Those baby seals better be grateful, that’s all I have to say.
So here I am in English, and everybody is whispering about me and pointing at me like I’m a victim of alien abduction or something, and my dad expects me to sit here and let them, because I’m a princess and that’s what princesses do.
But these kids are brutal.
I tried to tell my dad that. I was like, “Dad, you don’t understand. They’re all laughing at me.”
And all he said was, “I’m sorry, honey. You’re just going to have to tough it out. You knew this was going to happen eventually. I’d hoped it wouldn’t be quite this soon, but it’s probably just as well to get it over with. . . . ”
Um, hello? I did not know this was going to happen eventually. I thought I was going to be able to keep this whole princess thing a secret. My lovely plan about only being a princess in Genovia is falling apart. I have to be a princess right here in Manhattan, and believe me, that is no picnic.
I was so mad at my dad for telling me I had to go back to class, I accused him of having ratted me out to Carol Fernandez himself.
He got all offended. “Me? I don’t know any Carol Fernandez.” He shot this funny look at Mr. Gianini, who was standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking all concerned.
“What?” Mr. G said, going from concerned to surprised real fast. “Me? I’d never even heard of Genovia until this morning.”
“Geez, Dad,” I said. “Don’t blame Mr. G. He had nothing to do with it.”
My dad didn’t look very convinced. “Well, somebody leaked the story to the press. . . . ” He said it in this mean way, too. You could totally tell he thought Mr. G had done it. But it couldn’t have been Mr. Gianini. Carol Fernandez wrote about stuff in her story that there’s no way Mr. G could know, because even Mom doesn’t know about it. Like how Miragnac has a private airstrip.
I never told her about that.
But when I told my dad that, he just shot Mr. G a suspicious look. “Well,” he said again. “I’m just going to give this Carol Fernandez a call and see who her source is.”
And while my dad was doing that, I got stuck with Lars. I’m not kidding. Just like Tina Hakim Baba, I now have a bodyguard trailing around after me from class to class. Like I’m not enough of a laughingstock already.
I now have an armed escort.
I totally tried to get out of it. I was like, “Dad, I can seriously take care of myself,” but he was completely rigid and said that even though Genovia is a small country, it is a very wealthy country, and he cannot take the risk of my being kidnaped and held for ransom like the boy in My Secret Love, only my dad didn’t say that because he’s never read My Secret Love.
I said, “Dad, no one is going to kidnap me. This is school,” but he wouldn’t go for it. He asked Principal Gupta if it was all right, and she said, “Of course, Your Highness.”
Your Highness! Principal Gupta called my dad Your Highness! If it hadn’t been all serious and stuff, I would have wet my pants laughing.
The only good thing that has come out of this is that Principal Gupta let me off detention for the rest of the week, claiming that having my picture in the Post is punishment enough.
But really the only reason is that she is totally charmed by my father. He pulled such a Jean-Luc Picard on her, you wouldn’t believe it, calling her Madam Principal and apologizing for all the fuss. I practically expected him to kiss her hand, he was flirting so hard with her. And Principal Gupta has been married a million years, and has this big black mole on the side of her nose. And she totally fell for it! She was eating it up!
I wonder if Tina Hakim Baba will still sit with me at lunch. Well, if she does, at least our bodyguards will have something to do: They can compare civilian defense tactics.
More Wednesday, French Class
I guess I should have my picture on the front of the Post more often.
Suddenly I am very popular.
I walked into the cafeteria (I told Lars to keep five paces behind me at all times; he kept stepping on the backs of my combat boots), and Lana Weinberger, of all people, came up to me while I was in the jet line getting my tray, and said, “Hey, Mia. Why don’t you come and sit with us?”
I am not even kidding. That lousy hypocrite wants to be friends with me now that I’m a princess.
Tina was right behind me in line (well, Lars was behind me; Tina was behind Lars, and Tina’s bodyguard was behind her). But did Lana invite Tina to join her? Of course not. The New York Post hadn’t called Tina a “statuesque beauty.” Short, heavyset girls—even one whose father is an Arab sheikh—aren’t good enough to sit by Lana. Oh, no. Only purebred Genovian princesses are good enough to sit by Lana.
I nearly threw up all over my lunch tray.
“No, thanks, Lana,” I said. “I already have someone to sit with.”
You should have seen Lana’s face. The last time I saw her look that shocked, a sugar cone had been stuck to her chest.