Princess Mia (The Princess Diaries 9)

Tina really is a lucky girl.

I just hope someday I can be as lucky as she is.

Or maybe I’ve already had my luck where boys are concerned, and I completely squandered it.

God, I hope that’s not the case. Although if it is, all I can say is, it was good while it lasted.

Friday, September 24, Dr. Knutz’s waiting room

Lana and Trisha insisted on taking me out for what they like to call a Mani-Pedi Time-Out. They said I deserved it, after what Lilly did to me in the caf.

So instead of playing softball during sixth period, I got my toenails and what was left of my fingernails (I haven’t had new acrylic tips put on since I got back from Genovia this summer, and I’ve been biting what remains of my natural nails) painted I’m-Not-Really-a-Waitress red, a color Grandmère insists is totally inappropriate for young girls.

Which is precisely why I picked it.

But I have to admit, after we were done with our forty-five-minute manicure/pedicures, I didn’t feel much better. I know Lana and Trisha were trying.

But there’s just too much drama in my life right now for a simple hand and foot massage (and nail color application) to cure.

Oh. Dr. Knutz is ready to see me now.

I don’t think anyone, even Dr. Knutz, could EVER be ready for me and the disaster that is my life.

Friday, September 24, limo on the way to the Four Seasons

So I poured my heart out to Dr. Knutz, the cowboy therapist, and here is what he said:

“But Genovia already has a prime minister.”

I just looked at him. “No, it doesn’t,” I said.

“Yes, it does,” Dr. Knutz said. “I watched the movies of your life, like you told me to. And I distinctly remember—”

“The movies of my life got that part WRONG,” I said. “Among the many, many other parts they got wrong. They claimed artistic license, or something. They said they had to raise the stakes. As if the stakes in my REAL life aren’t high enough.”

So then Dr. Knutz said, “Oh. I see.” He thought about it for a minute. Then he said, “You know, all of this reminds me of a horse I have, back at the ranch….”

I nearly flung myself out of my chair at him.

“DO NOT TELL ME ABOUT DUSTY AGAIN!” I yelled. “I ALREADY KNOW ABOUT DUSTY!”

“This isn’t about Dusty,” Dr. Knutz said, looking startled. “It’s about Pancho.”

“How many horses do you have, anyway?” I demanded.

“Oh, a few dozen,” Dr. Knutz said. “But that’s not important. What’s important is, Pancho is a bit of a pushover. Anybody who takes him out of his stall and saddles him up, Pancho falls in love with. He’ll rub his head against them, just like a cat, and follow them around…even if they don’t treat him particularly nicely. Pancho is desperate for affection, wants everybody to like him—”

“Okay,” I interrupted. “I get it. Pancho has self-esteem issues. I do, too. But what does this have to do with the fact that my father is trying to keep Princess Amelie’s Bill of Rights from the Genovian people?”

“Nothing,” Dr. Knutz said. “It has to do with the fact that you’re not trying to do anything to stop him.”

I stared at him some more. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Well, that’s for you to figure out,” Dr. Knutz said.

Okay. That got me mad.

“You said the first day I sat in here,” I yelled, “that the only way I was going to get out from the bottom of the dark hole of depression I’ve fallen into was to ask for help. Well, I’m asking you for help…and now you tell me I have to figure it out myself? How much are you getting paid an hour for this, anyway?”