Which is when this skinny guy in a pair of fancy red eyeglasses came hurrying out of Grandmère’s living room, going, “Oh, great, she’s here. Princess Mia, I’m so glad to meet you. I’m Lewis, and this is my assistant, Janine—” He indicated the purple-haired woman, who was still staring up at Lars like she was looking at King Kong, or someone, and seemed unable to utter a sound. “If you’d just let Janine put your mic on, we can go ahead and get started.”

I didn’t bother asking Lewis what it was we could go ahead and get started. Instead, I went, “Excuse me,” and walked past him, and right up to Grandmère, who was sitting in her pink Louis XV chair with her hair all freshly set, her makeup perfect, and a trembling, nearly hairless toy poodle in her lap.

“Oh, Amelia, good, you’re here,” she said. “Where’s your mic?”

“Grandmère,” I said, noticing for the first time the cameraman hovering by her shoulder. “What is going on? Who are these people? Why is that man filming us?”

“He isn’t going to be able to use any of the footage, Mia, if you don’t put a mic on,” Grandmère said irritably. “Janine! Janine, would you please put a mic on her?”

Lewis came in, bobbing his spiky-haired head.

“Um, yes, Your Highness, well, Janine tried, see, but there appears to be a problem—”

“What problem?” Grandmère demanded imperiously.

“She, um,” Lewis said, looking scared. But not of Lars. Of Grandmère. “Wouldn’t let Janine put it on her.”

Grandmère swung the evil eye she’d been focusing on Lewis onto me.

“Amelia,” she said coldly. “Kindly allow the violet-haired young lady to put a microphone on you, so that we can get this out of the way. I have a dinner engagement I don’t care to miss.”

“Nobody’s putting anything on me,” I said, so loudly that Rommel, in Grandmère’s lap, put his ears back and whimpered, “until someone explains to me what’s going on.”

“Oh, sorry,” Lewis said, looking mortified. “I thought you knew. I had no idea. Janine and I—oh, and that’s Rafe, with the camera”—Rafe, a burly guy in a bandanna, waved at me from behind his camera lens—“are from MTV, and you’re currently being filmed for a very special episode of MTV’s hit reality series, My Super Sweet Sixteen.”

I looked from Lewis to Grandmère to Rafe—I couldn’t see Janine, because she was still out in the foyer with Lars—and back again.

“What?” I said.

“My Super Sweet Sixteen is a reality television series on MTV,” Lewis explained, as if that were the part I was having trouble with. “Each week it features a different teen getting ready to celebrate his or her sixteenth birthday party. We film all the preparations leading up to the party, and then the party itself. It’s one of our most popular shows. Surely you’ve seen it.”

“Oh, I’ve seen it, all right,” I said. “Which is why I’m out of here. Bye.”