TOP FIVE WORST THINGS ABOUT BEING A PRINCESS

1. Can’t marry Michael Moscovitz (he would never renounce his American citizenship in favor of Genovian).

2. Can’t go anywhere without a bodyguard (I like Lars, but come on: Even the Pope gets to pray by himself sometimes).

3. Must maintain neutral opinion on important topics such as the meat industry and smoking.

4. Princess lessons with Grandmère.

5. Still forced to learn Algebra even though there is no reason why I will ever have to use it in my future career as ruler of small European principality.

Monday, October 27, Later

I figured as soon as I got home, I would tell my mom that she and Mr. G need to elope, and right away. Grandmère had brought in a professional! I knew it would be a pain, what with Mom’s latest show opening being so soon and all, but it was either that, or a royal wedding the likes of which this city hasn’t seen since . . .

Well, ever.

But when I got home, my mom had her head in the toilet.

It turns out her morning sickness has begun, and isn’t at all exclusive. She’ll throw up just about any time, not just in the a.m.

She was so sick, I didn’t have the heart to make her feel worse by telling her what Grandmère had planned.

“Be sure to put a video in,” my mom kept calling from the bathroom. I didn’t know what she was talking about, but Mr. G did.

She meant to be sure to tape my interview. My interview with Beverly Bellerieve!

I had completely forgotten about it, in light of what had happened at Grandmère’s. But my mom hadn’t.

Since my mom was incapacitated, Mr. G and I settled in to watch my interview together—well, in between running into the bathroom to offer my mom seltzer and saltines.

I figured I would tell Mr. G about Grandmère and the wedding at the first commercial break—but I sort of forgot, in the unbelievable horror of what followed.

Beverly Bellerieve—undoubtedly in an effort to impress my father—actually did messenger over both a videotape and a written transcript of the interview. I will enclose parts of the written transcript here, so if I am ever asked to do another interview again, I can look at it and know exactly why I should never allow myself to appear on television ever again.

TWENTYFOUR/SEVEN for Monday 27 October

America ’s Princess

B. Bellerieve int. w/M. Renaldo

Ext. Thompson Street, south of Houston ( SoHo ). World Trade in background.

Beverly Bellerieve (BB):

Imagine if you will, an ordinary teenage girl. Well, as ordinary as a teenage girl who lives in New York City’s Greenwich Village with her single mom, acclaimed painter Helen Thermopolis, can be.

Mia’s life was filled with the normal things most teenagers’ lives are full of—homework, friends, and the occasional F in Algebra . . .until one day, it all changed.

Int. penthouse suite, Plaza Hotel.

BB: Mia—may I call you Mia? Or would you prefer that I call you Your Highness? Or Amelia?

Mia Renaldo (MR):

Um, no, you can call me Mia.

BB: Mia. Tell us about that day. The day life as you know it changed completely.

MR: Well, um, what happened was, my dad and I were here at the Plaza, you know, and I was drinking tea, and I got the hiccups, and everyone was looking at me, and my dad was, you know, trying to tell me I was the heir to the throne of Genovia, the country where he lives, and I was like, Look, I gotta go to the bathroom, and so I did, and I waited there until my hiccups stopped and then I came back to my chair and he told me that I was a princess and I completely flipped out and I ran to the zoo and I sat and looked at the penguins for a while and I totally couldn’t believe it because in the seventh grade they made us do fact sheets on all the countries in Europe, but I totally missed the part about my dad being prince of it. And all I could think was that I was going to die if people in school found out, because I didn’t want to end up being a freak like my friend Tina, who has to go around school with a bodyguard. But that’s exactly what happened. I am a freak, a huge freak.

[This is the part where she tries to salvage the situation:]

BB: Oh, Mia, I can’t believe that’s true. I’m sure you’re quite popular.

MR: No, I’m not. I’m not popular at all. Only jocks are popular in my school. And cheerleaders. But I’m not popular. I mean, I don’t hang out with the popular people. I never get invited to parties, or anything. I mean, the cool parties, where there is beer and making out and stuff. I mean, I’m not a jock, or a cheerleader, or one of the smart kids—

BB: Oh, but aren’t you one of the smart kids, though? I understand one of your classes is called Gifted and Talented.

MR: Yes, but see, G and T is just like study hall. We don’t actually do anything in this class. Except goof around because the teacher is never there, she’s always in the teachers’ lounge across the hall so she has no idea what we’re doing. Which is goofing off.

[Obviously still thinking she can make something out of this interview:]

BB: But I don’t imagine you have much time for goofing off, do you, Mia? For instance, we are sitting here in the penthouse suite that belongs to your grandmother, the celebrated dowager princess of Genovia, who is, I understand, instructing you in royal decorum.

MR: Oh, yes. She’s giving me princess lessons after school. Well, after my Algebra review sessions, which are after school.

BB: Mia, didn’t you have some exciting news recently?

MR: Oh. Yes. Well, I’m pretty excited. I’ve always wanted to be a big sister. But they don’t really want to make a big deal out of it, you know. It’s just going to be a very small ceremony at City Hall—