Saturday, January 24, the loft
Oops. I had to break off there last night, because Lilly started banging on the bathroom door, wanting to know whether I’d suddenly become bulemic or something. When I opened it (the door, I mean) and she saw me in there with my journal and my pen, and she went, all crabby (Lilly is more of a morning person than a night person), “Do you mean to say you’ve been in here for the past half hour writing in your journal ?”
Which I’ll admit is a little weird, but I couldn’t help it. I was so happy, I HAD to write it down, so I would never forget how it felt.
“And you still haven’t figured out what you’re good at?” she asked.
When I shook my head, she just stomped away, all mad.
But I couldn’t be annoyed with her, because… well, because I’m so in love with her brother.
The same way I can’t really be mad at Grandmère, even though she did, in essence, try to foist me off on this homeless prince last night. But I can’t blame her for trying. She was only trying to make herself look better in front of her friend.
Besides, she called here a little while ago, wanting to know if I was feeling all right after the bad truffle I’d ingested. My mom, playing along, assured her that I was fine. So then Grandmère wanted to know if I could come over and have tea with her and the Contessa… who was just dying to get to know me better. I said I was busy with homework. Which ought to impress the Contessa. You know, with my diligent work ethic.
And I can’t be mad at René, either, after the way he fully came to my aid last night. I wonder how he and Bella got along. It would be pretty funny if they hit it off… well, funny to everyone but Grandmère.
And I can’t even be mad at Thompson Street Cleaners for losing my Queen Amidala underwear, because this morning there was a knock on the door to the loft, and when I opened it, our neighbor Ronnie was there with a big bag of our laundry, including Mr. G’s brown cords and my mom’s Free Winona T-shirt. Ronnie says she must have accidentally picked up the wrong bag from the vestibule, and then she’d gone to Barbados with her boss for the holidays, and only just now noticed that she had a bag of clothing that was not her own.
Although I am not as happy about getting my Queen Amidala underwear back as you might think. Because clearly, I can get along without them. I was thinking about asking for more of them for my birthday, but now I don’t have to, because Michael, even though he doesn’t know it, has already given me the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten.
And no, it’s not his love—although that is probably the second greatest thing he could have given me. No, it’s something that he said after Lilly went stomping away from the bathroom.
“What was that all about?” he wanted to know.
“Oh,” I said, putting away my journal, “she’s just mad because I haven’t figured out what my secret talent is.”
“Your what?” Michael said.
“My secret talent.” And then, because he’d been so honest with me, with the whole being in love thing, I decided to be honest with him, too. So I explained, “It’s just that you and Lilly, you’re both so talented. You guys are good at so many things, and I’m not good at anything, and sometimes I feel like… well, like I don’t belong. At least not in Gifted and Talented class, anyway.”
“Mia,” Michael said. “You’re totally gifted.”
“Yeah,” I said, fingering my dress. “At looking like a snowdrop.”
“No,” Michael said. “Although now that you mention it, you’re pretty good at that, too. But I meant writing.”
I have to admit, I kind of stared at him, and went, in a pretty unprincesslike manner, “Huh?”
“Well, it’s pretty obvious,” he said, “that you like to write. I mean, your head is always buried in that journal. And you always get A’s on your papers in English. I think it’s pretty obvious, Mia, that you’re a writer.”
And even though I had never really thought about it before, I realized Michael was right. I mean, I am always writing in this journal. And I do compose a lot of poetry, and write a lot of notes and e-mails and stuff. I mean, I feel like I am always writing. I do it so much, I never even thought about it as being a talent. It’s just something I do all the time, like breathing.
But now that I know what my talent is, you can bet I am going to start working on honing it. And the first thing I’m going to write is a bill to submit before the Genovian Parliament to get some traffic lights downtown. The intersections there are murder….
Right after I get home from going bowling with Michael and Lilly and Boris. Because even a princess has to have fun sometimes.