Authors: Meg Cabot
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Themes, #Adolescence, #Family, #Multigenerational, #Royalty, #Social Issues
Also by Meg Cabot
The Princess Diaries
The Princess Diaries: Take Two
The Princess Diaries: Third Time Lucky
All American Girl
Look out for more Meg Cabot books!
The Princess Diaries: Give Me Five
The Princess Diaries: Six Appeal
Nicola and the Viscount
Victoria and the Rogue
The Princess Diaries:
Mia Goes Fourth
Many thanks to the usual suspects: Beth Ader, Jennifer Brown, Barb Cabot, Sarah Davies, Laura
Abby McAden, David Walton and especially Benjamin Egwatz. Special thanks to the Beckham family,
specifically Julie, for so generously allowing me the use of Molly's sock-swallowing habit!
a princess - a
princess,' she murmured, 'I could scatter largess to the populace. But
even if I am only a pretend princess, I can invent little things to do for people. Things Eke this.
She was just as happy as if it was largess. I'll pretend that to do things people like is scattering largess.'
A Little Princess
Frances Hodgson Burnett
Friday, January 1, Midnight,
Royal Genovian Bedchamber
My New Year's Resolutions
by Princess Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo
aged 14 and 8 months
1. I will stop biting my fingernails, including the fake ones.
2. I will stop lying. Grandmere knows when I am lying anyway, thanks to my traitorous nostrils which
time I tell a fib, so it's not like there is even a point in trying to be less than truthful.
3. I will never veer from the prepared script while delivering televised addresses to the Genovian public.
4.I will stop accidentally saying French swear words in front of the ladies-in-waiting.
5. I will stop letting Francois, my Genovian bodyguard, teach me French swear words.
6. I will apologize to the Genovian Olive Growers' Association for that thing with the pits.
7. I will apologize to the Royal Chef for slipping Grandmere's dog that slice of foie gras (even though I
have told the
palace kitchen repeatedly that I do not eat meat).
8. I will stop lecturing the Royal Genovian Press Corps on the evils of paparrazism.
9. I will achieve self-actualization.
10. I will stop thinking so much about Michael Moscovitz.
Oh, wait. It'sOK for me to think about Michael Moscovitz,BECAUSE HE IS MY
MT + MM = TRUE LOVE4-EVER
Saturday, January 2,
Royal Genovian Parliament
You know, I am supposed to be on vacation. Seriously. I mean, this is my Winter
Break. I am supposed to be having
fun, mentally recharging for the coming semester, which is not going to be easy, as I
will be moving on to Algebra II,
not to mention Health and Safety class. Every other kid I know is spending his or her
Winter Break in Aspen, skiing,
or in Miami, getting tanned.
But me? What amI doing for my Winter Break?
Oh, well, right now I am just sitting in on a session of the Royal Genovian
Parliament, pretending to be paying attention
while these really old guys in wigs go on about whether or not to give free parking to
the patrons of Genovia's many casinos.
Oh, yeah. That's a good way to spend the precious few weeks I have off from
school. At this rate I will absolutely return to New York well-rested and ready for
whatever awaits me in my second semester of my freshman year at Albert Einstein
High School. Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Grandmere. Thanks so much.
No one even wants to hear my opinion about the whole parking thing, of course.
That if we don't charge for parking it will encourage more people to drive over the
French and Italian borders instead of taking the train, clogging up Genovia's
already very busy streets and causing yet more strain on our infrastructure.
But why should anyone be interested in whatI have to say on the matter? I am just
the Princess of Genovia. My opinion obviously doesn't matter. Which would be why
no one is listening to me, just arguing over the top of my head with my dad, who
fortunately shares my opinion that a nominal parking charge - I'd jack it up to about
thirty Euros a day, if I were him —
Fine, whatever. Like I care. I am pretending to take notes, since Grandmere told me I had to, as one day
I will be sitting
in my dad's chair (sadly not the throne - that is in the throne room back at the palace) in the front of
Parliament and have
to make all the decisions. But really I am recording my innermost thoughts and feelings in this book. Like
the fact that I think Interior Minister Pepin looks exactly like this howler monkey I once saw on
Or that Secretary Renard needs to start watching his saturated fats intake.
Not that it is at all princesslike to comment on the physical inadequacies of others. Especially when I have
so many physical inadequacies of my own.
But it isn't like I don't have enough to worry about. I mean, I can barely bring myself to believe that a
whole new year has actually started. Seriously. So much has happened to me since last year - enough
that probably a better-adjusted person
might have totally lost it. Fortunately, since I was born a biological freak, and am therefore very used to
adversity, I was
able to take it all in my stride, for the most part.
But if I had been anyone else - like Katie Holmes, or maybe one of the Olsen twins - I so fully would
have not been able to deal. Because, you know, Katie and Mary Kate and Ashley are totally gorgeous
and self-actualized, and never have to
worry about anything. Whereas I, in less than a year's period, have been through so much trauma and
angst it is a wonder
I am not on
every single day, pouring my heart out to Dr Phil. I mean, in the last four months
alone, I have found
1. My dad is the Prince of Genovia, and that I am his heir.
2. My grandmother is the Dowager Princess of Genovia, and that it is her duty to train me for the day I
3. My mom is having my Algebra teacher's baby (but unlike me, my new brother or sister will not bear
of illegitimacy, since Mom and Mr. Gianini are married).
4. My best friend Lilly's brother, whom I have loved since the day I met him, when I was in the first
grade and he
was in fourth and he came over in the playground to give Lilly her social studies project which she had
(an exact replica of the Parthenon, in red Play Doh), actually loves me back, and now we are going
Or at least we will when I get done with my first official visit to Genovia since discovering I am the sole
heir to its throne,
and am allowed to return to my normal life as a ninth-grader in New York City.
I am telling you, a lesser person would have had to check herself into Bellevue. These are extremely
startling, almost earth-shattering discoveries. It is only due to the fact that so many excruciatingly horrible
things have happened to me throughout my life - excessively large feet; lack of notable mammary growth;
general difficulty in asserting myself in front of peers, resulting in unpopularity; owning an overweight pet
cat; inability to comprehend multiplication of fractions — that I
have been able to cope at all. I mean, I am way used to affliction by now.
Not that the part about Michael is an affliction. The knowledge that my love for him is not unrequited, like
Jean Grey in
is the only bright spot in my otherwise hideous existence.
Oh, and the baby brother or sister thing. That's pretty cool, too. Though I'd prefer it if my mom would let
the doctor tell her what it is she's having, so I don't have to keep writing
brother or sister
all the time.
Mom says she doesn't want to know,
since if it's a boy she won't push, due to not wanting to bring another Y-chromosomed oppressor into the
world (Mr G says that is just the hormones talking, but I'm not so sure. My mom can be pretty anti-Y
chromosome when she puts her mind to it).
I can't help wondering, as I sit here, listening to some dude whose title I don't know — although in his
purple and gold sash
he looks a little like Mayor McCheese - go on about the cost of parking-garage time clocks, not to
mention parking-garage attendants, what lies in store for me in the coming year. I mean, last year I got:
a. a crown
b. a new stepdad
c. a potential baby brother or sister, and
d. a handsome, smart, funny boyfriend . . . my heart's one desire.
Sunday, January 3,
Royal Genovian Rose Garden
Poem for M. M.
Across the deep-blue shining sea,
is Michael, far away from me.
But he doesn't seem so far away though I haven't seen him for sixteen days because in my heart Michael stays
and there he'll beat forever always.
OK, that poem sucks. I can see I am going to have to work harder if I am to come up with a fitting
tribute to my love.
Tuesday, January 5,
Royal Quarters of the Dowager Princess
Grandmere is yelling at me again.
As if I don't totally get why everybody is so mad about the whole speech thing. I mean, I have already
I will never again veer from the prepared script while addressing the Genovian populace.
But why am I the only one in this country who thinks pollution is an important issue? If people are going
to dock their yachts
(at least cruisers are banned) in the Genovian harbour, they really ought to pay attention to what they are
I mean, dolphins and sea turtles get their noses stuck in those plastic six-pack holders all the time, and
then they starve to
death because they can't open their mouths to eat. All people have to do is snip the loops before they
throw the holders out, and everything would be fine.
Well, all right, not
since you shouldn't be throwing trash overboard in the first place. That is
why my dad fully
had all those Grecian-urn-shaped trash receptacles placed at convenient intervals all along the pier. You
would think people would consider actually using them. I mean, the sea is not their garbage can.
I cannot stand idly by while helpless sea creatures are being abused by trendy Bain de Soleil-addicts in
search of that
perfect St. Tropez tan.
Besides, if I am to be the ruler of Genovia someday, people need to realize I am not going to be merely a
royals I could mention. I intend to tackle serious issues during my reign, such as the tossing of
plastic six-pack holders in the bay. And the fact that all the foot traffic from the day-trippers coming off
the yachts that dock in the
Genovian harbour is destroying some of our most historically important bridges, such as the Pont des
Vierges (Bridge of the Virgins), so named after my great-great-great-great-great-great-great
grandmother Agnes, who threw herself off it rather
than become a nun like her father wanted her to be. (She was all right: the Genovian royal navy fished her
out and she ended
up eloping with the ship's captain, much to the consternation of the house of Renaldo).
You would think people - OK, Grandmere and my dad - would recognize that it is important for me to
establish my voice
as heir to the throne now. Mr Gianini once told me that it is better to start off mean and get nicer as the
semester goes by
than start nice and have everybody think they can walk all over you.
Whatever. I wish I could call Michael, or even Lilly, but I can't because they are spending Winter Break
at their grandmother's in Florida and I don't even know the number. They are not getting back until the
day before I do! How I have survived this long, without my boyfriend and best friend to talk to, is a
mystery wrapped in an enigma.
I am fully starting to hate it here. Everybody at school was all, 'Oh you are so lucky, you get to spend
Christmas in a castle being waited on hand and foot. . .'
Well, believe me, there is nothing so great about living in a castle. First of all, everything in it is really old.
And yeah, it's not
like it was built in 500AD or whenever it was that my ancestress, Rosagunde, first became princess or
whatever. But it was
still built in, like, the 1600s and let me tell you what they didn't have in the 1600s:
1. Cable TV
Which is not to say there isn't a satellite dish, but hello, this is my dad's place, the only channels he has
are like CNN, CNN Financial News, and the golf channel.
Where is MTV 2,1 ask you? Where is the Lifetime Movie Channel for Women?
Not that it matters because I am spending all my time being run off my feet. It isn't as if I ever even get a
free moment to
pick up a remote and go, 'Ho hum, I wonder if there's a Tracy Gold movie on'.