I could feel my face start to burn. It was sort of like I was on fire. I concentrated on not dropping anything as I moved books around in my locker. It’s too bad my hair is so short now. I couldn’t duck my head to hide the fact that I was blushing. "Huh," I said, real intelligently.
"So," Josh said, "are you going to the dance with anyone, or not?"
I dropped my Algebra book. It went skittering across the hall. I stooped down to pick it up.
"Um," I said, by way of answering his question.
I was down on my hands and knees, picking up old worksheets that had slid out of my Algebra book, when I saw these knees covered in gray flannel bend. Then Josh’s face was right next to mine.
"Here," he said, and handed me my favorite pencil, the one with the feathery pom-pom on the end.
"Thanks," I said. Then I made the mistake of looking into his too-blue eyes.
"No," I said, real faintly, because that’s how his eyes made me feeclass="underline" faint. "I’m not going to the dance with anyone."
Then the bell rang.
Josh said, "Well, see you." And then he left.
I am still in shock.
Josh Richterspoke to me. He actuallyspoke to me.Twice.
For the first time in like a month, I don’t care that I’m flunking Algebra. I don’t care that my mom is dating one of my teachers. I don’t care that I’m the heir to the throne of Genovia. I don’t even care that my best friend and I aren’t speaking.
I think Josh Richter mightlike me.
HOMEWORK
Algebra: ??? Can’t remember!!! English: ??? Ask Shameeka World Civ: ??? Ask Lilly. Forgot. Can’t ask Lilly. She’s not speaking to me. G & T: none French: ??? Biology: ???
God, just because a boy might like me, I completely lose my head. I disgust myself.
Thursday Night
Grandmère says: "Well, of course the boy likes you. What wouldn’t he like? You are turning out very well, thanks to Paolo’s handiwork and my tutelage."
Geez, Grandmère, thanks. Like it would be impossible for any guy to like me forme, and not because all of a sudden I’m a princess with a $200 haircut.
I think I sort of hate her.
I mean it. I know it’s wrong to hate people, but I really do sort of hate my grandmother. At least, I strongly dislike her. I mean, besides the fact that she’s totally vain and thinks only about herself, she’s also kind of mean to people.
Like tonight, for instance:
Grandmère decided that for my lesson today we would go to dinner somewhere outside of the hotel so she could teach me how to deal with the press. Only there wasn’t a whole lot of press around when we went outside, just some kid reporter fromTiger Beat, or something. I guess all the real reporters had gone home to get their dinner. (Plus it’s no fun for the press to stalk you when you’re ready for them. It’s only when you least expect them that they come around. This is how they get their kicks, at least as far as I can figure out.)
Anyway, I was pretty happy about this, because who needs the press around, yelling questions and setting off flashbulbs in your face? Believe me, as it is, I see big purple splotches everywhere I go.
But then as I was getting into the car Hans had brought around, Grandmère said, "Wait one moment," and went back inside. I thought maybe she’d forgotten her tiara or something, but she came back out a minute later looking no different than before.
But then, when we pulled up in front of the restaurant, which was the Four Seasons, there were all these reporters there! At first I thought somebody important had to be inside, like Shaquille O’Neal or Madonna, but then they all started taking pictures of me and yelling "Princess Amelia, how does it feel to grow up in a single-parent household, then find out your mom’s ex has three hundred million dollars?" and "Princess, what kind of running shoes do you wear?"
I totally forgot my whole fear of confrontation thing. I was mad. I turned to Grandmère in the car, and I said, "How did they know we were coming here?"
Grandmère just dug around in her purse for her cigarettes. "Now, what did I do with that lighter?" she asked.
"You called them, didn’t you?" I was so mad, I could hardly even see straight. "You called and told them we were coming here."
"Don’t be ridiculous," Grandmère said. "I had no time to call all these people."
"You didn’t have to. You’d just have to call one, and they’d all follow. Grandmère,why?"
Grandmère lit her cigarette. I hate when she smokes in the car. "This is an important part of being a royal, Amelia," she said between puffs. "You must learn to handle the press. Why are you taking on so?"
"You’re the one who told all that stuff to Carol Fernandez." I said it totally calm.
"Of course I did," Grandmère said, with a kind ofSo, what? shrug.
"Grandma," I yelled. "How could you?"
She looked totally taken aback. She said, "Don’t call me Grandma."
"Seriously," I yelled. "Dad thinks Mr. Gianini did it! He and Mom had this totally big fight about it. She said it was you, but he wouldn’t believe her!"
Grandmère blew cigarette smoke out of her nostrils. "Phillipe," she said, "always was incredibly naïve."
"Well," I said, "I’m telling him. I’m telling him the truth."
Grandmère just waved a hand, as if to sayWhatever.
"Seriously," I said. "I’m telling him. He’s going to be really mad at you, Grandmère."
"He won’t. You needed the practice, darling. That piece in thePost was only the beginning. Soon you’ll be on the cover ofVogue, and then—"