Princess in Love (The Princess Diaries 3)

“Grandmère!” I squealed again. Because, of course, she was right.

She looked at the ceiling. “Let me see,” she said. “With your D in Algebra, if you get anything less than a C in Biology, your grade-point average will take quite a little dip this semester.”

“Grandmère.” I couldn’t believe this. She knew all about my grades! And she was right. She was so right. But still. “I am not going to postpone breaking up with Kenny until after the final. That would be just plain wrong.”

“Suit yourself,” Grandmère said with a sigh. “But it certainly will be awkward having to sit beside him for the next—how long is it until the end of the semester?—Oh, yes, two weeks. Especially considering the fact that after you break things off with him, he probably won’t even speak to you anymore.”

God, so true. And not something I hadn’t thought of myself. If Kenny got mad enough over me breaking up with him to not want to speak to me anymore, seventh period was going to be plenty unpleasant.

“And what about this dance?” Grandmère rattled the ice in her sidecar. “This Christmas dance?”

“It’s not a Christmas dance,” I said. “It’s a nondenominational—”

Grandmère waved a hand. This spiky charm bracelet she was wearing tinkled.

“Whatever,” she said. “If you stop seeing this young man, who will you go to the dance with?”

“I won’t go with anybody,” I said, firmly, even though, of course, my heart was breaking at the thought. “I’ll just stay home.”

“While everyone else has a good time? Really, Amelia, you aren’t being at all sensible. What about this other young man?”

“What other young man?”

“The one you claim to be so in love with. Won’t he be at this dance with the housefly girl?”

“Fruit fly,” I corrected her. “And I don’t know. Maybe.”

The thought that Micha

el might ask Judith Gershner to the Nondenominational Winter Dance had never occurred to me. But as soon as Grandmère mentioned it, I felt that same sickening sensation I’d felt at the ice-skating rink when I’d first seen them together: kind of like the time when Lilly and I were crossing Bleecker Street and this Chinese food delivery man crashed into us on his bicycle, and I had the wind completely knocked out of me.

Only this time, it wasn’t just my chest that hurt, but my tongue. It had been feeling a lot better, but now it started to throb again.

“It seems to me,” Grandmère said, “that one way to get this young man’s attention might be to show up at this dance on the arm of this other young man, looking perfectly divine in an original creation by Genovian fashion designer Sebastiano Grimaldi.”

I just stared at her. Because she was right. She was so right. Except . . .

“Grandmère,” I said. “The guy I like? Yeah, he likes girls who can clone insects. Okay? I highly doubt he is going to be impressed by a dress.”

I didn’t mention that I had, of course, just the night before, been hoping that very thing. But almost as if she could read my mind, Grandmère just went, “Hmmm,” in this knowing way.

“Suit yourself,” she continued. “Still, it seems a bit cruel to me, your breaking things off with this young man at this time of year.”

“Why?” I asked, confused. Had Grandmère inadvertently stumbled across some TV channel playing It’s a Wonderful Life, or something? She had never shown one speck of holiday spirit before now. “Because it’s Christmas?”

“No,” Grandmère said, looking very disgusted with me, I guess over the suggestion that she might ever be moved by the anniversary of the birth of anyone’s savior. “Because of your exams. If you truly wish to be kind, I think you might at least wait until after the final exams are over before breaking the poor little fellow’s heart.”

I had been all ready to argue with whatever excuse for me not breaking up with Kenny Grandmère came up with next—but this one, I had not expected. I stood there with my mouth hanging open. I know it was hanging open, because I could see it reflected in the three full-length mirrors.

“I cannot imagine,” Grandmère went on, “why you do not simply allow him to believe that you return his ardor until your exams are over. Why compound the poor boy’s stress? But you must, of course, do what you think is best. I suppose this—er—Kenny is the sort of boy who bounces back easily from rejection. He’ll probably do quite well on his exams, in spite of his broken heart.”

Oh, God! If she had stabbed a fork in my stomach and twisted my intestines around the tines like spaghetti, she couldn’t have made me feel worse. . . .

And, I have to admit, a little relieved. Because of course I can’t break up with Kenny now. Never mind my Bio grade and the dance: You can’t break up with someone right before finals. It’s, like, the meanest thing you can do.

Well, aside from the kind of stuff Lana and her friends pull. You know, girls’ locker-room stuff, like going up to someone who is changing and asking her why she wears a bra when she obviously doesn’t need one, or making fun of her just because she doesn’t happen to like being kissed by her boyfriend. That kind of thing.

So here I am. I want to break up with Kenny, but I can’t.