Princess in Pink

That seemed to spark their interest, and they didn't even complain when Tina and I pinned on their matching boutonnieres.

They look so cute together . . . kind of like Siegfried and Roy. Minus the tigers, and fake tans and all.

I didn't mention that Mr. Wheeton was going to be there, too . . . and that, in fact, he'd be escorting Mademoiselle Klein. Somehow, I didn't think that information would be very well received.

Oh, my God, I am so nervous, I am actually SWEATING. I am telling you, fifteen is turning out to be the best age EVER.

I mean, already I have got to play my first game of Seven Minutes in Heaven AND I'm going to my first ever prom ... I truly

am the luckiest girl in the world. Oh, my gosh. WE'RE HERE!!!!!!!!!!!

May 10, 9 p.m., The Empire State Building Observation Deck

I never thought I would say this, but Grandmere rules.

Seriously. I am SO glad she brought Rommel to my birthday dinner, and that he escaped, and that Jangbu Pinasa tripped

over him, and that Les Hautes Manger fired him, and that Lilly adopted his cause and created a city-wide hotel, restaurant,

and porters' unions strike.

Because if she hadn't, the prom might never have been cancelled, and Lana and the rest of the Prom Committee would have gone ahead and had it at Maxim's instead of being forced to have it on the observation deck of the Empire State Building - something arranged entirely by Grandmere, who is like this with the owner - and Michael would have continued to refuse to

go to the prom at all, and so instead of standing under the stars in my totally rocking Jennifer Lopez-engagement-ring pink

prom dress, listening to MY BOYFRIEND'S BAND, I'd be stuck at home, instant messaging my friends.

So as I stare out at the twinkling lights of Manhattan, all I can say is:

Thank you, Grandmere. Thank you for being such a complete freak. Because without you, my dream of entering the prom

on the arm of my one true love would never have come true.

And OK, it kind of sucks that we can't dance because the only time there's any music is when Skinner Box is playing.

But the band took a break a little while ago, and Michael came over with a glass of punch for me (pink lemonade with Sprite

in it ... Josh tried to spike it, but Wahim totally caught him and threatened him with his numb-chucks) and we went over to

the telescopes and stood with our arms around each other, gazing out at the Hudson River, snaking silverly along in the moonlight, and . . .

Well, I'm not sure, but I think we got to second base. I'm not sure because I don't know if it counts if a guy feels you up THROUGH your bra.

I will have to consult with Tina on this, but I think the hand actually has to get UNDER the bra for it to count.

But there was no way Michael was getting under MY bra, given as how I am wearing one of those strapless ones that are

so tight it feels like you are wearing an Ace bandage around your boobs.

But he tried. I'm pretty sure, anyway. There really is no doubting it now. I am a woman. A woman in every sense of the word.

Well, almost. Probably I should go into the ladies' room and take this stupid bra off so if he goes for it again I might actually

be able to feel something . . .

Oh, my God, somebody's mobile is ringing. That is so rude. And in the middle of 'Princess of my Heart' too. You would

think people would show some respect for the band and turn off their—

Oh, my God. That's MY mobile!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sunday, May 11, 1 a.m., St Vincent s Maternity Ward

Oh . . . my . . . God.

I can't believe it. I really can't. Tonight, not only did I become a woman (maybe) but I also became a big sister.

That's right. At 12:01 a.m., Eastern Standard Time, I became the proud big sister of Rocky Thermopolis-Gianini.

He is six weeks early, so he only weighed four pounds, fifteen ounces. But Rocky, like his namesake - I guess Mom was too weak to argue for Sartre any more. I'm glad. Sartre would have been a lousy name. The kid would have got beaten up all the time for sure with a name like Sartre - is a fighter, and will have to spend some time in an 'isolet' to 'gain and grow'. Both mother and Y-chromosomed oppressor, however, are expected to be fine . . .

Though I don't think the same can be said for the grandmother. Grandmere is slumped beside me in an exhausted heap. In

fact, she appears to be half asleep, and is snoring slightiy. Thank God there is no one around to hear it. Well, no one except

for Mr. G, Lars, Hans, my dad, our next-door neighbour, Ronnie, our downstairs neighbour, Verl, Michael, Lilly and me,

I mean.

But I guess Grandmere has a right to be tired. According to my mother's extremely grudging report, if it hadn't been for Grandmere, little Rocky might have been born right there in the Loft. . . and with no helpful midwife in attendance, either.

And seeing as how he came out so fast, and is so early, and needed a hit of oxygen before his lungs really started going,

that could have been disastrous!

But with me away at the prom, and Mr. Gianini having left the Loft to go 'buy some Lottery tickets down at the deli' (translation: he'd needed to get out of there for a few minutes, not being able to stand the constant bickering any more),

only Grandmere was around when Mom's waters suddenly broke (thank God in her bathroom and not on the futon couch.

Or else where would I sleep tonight????).

'Not now,' Grandmere apparently heard my mother wailing from the toilet. 'Oh, God, not now! It's too soon!'