Royal Wedding - Meg Cabot Page 0,77

I continue to listen to anything Lilly says. Obviously I should have consulted with our family lawyers or Dominique or someone other than my lunatic best friend before coming out here and causing catastrophic and irreparable damage to the life of a little girl, a life that (probably) wasn’t so bad and that now she’ll never get back, thanks to me, even though she doesn’t seem to be aware of it. She is sitting in the limo beside me, happily doing homework that she thinks she’s going to turn in tomorrow.

Ha! By tomorrow news of the fact that she’s Prince Phillipe of Genovia’s illegitimate love child will be on the front page of every newspaper in the world (I’m surprised it is not already the top trending topic on Twitter).

There is no possible way Olivia will be able to go back to Cranbrook Middle School tomorrow, or ever.

• Note to self: I am not qualified to have children. Cancel wedding and secede right to inherit throne? Or just have my tubes tied?

On the other hand . . . Olivia does appear to be enjoying herself. It turns out I needn’t have worried about learning everything I could about a popular starlet since Olivia is much more interested in me . . . and riding in a limo and drinking soda with actual sugar in it.

Maybe I haven’t completely ruined her life. Maybe I’ve only changed her life. For the better!

This is what I set out to do this morning—what I set out to do every morning, leave the world a better place than I found it, and that’s how I should choose to think of what just happened. Olivia’s life is going to be better now, much, much better. How could it not be? She has Coke and me in it now (and soon her father and grandmother, whenever they get around to returning my messages . . . )

OK, who do I think I’m fooling? I’ve ruined her life. Dominique just called me back because I texted her what happened (Hey, Dominique, it’s me! So, not sure if you heard, but my dad has another kid and I may have inadvertently exposed her existence to the media . . . call me!) and all I could hear on the other end of the phone was screaming.

Anyway, Tina is the one who spotted Olivia first.

“There she is!” she cried, jabbing her finger against the tinted glass window of the limo.

I saw Olivia standing in the center of a group of uniformed kids by the school’s flagpole.

She looked so . . . little.

I knew she was going to be because in the dossier, it listed her height and weight, and of course there were photos (the RGG is nothing if not precise).

But photos are very different from real life. In real life, Olivia Grace is all adorable knock-knees and bony elbows and shiny braces and bright blue glasses and curly hair done up in braids.

Was I ever that tiny? I must have been, but it never felt like it. I always felt enormous, too big for my body, and so awkward and ungainly (much too much so for anyone, particularly a member of the opposite sex, to admire).

From the first moment I saw her, I wanted to snatch her up and drive back to New York and throw her in front of my dad and say, “This! This is what you are so afraid of and have been running from for the past twelve years. This tiny little girl in pigtails. You, sir, are a royal jackass.”

But I refrained, obviously. At least at that particular moment.

“Aw,” Tina said. “She’s so sweet.”

This, at least, confirmed that I wasn’t the only one who found her to be completely adorable.

“Look, she’s wearing high-tops with her school uniform, just like you used to wear combat boots!” Tina went on. “Oh, wait . . . is she in trouble?”

It was true. As we sat there watching, a little blond girl (who looked not unlike a mini–Lana Weinberger circa thirteen years ago) marched up to my sister, put her hands on her hips, and said something. We couldn’t hear what it was, because the bullet-proof windows were rolled up, and there was so much noise all around us, what with the shouting of excited children getting out of school for the day, and the whistle of the very angry volunteer parent who did not want us parked where we were parked (even though the engine was running)