chowed down those Doritos is any indication.

I wonder what J. P. was going to say to me?

I think Tina is definitely right. One of these days, he's going to blow like Mount Vesuvius. There will be no controlling J. P.'s eruption of passion when it finally happens.

Thursday, 7 p.m., April 29, limo home from the Plaza

be attacked by this woman with purple hair in a pair of lowriders who went, "Oh, great, she's here," and tried to stick a portable microphone pack down the back of my shirt.

"What are you DOING?" I demanded.

Fortunately Lars was with me, and he stepped in front of the woman and said, looking down at her all menacingly, "May I help you?"

Ms. Purple Hair had to crane her neck to see Lars's face. Apparently she didn't like what she saw up there, since she took a few stumbling steps backward and went, "Urn... Lewis? We've got a slight ... or, I guess I should say, big—really big- problem."

Which is when this skinny guy in a pair of fancy red eyeglasses came hurrying out of Grandmère's living room, going, "Oh, great, she's here. Princess Mia, I'm so glad to meet you. I'm Lewis, and this is my assistant, Janine—" He indicated the purple- haired woman, who was still staring up at Lars like she was looking at King Kong, or someone, and seemed unable to utter a sound. "If you'd just let Janine put your mic on, we can go ahead and get started."

I didn't bother asking Lewis what it was we could go ahead and get started. Instead, I went, "Excuse me," and walked past him, and right up to Grand- mère, who was sitting in her pink Louis XV chair with her hair all freshly set, her makeup perfect, and a trembling, nearly hairless toy poodle in her lap.

"Oh, Amelia, good, you're here," she said.

"Where's your mic?"

"Grandmère," I said, noticing for the first time the cameraman hovering by her shoulder. "What is going on? Who are these people? Why is that man filming us?"

"He isn't going to be able to use any of the foot- age, Mia, if you don't put a mic on," Grandmère said irritably. "Janine! Janine, would you please put a mic on her?"

Lewis came in, bobbing his spiky-haired head.

"Um, yes, your Highness, well, Janine tried, see, but there appears to be a problem—"

"What problem?" Grandmère demanded imperi- ously.

"She, urn," Lewis said, looking scared. But not of Lars. Of Grandmère. "Wouldn't let Janine put it on her."

Grandmère swung the evil eye she'd been focus- ing on Lewis onto me.

"Amelia," she said coldly. "Kindly allow the violet-haired young lady to put a microphone on you, so that we can get this out of the way. I have a dinner engagement I don't care to miss."

"Nobody's putting anything on me," I said, so loudly that Rommel, in Grandmère's lap, put his ears back and whimpered, "until someone explains to me what's going on."

"Oh, sorry," Lewis said, looking mortified. "I thought you knew. I had no idea. Janine and I—oh, and that's Rafe, with the camera"—Rafe, a burly guy in a bandanna, waved at me from behind his camera lens—"are from MTV, and you're currently being dinner date waiting. Mr. Castro is a very impatient man."

I took a deep breath. Then I went—even though I really, really didn't want to know—"What sweet sixteen birthday party?"

"The one I am throwing for you," Grandmère said. "I shall be flying you and one hundred of your closest friends in the royal jet to Genovia, where you'll be met at the airport by horse-drawn carriages and taken immediately to the palace for a champagne brunch, followed by an all-expenses-paid shopping trip to boutiques such as Chanel and Louis Vuitton on the Rue de Prince Phillipe for the girls, and a trip to the Genovian beach for private jet ski lessons for the boys. Then it's back to the palace for massages and fashion and beauty makeovers. Then everyone is invited to a black-tie ball in your honor, at which Destiny's Child, who have agreed to reunite for one night only on your behalf, will perform their great- est hits. After which I will have everyone flown home the following morning so that they arrive back in America in time for school on Monday."

I could only stare at her. I knew my mouth was open. I also knew that Rafe was filming the whole thing.

But I couldn't close my mouth. And I couldn't summon the words to ask Rafe to put his camera down.

Because I was totally FREAKED!!!!

Champagne brunches? All-expenses-paid shopping trips to Louis Vuitton? Massages? Destiny's Child?