Princess on the Brink by Meg Cabot Read Free Book Online

took out the container of macadamia brittle Häagen-Dazs, grabbed a spoon, went into my room, and ate the whole thing.
    But I still don’t feel okay.
    I don’t think I’ll ever feel okay again.

Tuesday, September 7, 11 p.m.
     
    My mom just tapped on my door and was all, “Mia? Are you in there?”
    I said I was, and she opened the door.
    “I didn’t even hear you come in,” she said. “Did you have a nice time with—”
    Then her voice trailed off, because she’d seen the empty Häagen-Dazs container. And my face.
    “Honey,” she said, sinking down onto the bed beside me. “What happened?”
    And all of a sudden, I started crying all over again, like I hadn’t just been crying an hour before.
    “He’s moving to Japan,” was all I could say. And I flung myself into her arms.
    I wanted to tell her a lot more. I wanted to tell her about how it was all my fault, for not sleeping with him (even though I know, deep down inside, that’s not really true). It’s more my fault because I’m a princess—a freaking PRINCESS—and what guy could live up to that, EVER? Except a prince.
    The worst part is, being a princess isn’t even something I DID. I mean, it’s not like I saved the president from being shot like Samantha Madison, or found all these missing kids with my psychic powers like Jessica Mastriani, or kept hundreds of tourists from drowning like ten-year-old Tilly Smith did when she was on that beach in Thailand and realized a tsunami was coming because she’d just been studying tsunamis in school, and told all those people to “RUN!”
    All I did was get born.
    And EVERYONE has done that.
    But I couldn’t tell Mom any of that stuff. Because we’ve been through the princess thing before. It’s like Michael said: I’m a princess. I’m going to be one forever. No use complaining about it. It just IS.
    So instead I just cried.
    It made me feel a little better, I guess. I mean, it’s always nice to get hugged by your mom, no matter how old you get. Moms don’t give off pheromones—at least, I don’t think they do—but they still smell really nice. At least mine does. Like Dove soap and turpentine and coffee. Which mixed together is the second-best smell in the world.
    The first being Michael’s neck, of course.
    My mom said all the usual mom things, like, “Oh, honey, it will be okay,” and, “A year will go by before you know it,” and, “If Phillipe gets you the new PowerBook with the camera built in, you and Michael can videophone, and it will be like he’s right in the room with you.”
    Except that it won’t. Because I won’t be able to smell him.
    But when Mr. G came in to see what all the noise was about, I finally pulled myself together, and said I felt better, and not to worry about me. I tried to smile all bravely, and Mom patted me on the head and said that if I’d survived spending so much time with Grandmère, I’d survive this, easy.
    But she’s wrong. Spending time with Grandmère is like eating an entire container of macadamia brittle compared to being without Michael for an entire year.
    Or more.

 
     
    ME, A PRINCESS???? YEAH, RIGHT.
    A Screenplay by Mia Thermopolis
    (first draft)
     
    Scene 14
    INT/NIGHT—The penguin tank at the Central Park Zoo. In the blue glow from the water of the illuminated penguin tank, a young girl (MIA) sits alone, frantically writing in her journal.
     
    MIA
 
    (voiceover)
    I don’t know where to go or to whom to turn. I can’t go to Lilly’s. She is vehemently opposed to any form of government that is not for the people, by the people. She’s always said that when sovereignty is vested in a single person whose right to rule is hereditary, the principles of social equality and respect for the rights of the individual within a community are irrevocably lost. This is why today, real power has passed from reigning monarchs to constitutional assemblies, making royals such as Queen Elizabeth mere symbols of national unity.
     
 
    Except