And even though at the restorative yoga class I took with Grandmère to prove to her that yoga isn’t so bad and she should do it to improve her joint health, the yogi said that hatred bars the path to spiritual enlightenment, I really do hate J.P. Or at least dislike him a lot:

Mia, I’ve been following you on social media. May I just say I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become? You look more beautiful every day. I don’t understand why Michael hasn’t proposed yet. I’m sorry the press is now calling you “Why Won’t He Marry Mia.”

Really? He had to bring that up? Also, he had to mention that I look great, nothing about everything I’ve accomplished, like founding the Community Center or the op-ed piece I just had published in the Wall Street Journal?

Then he made things worse by listing his own accomplishments.

I’ve been keeping quite busy! As you know, I’ve always had a creative side. Screen- and playwriting have always been my thing in the past, but to my surprise, this winter I was inspired to write a novel! Even more surprising, it’s a YA novel set in the dystopian future featuring a love triangle centered around a racially diverse, strong-minded heroine who is also suffering from radiation poisoning.

Of course it is. Because J.P. knows so much about all of those things, being a white male who has never suffered from radiation poisoning and doesn’t know anyone who is racially diverse (except Shameeka and Ling Su and Tina, and they stopped being friends with him long ago, after what he did to me).

The words just seemed to pour out of me. I think it might even end up being a trilogy!

Of course.

Since you’re a published author, Mia, I was hoping if I sent Love in the Time of Shadows to you, you’d read it and give me your thoughts, and also perhaps send it on to your editor. (Do take your time, I know how busy you must be, especially dealing with your father’s arrest. And I was so sorry to hear about Frank, by the way. Please give my regards to your mother.)

Of course he had to bring up my stepfather’s death and my father’s arrest. BECAUSE IN HIS MIND THESE TWO THINGS ARE EQUALLY BAD.

OMG, I seriously hope J.P. gets radiation poisoning, then has to go live in the dystopian future.

Oh, wait. Maybe he already does:

Unfortunately things haven’t been going so well for me recently either. My latest film, which I wrote and also produced and directed, Nymphomania 3-D, was not well received by critics (or audiences). I am really in the hole to my investors, and have been forced to take a job working here in the city at my uncle’s company. But I won’t bore you with the details!

Too late.

Thank you, Mia. Despite what you might think, I will always love you and wish things could have turned out differently between us.

XOXO J.P.

Ugh. UGH UGH UGH UGH.

Someone with full cognitive development who is also self-actualized would never take pleasure in the pain of someone else—even their ex-boyfriend who completely betrayed them and who has now fallen on hard times and made a movie called Nymphomania 3-D (which, by the way, I looked up and it’s about “a young girl’s sensual journey from frigidity to sexual awakening in the arms of a skilled older lover” who also happens to be a writer named John Paul)—but I’m going to be honest:

It’s possible this is the best birthday present I’ve ever received. Because it gives me free rein not to feel the least bit bad about COMPLETELY HATING J.P.

But because I’m a princess, instead of reveling in J.P.’s pain, I’ll simply write back to him and tell him “Thanks for the birthday wishes” and to send his book along, but that since I’m quite busy, I don’t know how long it will be before I can read it, if ever.

(Wrong: I will read it immediately and laugh and laugh at how stupid it is. Plus I’m going to make sure to get a copy of Nymphomania 3-D and play it in the palace theater and laugh at that, too.)

(Well, probably not, because it sounds completely disgusting.)

It’s not all good news, though.

RateTheRoyals.com chimed in to let me know my royal popularity rating has now sunk to an all-time low, “thanks to recent highly publicized events.” This has now made me less popular than a royal baby.

Thanks, Rate the Royals. Happy birthday to me.

CHAPTER 11

9:05 a.m., Friday, May 1

Third-Floor Apartment

Consulate General of Genovia

Rate the Royals Rating: 5

Marie Rose just arrived with breakfast (Belgian waffles still hot from the kitchen downstairs and a soft-boiled egg with buttered toast and a pot of steaming hot Genovian black tea with milk and fresh squeezed juice).

I told her she didn’t have to keep doing this—she’s supposed to be the chef for the consulate general, not me—but she only rolled her eyes and said, “C’est pas grave.”

She is a lovely woman and a true patriot of the sovereign city-state, though she got her green card in 1997, and both her daughters are American citizens.

Of course Marie Rose checked Rate the Royals, too. She says the site is an outrage and ought to be shut down. She says I’m “definitely a four,” right after Kate, William, and Prince Harry. Royal babies, she said, shouldn’t count.

“On good days, after having had your hair blown out, Princesse,” she says, “you’re probably a two, after Kate, or maybe even a one if Paolo’s used that airbrush makeup that makes your skin look so smooth on high-definition television.”

I tried to explain to her that Rate the Royals is not an attractiveness rating scale, but a popularity ranking,* but she’s staying firm.