Read Online From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess by Meg Cabot - Free Book Online Page B

instead I’m in a fancy department store getting fitted for a whole new wardrobe because Grandma says the eyes of the entire world are on me right now and it’s my time to “shine” (this isn’t at all scary).
    (Yes, it is a little scary. We had to sneak out of the delivery doors of the hotel through the kitchen just to avoid the paparazzi, who are still waiting out front! It’s insane.)
    I’ve already learned more things about being a princess in just a few hours than I’ve learned the whole five years I’ve been taking French class.
    Like that when you’re a princess, you can’t say “What?” when you don’t understand something.
    You’re supposed to say, “I beg your pardon?” or “Excuse me?”
    Also that it’s rude when you’re a princess to put ketchup on things before you’ve even tasted them. It’s an insult to the chef’s cooking. You have to taste it first, then decide if it is not “seasoned enough” to your particular liking.
    Only then may you ask for the ketchup, which it turns out room service has to bring all the way from downstairs, so it takes a really long time if you live in the penthouse.
    I don’t know how I’m ever going to remember all this stuff, which is why it’s good I have this notebook to write it all down in, especially considering that this morning when I woke up, I didn’t even know where I was!
    Then I looked down and saw Snowball curled up beside my head and Rommel stretched out by my feet and the sun shining through the fancy windows leading to a balcony looking out over Central Park — Central Park in New York City ! — and I remembered everything that had happened yesterday and I was like:
    â€œI’m at my dad’s! With my grandma! And this is her dog, and this is her other dog that has no hair, and they want me to come live with them in Genovia, the country of which I am also a princess !”
    And then I nearly fell over dead of a heart attack. But fortunately I was still in bed, so I didn’t have very far to fall.
    I could smell toast (real toast!), so I hurried up and brushed my teeth and got dressed and went out into the dining room, and there was Grandma reading the paper in her robe in front of a table with more food piled onto it than I’d ever seen, including:
    â€¢ Piles and piles of warm golden waffles
    â€¢ Gobs of fluffy whipped cream
    â€¢ Bowls of glistening red strawberries
    â€¢ Silver pitchers of real maple syrup
    â€¢ Crystal goblets of orange juice
    â€¢ Eggs and soldiers (which are soft-boiled eggs and strips of toast)
    I’d never had this last thing before, but it turns out what you do is, you crack open the top of the shell of the soft-boiled egg, then dip a strip of the buttery toast into the warm, gooey egg yolk. It’s the most delicious thing in the whole world (well, aside from the waffles).
    And in the end it turned out not to even need ketchup.
    Anyway, as I was eating the biggest, best breakfast I had ever had, with Snowball at my side, Grandma put down the paper and said, “Your father has a conference call with the Genovian Parliament, and your sister has a personal appointment. So I am taking you shopping.”
    â€œShopping? What about school?”
    â€œSchool? Why are you worrying about school? You haven’t decided you want to stay in New Jersey , have you?”
    â€œGrandma,” I said. “New Jersey is my home state. I was born there. You have to stop saying it that way.”
    â€œWhat way?”
    â€œLike it’s a dirty word.”
    She shrugged and passed a bit of bacon to Rommel, who was crouched beside her chair. “Fine. If you love New Jersey so much that you want to live there for the rest of your life and never travel the world or have new experiences, far be it from me to stop you.”

    â€œI didn’t say that. I’ve decided I want to live