Princess in Pink
princess for an intern. I mean, what would Lars do all day while I was alphabetizing files or making photocopies or whatever?
    When I walked in before class started, Mademoiselle Klein was showing some of the sophomore girls a picture of this slinky dress she is ordering from Victoria's Secret to wear to the prom. She is a chaperone. So is Mr.Wheeton, the track coach and my Health and Safety teacher. They are going out together. Tina says it is the most romantic thing she has ever heard of, besides my mom and Mr. Gianini. I have not revealed to Tina the painful truth about my mom being the one to propose to
    Mr. Gianini, because I don't want to crush all of Tina's fondest dreams. I have also hidden from her the fact that I don't think Prince William is ever going to email her back. That's on account of how I gave her a fake email address for him. Well, I had
    to do something to get her to quit bugging me for it. And I'm sure whoever is at [email protected] is very appreciative of her five-page testimonial on how
    much she loves him, especially when he is wearing his polo jodhpurs.
    I sort of feel bad about lying to Tina, but it was only to make her feel better. And someday I really will get Prince William's
    real email address for her. I just have to wait until somebody important dies, and I see him at the state funeral. It probably
    won't be long - Elizabeth Taylor is looking pretty shaky.
    Il
    mefaut des lunettes de soleil.
    Didier demand a essayer lajupe.
    I don't know how someone who is as deeply in love with Mr.Wheeton like Mademoiselle Klein is supposed to be can assign
    us so much homework. Whatever happened to spring, when the world is mud-luscious and the little lame balloon-man whistles far and wee?
    Nobody who teaches at this school has a grain of romance in them. Ditto most of the people who go here, too. Without Tina,
    I would be truly lost.
    Jeudi, jai faitde I'aerobic.
    Homework
    Algebra: pages 279-300
    English: The Iceman Cometh
    Biology: Finish ice-worm essay
    Health and Safety: pages 154—160
    Gifted and Talented: As if
    French: Ecrivez une histoire personnelle
    World Civ.: pages 310-330
    Wednesday, April 3O, in the limo on the way home from the Plaza
    Grandmere fully knows there is something up with me. But she thinks it's because I'm upset over the whole going-to-Genovia-for-the-summer thing. As if I don't have much more immediate concerns.
    'We shall have a lovely time in Genovia this summer, Amelia,' Grandmere kept saying. 'They are currently excavating a tomb they believe might belong to your ancestress, Princess Rosagunde. I understand that the mummification processes used in the 700s were really every bit as advanced as ones employed by the Egyptians. You might actually get to gaze upon the face of
    the woman who founded the royal house of Renaldo.'
    Great. I get to spend my summer looking up some old mummy's nasal cavity. My dream come true. Oh no, sorry, Mia. No hanging out at Coney Island with your one true love for you. No fun volunteer work tutoring little kids with their reading. No cool summer job at Kim's Video, rewinding Princess Mononoke and Fist of the North Star. No, you get to commune with
    a thousand-year-old corpse. Yippee!
    I guess I must be more upset about the whole Michael thing than even I thought, because midway through Grandmere's
    lecture on tipping (manicurists: $3; pedicurists: $5; cab drivers: $2 for rides under $10, $5 for airport trips; double the tax for restaurant bills except in states where the tax is less than 8 per cent; etc.) she went, 'AMELIA! WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?'
    I must have jumped about ten feet into the air. I was totally thinking about Michael. About how good he would
    look in a tux. About how I could buy him a red-rose boutonniere, just the plain kind without the baby's breath because boys don't like
    baby's breath. And I could wear a black dress, one of those off-one-shoulder kinds like Kirsten Dunst always wears to
    movie premieres, with a

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