From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess (14 page)

All except Nishi, who still looked super worried.

“Um,” I said to Sabine, through my frozen smile. “Do we have room for my friend Nishi to ride home with us?”

“Of course,” Sabine said, and spoke into her headset.

That's how Nishi ended up riding home with me in the town car. Riding in town cars isn't anywhere near as fun as riding in a limo (no mini-bar or disco lights), but it's still
way
more fun than riding on the bus.

Nishi got Sabine to show us all the cool stuff they have in Royal Genovian Guard town cars, like the police scanner and bulletproof windows (which don't roll down, so when Sabine let us stop at a drive-thru window
—
because I said my nose hurt so much, Nishi and I probably needed a chocolate milkshake to share
—
she had to get out of the car to get it).

Nishi made me hold a wad of cotton padding from the first-aid kit pressed up to my nose
—
the whole ride home, even when we were sharing our milk shake. When we dropped her off at her house, she didn't want to leave.

“Are you
sure
you're going to be all right?” she asked before she got out of the car.

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, tell your aunt to make you an ice pack. Or maybe take you to the doctor,” Nishi said. “Or do you want to come inside with me? My mom can take you.”

“It's okay,” I said. My voice still sounded strange, probably because I was still pinching my nose. “We have ice. And I have these guys to take me to the doctor if I need to go.”

Sabine looked at Nishi from the front seat. “I can assure you that we have the situation under control, Miss Patel.”

“Okay,” Nishi said, still looking worried. “But call me later, Olivia.”

“I will,” I assured her.

Nishi went into her house, and the Genovian Royal Guard drove me to mine, where I got out of the car to find Justin and Sara had just arrived as well. The bus had taken as long as a bulletproof four-door sedan that had made stops for milk shakes and to drop off my best friend.

“Ew,” Sara said, when she saw me. “You're still all bloody.”

“Gross,” Justin said.

I don't know who was more surprised when we walked into the house to find my dad and Princess Mia sitting in the living room, talking to Aunt Catherine and Uncle Rick, me or Justin and Sara.

“Oh, Olivia, there you are,” Aunt Catherine said as Snowball raced up to lick me hello. “Your father wants to
—
”

It was right then that Mia stood up so fast, the cup of coffee she'd been balancing on a saucer on her knees fell to the floor and forever stained Aunt Catherine's pure white wall-to-wall carpeting.

“Oh my God!” Mia cried, rushing over and grabbing me. “What happened to you? Where is that blood coming from?”

“Olivia.” Dad was right there beside her, running his fingers up and down my arms, as if he were looking for broken bones. “Where are you hurt? Who did this to you?”

“She's okay,” Sara assured the adults as she picked up a gluten-free cookie from the plate on the coffee table in front of her dad and stepmom. “Annabelle Jenkins punched her in the face, is all.”

“My God,” Mia cried. She was trying to take the cotton padding away from my nose, but I wouldn't let her, because I didn't want to get blood on Aunt Catherine's white carpet. She was already on her hands and knees, trying to scrub out Princess Mia's coffee stain. “Why didn't the Royal Genovian Guard stop her?”

“Dr. Bushy said they had to stay fifty feet away from her,” I said, through the cotton padding. “Annabelle's dad said he was going to sue the entire Cranbrook school district. Sabine said she called Lars to tell him to tell you, but he said that you were in a meeting. I didn't know the meeting was
here
.”

Both my dad and Mia turned to look accusingly at Lars, who was leaning against the living room wall. He reached up to tap his earpiece.

“You told me you didn't want to be disturbed, Your Highnesses,” he said with a sheepish shrug.

I could tell from my dad's expression that Lars was in really big trouble.

Still, I couldn't feel too worried for him. I couldn't feel too worried about
anything.
Instead, I was feeling hopeful. My dad was here! What did it mean? Something good. It had to. Right?

Except that Uncle Rick was laughing from his place on the couch. That didn't seem too good.

“Jenkins.” Uncle Rick shook his head. “You gotta admit, the guy's good.”

Dad did not look as if he agreed with Uncle Rick.

“Oh dear,” Aunt Catherine said with a sigh from the carpet, where she was still scrubbing at the stain Princess Mia's spilled coffee had made. “It's that preadolescent female aggression. They're at the age where it starts asserting itself.”

“In some girls, maybe,” Justin said with a smirk from where he was leaning in the kitchen doorway, also nibbling on a gluten-free cookie. “Not in Olivia. You should have seen it. She went down like a tree.”

“You were there?” Dad whipped around to face Justin.

“Sure,” Justin said, looking surprised. “Everybody was. Tons of photographers. They all got pictures.”

“Pictures?” Uncle Rick wasn't laughing anymore.

“And you didn't do anything to stop it?” Dad barked at Justin.

“Well, I, um
—
” Justin looked scared. “You know. It wasn't my fight.”

“So you just stood there and let Olivia get hit in the face?” Dad roared.

“Really, Phillipe.” Uncle Rick stood up and went to his son's side. “It isn't my son's fault that your daughter can't take a
—
”

“He just said he was standing right there, watching the whole thing happen!” Dad shouted. “What kind of boy would allow his own
—
”

“Please!” Aunt Catherine cried. “What was Justin supposed to do? He has asthma!”

“I'm taking Olivia to a doctor right now,” Mia interrupted in a voice so cold, I'm surprised it didn't freeze up the coffee stain Snowball was now sniffing.

“Oh, you don't have to do that,” Aunt Catherine said, looking embarrassed. Although I don't know by what. “I'm sure our pediatrician
—
”

“You should notify your pediatrician that our doctor in Genovia will be requesting Olivia's records,” Mia said, taking my hand. “Because I believe this incident more than adequately proves the point we were discussing earlier: This isn't a safe
—
or stable
—
environment for Olivia to live in. If you disagree, you may contact
our
lawyers. Right, Dad? Come on, Olivia,” Mia said. “Let's go get your things.”

She started tugging me toward my room, but even though my nose was throbbing, I wanted to see what was going to happen next.

Which is that my dad stopped glaring at Justin and Uncle Rick, and said, “Yes. Yes, of course, Mia, you're right. Let's go.” He bent down to pick up Snowball.

“Isn't a stable environment for
—
” Aunt Catherine didn't look embarrassed now. She looked upset. “After everything we've done for her!”

“I think you might want to have your lawyer review the documents in that file I've left on the coffee table, Catherine,” Dad said, holding a wriggling Snowball with one arm, “before you continue bragging about what you've done for my daughter. Especially after what happened to her today.”

“But it
—
it was just a little fight,” Aunt Catherine stammered. “A fight between girls! It was nothing!”

“Was it?” My dad's voice was cold. “Because it doesn't look like nothing to me. In fact, considering what we now know about you and your husband's finances, as well as your dealings with this Jenkins person, it looks very much like
something
that I imagine you'd both like for us to drop instead of pursuing legally. Am I correct?”

I saw my aunt and step-uncle exchange a look. The look reminded me of the one Lars had worn earlier, of sheepish regret.

Still, Aunt Catherine wasn't willing to give up. She said, “But I made a promise to my sister that I would raise her child to be as
normal
as possible
—
”

“Normal,” Dad asked icily, “or
average
?”

When he asked this, Aunt Catherine's gaze fell to the floor … but not to Mia's coffee stain. To her feet. I saw her blush.

“You and I both know, Catherine,” Dad went on, “that Elizabeth would never have wanted Olivia to be raised to be normal
or
average. She'd have wanted her to be raised to be
herself
, which is very far from average. And that's not what's happening around here, is it?”

Aunt Catherine looked up. Then, the next thing I knew, she was grasping my arms.

“Olivia,” she said, in a tearful voice. “We never meant to make you feel average. I know we didn't spoil you, but that's because my sister wanted you to be raised like an ordinary girl, and to know what it's like to live amongst the common people. She didn't want you to grow up to be some snobby, rich princess who only cares about her looks and getting on the cover of magazines.” She narrowed her eyes at Princess Mia, who looked hurt. “That's not what you want, is it, Olivia?”

“No,” I cried, horrified. “Of course not!”

Aunt Catherine smiled. Her grip on my arms loosened a little. “Oh, thank goodness,” she said. “You had me worried!”

“I want to be a smart, brave, strong princess,” I declared, wrenching myself from her arms, “who doesn't judge people by their looks, and who cares about people more than things! That's why I want to go live with them.” I pointed at my dad and sister.

Aunt Catherine stopped smiling when she heard this. She glanced at Uncle Rick, who looked as confused as she did.

“Olivia,” she said. “What … what are you talking about? I care about you.”

“No, you don't. I know you don't. Because when I got home just now, Dad and Mia rushed over to see if I was all right. All
you
cared about was getting the stain out of your stupid carpet. So since I've finally got some perspective, I'm going to go live with people who love me. Now, could someone please give me some ice? Because my nose really hurts.”

And now I'm holding the ice that Sabine got me over my nose as I write this, while she and Princess Mia pack up my stuff (not that there's so much of it), and Dad makes Aunt Catherine sign the papers giving up all legal guardianship of me.

Then we're going to get in the limo and drive away from Cranbrook forever.

But first Mia promised we could make one stop (after visiting a doctor for my nose. She insists), at a place I've always wanted to go:

Cheesecake Factory.

 

Saturday, May 9
3:25 P.M.
Somewhere Over the Atlantic Ocean

I am writing this on an airplane!

It's the first time I've ever been on an airplane in my whole entire life.

And it's not just
any
airplane—it's the Royal Genovian Jet, a private plane just like the ones my mom used to fly.

Dad told me it was okay to go up into the cockpit and sit in the copilot's seat, and she let me wear her headset and talk to the control tower, and the pilot showed me all the controls and even let me steer for a while (until Grandm
è
re sent a message up with one of the flight attendants that Rommel was feeling sick, and could I please stop).

This is definitely going on my list of best moments ever.

And guess what else? My nose doesn't even hurt anymore. Well, except when I touch it. The nice doctor we went to see said it was only bruised, not broken.

And now the sovereign city-state of Genovia is suing Annabelle's dad! So that should be a nice change of pace for Mr. Jenkins, his getting sued instead of doing the suing. His daughter punching me in the face at school has become the number-one top-trending story in the media. Between that, and Princess Mia's statement about how it was my dead mom who wanted my being a princess kept secret, the press has stopped asking me rude questions.