From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess by Meg Cabot

“Olivia?”
    I didn’t even stop to think. Because when you see your father for the first time in your whole life, you don’t have to think. You just run over to where he’s standing and throw your arms around him and hug him, even though of course, being a prince, he’s wearing military medals.
    â€œOof,” he said, I guess because I’d buried my head in his stomach pretty hard.
    But he hugged me back, saying, “It’s very good to meet you at last.”
    â€œYou have no idea.” I rested my cheek against his soft belly and smelled his Dad-like smell, which is a mix of mouthwash, the leather from his belt (which holds his sword), and whatever detergent the hotel uses.
    â€œYes,” Dad said. “Well, I’m very sorry it took so long. It was your mother’s idea, you know, for you not to know the truth, and for us not to have any personal contact. She was worried about you growing up in the celebrity spotlight.”
    â€œI know,” I said, still hugging him. “I already met the reporters downstairs.”
    â€œI’m very sorry about all that — ”
    I could hear his stomach juices digesting whatever he’d had for lunch. It was a comforting sound, but I felt bad for him anyway. All these years later, he is still clearly devastated over the loss of my beautiful, beautiful mother.
    Well, who wouldn’t be? She was an amazing lady.
    I hoped the sight of me wouldn’t be too painful for him.
    â€œThat’s another reason your mother thought it would be safer for you not to know,” Dad went on. “The press can be so intrusive. You have the right to grow up without being harassed. And from what I understand, even before they found out, you were already being picked on at school — ”
    I let go of him at last.
    â€œYes,” I said, looking up into his face. “But didn’t Princess Mia’s mom want the same thing for her? And she’s turned out all right. I think I will too.”
    He laid his hands on both my shoulders and said, with a sigh, “Yes, Olivia, I agree with you. You seem like a very special girl. But it wasn’t easy for Mia, and it’s not going to be easy for you, either.”
    â€œI know,” I said. “But I’m tougher than I look. And I’ve already learned how to smile and wave. Look.”
    I showed him the smile and wave that Princess Mia had taught me, though the effect was somewhat ruined by Snowball choosing that moment to jump up on me, because she’s still a puppy, and she hasn’t been properly trained.
    â€œNo, Snowball,” I said, taking hold of her front paws and giving them a gentle squeeze. “Down.” I put her front paws back on the floor so she’d know “down” meant keeping her paws on the floor. This is how you train puppies. I saw it once on a TV show.
    â€œI guess it’s been hard for you,” Dad said thoughtfully, “living with the O’Tooles, and not having a … pet of your own.” It wasn’t a question.
    â€œAw,” I said. I didn’t want him to feel bad by letting him know how much things have stunk lately, especially with Annabelle and all, so I scooped Snowball up in my arms and buried my face in her soft, fluffy fur to hide my expression. “It’s been okay. And at least now I have … Snowball.”
    â€œI’m glad you like her,” Dad said. “Because in the future, you might be visiting her a lot more often. You see, I was wondering if you’d like to come live with us.”

 
    Wednesday, May 6
9:45 P.M.
The Plaza Hotel
    To say that I was shocked by this question would be the understatement of the universe. I was so astonished by it that I sort of dropped Snowball (well, not dropped her, really, but let her slither out of my arms, so that she ended up in a soft pile on the marble floor, looking confused).
    I guess Dad must have noticed my