Princess in Pink (The Princess Diaries 5)

Anyway, I didn’t get a chance to get on my knees and beg her, because the second bell rang, and people started coming into the classroom, including Michael, who came up to me and gave me a bunch of pages he’d printed off the Internet about the dangers of dehydration in pregnant women—“To give to your mom,” he said, kissing me on the cheek (yes, in front of everyone: TCHA).

Still, there are shadows over my otherwise exuberant joy: One shadow is, I was unsuccessful in getting my boyfriend’s band booked at the prom, thus making it more likely than ever that I will never have my Pretty in Pink moment with Michael. Another shadow is that my best friend is still not speaking to me, nor I to her, because of her psychotic behavior and mistreatment of her former boyfriend. Yet another shadow is the fact that my first actual published news story ever in The Atom reads so incredibly lame (although they did publish my poem: TRÈS TRÈS TCHA. Even if I’m the only one who knows it’s mine). It isn’t exactly my fault my story sucks so much, though. I mean, Leslie hardly gave me enough time to come up with something truly Pulitzer prize-worthy. I’m no Nellie Bly or Ida M. Tarbell, you know. I had a lot of other homework to do, too.

Finally, everything is overshadowed by my fear that my mother might pass out again, next time not within sight of Captain Logan and the rest of Ladder Company 9, and of course by my overall dread that, for two whole months this summer, I will be leaving this fair city and everyone in it for the distant shores of Genovia.

Really, if you think about it, this is all entirely too much for one simple fifteen-year-old girl to bear. It is a wonder I have been able to maintain what little composure I have left, under the circumstances.

When adding or subtracting terms that have the same variables, combine the coefficients.

Wednesday, May 7, G & J

STRIKE!!!!!!!!!!

They just announced it on TV. Mrs. Hill is letting us crowd around the one in the teachers’ lounge.

I have never been in the teachers’ lounge before. It actually is not very nice. There are weird stains on the carpeting.

But whatever. The point is that the hotel workers union has just joined the busboys in their strik

e. The restaurant union is expected to follow suit shortly. Which means that there will be no one working in the restaurants or the hotels of New York City. The entire metro area could be shut down. The financial loss from tourism and conventions could be in the billions.

And all because of Rommel.

Seriously. Who knew one little hairless dog could cause so much trouble?

To be fair, it is actually not Rommel’s fault. It is Grandmère’s. I mean, she never should have brought a dog into a restaurant in the first place, even if it IS okay in France.

It was weird to see Lilly on TV. I mean, I see Lilly on TV all the time, but this was a major network—well, I mean, it was New York One, which isn’t exactly national or anything, but it’s seen in more households than Manhattan Public Access, anyway.

Not that Lilly was running the press conference. No, it was being run by the heads of the hotel and restaurant unions. But if you looked to the left of the podium, you could see Jangbu standing there, with Lilly at his side, holding a big sign that says LIVING WAGES FOR LIVING BEINGS.

She is so busted. She has an unexcused absence for the day. Principal Gupta will so be calling the Drs. Moscovitz tonight.

Michael just shook his head disgustedly at the sight of his sister on a channel other than 56. I mean, he is fully on the side of the busboys—they SHOULD be paid a living wage, of course. But Michael is also fully disgusted with Lilly. He says it’s because her interest in the welfare of the busboys has more to do with her interest in Jangbu than in the plight of immigrants to this country.

I kind of wish Michael hadn’t said anything, though, because you know Boris was sitting right there next to the TV. He looks so pathetic with his head all bandaged and everything. He kept lifting up his hand when he thought no one was looking, and softly tracing Lilly’s features on the screen. It was truly touching, to tell you the truth. I actually got tears in my eyes for a minute.

Although they went away when I realized that the TV in the teachers’ lounge is fully forty inches, whereas all the TVs in the student media room are only twenty-seven.

Wednesday, May 7, the Plaza

This is unbelievable. I mean, truly. When I walked into the hotel lobby today, all ready for my princess lesson with Grandmère, I was completely unprepared for the chaos that met me at the door. The place is a zoo.

The doorman with the gold epaulets who usually holds the limo door open for me? Gone.

The bellboys who so efficiently pile everybody’s luggage onto those brass carts? Gone.

The polite concierge at the reception desk? Gone.

And don’t even ask about the line for high tea at the Palm Court. It was out of control. Because of course there was no hostess to seat anybody, or waiters to take anybody’s orders.

It was amazing. Lars and I practically had to fight off this family of twelve from, like, Iowa or whatever who were trying to crowd onto our elevator with the lifesize gorilla they’d just bought at FAO Schwartz across the street. The dad kept yelling, “There’s room! There’s room! Come on, kids, squeeze.”

Finally Lars was forced to show the dad his sidearm and go, “There’s no room. Take the next elevator, please,” before the guy backed off, looking pale.

This never would have happened if the elevator attendant had been there. But this afternoon the porters union declared a sympathy strike, and joined the restaurant and hotel workers in walking off the job.

You would think after everything we’d gone through just to get to my princess lesson on time, Grandmère would have had some sympathy for us when we walked through the door. But instead she was just standing in the middle of the suite, squawking into the phone.