Royal Genovian Academy
Okay, I’m having a hard time projecting a positive attitude. Things are not going well at the new school.
And I’ve only been here for three hours!
But I’m not going to text my bodyguard, Serena, to come get me (she’s playing cards outside in the courtyard with all the rest of the drivers and bodyguards), because then the paparazzi will only make fun of me for being a quitter.
I could tell things at this school were going to go badly right away when Mia and I walked in and there was Madame Alain—the head of the school—standing in front of her office waiting for us …
… with my cousin Lady Luisa!
Of course Lady Luisa looked amazing in her school uniform—which is at least better than the uniform I used to have to wear at my old school, because it’s blue and white, not plaid and white, and the girls have the option to wear shorts if they want (which I do, because who wouldn’t want to, in a school that’s across the street from a beach?).
But it’s still a uniform, and so not exactly stylish.
But who looks stylish in it, anyway?
My cousin Lady Luisa, that’s who!
Although of course she’d chosen to wear the skirt instead of shorts. But she’d had the skirt hemmed as short as it could possibly be and still meet the minimum dress code requirement.
“Welcome, Princess Olivia,” Madame Alain said, after the band got done playing the Genovian national anthem.
That’s right. The entire school band was there to greet me! It burst into the Genovian national anthem the minute we walked in.
This was totally embarrassing, even though it happens pretty much everywhere I go now.
But I didn’t expect it at my new school.
“We’re so delighted to have you here at last.”
Somehow Madame Alain said the words at last like I’d just been lounging around the palace pool for the past few weeks, doing nothing, which isn’t at all true!
I was lounging around there reading books from the palace library with my sister.
And when I wasn’t doing that, I was doing work of national importance, such as visiting sick children in the Genovian hospital and helping to pick out floral arrangements for the tables at the prenuptial and reception banquets. It’s very hard to find purple flowers that won’t look too small on a table for fifty (of which there are going to be at least ten, so far).
But I said thanks, because that’s what princesses are supposed to do.
Madame Alain curtsied and said, “The Royal Genovian Academy is so honored to receive you. As you can see, here we train young royals from all over the world.” She raised a hand to show me all the portraits on the wall of the royals who’d graduated from the RGA, each wearing a crown and a smile on their face. “All of them can represent their sovereign nation with pride because of the excellent education they received here. Some of our students come from nations so far away that they must board with us, while others, like yourself, Princess, have family nearby, and so are day students.”
“Oh,” I said, staring at all the portraits. Some were so faded by all the bright Genovian sunlight pouring in through the windows that you could barely make out if they were men or women. That’s how old they were. “Neat.”
“Madame Alain,” Mia said, in a kind-of-fake voice. She looked about as thrilled to be there as I was. I think she knew Madame Alain from somewhere, but I don’t know where. “Thank you so much for accepting Olivia so late into the semester. I’m sure she’ll make you very proud, as she has all of us.”
Oh no! This was way too much pressure. I could see Luisa staring down at me from under her eyelids with a tiny superior smile on her face. I couldn’t believe that if I had to have a relative my own age in this school, it had to be her, with her long legs and long nails and long, silky blond hair.
“I’m sure Princess Olivia will do marvelously here at the RGA,” Madame Alain went on with a wide smile. “And to make sure, we’ve selected one of our best and most popular day students, Lady Luisa Ferrari, to be her royal guide for the next few days. Luisa’s been attending the RGA since kindergarten, so she knows everything there is to know about our training academy for modern royals.”
“I really do,” Luisa said with a curtsy to my sister.
“Oh,” Mia said. “That’s so sweet of you, Luisa.”
Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh.
“Wonderful,” Madame Alain said, beaming. “I can see that these girls are going to be best friends already.”
I know this isn’t a very princess-y thing to write or even think, but Madame Alain must be blind. “Uh,” Mia said, looking around, because even though the walls of the school are pretty thick—almost every building in Genovia is made of three-foot-wide stone, since the village was built in medieval times with the goal of keeping out marauding invaders—you could hear someone screaming from somewhere in the lower-form building. I couldn’t believe it. Rocky. “I think I’ll just leave Olivia in your very competent hands, then, Madame, and go and…” Her voice trailed off.
“Er,” Madame Alain said. The screaming was getting louder.
“Yes. Perhaps I’d better go with you.…”
Perhaps? With that kind of noise, perhaps they’d better call the fire department, the police department, and the entire Genovian army.
Rocky had already had one major meltdown at breakfast—insisting he wouldn’t wear the school uniform, because “future paleontologist-astronauts” like him shouldn’t have to dress like everyone else (which makes no sense, because astronauts wear uniforms. They’re called space suits).
He’d even thrown his shoes at Michael (who made me laugh when he expertly caught them and threw them back, even though Mia said he shouldn’t have done this, because future princes aren’t supposed to throw shoes at their brothers-in-law at breakfast).
But I think Rocky deserved it. I feel like nine-year-olds (even ones who are trying to adjust to living in a palace in a new country) should know better than to throw their shoes at people. Even worse, Rocky’s poor mom, Helen, and my dad had to drag him screaming and kicking (with his shoes off) to school in one car while Mia took me to school in the bulletproof one that Grandmère was so anxious to have back so she could go shopping later.
Although this ended up being fine with me because even though I’ve never had a parent take me to school before, I definitely didn’t want my dad, the retired prince of the country, taking me to school on my first day. Talk about embarrassing!
And even though I’d never say this in front of Dad—because I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings—everyone likes Princess Mia better than him anyway. I think it’s because Mia wears better clothes. Dad wears boring old suits and ties. Mia always wears pretty dresses with high heels and hats, and of course her big engagement ring that Michael gave her, which is a genuine ENGINEERED diamond, so it’s conflict-free and environmentally friendly.
But Rocky having a meltdown that you could hear all the way from a different building at school wasn’t even the worst thing that’s happened yet.
As soon as Mia and Madame Alain hurried away to go see if they could help Dad and Helen with Rocky, Luisa turned to me and went, “Kee-yow, Olivia.”
Kee-yow! Kee-yow instead of ciao!
This made me so mad—even though she had one of her tiny Luisa Ferrari smiles on her face to show she was only kidding or whatever—I thought I was going to burst.
“Look, Luisa,” I said. “I told you before, I made a mistake mispronouncing that word. Everyone makes mistakes. The polite thing to do is forget it and move on. So can we please just do that?”
“I will never forget it,” Luisa said in her Italian accent, still smiling and now swishing around some of her long blond hair. “Because it was the most adorable thing I ever saw. You are the most adorable thing I ever saw. Does everyone in America wear their hair like that?”
Then she did the rudest thing. She grabbed a handful of my hair! Right in the middle of the hallway of my new school, in front of the band, who were still packing up their instruments!
“Hey!” I yelled, yanking my head away from her. “What are you doing? Cut it out!”
“What is wrong?” Luisa asked, her eyes all wide and innocent. “I only wanted to touch your hair. I’ve never felt anything like it. Why are you offended?”
“Because it’s rude to go around touching other people’s hair.” Was this girl crazy? “How would you like it if I did that to you?”
I reached out, grabbed a handful of Luisa’s long, silky golden hair, then tugged it.
“Aiii!” she cried, wrenching her golden locks away from me. “What are you doing? My maid Fabriana spent a half-hour flat-ironing my hair this morning!”
“See? Now you know what it feels like.”
Meanwhile, all the people in the band—some of whom were older boys and girls, possibly in high school—were staring at us. Some were even laughing. Talk about embarrassing!
“Kee-yow, Olivia,” Luisa said, pulling out her cell phone to check her hair in the camera, making sure it was still perfectly straight. “You are crazy. We are cousins. Cousins can touch each other’s hair.”
“Not without asking first,” I said. “It’s disrespectful. And stop saying ‘kee-yow’!”
Luisa snorted and put her phone away. “Fine, I will not touch your hair again, Your Very Royal Highness. Now, we had better get going. Even though you are the princess of Genovia, I am sure Monsieur Montclair will still be angry with us for being late. I am the best dancer in the class, so they need me before they can start, because everyone follows my every move.”
I had no idea what she was talking about— THEN.
But I do NOW.
Because guess what? Everything Mia said about how they have fencing and art and self-defense and horseback-riding classes here?
Well, she was right.
But not when there’s going to be a royal wedding in one week.
Because when there’s going to be a royal wedding in one week, everyone in the entire country goes COMPLETELY BANANAS. All anyone can talk about is the pretty princess bride (Mia) and her handsome prince-consort-to-be (Michael), and how there’s going to be a national holiday to celebrate the wedding, so everyone is going to get a three-day weekend, and how on the day of the ceremony itself, there’s going to be:
• A parade
• Fireworks
• Free champagne for adults
• Free ice cream for everyone
• A military salute (during which the cannons on top of the palace walls will be shot off)
• Free carriage rides through the village square
• A lit-up boat parade through the marina at night
• A ball
• Commemorative stamps featuring both my sister’s and Michael’s heads
But that’s not why all normal classes at the Royal Genovian Academy are suspended! No, all normal classes are suspended so the 120 students of the RGA can concentrate on rehearsing “All Roads Lead to Genovia,” the most famous traditional folk song of Genovia, which we’re going to perform in front of Princess Mia and her future prince consort, Michael, when they stop by to visit the school on Friday, the day before their wedding!
As if that isn’t bad enough, we’re going to be singing it while wearing the traditional national costume of Genovia, which for girls involves something called a dirndl, which is a dress with a stiff puffy skirt and a tight black corset!
But for boys the national costume of Genovia is even worse: It’s lederhosen, which is a kind of overalls, only with shorts!
No wonder poor Rocky was screaming so loudly.
Madame Alain—who’d rushed back to the sixth-grade room after getting Rocky “settled”—said, apparently not noticing my horror, “Our performance of ‘All Roads Lead to Genovia’ will be the Royal Genovian Academy’s wedding gift to your sister and the future prince Michael! We’ve been rehearsing it for over a week now. But of course you mustn’t tell her! It’s to be a surprise.”
Oh, Mia is going to be surprised, all right.
“Your joining us, Your Highness,” Madame Alain went on, “will truly be the icing on the cake!”
Icing on the cake? More like the crumbly bits of gravel at the bottom of a mud pie!
I know it isn’t polite or princessy to correct your elders, so I couldn’t exactly go, “Uh, Madame Alain, I’m sorry, but there is no possible way that my sister and Michael are going to stop by your school on Friday, the day before their wedding, to watch us perform some goofy song in even goofier costumes, because I’ve seen their schedule, and they’re going to be way too busy. For one thing, that’s the day they’re having their final wedding rehearsal—at which I have to be, by the way, and so does Luisa and Rocky, because we’re in the wedding! It’s also when all of the out-of-town guests who aren’t here already are going to start arriving, such as the president of the United States, the king and queen of Bhutan, and the queen of England, just to name a few! That’s also the day of the prenuptial dinner, which we have to get ready for and attend, and of course when Grandmère and I have to do all the final checks on the gowns, the flowers, the food, and the seating arrangements, and when Mia and Michael have to pack for their honeymoon in the Greek isles, which they’re going to on the royal yacht! So, even though it’s a really nice thought and all, and I’m sure my sister would be extremely grateful, it’s never, ever going to happen.”
Except that Madame Alain—and all the students in the class—looked so happy and excited, I couldn’t say a word about any of that. I didn’t want to disappoint them.
So I only smiled and went, “Oh. That is so nice. But, er, perhaps you might want to check with the palace about my sister’s schedule—”
“Oh, I already have!” Madame Alain said. “I consulted with Prince Philippe himself. And his office informed me that it’s all arranged!”
Prince Philippe? My dad?
My dad is very amazing and wonderful in many ways, but he is not exactly organized, or even aware of anything that’s been going on, other than his work on the summer palace and listening to Mia and Rocky’s mom, Helen, talk about how much she hates her cream-colored mother-of-the-bride dress (which I personally think could really be improved with a little purple dye).
The father of the bride’s only duties, according to Grandmère, are to:
• Show up to walk the bride down the aisle
• Make a nice speech during the reception
• Do the father/daughter dance
• Pay for everything
• Loan the mother of the bride his handkerchief if she starts to cry
So I’m pretty sure my dad has NO IDEA his office agreed to schedule a visit from my sister and her future husband to the RGA on the day before their wedding.
But all I said was “Oh. Great,” with a huge fake smile on my face.
Madame Alain looked really pleased and said, “I’m so glad you think so, Your Highness! Now please take your seat. We’ve arranged a very special new desk for you!”
I went to the “very special new desk” they’d arranged for me—all decorated with my name, Her Royal Highness Olivia, in sparkly stars—only to see they’d wedged it right between Luisa’s desk and …
Luisa’s crush, Prince Khalil.
Luisa looked pretty unhappy about this. She flounced down into her seat, then whipped out her cell phone and began furiously texting.
I don’t know who she was texting (her mom, maybe, to complain?), but it didn’t seem to be Prince Khalil. He wasn’t on his phone. He was reading a book about snakes.
I know that as a wildlife illustrator I should appreciate all animals. But snakes? I feel the same about snakes as I do about iguanas (with the exception of Carlos): No, thank you.
Khalil said hello to me, but that’s it. He hasn’t even smiled, which I don’t think is a very friendly way to behave for
A. A cousin, even one three or four times removed
B. A prince
C. A human being
Maybe he’s afraid if he says anything else to me, Luisa will get even more mad? I guess I’d be scared of Luisa, too, if I were Khalil. Although he probably doesn’t know what she has planned for him on Saturday, with the dancing and the fountain and the moonlight.
Even worse, my other cousins three or four times removed, Marguerite and Victorine, are also in this class (and also wearing skirts, like Luisa, not shorts. I’m the ONLY girl in this class who chose the shorts instead of the skirt)! They keep looking over at me and whispering and laughing to each other.
Great.
Now Madame Pinchot, the singing instructor, is making us stand up to practice.
(Oops, wait, not me. She’s upset that I don’t know the words to “All Roads Lead to Genovia,” which is apparently the most famous song in the entire country, except for the national anthem.)
I want to raise my hand and go, “Uh, no offense, but I only just got here a month ago. Also, I’m pretty sure my sister’s future husband doesn’t know it, either, and I think as a wedding gift he would rather have a Star Wars calendar or socks or really anything Star Wars, because he really likes Star Wars.”
But I know that would be rude.
Also, I don’t know what my sister would like as a wedding present (besides donations to her favorite charities) because she basically has everything. Probably she would like a candy bar, because she told me the other day that the twins are making her hungry all the time, especially for chocolate, but she’s afraid that if she eats too much of it, she’s going to explode out of her wedding gown, and then Sebastiano, the famous fashion designer who made her wedding dress and all our bridesmaid gowns, will have a fit. He’s also a cousin of ours from the Italian side of the family, and though he’s very, very talented, he’s also very, very dramatic.
I apologized to Madame Pinchot for not knowing the words to “All Roads Lead to Genovia” and said, “I’ll try to learn them as soon as possible, Madame.”
She’s given me a paper with the words on it and told me to memorize them. They don’t seem that hard, but they don’t make much sense, either:
“All Roads Lead to Genovia”
(Author Unknown)
I’ve traveled far
So far have I roamed
But Genovia
Will always be home
Land of green palms
And ocean so blue
No other land
Can compare to you
No matter how far
I happen to roam
To Genovia
I’ll always come home
Genovia, Genovia
Land of green and blue
Genovia, Genovia
All roads lead to you
(Repeat seven times)
But we have to sing it in traditional medieval Genovian, which is a mix of Italian and French.
So basically it sounds like an old man gargling with onion soup.
Oh well. This is the least I can do for my new country.
I guess things can’t get worse.