By Meg Cabot
A Princess on her personal . . . Mia has been invited to talk at a gala for Domina Rei, an elite society of strong businesswomen. yet what may well she potentially need to say? Michael has damaged up along with her, her bff Lilly will not converse to her, and her mom and dad are forcing her to work out a therapist. Even J.P.'s efforts to cheer Mia up (he's being fairly sweet!) usually are not aiding. simply whilst issues could not worsen, Mia discovers a long—forgotten diary of a teenage princess of Genovia. it may be simply the foundation Mia must write her speechbut what it finds may possibly swap every little thing.
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But he has to call. Right?????? P. sounded kind of taken aback. “Well, wouldn’t it be better if you weren’t there when he calls? ” 25 I laughed. P. really does have a twisted sense of humor. “Funny! But I think there’s a good chance he’s going to realize that when he sees the paper. If that photo of us makes it to Japan. P. offered. ” Isn’t he the sweetest? Imagine, offering to give up his Saturday to help me with Precalculus! “Aw,” I said. “That’s so nice. But I’m good. I have an actual Algebra instructor living here, who I can turn to if I start pulling out my hair in despair.
Com. There’s a list there of the top ten stupidest things about Mia Thermopolis. Number one is my hair. Number ten is my name. The stuff in between gets progressively worse. I know I’m supposed to ignore my negative press. Grandmère told me if I react to it or acknowledge it in any way, I’m only feeding into it, and giving the haters MORE to write about. But this. This is really . . Great. Just great. Like I don’t have ENOUGH to worry about. Now somebody out there in the world hates me enough to point out for the whole world to read that with my new haircut, my ears resemble teapot handles.
The loft� No such luck, with the bad dream thing. I could tell by the way Mr. Gianini came in here with a steaming mug of hot chocolate, going, “Rise and shine, Mia! Look what I’ve got! Hot cocoa! With whipped cream! ” He’d never have done that if I hadn’t been brutally dumped by my longtime boyfriend, and currently in the throes of despair. Poor Mr. G. I mean, you have to give him points for trying. You really do. I said I didn’t want any hot cocoa. Then I explained— very politely—that I am not going to school.