Chapter Eight: I Feel Like I’m Falling

Chapter Eight: I Feel Like I’m Falling

A/N: Happy is the adjective I would use to describe me right now. So review and make me even happier! Tee-hee! P

Wednesday, October 15, Homeroom

PRINCESS AMELIA: New York’s Very Own Royal

Yes, that’s right.

And it’s the same "Amelia" that we all know and love.

Mia, object of my affection, is…she’s a…

PRINCESS!!

Princess of Genovia, more specifically.

I should’ve known that something was wrong when the groups of people that usually smoke or sit on Joe, the school mascot (he’s not an animal though—just a stone lion) where clustered in these little groups, talking amongst themselves. I soon found Felix conversing with some junior named Tammy or something.

"What’s up?" I said. "Why’s everyone so…talkative today?" Felix literally shoved the latest New York Post into my face. I read the headline and my jaw dropped almost instantly. I heard the talking getting even louder when I saw Mia pull up in her limo.

No wonder why she has a limo and a bodyguard!

Mia Thermopolis is the Princess of Genovia.

Apparently, Mia is "the statuesque beauty who is the product of Helen and Phillipe’s tempestuous whirlwind college romance." Well, I can agree with that.

"Dude, isn’t Ameliabest friends with Lilly?" Felix said.

"Yes. And her name is Mia." Actually, her name is Amelia but no one ever calls her that.

Except, maybe, Lana Weinberger.

I continued reading and my eyes widened.

"Phillipe, the crown prince of Genovia, has a total personal worth which, including real estate property and the palace’s art collection, is estimated at over three hundred million dollars," I murmured, transfixed.

"Whoa, she’s loaded," Felix said, sounding fascinated. I shot him a disgruntled look and took off, newspaper still in hand. I wondered if Mia knew that her face was plastered on the cover of the Post. It’s a rather nice picture of her; she’s smiling but not at the camera.

Maybe I can cut it out and stick on my wall.

Wow. I’ve turned into an obsessed stalker now.

That’s one to tell the family.

Later on Wednesday

I was finally able to talk to Mia during G & T today.

Unfortunately, Lilly had to butt in where she was not wanted.

Mia: Hi, Michael. I did all those problems you gave me. But I still don’t see why you couldn’t just look at the train schedule to find out what time a train traveling 67 miles per hour will arrive in Fargo, North Dakota, if it leaves Salt Lake City at 7 A.M.

So, she didn’t want to talk about the Princess thing. But, I know, she’s not interested in Algebra and probably never will be. But I had to ask her about it, of course.

Me: So. Princess of Genovia, huh? Were you ever going to share that little piece of info with the group, or were we all supposed to guess?

Mia: I was kind of hoping no one would find out.

Um, hello? If you’re a freaking princess, of course people are going to find out.

Wow. What’s wrong with me?

Me: Well, that’s obvious. I don’t see why, though. It’s not like it’s a bad thing.

Mia: Are you kidding me? Of course it’s bad!

Me: Did you read the article in today’s Post, Thermopolis?

Mia: No way. I’m not going to read that trash. I don’t know who this Carol Fernandez thinks she is, but—

And this is where Lilly got involved.

She’s so nosy sometimes. As if that were hard to believe.

Lilly: So you’re not aware that the crown prince of Genovia—namely, your father—has a total personal worth which, including real estate property and the palace’s art collection, is estimated at over three hundred million dollars?

Mia: Um…

And then Lilly started getting really bitchy.

Lilly: I wonder how much of that fortune was amassed by taking advantage of the sweat of the common laborer.

Me: Considering that the people of Genovia have traditionally never paid income or property taxes, I would say none of it. What is with you, Lil?

And I know how much "Lil" annoys her. But she didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by it.

Lilly: Well, if you want to tolerate the excesses of the monarchy, you can be my guest, Michael. But I happen to think it’s disgusting, with the world economy in the state it’s in today, for anyone to have a total worth of three hundred million dollars…especially someone who never did a day’s work for it!

Ever heard of Bill Gates, Lil? He’s worth billions.

Plus, I’ve read so much about Genovia and the monarchy. And Mia’s father does work hard for his country.

Me: Pardon me, Lilly, but it’s my understanding that Mia’s father works extremely hard for his country. His father’s historic pledge, after Mussolini’s forces invaded in 1939, to exercise the rights of sovereignty in accordance with the political and economic interests of neighboring France in exchange for military and naval protection in the war might have tied the hands down of a lesser politician, but Mia’s father has managed to work around that agreement. His efforts have resulted in a nation that has the highest literacy rate in Europe, some of the best educational attainment rates, and the lowest infant morality rate, inflation, and unemployment rates in the Western Hemisphere.

And I said all of that without taking a breath. Mia looked kind of impressed, I noticed. She just stared at me.

Which I hoped was a good thing.

Fortunately, Lilly couldn’t answer with something decent to my opposition to her remarks.

Lilly: (to me) Shut up. (to Mia) I see they already have you spouting off their populist propaganda like a good little girl.

I honestly felt like smacking her by that point.

But how would that have looked?

Self-control, Moscovitz. Self-control.

Mia: Me? Michael’s the one who—

Me: Aw, Lilly, you’re just jealous.

Lilly: I am not!

And it was so, so obvious that she was.

Me: Yes, you are. You’re just jealous because she got her hair cut without consulting you. You’re jealous because you stopped talking to her and she went out and got a new friend. And you’re jealous because all this time Mia’s had a secret that she didn’t tell you.

Lilly: Michael, SHUT UP!

She was looking especially pug-like at that moment.

And suddenly, Boris leaned out of the supply closet.

Boris: Lilly? Did you say something?

Lilly: I WASN’T TALKING TO YOU, BORIS!

Boris: Sorry. (gets back into the closet)

Lilly: (extremely angrily) Gosh, Michael, you sure are quick to come to Mia’s defense all of a sudden. I wonder if maybe it ever occurred to you that your argument, while ostensibly based on logic, might have less intellectual than libidinous roots.

I turned bright red at this. Not at her simple words as much as the fact of what she had said was true.

Me: Well, what about your persecution of the Hos? Is that rooted in intellectual reasoning? Or is it more an example of vanity run amok?

Lilly: That’s a circular argument.

Me: It isn’t. It’s empirical.

I noticed that Mia was watching us argue with a sort of dazed look on her face. And then I also noticed that we (Lilly and me) had been doing nearly all of the arguing and Mia had yet to say something.

Me: (turning to Mia) So does this guy (I pointed at her bodyguard) have to follow you around everywhere from now on?

Mia: Yes.

Me: Really? Everywhere?

Mia: Everywhere except the ladies’ room. Then he waits outside.

I can totally imagine her bodyguard standing in the middle of the ladies’ room, amid the scantily clad, over-powered women at the local pizza parlor.

But then I realized that maybe this guy would follow her around…the Cultural Diversity Dance, so to speak.

Me: What if you were to go on a date? Like to the Cultural Diversity Dance this weekend?

Mia: That hasn’t exactly been an issue, considering that no one’s asked me.

If she hadn’t run out on me during my tutoring session with her the other day, maybe I could have been able to.

Ask her, I mean.

Boris: Excuse me. I accidentally knocked over a bottle of rubber cement with my bow, and it’s getting hard to breathe. Can I come out now?

Everyone in the G & T room: NO!!

I kind of feel bad for Boris. But then I remember how he is idiotic enough to date my sister.

Mrs. Hill: (poking her head in from the hallway) What’s all this noise in here? We can hardly hear ourselves think in the teachers’ lounge. Boris, why are you in the supply closet? Come out now, Everybody else, get back to work!

Work was just about the last thing on my mind.