The Princess Diaries (The Princess Diaries 1)

But then, if Lana were here I wouldn’t be.

The thing that most surprised me is that Josh ordered champagne, and nobody even questioned his ID, which, of course, was totally fake. The table’s been through three bottles already, and Josh just keeps ordering more, since his dad gave him his platinum American Express card for the occasion. I just don’t get it. Can’t the waiters tell he’s only eighteen and that most of his guests are even younger than that?

And how can Josh sit there and drink so much? What if Lars hadn’t been here to drive? Josh would be driving his dad’s BMW half sloshed. How irresponsible can you get? And Josh is class valedictorian!

And then, without even asking me, Josh ordered dinner for the whole table: filet mignon for everyone. I guess that’s very nice and all, but I won’t eat meat, not even for the most sensitive boy in the world.

And he hasn’t even noticed I haven’t touched my food! I totally had to fill up on salad and bread rolls to keep from starving to death.

Maybe I could sneak out of here and get Lars to pick up a veggie wrap for me from Emerald Planet.

And the funny thing is, the more champagne Josh has to drink, the more he keeps on touching me. Like he keeps on putting his hand on my leg under the table. At first I thought it was a mistake, but he’s done it four times now. The last time, he squeezed!

I don’t think he’s drunk, exactly, but he’s certainly friendlier than he was in the car on the way up. Maybe he’s just feeling less inhibited, with Lars not hovering around, two feet away.

Well, I guess I should go back out there. I just wish Josh had told me we were meeting his friends. Then maybe I could have invited Tina Hakim Baba and her date—or even Lilly and Boris. Then at least I’d have someone fun to talk to.

Oh, well. Here goes nothing.

Later Saturday Night, Girls’ Room,

Albert Einstein High School

Why?

Why??

Why???

I can’t even believe this is happening. I can’t believe it’s happening to ME!

WHY? WHY ME? WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME these things have to happen to????

I’m trying to remember what Grandmère told me about how to act under duress. Because I am definitely under duress. I keep trying to breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth, like Grandmère said. In through my nose, out through my mouth. In through my nose, out through my—

HOW COULD HE DO THIS TO ME???? HOW, HOW, HOW?????!!!

I could rip his stupid face off, I really could. I mean, who does he think he is? Do you know what he did? Do you know what he did? Well, let me tell you what he did.

After polishing off NINE bottles of champagne—that’s practically one bottle per person, except I only had a couple of sips, so somebody drank my bottle as well as his—Josh and his friends finally decided it was time to go to the dance. Oh, gee, let me see, the dance had only started an HOUR earlier. It was only about TIME we left.

So we go and wait for the valet to bring the car around, and I was thinking maybe everything would be all right, since while we were waiting Josh had his arm around my shoulders, which was really nice, since my dress is sleeveless, and even though I have a wrap it’s just this shimmery see-through veil thing. So I’m appreciative o

f this arm, since it’s keeping me warm. It’s a nice arm, really, very muscular from all that rowing. The only problem is, Josh doesn’t smell that good, not a bit like Michael Moscovitz, who always smells like soap. No, I think Josh must have taken a bath in Drakkar Noir, which in large doses actually smells pretty vile. I could hardly breathe, but whatever. In spite of that, I’m thinking, okay, things aren’t so bad. Yes, he didn’t respect my rights as a vegetarian, but you know, everybody makes mistakes. We’ll go to the dance and he’ll look into my soul again with those electric blue eyes and everything will be all right.

Boy, was I ever wrong.

First of all, we can barely pull up to the school, there’s so much traffic. At first I couldn’t figure it out. Yes, it was Saturday night, but there shouldn’t be THAT much traffic in front of Albert Einstein’s, right? I mean, it’s just a school dance. Most kids in New York City don’t even have access to cars, right? We’re probably like the only people who go to Albert Einstein’s who drove.

And then I realize why there’s so much congestion. There are news vans parked all over the place. They’re shining these big bright lights all over the steps to Albert Einstein’s. There are reporters swarming around all over the place, smoking cigarettes, talking on cell phones, waiting.

Waiting for what?

Waiting for me, it turns out.

As soon as Lars saw the lights, he started to swear very colorfully in some language that wasn’t English or French. But you could tell they were swear words by his voice. I leaned forward and was like, “How could they have known? How could they have known? Could Grandmère have told them?”

But you know, I really don’t think Grandmère would have done this. I really don’t. Not after our talk. I laid it on the line for Grandmère. I came down on her like a New York cop on a game of three-card monte. Grandmère would not, I’m sure, EVER call the press on me again, without my permission.