The Princess Diaries [antikvár]

i^eptemSeh. 23 Sometimes it seems like all I ever do is lie. My mom thinks I'm repressing my feelings about this. I say to her, "No, Mom, I'm not. I think it's really neat. As long as you're happy, I'm happy." Mom says, "I don't think you're being honest with me." Then she hands me this book. She tells me she wants me to write down my feelings in this book, since, she says, I obviously don't feel I can talk about them with her. She wants me to write down my feelings? Okay, I'll write down my feelings: I CAN'T BELIEVE SHE'S DOING THIS TO ME! Like everybody doesn't already think I'm a freak. I'm practically the biggest freak in the entire school. I mean, let's face it: I'm five foot nine, flat-chested, and a freshman. How much more of a freak could I be? If people at school find out about this, I'm dead. That's it. Dead. Oh, God, if you really do exist, please don't let them find out about this. There are four million people in Manhattan, right? That makes about two million of them guys. So out of TWO MILLION guys, she has to go out with Mr. Gianini. She can't go out with some guy I don't know. She can't go out with some guy she met at D'Agostinos or wherever. Oh, no. She has to go out with my Algebra teacher. Thanks, Mom. Thanks a whole lot.