Forever Princess (12 page)

Sunday, April 30, 4 p.m., Edge of the Icepack penguin exhibit at the Central Park Zoo

Wow.

Between having my current boyfriend tell me I'm selling myself short writing popular fiction, then spilling hot chocolate all over the jeans of my ex-boyfriend (who is currently reading my book—RIGHT THIS VERY MOMENT), then having my best friend say she has to meet me because there's a PROBLEM with that book—the same book I spent twenty-one months working on—I really didn't think my twenty-four hours could get any worse.

But that was before I got to the zoo with my mother, stepfather, baby brother, grandparents, and bodyguard in tow.

I guess I was just born under a particularly lucky star seventeen years, three hundred and sixty-four days ago.

The Central Park Zoo wasn't too crowded on the first perfectly sunny Sunday afternoon of the spring, so it wasn't like we had any problems navigating Rocky's enormous stroller through the crowds (NOT!!!!!).

Or that anyone noticed my huge bodyguard, who discreetly chose to wear a pair of wraparound shades with his black suit jacket and matching black shirt, tie, and pants.

And Mamaw didn't stand out too much in her hot pink size-extra-large Juicy Couture knock-off sweat suit (instead of Juicy, it says Spicy on the butt. Spicy is one word you definitely don't want to associate with your grandma's butt. Juicy is another).

Good thing Papaw refused to conform to New York City
fashion dictates, and kept on his good old green and yellow John Deere tractor baseball cap—though he did let Mamaw buy him a new one that said
Legally Blonde: The Musical
. Which I will pay hard cash to see him wear.

Much was made over showing Rocky the polar bears and monkeys, his two favorite animals. And I will admit, my kid brother is cute, especially when it comes to doing a monkey imitation, with the underarm scratching and whatnot (an ability he clearly inherited from his father. No offense, Mr. G).

Mamaw was pretty excited to be spending time with me, not just her grandson. The good thing is, after this, we get to spend even more time together…we're spending quality time over dinner at a restaurant of Mamaw and Papaw's choice. And the restaurant they chose was…Applebee's.

Yes! It turns out there is an Applebee's in Times Square, and that is where my grandparents want to go. I turned to Lars when I heard this and said, “Please put a bullet in my brain now,” but he wouldn't do it.

And Mom told me to shut my piehole or she'd shut it for me.

Seriously, though. Applebee's? Out of all the restaurants in Manhattan? Why a chain restaurant that can be found in nearly every city in America?

I told Mamaw that I have a black American Express card and could afford to take them to any restaurant they wanted if price was a problem. Mamaw said it wasn't the price. It was Papaw. He didn't like eating strange food. He liked always going to the same place, so he'd know exactly what he was getting.

The whole fun of eating out is getting to try new things!

But Papaw said trying new things isn't fun at all.

I just pray to every single god that exists in the heavens—Yahweh, Allah, Vishnu, etc.—that no paparazzi show up and snap photos of me, the princess of Genovia, coming out of an Applebee's during this crucial time in my father's campaign.

Anyway, Mamaw keeps wanting to talk about college. As in, where I'm going (welcome to the club, Mamaw). She's got a lot of advice as to what I ought to be studying. In her opinion, what I ought to be studying is…nursing. She says there are always jobs for nurses, and as the American population ages, good nurses will always be in high demand.

I told Mamaw that while she's quite right, and that nursing is a very noble profession, I didn't think I'd be able to pursue it, what with my being a princess, and all. I mean, I have to choose a career where I'll be able to spend at least a largish chunk of my time in Genovia, doing princess stuff like christening ships and hosting benefits and all of that.

Being a nurse wouldn't exactly be conducive to that.

But being a writer would, because you can do that in the privacy of your own palace.

Plus with my SAT score I think the last thing anyone wants me doing is trying to measure out their medicine. I would probably kill way more people than I'd save.

Thank God we have people like Tina, who are good at math, going into the medical profession instead of me.

Speaking of Tina, I've snuck into the penguin enclosure to wait for her while Mom and those guys are getting Rocky
a freeze pop or something he saw someone else eating and threw a very special soon-to-be-three-year-old tantrum for. They've fixed this place up a bit since the last time I was here. It isn't nearly as smelly and the light's a lot better to write by. But there are so many more people! I swear, New York City is becoming the Disneyland of the Northeast. I thought I heard someone ask where the monorail was. But maybe they were joking.

Even so, how am I supposed to leave this place to go to college? How??? I love it so much!!!!

Oh, here's Tina now. She looks…
concerned.
Possibly she heard where I'm going to dinner?

I'm kidding….

Sunday, April 30, 6:30 p.m., the ladies' room at the Times Square Applebee's

Okay, I am FREAKING OUT OVER WHAT TINA TOLD ME IN THE EDGE OF THE ICEPACK PENGUIN EXHIBIT.

I'm just going to write this down the way it happened and try to ignore the squashed French fry on the floor underneath me (who eats French fries on the toilet? WHO??? Who eats ANYTHING on the toilet???? Excuse me, but gross, also, ew) and the fact that I am writing this in an Applebee's ladies' room, the only place I could go to get away from my grandparents:

So, Tina came up to me in the penguin house and was like, “Mia, I'm so glad I found you, we have to talk.”

And I was all, “Tina, what's wrong? Did you hate my book, or something?”

Because, I have to admit, I mean, I know my book isn't the greatest or anything—if it were, I'm sure someone would have wanted to publish it by now.

But I didn't think it could be SO bad that Tina would have to meet me in the Edge of the Icepack penguin exhibit at the Central Park Zoo to tell me in person.

Plus, she looked kind of pale underneath her kohl and lipstick. But it could have been the blue glow from the penguin tank.

But then she grabbed my arm and was like, “Oh my God, Mia, no! I loved your book! It was so cute! And it had beer in it! I thought that was so funny, because of your bad experience with beer, remember, in tenth grade, when
you tried to be a party princess, and you drank that beer and did the sexy dance with J.P. in front of Michael?”

I glared at her. “I thought we agreed we were never going to speak of the sexy dance again.”

She bit her lip. “Oops. Sorry,” she said. “But it's just so cute. I mean, that you wrote about beer! I love that! No, when I said I needed to talk to you about your book, what I meant was—”

And she gave Lars this total look, like—
GO AWAY!

And he got the message and went over to join Wahim, Tina's bodyguard, looking at the cute penguins swimming around, both of them keeping an eye on the two of us, but out of earshot.

And the whole time, I was like, in my head, Okay, I wrote about beer, I mean, there's beer in my book, does Tina think I'm an alcoholic? Is she here to perform an intervention on me? I've totally seen that show
Intervention
on TV, is that what's happening right now?

And I was looking around for the camera crew, wondering how I was going to get out of going to rehab, because, seriously, I don't even
like
beer—

Then Tina turned to me and asked me the question that still has me shaking to my very core. I mean, she was smiling as she asked it, and her eyes were shining, but she looked super serious, too.

And as I'm writing this, I still can't believe it. I mean—TINA! TINA HAKIM BABA! Of all people.

I'm not judging. I just never, ever expected it.

Or suspected it.

It's just…TINA!

Anyway, she turned to me and said, “Mia, I just had to ask—I mean, I was reading your book, and—don't get me wrong, I like it—but…I started wondering—and I know it's none of my business, but—have you and J.P. had sex?”

I could only stare at her. This was so far from anything I'd been expecting her to say—especially in the Edge of the Icepack penguin exhibit, with our bodyguards a few yards away, and all the little kids around, going, “Look, Mommy!
Happy Feet!
”—that for a few seconds I think I was simply too shocked to speak.

“It's just,” Tina went on quickly, seeing that I had been rendered mute, “the sex scenes in your book seem kind of realistic, and I just couldn't help thinking that maybe you and J.P. have. Had sex, I mean. And if you have, I want you to know, I'm not judging you or anything for not waiting until prom night, like we agreed. I totally understand. In fact, I
more
than understand, Mia. The truth is, I've been wanting to tell you for a long time that Boris and I…well, we already had sex, too.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“The first time was last summer,” she went on, after I just stared at her in total silence, doing my Rob Lowe in
The Stand
imitation again. “At the house my parents rented in Martha's Vineyard? You remember, Boris came out for two weeks to visit? Well, that's when it first happened. I tried to wait, Mia. I really did. But seeing him every day in his swimsuit—it was just too much to resist. I finally just…well, we did it. After my parents went to sleep. And we've been doing it pretty regularly ever since, whenever Mr. and Mrs. Pelkowski aren't home.”

I think my eyes must have looked like they were about to roll out of my sockets because Tina reached over to shake my arm.

“Mia?” she asked, looking concerned. “Are you all right?”

“You?”
I finally managed to choke out. “And
Boris
?” I wasn't sure if I was going to throw up or pass out. Or both.

It wasn't so much the fact that Tina—TINA!—of all people had given up on her dream of losing her virginity on prom night.

It was that she'd just said the sight of Boris in a swimsuit had been too much for her to resist. I'm sorry but…

While it's true that Boris had undergone an incredible transformation from nottie to hottie in recent years—and actually has annoying violin groupies who worship him and follow him around begging him to sign his headshot whenever he appears in recital halls—I just couldn't—CANNOT—see him in that way.

Maybe if I had never known him back when he'd worn a bionater and been such a scrawny sweater tucker-inner—and dated Lilly—I could see it.

But the truth is, I just can't look at him and see the tall, muscular godlike figure he is today. I just can't. I CAN'T! He's like…I don't know. My
brother
, or something.

Tina, of course, completely mistook my revulsion for something else.

“Don't worry, Mia,” she said, taking my hand and gazing worriedly into my eyes. “We're totally safe. You know neither of us has ever been with anybody else. And I've been on the Pill since I was fourteen, because of my dysmenorrhea.”

I blinked at her some more. Oh, right. Tina's dysmenorrhea. She used to get out of P.E. because of it every month. Lucky duck.

Tina looked at me uncertainly. “So…you don't think I'm a slut for not waiting until the prom?”

My mouth fell open. “What? No! Of course not! Tina!”

“Well.” Tina winced. “I just…I wasn't sure. I wanted to tell you, but I didn't know how you'd feel about it. I mean, we had our plan for prom night, and I…I ruined it because I couldn't wait.” Then she brightened. “But then, when you said you thought prom was lame, and J.P. didn't ask you—and then when I read your book—well, I just put it all together and thought you must have had sex already, too! Only now that you and Michael—”

I looked around the penguin enclosure quickly. There were people everywhere! Most of whom were five years old! And screaming about penguins! And we were having this totally intimate conversation! About
sex
!

“Now that Michael and me what?” I interrupted. “There's no Michael and me, Tina. I told you, I just spilled hot chocolate on him. That's all!”

“But you smelled him,” Tina said, looking concerned.

“Yeah, I smelled him,” I said. “But that's it!”

“But you said he smelled better than J.P.” Tina still looked concerned.

“Yeah,” I said, starting to feel panicky. Suddenly, the penguin exhibit was making me feel a little claustrophobic. There were way too many people in there. Plus, the echoing shrieks of all the sticky-fingered kids—not to mention the faint odor of penguin—was getting a little overwhelming.
“But that doesn't mean anything! It's not like we're getting back together, or anything. We're just friends.”

“Mia.” Tina looked stern. “I read your book, remember?”

“My book?” I could feel myself getting hot, even though it was super air-conditioned in the penguin house. “What does my book have to do with anything?”

“A handsome knight who's been away from home for a long, long time returns?” Tina said meaningfully. “Weren't you writing about Michael?”

“No!” I insisted. Oh my God! Was everyone who read it going to think this? Was J.P. going to think it? Was
Michael
? OH, NO! HE WAS READING IT RIGHT NOW!!!! Maybe he was reading it WITH MICROMINI MIDORI! AND LAUGHING ABOUT IT!

“What about the girl who felt obligated to care for her people?” Tina went on. “Weren't you really writing about yourself? And the people were the Genovians?”

“No!” I cried, my voice cracking. Some of the parents, holding the smaller kids up to see the penguins, looked over to see what the two teenaged girls in the dark corner were talking about.

If only they knew the truth. They'd probably have run screaming from the zoo. They might even have asked the wardens to shoot us.

“Oh.” Tina looked let down. “Well…it seemed like it. It seemed like…you were writing about you and Michael getting back together.”

“Tina, I wasn't,” I said. My chest was starting to feel tight. “I swear.”

“So…” Tina looked at me intently in the blue glow from the penguin tank. “What are you going to do about J.P.? I mean…you two
are
having sex? Aren't you?”

I don't know how what happened next happened—what heavenly miracle occurred to save me—but at that very moment Mamaw and Papaw showed up with Rocky in tow, screaming my name. I mean, Rocky was screaming my name. Not Mamaw and Papaw.

Then the zoo was closing, so we all had to leave. Which pretty much closed the discussion on Tina's sex life. And mine. Thank GOD.

So now I'm here at Applebee's.

And I don't think I will ever be the same. Because Tina just confessed that she and Boris have been having sex regularly.

I should have known. They have been showing little to no public displays of affection at school all year—no kissing, no holding hands in the hallway, nothing like this—which should have been an indication to me that something serious was going on.

Such as major play under the sheets after school when Mr. and Mrs. Pelkowski weren't home.

God! I'm so blind!

Oh, no—my cell phone is going off. It's J.P.! He must be calling to tell me what he thinks of
Ransom My Heart
.

I just answered even though I'm in the ladies' room and there are people and flushing and stuff all around me. I personally think it's disgusting when people answer their cell phones in the ladies' room, but I haven't heard from J.P. all day, and I left a message with him earlier. I
do
want to see what he thinks of my book. I didn't want to sound
needy or anything, but, you know. You'd have thought he'd have called already to let me know. What if HE thinks my book is about Michael and me, too, just like Tina?

But it turns out I needn't have worried: He hasn't had a chance to read it yet, because he's been in rehearsal all afternoon.

He wanted to know what I'm doing for dinner.

I said I was at Applebee's with Mamaw and Papaw and my mom and Mr. G and Rocky, and that he was welcome (that I was even DYING for him) to join us.

But he laughed and said that was okay.

I don't think he really comprehended the gravity of the situation.

So then I said, “No, you don't understand. You NEED to come join us.”

Because I realized I
really
needed to see him, after the day I'd had…what with smelling Michael and finding out from Tina about her and Boris and all.

But J.P. said, “Mia…it's
Applebee's
.”

I said, feeling a little desperate (okay—a lot desperate): “J.P., I know it's Applebee's. But that's the kind of restaurant my family likes. Well, some of my family. And I'm stuck here. It would really cheer me up so much if you could stop by. And Mamaw would really like to meet you. She's been asking about you all day.”

This was a complete and total lie. But whatever, I lie so much, what difference could one more lie make?

Mamaw hadn't mentioned J.P. at all, though she'd asked me if I had ever thought of asking out “that cute boy from that show
High School Musical
. Because, as a princess, I'm
sure you could get him to go out with you.” Um…thanks, Mamaw, but I don't date boys who wear more makeup than me!

“Besides,” I said to J.P., “I miss you. It seems like I hardly ever get to see you anymore, you're so busy with your play.”

“Aw. But that's what happens when two creative people get together,” J.P. reminded me. “Remember how busy you were when you were working on what I now know was your novel?” His reluctance to set foot in the horror that is the Times Square Applebee's was palpable. Also, may I just add, perfectly understandable. Still. “And you'll see me in school tomorrow. And all night at your party tomorrow. I'm just really zonked from rehearsal. You don't mind, do you?”

I looked down at the squashed fry beneath my shoe.

“No,” I said. What else could I say? Besides, is there anything more pathetic than a nearly eighteen-year-old girl in a bathroom stall begging her boyfriend to come meet her and her parents and grandparents at Applebee's for dinner?

I don't think so.

“See you later,” I said, instead. And hung up.

I wanted to cry. I really, really did. Sitting there, thinking how my ex-boyfriend was maybe—probably—reading my book and thinking it was about him…and my current boyfriend hadn't read my book at all…well…

Honestly, I think I must be the most pathetic night-before-her-birthday girl in all of Manhattan. Possibly on the entire East Coast.

Maybe in all of North America.

Maybe in the whole world.

An excerpt from
Ransom My Heart
by Daphne Delacroix