Party Princess (The Princess Diaries 7)

No big surprise, the single sheet of typed paper said:

Sixteen Magazine

1440 Broadway

New York, NY 10018

Dear Writer:

Thank you for your submission to Sixteen magazine. While we have chosen not to publish your story, we appreciate your interest in our publication.

Sincerely,

Shonda Yost

Fiction Editor

Dear Writer! They couldn’t even be bothered to type out my name! There was no proof at all that anyone had even READ “No More Corn!”, let alone given it any kind of meaningful consideration!

I guess my mom and Mr. G could tell I didn’t like what I was seeing, since Mr. G said, “Gee, that’s tough. But you’ll get ’em next time, tiger.”

“Tuck!” was all Rocky had to say about it, as he hurled a piece of hamburger at the wall.

And my mom went, “I’ve always thought Sixteen magazine was demeaning to young women, as it’s filled with images of impossibly thin and pretty models that can only serve to legitimize young girls’ insecurities about their own bodies. And besides, their articles are hardly what I’d call informative. I mean, who CARES about which kind of jeans better fit your body type, low rise or ultra-low rise? How about teaching girls something useful, like that even if you Do It standing up, you can still get pregnant?”

Touched by my parents’—and brother’s—concern, I said, “It’s okay. There’s always next year.”

Except that I doubt I’ll ever write a better story than “No More Corn!” It was this total one-shot deal, inspired by the touching sight of the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili sitting in the AEHS cafeteria picking corn out of his chili, kernel by kernel, with the saddest look I have ever seen on a human being’s face. I will never witness anything that moving ever again. Except for maybe the look on Tina Hakim Baba’s face when she found out they were canceling Joan of Arcadia.

I don’t know who wrote whatever Sixteen considers the winning entry, and I honestly don’t mean to brag, but her story CAN’T be as compelling and gripping as “No More Corn!”

And she CAN’T possibly love writing as much as I do.

Oh, sure, maybe she’s better at it. But is writing as important to her as BREATHING, the way it is to me? I sincerely doubt it. She’s probably home right now, and her mother’s going, “Oh, Lauren, this came in the mail for you today,” and she’s opening her PERSONALIZED letter from Sixteen magazine and going through her contract and being all, “Ho-hum, another story of mine is getting published. As if I care. All I really want is to make the cheerleading squad and for Brian to ask me out.”

See, I care MORE about writing than I do about cheerleading. Or Brian.

Well, okay, not more than I care about Michael. Or Fat Louie. But close.

So now stupid, Brian-loving Lauren is going around, being all, “La, la, la, I just won Sixteen magazine’s fiction contest, I wonder what’s on TV tonight,” and not even caring that her story is about to be read by a million people, not to mention the fact that she’s going to get to spend the day shadowing a real live editor and see what it’s like in the busy, fast-paced world of hard-hitting teen journalism—

Unless Lilly won.

OH MY GOD. WHAT IF LILLY WON ????????????????????????

Oh, dear Lord in Heaven. Please don’t let Lilly have won Sixteen magazine’s fiction contest. I know it’s wrong to pray for things like that, but I am begging you, Lord, if you exist, which I’m not sure you do because you let them cancel Joan of Arcadia and send that mean rejection letter to me, DO NOT LET LILLY HAVE WON SIXTEEN MAGAZINE’S FICTION CONTEST!!!!!!!

Oh my God. Lilly’s online. She’s IMing me!

WOMYNRULE: POG, did you hear from 16 mag 2day?

Oh, God.

FTLOUIE: Um. Yes. Did you?

WOMYNRULE: Yes. I got the lamest rejection letter. FIVE of them, to be exact. You can tell they didn’t even READ my stuff.

Thank you, God. I believe in you now. I believe, I believe, I believe. I will never fall asleep during mass in the Royal Genovian Chapel again, I swear. Even though I definitely don’t agree with you about that whole original sin thing because that was NOT Eve’s fault, that talking snake tricked her and, oh yeah, I think women should be allowed to be priests, and priests should be allowed to get married and have kids because, hello, they’d make way better parents than a lot of people, such as that lady who left her baby in the car outside the convenience mart with the motor running while she played video poker and someone stole her car and then threw the baby out the window (the baby was okay because he was in a protective car seat that bounced, which is why I made Mom and Mr. G buy that brand for Rocky even though he screams like his skin is on fire every time they try to stick him in it).