Forever Princess (The Princess Diaries 10)

Then Mom went on to say that the prom does fu

nny things to girls, too, and that although she knew that I’m a very different kind of girl than she’d been when she’d been a teen (back in the eighties, when no one had ever heard of abstinence, and Mom had lost her virginity at the age of fifteen to a boy who’d later gone on to marry a Corn Princess), she hoped that if I got carried away tonight—though she’d prefer it if I didn’t—I’d at least practice safe sex.

“Mo-o-om,” I said, cringing with embarrassment. Because this is the only appropriate response to such a statement.

“Well,” Mom said. “Give us parents some credit, Mia. When you come straggling home after breakfast the day after the prom, we all know where most of you have been, and it isn’t an all-night bowling alley.”

Busted!

“Mom,” I said, in a different voice. “I—er—uh—okay. Thanks.”

Thank GOD the buzzer just went off. Here he is.

And here I go.

Saved by the bell.

Literally.

Or not.

I really don’t know, actually.

I can do this. I can totally do this.

Saturday, May 6, 9 p.m., the Waldorf-Astoria, ladies’ room

I can’t do this.

Don’t get me wrong, J.P. is being totally sweet. He even got me a corsage—just like he said he would—to wear on my wrist.

Fortunately Grandmère remembered to get J.P. a boutonniere (I never thought I’d be so grateful to her), since I completely forgot. Mom got a lot of pictures of me pinning it onto his lapel.

Which wasn’t too embarrassing, or anything.

I guess she can be like normal moms, when she wants to.

Anyway, we got here—I managed to act pretty normal on the ride over, not giving away that I’d been making out with my ex-boyfriend yesterday—and the room is beautiful. The Waldorf-Astoria ballroom is gorgeous, with its huge high ceilings and lusciously set, foofy tables and sumptuous decor and thick carpets. The prom committee outdid themselves with the welcome signs and the AEHS memorabilia and the DJ and whatnot.

And J.P. is totally into it. I mean, I thought I used to be into it, back when I was a freshman and I lived and breathed prom, prom, PROM!

But J.P. loves it. He wants to dance every single dance. He ate every bit of his chicken (rubbery, just as I suspected) and he ate mine, too (I’m a flexatarian, but not that flex). He brought his digital camera, and he’s taken 8,000 pictures—we’re all at a big table together, Lana and her date (a Westpointer, in full uniform), and Trisha and Shameeka with theirs, and Tina and Boris, and Perin and Ling Su and some guys they dug up somewhere for the benefit of their parents. Every five minutes, J.P. is like, “Smile!”

Which isn’t so bad. But as we were coming in, he made me stop and pose for the paparazzi with him outside the hotel (which…I’m trying to understand. I mean, first Blue Ribbon…then my party…then his play…now the prom. Is it just me or is it like TMZ has LoJack on my boyfriend?).

But that’s not the worst part. Not by a long shot. Oh, no. The worst part is, the boys at the table were all bragging about what hotel rooms they’d gotten for after prom (which, no offense, but except for J.P. and maybe Boris, I happen to know the GIRLS all made the hotel room reservations), and showing off their keys, and J.P. whipped his Waldorf key out like it was nothing—right in front of everybody.

I wanted to die. I mean, I don’t even know Lana’s, Trisha’s, and Shameeka’s dates! Can we not show a little discretion? Especially since—

Wait a minute.

How did J.P. get a room at the Waldorf when Tina said the hotel was sold out so many weeks ago? And J.P. only called this past week?

Saturday, May 6, 10 p.m., Waldorf-Astoria, table ten

I just marched back up to our table and asked J.P. about the hotel reservation.

And he told me, “Oh, I called, and they had a room. It was no problem. Why?”