Princess In Love (6 page)

And how about that Final, huh? Our Bio. Final, I mean. No way am I going to be able to pass without Kenny's notes.

NO WAY.

But what else can I do? I mean, considering what happened today at the salad bar.

This is it. Goodbye, date for the Non-Denominational Winter Dance. Hello, Saturday night television.

Dear Kenny, It isn't that I don't think of you as a very dear friend. It's just that
—

Monday, December 7, 3 p.m., Mr Gianni's Algebra Review

OK, so the bell rang before I had time to finish my note.

That doesn't mean I'm not going to tell Kenny exactly how I feel. I totally am. Tonight, as a matter of fact. I don't care if it's cruel to do something like that over the phone. I just can't take it any more.

Homework:

Algebra: review questions at the end of Chapters 1-3

English: term paper

World Civ.: review questions at the end of Chapters 1—4

G & T: none

French: review questions at the end of Chapters 1—3

Biology: review questions at the end of Chapters 1-5

Tuesday; December 8, Homeroom

All right. So I didn't break up with him.

I totally meant to.

And it wasn't even because I didn't have the heart to do it over the phone, either.

It was something GRANDMERE, of all people, said.

Not that I feel right about it. Not breaking up with him, I mean, It's just that after Algebra review I had to go to the showroom where Sebastiano is flogging his latest creations, so that he could have his flunkies take my measurements for my dress. Grandmere was going on about how from now on, I should really only wear clothes by Genovian designers, to show my patriotism or whatever. Which is going to be hard, because, uh, there's only one Genovian clothing designer that I know of

and that's Sebastiano. And let's just say he doesn't make very much out of denim.

But whatever. I so had more important things to worry about than my spring wardrobe.

Which I guess Grandmere must have caught on to, because midway through Sebastiano's description of the beading he was going to have sewn on to my gown's bodice, Grandmere slammed down her Sidecar and shouted, 'Amelia, what is the matter with you?'

I must have jumped about a foot in the air. 'What?' 'Sebastiano asked if you prefer a sweetheart or square-cut neckline.'

I stared at her blankly. 'Neckline for what?' Grandmere gave me the Evil Eye. She does this quite frequently. That's why my father, even though he has the neighbouring hotel suite, never stops by during my princess lessons.

'Sebastiano,' my grandmother said. 'You will please leave the princess and myself for a moment.'

And Sebastiano - who was wearing a new pair of leather trousers, these in a tangerine colour (the new grey, he told me.

And white, you might be surprised to know, is the new black.) - bowed and left the room, followed by the slinky ladies

who'd been taking my measurements.

'Now,' Grandmere said, imperiously. 'Something is clearly troubling you, Amelia. What is it?'

'It's nothing,' I said, turning all red. I knew I was turning all red because a) I could feel it, and b) I could see my reflection in

the three full-length mirrors in front of me.

'It is not nothing.' Grandmere took in a healthy drag from her Gitanes, even diough I have asked her repeatedly not to smoke

in my presence since breathing second-hand smoke can cause just as much lung damage as actually smoking. 'What is it? Trouble at home? Your mother and the maths teacher fighting already, I suppose. Well, I never expected that marriage to last. Your mother is much too flighty.'

I have to admit, I kind of snapped when she said that. Grandmere is always putting my mother down, even though Mom has raised me pretty much single-handedly and I certainly haven't gotten pregnant or shot anyone yet.

'For your information,' I said, 'my mom and Mr. Gianini are blissfully happy together. I wasn't thinking about them at all.'

'What is it, then?' Grandmere asked, in a bored voice.

'Nothing,' I practically yelled. 'I just - well, I was thinking about the fact that I have to break up with my boyfriend tonight,

that's all. Not that it's any of your business.'

Instead of taking offence at my tone, which any self-respecting grandparent would have found insolent, Grandmere only took

a sip of her drink and suddenly looked way interested.

'Oh?' she said, in a totally different tone of voice — the same tone of voice she uses when someone mentions a stock tip she thinks might be useful for her portfolio. 'What boyfriend is this?'

God, what did I ever do to be cursed with such a grandmother? Seriously. Lilly and Michael's grandma remembers the names of all their friends, makes them rugelach all the time, and always worries that they're not getting enough to eat, even though their parents, the Drs. Moscovitz, are wholly reliable at bringing home groceries or at least ordering out.

Me? I get the grandma with the hairless poodle and the nine-carat diamond rings whose greatest joy in life is to torture me.

And why does she enjoy that so much? I've never done anything to her. Nothing except be her only living grandchild, anyway. And it isn't exactly like I go around advertising how I feel about her. You know, I've never actually told her I think she's a mean old lady who contributes to the destruction of the environment by wearing fur coats and smoking filterless French cigarettes.

'Grandmere,' I said, trying to remain calm. 'I have only one boyfriend. His name is Kenny.' I've only told you about fifty thousand times, I added, in my head.

'I thought this Kenny person was your Biology partner,' Grandmere said, after taking a sip of her Sidecar.

'He is,' I said, a little surprised that she'd managed to remember something like that. 'He's also my boyfriend. Only the other night he went completely schizo on me and told me he loves me.'

Grandmere patted Rommel, who was sitting in her lap looking miserable (his habitual expression), on the head.

'And what is so wrong,' Grandmere wanted to know, 'about a boy who says he loves you?'

'Nothing,' I said. 'Only I'm not in love with him, see? So it wouldn't be fair of me to, you know, lead him on.'

Grandmere raised her painted-on eyebrows. 'I don't see why not.'

How had I ever gotten into this conversation? 'Because, Grandmere. People just don't go around doing things like that. Not nowadays.'

'Is that so? Well, I've never observed such a thing. Except, of course, if one happens to be in love with someone else. Then shedding an undesirable suitor might be considered wise, so that one can make oneself available for the man one truly likes.' She eyed me. 'Is there someone like that in your life, Amelia? Someone, ahem, special?'

'No,' I lied, automatically.

Grandmere snorted. 'You're lying.'

'No, I'm not,' I lied.

'Indeed you are. I oughtn't to tell you this, but I suppose as it is a bad habit for a future monarch you ought to be made aware of it, so that in the future you can try to prevent it. When you lie, Amelia, your nostrils flare.'

I threw my hands up to my nose. 'They do not!'

'Indeed,' Grandmere said, clearly enjoying herself immensely. 'If you do not believe me, look in the mirror.'

I turned around to face the nearby full-length mirrors. Taking my hands from my face, I examined my nose. My nostrils weren't flaring. She was crazy.

'I'll ask you again, Amelia,' Grandmere said, in a lazy voice, from her chair. Are you in love with anyone right now?'

'No,' I lied automatically . . . And my nostrils flared right out!

Oh my God! All these years I've been lying and it turns out whenever I do, my nostrils totally give me away!

How could no one have pointed this out to me before? And Grandmere - Grandmere, of all people - was the one who figured it out! Not my mother, with whom I've lived for fourteen years. Not my best friend, whose IQ's higher than Einstein's.

If this got out, my life was over.

'Fine,' I cried dramatically, spinning away from the mirror to face her. 'All right, yes. Yes, I am in love with somebody else.

Are you happy now?'

Grandmere raised her painted-on eyebrows. 'No need to shout, Amelia,' she said, with what I might have taken for amusement in anyone other than her. 'Who might this special someone be?'

'Oh, no,' I said, holding out both my hands. If it wouldn't have been totally rude, I'd have made a little cross out of my index fingers and held it up towards her — that's how much she scares me. And if you think about it, with her tattooed eyeliner she does look a little like Nosferatu. 'You are not getting that information out of me.'

Grandmere stubbed out her cigarette in this ashtray Sebastiano had provided, and went, 'Very well. I take it, then, that the gentleman in question does not return your ardour.'

There was no point in lying to her. Not now. Not with my nostrils.

My shoulders sagged. 'No. He likes this other girl. This really smart girl who knows how to clone fruit flies.'

Grandmere snorted. 'A useful talent. Well, never mind that now. I don't suppose, Amelia, that you are acquainted with the expression “dirty dishwater is better than none”?'

I guess she must have been" able to tell from my perplexed expression that this was one I hadn't heard before, since she went on, 'Do not throw away this Kenny until you have managed to secure someone better.'

I stared at her, horrified. Really, my grandmother has said - and done - some pretty cold things in her time, but this one took the biscuit.

'Secure someone better?' I couldn't believe she actually meant what I thought she meant. 'You mean I shouldn't break up with Kenny until I've got someone else?'

Grandmere lit another cigarette. 'But of course.'

'But, Grandmere.' I swear to God, sometimes I can't figure out if she's human or some kind of alien life force sent down from another planet to spy on us. 'You can't do that. You can't just string a guy along like that, knowing that you don't feel the same way about him that he feels about you.'

Grandmere exhaled a long plume of blue smoke. 'Why not?'

'Because it's completely unethical!' I shook my head. 'No. I'm breaking up with Kenny. Right away. Tonight, as a matter of fact.'

Grandmere stroked Rommel under the chin. He looked more miserable than ever, as if instead of stroking him she was peeling the skin away from his body. He really is the most heinous excuse for a dog I have ever seen.

'That,' Grandmere said, 'is your prerogative, of course. But allow me to point out to you that if you break off your relationship with this young man, your Biology grade will suffer.'

I was shocked. But mostly because this was something I
had already thought of myself. I was amazed Grandmere and I had actually shared something.

Which was really the only reason I shouted, 'Grandmere!'

'Well,' Grandmere said, flicking ash from her cigarette into the nearby crystal ashtray. 'Isn't it true? You are only making what,

a C, in this class? And that is only because that young man allows you to copy his answers to the homework.'

'Grandmere!' I yelled again. Because, of course, she's right.

She looked at the ceiling. 'Let me see,' she said. 'With your D in Algebra, if you get anything less than a C in Biology your grade point average will take quite a little dip this semester.'

'Grandmere.' I couldn't believe this. She was right. She was so right. But still. 'I am not going to postpone breaking up with Kenny until after the Final. That would be just plain wrong.'

'Suit yourself,' Grandmere said with a sigh. 'But it will certainly be awkward having to sit beside him for the next -how long is

it until the end of the semester? - oh, yes, two weeks. Especially considering the fact that after you break things off with him,

he probably won't even speak to you any more.'

God, so true. And not something I hadn't thought of myself. If Kenny got mad enough over me breaking up with him not to want to speak to me any more, sixth period was going to be plenty unpleasant.

And what about this dance?' Grandmere rattled the ice in her Sidecar. 'This Christmas dance?'

'It's not a Christmas dance,' I said. 'It's a non-denominational—'

Grandmere waved a hand. The spiky charm bracelet she was wearing tinkled.

'Whatever,' she said. 'If you stop seeing this young man, who will you go to the dance with?'

'I won't go with anybody,' I said firmly, even though, of course, my heart was breaking at the thought. 'I'll just stay home.'

'While everyone else has a good time? Really, Amelia, you aren't being at all sensible. What about this other young man?'

'What other young man?'

'The one you claim to be so in love with. Won't he be at this dance with the house fly girl?'

'Fruit fly,' I corrected her. And I don't know. Maybe.'

The thought that Michael might ask Judith Gershner to the Non-Denominational Winter Dance had never occurred to me. But as soon as Grandmere mentioned it, I felt that same sickening sensation I'd felt at the ice-skating rink when I'd first seen them together: kind of like the time when Lilly and I were crossing Bleecker Street and this Chinese food delivery man crashed into us on his bicycle and I had all the wind knocked out of me.

Only this time it wasn't just my chest that hurt, but my tongue. It had been feeling a lot better but now it started to throb again.

'It seems to me,' Grandmere said, 'that one way to get this young man's attention might be to show up at the dance on the arm of this other young man, looking perfectly divine in an original creation by Genovian fashion designer, Sebastiano Grimaldi.'

I just stared at her. Because she was right. She was so right. Except. . .

'Grandmere,' I said. 'The guy I like? Well, he likes girls who can clone insects. OK? I highly doubt he is going to be

impressed by a dress.'

I didn't mention that I had, of course, just the other night, been hoping that very thing.