“Not at the expense of straining diplomatic relations with your neighbors.” Grandmère’s lips are pressed so tightly together, they’re practically disappearing. “That was the prime minister of France, and he—”
Thank God the phone rang again. This is pretty awesome. I’d have dumped ten thousand snails into the Bay of Genovia a long time ago if I’d had any idea doing so would get me out of having princess lessons.
Although it kind of sucks that everyone is so mad.
Geez. I knew all about the French, of course. But who knew marine biologists were so TOUCHY?
But seriously, what was I supposed to do, sit around and LET killer algae destroy the livelihoods of families who for centuries made their living off the sea? Not to mention innocent creatures such as seals and porpoises whose very survival depends on ready access to the kelp beds the Caulerpa taxifolia are totally strangling? Could anyone really imagine that I would allow an environmental disaster of those proportions to occur under my very nose, in my own bay—me, Mia Thermopolis?—when I knew of a way (albeit only theoretical) to stop it?
“That was your father,” Grandmère said after slamming down the phone. “He is extremely distraught. He just heard from the Oceanographic Museum & Aquarium in Monaco. Apparently, some of your snails have drifted over to their bay.”
“Good.” I kind of like this environmentalist rebel thing. It keeps my mind off other stuff. Like that my boyfriend is going to dump me if I don’t put out. And that I am currently running against the most popular girl in school for student council president.
“Good?” Grandmère jumped up out of her seat so fast, she totally dumped Rommel, her toy poodle, off her lap. Fortunately Rommel is used to this kind of treatment and has trained himself to land on his feet, like a cat. “Good? Amelia, I don’t pretend to understand any of this—all of this fuss over a little plant and some snails. But I would think you of all people would know that”—she picked up one of the faxes and read aloud from it—“‘When you introduce a new species into a foreign environment, total devastation can occur.’”
“Tell that to Monaco,” I said. “They’re the ones who dumped South American algae into the Mediterranean in the first place. All I did was dump South American snails in after it to clean up THEIR mess.”
“Have you learned NOTHING from what I’ve tried to teach you this past year, Amelia?” Grandmère wants to know. “Nothing of tact, or diplomacy, or even SIMPLE COMMON SENSE?”
“I GUESS NOT!!!!”
Okay, I probably shouldn’t have screamed that quite as loudly as I did. But seriously, WHEN is she going to GET OFF MY BACK????? Can’t she see I have WAY BIGGER THINGS to worry about than what a bunch of stupid FRENCH MARINE BIOLOGISTS have to say????
Now she’s giving me the evil eye. “Well?”
That’s what she said. Just “Well?”
And even though I know I’m going to regret it—how can I not?—I go, “Well…what?”
“Well, are you going to tell me what’s got you so frazzled?” she wants to know. “Don’t try denying it, Amelia. You are as bad at hiding your true feelings as your father. What happened at school today that’s got you so upset?”
Yeah. Like I’m really going to discuss my love life with Grandmère.
Although I have to say that the last time I did this—with the whole prom thing—Grandmère gave me some pretty kick-ass advice. I mean, it got me to the prom, didn’t it?
Still, how can I tell my GRANDMOTHER that I’m afraid if I don’t have sex with my boyfriend, he’s going to dump me?
“Lilly nominated me to be student council president,” I said, because I had to say SOMETHING, or she’d hound me into an early grave. She’s done it before.
“But that’s wonderful news!”
For a minute, I thought Grandmère was actually going to kiss me or something. But I totally ducked and she pretended like instead she was going to lean down and pat Rommel on the head. Which is maybe what she meant to do all along. Grandmère is not a very kissy person. At least with me. Rocky, she kisses all the time. And she is not even technically related to him.
I keep antibacterial wipes around for this very reason. To wipe Grandmère’s kisses off Rocky, I mean. There is no telling where Grandmère’s lips have been on any given day.
Anyway.
“It’s not wonderful!” I yelled at her. Why am I the only person who sees this? “I’m going to be running against Lana Weinberger! She’s the most popular girl in the whole school!”
Grandmère swirled the swizzle stick in her Sidecar.
“Really,” she said, thoughtfully. “Interesting turn of events. There’s no reason, however, that you shouldn’t be able to defeat this Shana person. You’re a princess, remember! What is she?”
“A cheerleader,” I said. “And it’s Lana, not Shana. And believe me, Grandmère, in the real world—such as high school—being a princess is NOT an advantage.”
“Nonsense,” Grandmère said. “Being a royal is ALWAYS beneficial.”
“Ha!” I said. “Tell that to Anastasia!” Who, you know, got shot for being royal.
But Grandmère was totally not paying attention to me anymore.
“A student election,” she was muttering to herself, looking far away. “Yes, that might be just the thing….”