From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess (12 page)

So I guess that means you'll come?

Of course!!! I've always wanted to see the inside of a palace. A real one, not the Beauty and the Beast one at Disney World.

Well, now you're going to get to. We're BOTH going to get to!

This is so GREAT! I'm going to ask my mom, but I'm sure she'll say yes because Genovia has no human rights violations and doesn't treat women like second-class citizens (unlike Qalif)!

Well, that's a relief! Oops, I gotta go, we're back at the hotel! Text u later!

Text u later, UR ROYAL HIGHNESS!!!

 

Thursday, May 7
8:45 P.M.
My Old Room, Cranbrook, New Jersey

I am sitting in my old room crying as I write this. So if you see any blobby marks on the page, that's what they are. Also, Snowball keeps trying to lick up my tears, so if you see wrinkle marks, they're from her paws.

But mostly they're tears.

I'm crying because when we got back to the hotel, something horrible happened.

It's not my dad's fault. He did the best he could.

But sometimes even if you're a princess, things don't go your way. Sometimes all the brainpower, nice clothes, and royal bodyguards in the world can't save you.

When I walked into the living room with Grandm
é
re and Mia, I was totally surprised to see Aunt Catherine and Uncle Rick sitting there with my dad.

In some distant part of my brain, I thought maybe they'd come to tell me how glad they were for me finally reuniting with my dad, and me turning out to be a princess.

Until I saw Annabelle's dad, Mr. Jenkins, sitting there with them. Then I knew that probably wasn't why they were there.

It turned out I was right.

Uncle Rick stood up and said in a very mean voice, “Finally. There she is. Olivia, get your things, you're going home right now.”

No “Hi, Olivia, how are you?” or “Gee, Olivia, it's great to see you.” Just “Get your things, you're going home right now.”

“Um,” I said. “I know I missed school today, but it was an excused absence. Grandm
è
re totally phoned in
—
”

“I don't care,” Uncle Rick said. “Go and get your things.”

“Rick,” Aunt Catherine said. She looked like she'd been crying. “Must you
—
?”

That's when my step-uncle told her to shut up, and that it was all her fault for being “stupid enough” to have let me leave Cranbrook with Princess Mia in the first place.

Then my dad stood up and said something
very
mean to Uncle Rick for telling my aunt to shut up, and Princess Mia took my hand and said, “Let's go into the other room,” and we both stepped out onto the balcony and she started pointing out landmarks in Central Park in a way that I could tell meant she did not want me to overhear what was happening in the other room.

“Did I get you in trouble?” I asked her nervously.

“You?” She looked surprised. “Of course not! It's just grown-up stuff. Don't worry about it.”

I hate it when adults say this, like I'm not old enough to understand. Because obviously, this involved me, and I had a right to know what was going on.

“But why is Uncle Rick so mad?” I asked. “And why is Mr. Jenkins here? I thought Aunt Catherine wrote you that permission slip saying it was all right for me to come with you to New York.”

“She did,” she said with a sigh. “But things have gotten a bit more complicated
—
”

And then she told me something that made me want to throw up everything we'd had for lunch (at a restaurant that my grandmother said was her favorite, the Four Seasons, but they didn't serve food from the four seasons, such as watermelon, pumpkin pie, beef stew, and chocolate Easter bunnies, which was disappointing).

It turns out Nishi had been right all along. Only it wasn't just the two Ferraris.

All the trips to New York City that I never got to go on. The cell phones and laptops and flat-screen TVs for everyone's room but mine. Not to mention all that fancy carpeting that would only have been ruined by the pet I'd always wanted and was forbidden to have.

All of it. They'd stolen all of it. From me.

“Nothing's been proven yet,” Princess Mia went on carefully. “The Royal Genovian Guard is still investigating. It was only when you mentioned in one of your letters to Dad that you were moving to Qalif that anyone even became suspicious. But we believe your aunt and uncle have been using money meant for you to fund their business, which simply isn't right
—
”

In that moment something shifted and I felt as if I finally understood what Ms. Dakota had been saying about perspective. The new information acted like a vanishing point and suddenly everything I knew about Aunt Catherine and Uncle Rick lined up and I could see the truth about them. It wasn't a very nice truth. It was one I'd been trying hard not to let myself see.

“That's why they want me back, isn't it?” I asked, looking up at Princess Mia. “They don't want to give up the money Dad sends for me every month.”

“No,” she said, quickly. “I'm sure that's not true. Your aunt loves you very much
—
”

I shook my head. Aunt Catherine, love me? She may have tried to make it look that way on the outside
—
she fed me and gave me clothes and let me live in a house that was pretty to look at.

But if she loved me, why had she never once hugged me? I'd already gotten hugged more in one day living with my dad and Princess Mia than I had in all the years I'd lived with Aunt Catherine. Not to mention eaten more gluten.

But I didn't bring this up. Instead, I asked, “So then why did they bring Mr. Jenkins with them?”

“They hired Mr. Jenkins a few days ago when we began questioning their right to take you to Qalif,” she said.

That explained a lot … like how Annabelle had overheard her dad talking about my being a princess.

“Your aunt still has legal guardianship of you, however,” Mia said, looking worriedly at the French doors, “so if she's changed her mind and refuses to allow you to stay with us any longer, there's nothing we can do … at least for now. But I promise that Dad will never rest until he gets permanent custody of you. It just might
—
”

I don't know where it came from, but suddenly this voice I'd never heard before burst out of me. It said, “Noooooo!”

I ran back inside from the terrace and threw my arms around my father's waist and yelled, “I won't! I won't go back with them to New Jersey!”

Dad hugged me and patted me on my newly styled head and leaned down to whisper, “Be brave, Olivia. It may take a while, but we'll figure this whole thing out, and make it right.”

Be brave? They're always expecting princesses to be brave, and in books and movies it always turns out all right, but that's because there's usually ray guns or magic involved.

There isn't any magic in real life, or ray guns, either. And no matter how much brainpower you have, it doesn't work against the law, like when someone
—
such as my aunt Catherine
—
is your legal guardian.

And how long is a while? No one ever tells you.

The only good part is that when I went to hug Grandm
è
re good-bye, she said, “Don't forget this,” and handed me Snowball on a leash.

I had already been crying, but I REALLY started crying when that happened.

“But, Grandm
è
re,” I said, “she's
your
dog, not mine!”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Grandm
è
re said. “She's yours now. She positively adores you. She'd be miserable without you.”

Uncle Rick tried to say something about his allergies, but Grandm
è
re gave him a look that caused him to shut his mouth and not say another word until we were in the car driving back to Cranbrook, and even then it was only to complain about the fact that he thought we were being followed.

I turned around and looked but I couldn't see what he was talking about, and Aunt Catherine told him to stop being so silly, that we'd left the hotel through the delivery door in order to avoid the reporters out front and walked four blocks to the car since Uncle Rick wouldn't pay for valet parking, and I'd worn one of Dad's old ski caps as a disguise so no one could possibly have recognized me, and that she had a headache.

So now I am back in my old room in my old house and it is like it was all a dream. The only proof I have that any of it ever happened is that I can flip through the pages of this notebook and see what I wrote (and drew), and of course Snowball, who is asleep on my lap.

Well, there's also Sara, who keeps stopping by my room to show me paparazzi photos of me on her cell phone (Uncle Rick took my cell phone away. He says it isn't “safe” for me to have it because I am too inexperienced and it might get hacked, so he is keeping it for now).

All Justin wants to know is what it was like to ride in a limo.

“Good,” I said. “I got to drink all the soda I wanted.”

“Soda is fattening,” Justin said.

“You would know,” I said.

“Are you calling me fat?” he asked.

“Your head is.”

“You think you're so great,” he said, “just because you're a princess.”

“No,” I said. “I think I'm so great because I am.”

“You better watch it,” he said. “Or tomorrow you're gonna get it.”

“You better watch it,” I said. “Or someday I'm going to put you in my dungeon and never let you out and all they're going to find are bones.”

He didn't look very scared. He saw Snowball lick some of my tears and said, “Dogs have more germs in their mouths than buttholes,” and walked away.

I know it is wrong to hate people, but I hate Justin.

I don't hate Sara, though, because she complimented my new hair, which Princess Mia had allowed Paolo
—
Grandm
è
re's beautician
—
to style into spiral curls:

“It's basically just like your old hair, only more organized.”

Maybe when I wake up tomorrow morning, this will have been a nightmare, and I'll be back in the guest room at the Plaza.

Probably not, though.

 

Friday, May 8
9:00 A.M.
Biology Class

It wasn't a nightmare. I'm still in Cranbrook.

It's so weird being here. Everyone is staring at me.

I guess I can't blame them, considering what happened when I walked up to my locker this morning.

Of course the last person I wanted to see
—
Annabelle Jenkins
—
was waiting there for me, her eyes crackling with meanness.

I thought about turning around and walking right back out of school, but unfortunately Nishi was with me. She must have known what I was thinking, since she took my arm and said under her breath, “Don't worry, it's going to be okay.”

Except it
wasn't
okay.

“Well, look who's slumming it back in Cranbrook,” Annabelle said. “Her Royal Highness, Princess Olivia of Genovia herself.”

If everyone hadn't
already
been staring at me before Annabelle made that crack, they sure did then.

And it only got worse after that, of course.

“Look, Annabelle,” I said to her, as I spun my combination. “Can't we just try to get along?”

“Is that some of your dad's famous Genovian diplomacy?” she demanded acidly.

“No. It's an honest question.”

“An honest question,” she repeated with a laugh, putting on a performance for all her friends, who were standing around, watching. “Aw, look at the pwetty pwincess, with the new pwetty pwincess hair.”

I remembered what Princess Mia had said to do when someone pays you a compliment, and said, in my most gracious voice, “Why, thank you, Annabelle.”