“Because I like it,” I said. “And I can do it and still have time to be princess of Genovia, and not have paparazzi chase me around, and it isn’t bad for me, and why can’t you just be happy for me that I’ve found my calling?”

“Her calling!” I could tell Grandmère was rolling her eyes. “Her calling, no less. It can’t be your calling if no one will even buy the wretched thing from you, Amelia. Listen, if you want a calling, I’ll pay for you to have cliff-diving lessons. I hear it’s all the rage with the young people down in—”

“I don’t want cliff-diving lessons,” I said. “I’m going to write novels and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. And I’m going to go to college to learn to do it better. I just don’t know where yet. But I will by the prom and the election—”

“Well,” Grandmère said, sounding offended. “Someone didn’t get her beauty sleep!”

“Because I was at your party,” I said. Then I softened my tone, remembering what my dad had said about princesses being kind. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. It was very nice of you to have that party for me, and it was lovely to see Dad, and you and Vigo did an awfully nice job. I just meant—”

“I suppose,” Grandmère said stiffly, “I ought to be relieved I don’t have to have an engagement party for you. No one gives promise-ring parties…do they? But I imagine you’ll expect a book party someday.”

“If I get published,” I said, “it would be nice.”

Grandmère sighed gustily and hung up. I could tell she was going to go have a Sidecar, even though her physicians have expressly ordered her to cut back on them (and I saw her with one in her hand throughout the night last evening. Either her glass was magic and never emptied, or she had several).

So, yeah. Exactly what Dad DIDN’T want: Looks like I’m a Princess with a Reputation.

On the other hand, at this point…I might as well live up to it, I guess.

Wednesday, May 3, Trig final

Okay. Barely passed that.

Moving on.

Wednesday, May 3, Lunch

OH MY GOD!

I was just sitting down at our table in the caf with my tofurkey burger and salad when my phone rang and I saw that it was my dad.

Dad never calls me during school unless it’s an emergency or massively important, so I practically dropped my tray and was all, “WHAT?” into the phone.

Of course J.P. and Tina and Boris and Lana and everyone stopped talking and turned to look at me.

The only things I could think were:

A) Grandmère finally croaked from too many Gitanes, or

B) Somehow the paparazzi got wind of the fact that I’m going to have sex on my prom night and spilled the beans to my parents, and I was busted. Could Tina be right? Had they finally tapped my phone?

Then Dad went, in a completely calm voice, “I thought you’d be interested to know that a brand-new CardioArm was just delivered to the Royal Genovian Hospital, with a card indicating it was a donation courtesy of Michael Moscovitz, President and CEO, Pavlov Surgical Industries.”

I almost dropped my phone into Lana’s fro-yo. “Hey, watch it,” she said.

“A programmer named Midori came with the CardioArm to teach our surgeons a two-week course on how to use it,” Dad went on. “She’s at the hospital now, setting it up.”

Micromini Midori!

“I don’t understand,” I said. I really was totally confused. “Why would he do that? We didn’t ask for one. Did you ask for one? I didn’t ask him for one.”

“I didn’t ask him for one,” Dad said. “And I already checked with your grandmother. She swears she didn’t ask him for one.”

I had to sit down, my legs having suddenly given out from beneath me. I hadn’t even thought of Grandmère. She had to have been behind this! She must have browbeaten Michael into giving Genovia one of his CardioArms! No wonder he’d left my party early! Poor thing.

And all this time I’d been thinking horrible thoughts about him….

“Mia,” J.P. said, looking concerned. “Are you all right? What’s going on?”

“She must have said something to him,” I said into the phone, ignoring my boyfriend. “She’s got to be lying. Why else would he have done it?”

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea why,” Dad said, in a strange voice.

“You do?” I was flummoxed. “Well, why? Other than Grandmère having cornered him the other night at my party and demanding one? Dad, she had to have.” I lowered my voice so the lunch gang wouldn’t overhear me. “There’s a huge long waiting list for those things. They cost over a million dollars! He’s not just going to have one shipped over to Genovia for free, for no reason!”

“I think there’s a reason,” Dad said dryly. “Why don’t you call him to thank him? I imagine he’ll probably tell you what it is over dinner.”

“Dinner?” I echoed. “What are you talking about? Why would we go out to din—”

Comprehension dawned. I couldn’t believe it had taken me so long to figure out what my dad meant—that Michael had sent the CardioArm because he still liked me. More than liked me, maybe, even.

I could feel myself starting to blush. I was grateful everyone at the table couldn’t hear both sides of the conversation. That is, if they hadn’t figured it out already from my end.