Princess in Pink (The Princess Diaries 5)

PROM

PRINCESS!!!!!!!!

Saturday, May 10, 8 p.m., in the limo on the way to the prom

Oh, my God, I am so excited, I can barely contain myself. Tina and I look FABULOUS, even if I do say so myself. When the boys see us—we are meeting them at the prom, as they had to go early to set up—they are going to PLOTZ.

Of course, it does suck a little that Tina and I, instead of just having adorable little beaded clutches at our sides, have to bring along a couple of bodyguards. Seriously. They never mention this in the Seventeen magazine prom issue. You know: How to Accessorize Your Bodyguard.

You should have heard Lars and Wahim grousing about having to get into tuxes.

But then I reminded them that Mademoiselle Klein was going to be there, and that to my certain knowledge, she was going to be wearing a dress with a slit up the side. That seemed to spark their interest, and they didn’t even complain when Tina and I pinned on their matching boutonnieres. They look so cute together… kind of like Paris and Nicky Hilton. Minus the low-rise jeans and nose jobs and all.

I didn’t mention that Mr. Wheeton was going to be there, too… and that, in fact, he’d be escorting Mademoiselle Klein. Somehow, I didn’t think that information would be very well received.

Oh, my God, I am so nervous, I am actually SWEATING. I am telling you, fifteen is turning out to be the best age EVER. I mean, already I have gotten to play my first game of Seven Minutes in Heaven AND I’m going to my first ever prom….

I truly am the luckiest girl in the world.

Oh, my gosh. WE’RE HERE!!!!!!!!!!!

Saturday, May 10, 9 p.m., the Empire State Building observation deck

I never thought I would say this, but Grandmère rules.

Seriously. I am SO glad she brought Rommel to my birthday dinner, and that he escaped, and that Jangbu Panasa tripped over him, and that Les Hautes Manger fired him, and that Lilly adopted his cause and created a citywide hotel, restaurant, and porters union strike.

Because if she hadn’t, the prom might never have been canceled, and Lana and the rest of the prom committee would have gone ahead and had it at Maxim’s instead of being forced to have it on the observation deck of the Empire State Building—something arranged entirely by Grandmère, who is like this with the owner—and Michael would have continued to refuse to go to the prom at all, and so instead of standing under the stars in my totally rocking Jennifer Lopez-engagement-ring pink prom dress, listening to MY BOYF

RIEND’S BAND, I’d be stuck at home, Instant Messaging my friends.

So as I stare out at the twinkling lights of Manhattan, all I can say is:

Thank you, Grandmère. Thank you for being such a complete freak. Because without you, my dream of entering the prom on the arm of my one true love would never have come true.

And okay, it kind of sucks that we can’t dance because the only time there’s any music is when Skinner Box is playing.

But the band took a break a little while ago, and Michael came over with a glass of punch for me (pink lemonade with Sprite in it… Josh tried to spike it, but Wahim totally caught him and threatened him with his nunchaks) and we went over to the telescopes and stood with our arms around each other, gazing out at the Hudson River, snaking silverly along in the moonlight, and…

Well, I’m not sure, but I think we got to second base.

I’m not sure because I don’t know if it counts if a guy feels you up THROUGH your bra. I will have to consult with Tina on this, but I think the hand actually has to get UNDER the bra for it to count.

But there was no way Michael was getting under MY bra, given as how I am wearing one of those strapless ones that are so tight it feels like you are wearing an Ace bandage around your boobs.

But he tried. I’m pretty sure, anyway.

There really is no doubting it now. I am a woman. A woman in every sense of the word.

Well, almost. Probably I should go into the ladies’ room and take this stupid bra off so if he goes for it again I might actually be able to feel something….

Oh, my God, somebody’s cell phone is ringing. That is so rude. And in the middle of “Rock-Throwing Youths,” too. You would think people would show some respect for the band and turn off their—

Oh, my God. That’s MY cell phone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sunday, May 11, 1 a.m., St. Vincent’s maternity ward

Oh… my… God.