out of that. She said there'd be enough publicity about this without the added humiliation of a royal arrest.

My dad is still so mad he can't sit still. He is pacing back and forth across the suite. Rommel is watching him very nervously from Grandmere's lap, his head moving back and forth, back and forth, as his eyes follow my dad, as if he were watching the US Open.

I bet if Sebastiano were here, my dad would smash up a lot more than just his mobile phone.

Saturday, December 12, 5 p.m., the Loft

Well.

All I can say is, Grandmere's really done it this time.

I'm serious. I don't think my dad is ever going to speak to her again.

And I know I never will.

OK, she's an old lady and she didn't know what she was doing was wrong, and I should really be more understanding.

But for her to do this — for her not even to take into consideration my feelings - I frankly don't think I will ever be able to forgive her.

What happened was, Sebastiano called right before I was getting ready to leave the hotel. He was completely perplexed

about why my dad is so mad at him. He tried to come upstairs to see us, he said, but Plaza security stopped him.

When my dad, who'd answered the phone, told Sebastiano that the reason Plaza security stopped him was because he'd

been PNG'd, and then explained why, Sebastiano was even more upset. He kept going, 'But I had your permish! I had your permish, Philippe!'

'My permission to use my daughter's image to promote your awful rags?' My father was disgusted. 'You most certainly did not!'

But Sebastiano kept insisting he had.

And little by little, it came out that he had had permission, in a way. Only not from me. And not my dad, either. Guess who, it appears, gave it to him?

Grandmere went, all indignantly, 'I only did it, Philippe, because Amelia, as you know, suffers from a terrible self-image and needed a boost.'

But my dad was so enraged he wouldn't even listen to her.

He just thundered, 'And so to repair her self-image you went behind her back and gave permission for her photos to be used

in an advertisement for women's clothing?'

Grandmere didn't have much to say after that. She just stood there going, 'Uhn . . . uhn . . . uhn . . .' like someone in a horror movie who'd been pinned to a wall with a machete but wasn't quite dead yet (I always close my eyes during parts like this, so

I know exactly what it sounds like). It became clear that even if Grandmere had had a reasonable excuse for her behaviour,

my father wasn't going to listen to it - or let me listen to it, either. He stalked over to me, grabbed my arm and marched me

right out of the suite. I thought we were going to have a bonding moment like fathers and daughters always do on TV, where he'd tell me that Grandmere was a very sick woman and that he was going to send her somewhere where she could take a

nice long rest, but instead all he said was, 'Go home.'

Then he handed me over to Lars - after slamming the door to Grandmere's suite VERY loudly behind him - and stormed off

in the direction of his own suite.

Jeez.

It just goes to show that even a royal family can be dysfunctional.

Couldn't you just see us on Ricki Lake?

Ricki: Clarisse, tell us: why did you allow Sebastiano to put your granddaughter's photos in that Times advertising supplement?

Grandmere: I did it to boost her self-esteem. And how dare you call me by my first name? That's Your Royal

Highness to you, Ms Lake.

I just know that when I get to school on Monday, everybody is going to be all, 'Oh, look, here comes Mia, that big FAKE, with her vegetarianism and her animal-rights activism and her looks-aren't-important-it's-what's-on-the-inside-that-matters-ism. But I guess it's all right to pose for fashion photo shoots, isn't it, Mia?'

As if it wasn't enough I had to be suspended. Now I am going to be sneered at by my peers too.

I'm home now, trying to pretend none of it ever happened. This is difficult, of course, because when I walked back into the

loft I saw that my mom had already pulled the supplement out of our paper and drawn little devil horns coming out of my

head in every picture, then stuck the whole thing on to the refrigerator.

While I appreciate this bit of whimsy, it does not make the fact that I will have to show my face - now plastered all over advertising supplements throughout the tri-state area - in school on Monday any easier.

Surprisingly, there is one good thing that's come out of all of this: I know for sure I look best in the white taffeta number with

the blue sash. My dad says over his dead body am I going to wear it, or any other Sebastiano creation. But there isn't another designer in Genovia who could do as good a job — let alone finish the dress in time. So it looks like it's going to be the dress by Sebastiano, which got delivered to the loft this morning.

Which is one thing off my mind, anyway.

I guess.

Saturday, December 12, 8 p.m., the Loft

I have already gotten seventeen e-mails, six phone calls and one visitor (Lilly) about the fashion thing. Lilly says it's not as bad as I think and that most people throw the supplements away without even looking at them.

But if that's true, I said, why are all these people calling and e-mailing me?

She tried to make out like it was all members of the Students Against the Corporatization of Albert Einstein High School,

calling to show their solidarity with my suspension, but I think we both know better: