Grandmere doesn't understand, of course, that today being a great beauty doesn't count for much. Oh, it matters in Hollywood, of course, and on the runways in Milan. But nowadays, people understand that perfect looks are the result of DNA - something the person has nothing to do with. It's not like it's any great accomplishment, being beautiful. It's just genetics.

No, what matters today is what you do with the brain behind those perfect blue eyes (or brown eyes, or green, or whatever). In Grandmere's day, a girl like Judith, who could clone fruit flies, would be viewed as a piteous freak unless she managed to clone fruit flies and look stunning in Dior.

Even in this remarkably enlightened age, girls like Judith still don't get as much attention as girls like Lana - which isn't fair,

since cloning fruit flies is probably way more important than having totally perfect hair.

The really pathetic people are the ones like me: I can't clone fruit flies and I've got bad hair.

But that's OK. I'm used to it by now.

Grandmere's the one who still needs convincing that I am an absolutely hopeless case.

'Look,' I said to Grandmere. 'I told you. Michael is not the type of guy who is going to be impressed because I'm in a Sunday Times supplement in a strapless ballgown. That's why I like him. If he were the kind of guy who was impressed by stuff like that, I wouldn't want anything to do with him.'

Grandmere didn't look very convinced.

'Well,' she said. 'Perhaps you and I must agree to disagree. In any case, Amelia, I came over to apologize. I never meant to distress you. I meant only to show you what you can do, if you'd only try.' She spread her gloved hands apart. 'And look how well I succeeded. Why, you planned and executed an entire press conference, all on your own!'

I couldn't help smiling a little at that one. 'Yes,' I said. 'I did.'

'And,' Grandmere said, 'I understand that you passed Algebra.'

I grinned harder. 'Yes. I did.'

'Now,' Grandmere said, 'there is only one thing left for you to do.'

I nodded. 'I know. And I've been thinking a lot about it. I think it might be best if I extended my stay in Genovia. Like maybe

I could just live there from now on. What do you think about that?'

Grandmere's expression, I could see in the light coming from my room, was one of disbelief.

'Live in ... live in Genovia?' For once, I'd caught her off" guard. 'What are you talking about?'

'You know,' I said. 'I could just finish ninth grade in school there. And then maybe I could go to one of those Swiss boarding schools you're always going on about.'

Grandmere just stared at me. 'You'd hate it.'

'No,' I said. 'It might be fun. No boys, right? That would be great. I mean, I'm kind of sick of boys right now.'

Grandmere shook her head. 'But your friends . . . your mother . . . '

'Well,' I said reasonably. 'They could come and visit.'

Then Grandmere's face hardened. She peered at me from between the heavily mascaraed slits her eyelids had become.

'Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Renaldo,' she said. 'You are running away from something, aren't you?'

I shook my head innocently. 'Oh, no, Grandmere,' I said. 'Really. I'd like to live in Genovia. It'd be neat.'

'NEAT?' Grandmere stood up. Her high heels went through the slots between the metal bars of the fire escape, but she didn't notice. She pointed imperiously at my window.

'You get inside right now,' she hissed, in a voice I had never heard her use before.

I have to admit, I was so startled I did exactly what she said. I unplugged Ronnie's electric blanket and crawled right back

into my room. Then I stood there while Grandmere crawled back in too.

'You,' she said, when she'd straightened out her skirt, 'are a princess of the royal house of Renaldo. A princess,' she said,

going to my wardrobe, and rifling through it, 'does not shirk her responsibilities. Nor does she run at the first sign of adversity.'

'Um, Grandmere,' I said. 'What happened today was hardly the first sign of adversity, OK? What happened today was the

last straw. I can't take it any more, Grandmere. I am getting out.'

Grandmere pulled from my wardrobe the dress Sebastiano had designed for me to wear to the dance. You know, the one

that was supposed to make Michael forget that I am his little sister's best friend.

'Nonsense,' Grandmere said.

That was all.

Just 'nonsense'. Then she stood there, tapping her toes and staring at me.

'Grandmere,' I said. Maybe it was all that time I'd spent outside. Or maybe it was that I was pretty sure my mom and Mr.G and my dad were all in the next room, listening. How could they not be? There was no door, or anything, to separate my room from the living room.

'You don't understand,' I said. 'I can't go back there.'

'All the more reason,' Grandmere said, 'for you to go.'

'No,' I said. 'First of all, I don't even have a date for the dance, OK? And P.S., only losers go to dances without dates.'

'You are not a loser, Amelia,' Grandmere said. 'You are a princess. And princesses do not run away when things become difficult. They throw their shoulders back and they face what disaster awaits them head on. Bravely, and without complaint.'

I said, 'Hello, we are not talking about marauding Visigoths, OK, Grandmere? We are talking about an entire high school that now thinks I am in love with Boris Pelkowski.'

'Which is precisely,' Grandmere said, 'why you must show them that it doesn't matter to you what they think.'

'Why can't I show them that it doesn't matter by not going?'

'Because that,' Grandmere said, 'is the cowardly way. And you, Mia, as you have shown amply this past week, are not a coward. Now get dressed.'

I don't know why I did what she said. Maybe it was because somewhere deep inside, I knew that for once, Grandmere was right.

Or maybe it was because secretly, I guess I was a little curious to see what would happen.

But I think the real reason was because, for the first time in my entire life, Grandmere didn't call me Amelia.

No. She called me Mia.

And because of my stupid sentimentalism, I am in a car right now, going back to stupid crappy Albert Einstein High School,

the dust from which I thought I'd managed to shake permanently from my feet not four hours ago.

But no. Oh, no. I'm going back, in the stupid velvet party dress Sebastiano designed for me. I'm going back and I will

probably be ridiculed for being the dateless biological freak that I am.

But regardless of what happens, I can always comfort myself with the knowledge of one thing:

Tomorrow, I will be thousands of miles away from all of this.

Oh, God. We're here.

I think I'm going to be sick.







Saturday, December 19, Royal Genovian Jet


When I was about to turn six years old, all I wanted for my birthday was a cat.

I didn't care what kind of cat. I just wanted one - a cat of my very own. We had been to visit my mom's parents at their farm

in Indiana, and they had a lot of cats. One of them had had kittens - little fluffy orange and white ones, which purred loudly when I held them under my chin, and liked to curl up inside the bib of my overalls and nap. More than anything in the world,

I wanted to keep one of those kittens.

I should mention that, at the time, I had a thumb-sucking problem. My mother had tried everything to get me to stop sucking my thumb, including buying me a Barbie, in spite of her fundamental stand against Barbie and all that she stands for, as a sort

of bribe. Nothing worked.

So when I started whining to her about wanting a kitten, my mom came up with a plan. She told me she would get me a kitten for my birthday if I quit sucking my thumb.

Which I did, immediately. I wanted a cat of my own that badly.

And yet, as my birthday rolled around, I had my doubts my mother would live up to her end of the bargain. For one thing,

even at the age of six I knew my mom wasn't the most responsible person. Why else was our electricity always being turned off? And about half the time I showed up at school wearing a skirt AND trousers, because my mother let me decide what I wanted to wear. So I wasn't sure she'd remember about the kitten - or that, if she did remember, she'd know where to get one.

So as you can imagine, when the morning of my sixth birthday rolled around, I wasn't holding out much hope.

But when my mother came into my bedroom holding this tiny ball of yellow and white fur and plopped it on to my chest, and I looked into Louie's (he didn't become Fat Louie until about twenty-something pounds later) great big blue eyes (this was

before they turned green), I knew a joy such as I had never known before in my life and never expected to feel again.

That is, until last night.

I am totally serious.

Last night was the best night of my ENTIRE life. After that whole fiasco with Sebastiano and the photos, I thought I would never ever feel anything like gratitude to Grandmere EVER again.

But she was SO RIGHT to make me go to that dance. I am SO GLAD I went back to Albert Einstein, the best, the loveliest school, in the whole country, if not the whole world!!!!!!!

OK, here's what happened:

Lars and I pulled up in front of the school. There were twinkly white lights in all the windows that I guess were supposed to represent icicles or whatever.

I was sure I was going to throw up and I mentioned this to Lars. He said I couldn't possibly throw up because to his certain knowledge I hadn't eaten anything since the Entemann's cake way before lunch, and that was probably all digested by now. With that piece of encouraging information, he escorted me up the steps and into the school.