Princess in the Spotlight Read Online Free PDF Page B

. . . .
    But if it isn’t from Michael, who could it be from?
    This is all so exciting, I want to call someone and tell them. Only who? Everyone I know is in school.
    WHY DID I HAVE TO GET SICK????
    Forget sticking my wet head out the window. I have to get better right away so I can go back to school and figure out who my secret admirer is!
    TEMPERATURE CHART:
    10:45 a.m.—99.2
    11:15 a.m.—99.1
    12:27 p.m.—98.6
    Yes! YES! I am getting better! Thank you, Selman Waksman, inventor of the antibiotic.
    2:05 p.m.—99.0
    No. Oh, no.
    3:35 p.m.—99.1
    Why is this happening to me?

Later on Thursday
    This afternoon while I was lying around with icepacks under the covers, trying to bring my fever down so I can go to school tomorrow and find out who my secret admirer is, I happened to see the best episode of Baywatch ever.
    Really.
    See, Mitch met this girl with this very fake French accent during a boat race, and they totally fell in love and ran around in the waves to this excellent soundtrack, and then it turned out the girl was engaged to Mitch’s opponent in the boat race—and not only that—she was actually the princess of this small European country Mitch had never heard of . Her fiancé was this prince her father had betrothed her to at birth!
    While I was watching this, Lilly came over with my new homework assignments, and she started watching with me, and she totally missed the deep philosophical importance of the episode. All she said was, “Boy, does that royal chick need an eyebrow waxing.”
    I was appalled.
    “Lilly,” I croaked. “Can’t you see that this episode of Baywatch is prophetic? It is entirely possible that I have been betrothed since birth to some prince I’ve never even met, and my dad just hasn’t told me yet. And I could very likely meet some lifeguard on a beach and fall madly in love with him, but it won’t matter, because I will have to do my duty and marry the man my people have picked out for me.”
    Lilly said, “Hello, exactly how much of that cough medicine have you had today? It says one tea spoon every four hours, not table spoon, dorkus.”
    I was annoyed at Lilly for failing to see the bigger picture. I couldn’t, of course, tell her about the letter I’d gotten. Because what if her brother was the one who wrote it? I wouldn’t want him thinking I’d gone blabbing about it to everyone I knew. A love letter is a very private thing.
    But still, you would think she’d be able to see it from my perspective.
    “Don’t you understand?” I rasped. “What is the point of me liking anybody, when it’s entirely possible that my dad has arranged a marriage for me with some prince I’ve never met? Some guy who lives in, like, Dubai, or somewhere, and who gazes daily at my picture and longs for the day when he can finally make me his own?”
    Lilly said she thought I’d been reading too many of my friend Tina Hakim Baba’s teen romances. I will admit, that is sort of where I got the idea. But that is not the point.
    “Seriously, Lilly,” I said. “I have to guard diligently against falling in love with somebody like David Hasselhoff or your brother, because in the end I might have to marry Prince William.” Not that that would be such a great sacrifice, and all.
    Lilly got up off my bed and stomped out into the loft’s living room. My dad was the only one around, because when he’d come over to check on me, my mom had suddenly remembered an errand she had to get done and dashed off.
    Only of course there was no errand. My mom still hasn’t told my dad about Mr. G and her pregnancy, and how they’re getting married, and all. I think she’s afraid that he might start yelling at her for being so irresponsible (which I could totally see him doing).
    So instead she flees from Dad in guilt every time she sees him. It would almost be funny, if it wasn’t such a pathetic way for a thirty-six-year-old woman to behave. When I am thirty-six, I fully intend to be