Princess 08 - Princess On The Brink by Meg Cabot

Author:Meg Cabot [Cabot, Meg]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePub Bud (www.epubbud.com)
Published: 2011-03-17T04:00:00+00:00

ME, A PRINCESS???? YEAH, RIGHT.

A Screenplay by Mia Thermopolis

(first draft)

Scene 24

INT/NIGHT—A large, comfortably furnished rent-controlled

apartment on New York City’s Fifth Avenue, off Union Square. A

newly madeover MIA THERMOPOLIS has just entered through

the front door. Her best friend, LILLY MOSCOVITZ, a slightly

chubby, pug-faced girl, is staring at her incredulously.

LILLY

Oh my God, what happened to you?

MIA

(taking off her coat, trying to be casual)

Yeah, well, my grandmother made me go see this guy, Paolo, and

he—

LILLY

(in state of shock)

Your hair is the same color as Lana Weinberger’s.

What’s on your FINGERS? Are those fake fingernails? Lana has

those, too! Oh my God, Mia. You’re turning into Lana

Weinberger!

MIA

(unable to take it anymore)

Lilly. Shut up.

MICHAEL

(appearing in the doorway with no shirt on) Whoa.

LILLY

WHAT? WHAT did you just say to me?

MIA

You know what, Lilly? I’m a PRINCESS. I’m the princess of

Genovia. And I will ALWAYS be a princess, I can’t escape it, I

can’t pretend like it didn’t happen. And as a princess, I will always

value princesslike qualities in other people, such as honesty and

self-respect and not Doing It with People You Don’t Even Love.

Good-bye.

MICHAEL

Whoa.

MIA stomps from the room. LILLY and MICHAEL exchange

stunned glances.

Friday, September 10, 1 a.m., the loft

Except, of course, I know now that the whole time—maybe even

way back when I was first finding out I’m a princess—Michael

was sleeping with Judith Gershner.

And I didn’t know it.

Because he never told me.

Friday, September 10, 1:30 a.m., the loft

HOW AM I GOING TO LIVE WITHOUT HIM?????

Friday, September 10, 2:15 a.m., the loft

I have to be strong. I HAVE to. He LIED to me. He said maybe it

was a good idea for us to TAKE A BREAK.

I can’t just let him get away with that.

Maybe writing some poetry will help.

You thought I gave you up for some

Foolish feminist morals.

You whose head ought to be wreathed

In silver-plated laurels?

For were you not a man?

Was your sex not the best?

Had you not a suit and tie,

Big feet and hairy chest?

Yet you opened up the cage

For my headstrong reckless flight

You thought I’d learn my lesson quick

And return to you contrite.

My freedom found, however,

I disappeared from view.

Maybe I’d catch no one nicer

But anyone’s better than you.

Oh, our love affair was tragic!

I wept with passionate strife.

Till you let me go, and I found out

I prefer the single life.

God, I wish that were all true.

Michael! My cherished preserver!

Friday, September 10, 3 a.m., the loft

Dear Michael,

I just wanted to say—

Dear Michael,

Why did you have to—

Dear Michael,

WHY????

Friday, September 10, 4 a.m., the loft

Michael! My hope! My love! My life!

Friday, September 10, the limo on the way to school

I can’t believe Mom made me go to school today.

I told her my heart was broken. I told her I hadn’t slept A WINK

ALL NIGHT LONG. I told her I can’t stop crying. I haven’t

stopped crying since last night, practically. I had no idea human

beings were even CAPABLE of producing so many tears.

It was like talking to a stone wall. Mom was all, “You broke up

with Michael, Mia, not the other way around. No way are you

going to wallow around in bed all day.”

It’s weird but…it’s almost like she’s on MICHAEL’S side, or

something.

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