OH, MY GOD!!!! Last night he asked me to come over on Saturday to see how he and Doo Pak have set up their dorm room!!!!
WHAT IF THAT WAS REALLY AN INVITATION TO COME OVER AND DO IT AND I DON’T EVEN KNOW IT BECAUSE I AM SO UNSKILLED IN THE WAYS OF LOVE?????
What am I going to do about this? Clearly, I need to talk to someone. But WHO? I can’t talk to Lilly, because Michael’s her BROTHER. And I can’t talk to Tina, because she already told me the most precious gift a woman can give to a man is the flower of her virginity and that’s why she’s saving herself for Prince William, who is only allowed to marry a virgin.
She says she will settle for giving her flower to Boris if the Prince William thing doesn’t work out by the time our senior prom rolls around, though.
I can’t talk to my MOTHER about it, because she can barely concentrate on the things she’s SUPPOSED to be concentrating on—like raising my baby brother—as it is, without the added distraction of her teenaged daughter wanting to talk to her about sex.
Besides, I know what she’ll do: She’ll schedule an appointment for me with her gynecologist. Excuse me, but EW.
And obviously I can’t say a word to Dad, because he would just arrange to have Michael assassinated by the Royal Genovian Guard.
And Grandmère would just pat me on the head and then tell every single person she knows.
Who does that leave? I’ll tell you who:
MICHAEL. I am going to have to talk to MICHAEL about having sex with MICHAEL.
What am I, NUTS??? I can’t talk to a BOY about SEX!!!! Particularly not THAT BOY!!!!
WHAT AM I GOING TO DO????????????
Oh, my God, I think I’m having a heart attack. Seriously. My heart is beating, like, a million times a minute and practically exploding out of my chest. I think I have to go to the nurse. I think I have to—
Mrs. Hill just asked me if I’m all right. Since it’s the first day of class, she is pretending like she actually intends to supervise us this year. She made us all fill out a form stating what our goal for the semester is. You know, in this class. I peeked at Boris’s and he’d written, “To learn Antonin Dvorák’s Violin Concerto in A minor by heart and win a Grammy like my hero, Joshua Bell.”
Frankly, I don’t think that’s a very realistic goal. But Boris is almost as hot as Joshua Bell now, so maybe it really is doable. If hotness counts to the Grammy judges.
I tried to peek at Lilly’s goal, but she is being way secretive. She put her hand over her paper and went, “Back off, baby-licker,” to me in a very rude way.
I doubt she would be so mean if she knew the intense emotional maelstrom currently swirling within me concerning the future of my relationship with her brother.
Since I didn’t know what to put as my goal—I don’t even know why I’m IN this class this semester—I just wrote down, “To write a novel, and to not flunk Geometry.”
I can’t believe Mrs. Hill noticed that I was having a heart attack. She never used to notice anything we did. Well, that’s because she was always locked in the teachers’ lounge. But still.
I told her I’m fine.
But the truth is, I don’t think I’ll ever be fine again, thanks to Lana.
Tuesday, September 8, U.S. Government
THEORIES OF GOVERNMENT: DIVINE RIGHT—Creation of gov. is divine intervention in human affairs. Religious and secular were interwoven. People were far less likely to criticize a government created by God.
In Christian civilization, kings maintained that with the blessing of the Church, the monarch was the legitimate ruler.
Um, hello, except in Genovia, where the king of Italy, not God, gave the throne to my ancestress Rosagunde because of her bravery in the field of battle. Or the bedroom, I guess, considering that’s where she killed her people’s mortal enemy, Alboin. It is good to know that at least one of my family members excelled in something bedroom-related, since I have a feeling I’m going to be sadly lacking in that area, as I don’t even like to look at MYSELF naked, let alone permit anyone ELSE to look at me.
John Locke, a 17th-century philosopher, opposed Divine Right. He and others said: Government is legitimate only to the extent that it is based on the consent of the people being governed.
Ha! Good for you, John Locke! Psych on all you kings and pharaohs, going around saying GOD put you on the throne! IN YOUR FACE!!!!
Tuesday, September 8, Earth Science
Great. As if my day hasn’t been bad enough. Guess who I have to sit by in this class this semester? Well, let’s see, what letter of the alphabet comes right before T? That’s right, S. Kenny Showalter.
Seriously. Did I stumble into some bad karma today or WHAT?
Apparently, Boris isn’t the only one who grew over the summer. Kenny also sprouted up a couple more inches. Except that Kenny doesn’t appear to have been doing any sort of weight training. So he just looks like the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz instead of Legolas.
Minus the pointy ears, of course.
Unlike the Scarecrow, though, Kenny actually has a brain. So he remembers all too well that the two of us used to go out. And that I dumped him for Michael. Well, technically, Kenny dumped ME. A fact of which he seems all too eager to remind me. He just went, “Mia, I hope you can put aside your personal feelings about me and allow us to work together in a professional manner this semester.”
I said I thought I could. The thing is, if I were still going out with Kenny, and Lana said something about him expecting me to DO IT with him, I’d have just laughed in her face.
But Michael is different.
The other thing is, what does Lana even know about college boys? I mean, she’s never even gone out with one! She could be totally wrong about Michael. TOTALLY WRONG.
I wish I had thought of saying this to her back in the jet line.
Kenny just asked me if I intended to spend this semester writing in my journal during class and then expect him to do all the work like I did when we were lab partners in Bio last year. Excuse me. I think someone is rewriting history here. I did NOT write in my journal during class last year.
Well, okay, maybe I did. But Kenny OFFERED to do all the lab work for me. And write it up afterward. I mean, he LIKES that kind of thing. And he’s good at it, too.
If everybody would just concentrate on their own personal strengths, the world would be a much better place.
I guess I’d better stop writing now or Kenny will think I’m taking advantage of him. And then maybe he will expect me to DO IT with him to make up for it.
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ORBITAL MECHANICS—
SYSTEMATIC LONG-TERM CHANGES
Shape of orbit not constant circle—extreme ellipse over 100,000 years
Angle of tilt of axis varies—wobbles from 22 degrees to 24 degrees 30 over 48,400 years
Precession—21,000 years
HOMEWORK
PE: no assignment
Geometry: exercises, pages 11–13
English: pages 4–14, Strunk and White
French: écrivez une histoire
G&T: n/a
U.S. Government: What is the basis for Divine Right theory of gov?
Earth Science: section 1, define perigee/apogee
Tuesday, September 8, Assembly
There really ought to be some kind of constitutional amendment to abolish high school convocations. Seriously.
Because not only are they a huge waste of school resources (How many times can you sit and listen to some paralyzed dude talk about how he wished he’d never driven drunk? Hello, we KNOW.), but I’m also beginning to think convocations are just an excuse for teachers to take a break from teaching. I fully saw Mrs. Hill sneaking a cigarette outside the gym doors just now. I guess the front of the school isn’t the only place where we need surveillance cameras.
And any time you get a thousand teens in one room together, you just know there’s going to be trouble. Principal Gupta already had to yell at the varsity gi
rls’ lacrosse team for throwing Swedish fish at the kids from the Drama Club, who weren’t even doing anything, for once. Except, you know, looking weird, with their dyed black hair and facial piercings.
And I saw a couple members of the Computer Club sneak beneath the bleachers just now. They had expressions on their faces I can only describe as diabolical. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out they’re down there unpacking their killer robot and programming it to unleash a reign of terror upon the world.
Principal Gupta is telling us how happy she is to have us all back. Lilly’s hand just shot up. Principal Gupta said, “Not now, Lilly,” and just went right on talking. Lilly is now muttering to herself beside me.
Tina, on my other side, is playing hangman with Boris. So far she only has the letter E right and has already earned a head and body. The spaces are:
__ __ __ __ __ __ __ E __ __
I can’t believe she can’t figure it out. But I’m not helping. Because what she does with her boyfriend is her own business. Just like what I do with MY boyfriend is MY own business. Or at least it WOULD be my business if, in fact, I was doing anything with him. Which I’m not. Which is apparently a huge problem, bound to lead to his breaking up with me for some college girl who WILL Do It with him.
But why SHOULDN’T I Do It with him? People Do It all the time. I mean, I wouldn’t be here if my mom and dad hadn’t—
Oh, great, now I feel like barfing. Why did I have to think about that? My mom and dad Doing It. Ew. Ew ew ew ew ew ew. That’s even worse than the thought of my mom and Mr. G—
Okay, now I’m TOTALLY going to barf. EWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!
Now Principal Gupta is talking about the wonderful extracurriculars that exist at Albert Einstein High, and how we should all really try to take advantage of them. Lilly put her hand up again, but Principal Gupta just said, “Not now, Lilly.” Nobody else is paying any attention.
Tina got another letter. Now the spaces go:
__ __ __ __ __ A __ E __ __
But Boris has added two arms to his hangman. Why doesn’t Tina try the letter L? This is so aggravating.
Now Principal Gupta is introducing the different student groups to show how many extracurriculars AEHS has to offer. It turns out the other new guy, who got assigned Josh’s old locker and who spilled his latte on my boot, is an exchange student from Brazil named Ramon Riveras. He is going to be on the soccer team.
That ought to make all the soccer moms very happy. Especially if after he wins, he whips off his shirt and swings it around his head the way Josh used to.
Ramon is sitting with Lana and Trisha and all the rest of the popular people. How did he know? I mean, he isn’t even FROM this country. How could he know who the popular people even are, let alone that he’s one of them, and should sit with them? Is this something popular people are just born with? Something they know innately?
Now Principal Gupta is talking about student council, and how we should all be eager to join, and what a wonderful opportunity it is to show your school spirit, and how it also looks good on your transcript. She is almost making it seem as if anybody who wanted to could run for student council and win. Which is so bogus, because everyone knows only popular people ever win elections for student council. Lilly ran last year and didn’t win. The person who beat her wasn’t even smart. No, last year she got soundly defeated by Nancy di Blasi, captain of the varsity cheerleading squad (Lana Weinberger’s mentor in evil), a girl who spent way more time organizing bake sales so that the cheerleaders could get a well-deserved trip to Six Flags than she did lobbying for real student reforms.
“Do we have any nominations for student council president?” Principal Gupta wants to know. Lilly’s hand just shot up. Principal Gupta is ignoring it this time.
“Anyone?” Principal G keeps asking. “Anyone at all?”
Tina just said, to Boris, “Um, gee, let me see. Is there a Y?”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” I can no longer help myself. Maybe it’s the looming threat of defloration. Or maybe it’s just that I don’t get to play hangman during school hours with the love of my life anymore. In any event, I went, “It’s JOSHUA BELL, okay? JOSHUA BELL!”
Tina’s all, “Ooooooh! You’re right!”
Ramon Riveras is laughing at something Lana has whispered in his ear.
Lilly’s waving her arm around like a crazy person. Hers is the only hand in the air. Finally, Principal Gupta has no choice but to go, “Lilly. We discussed this last year. You can’t nominate yourself for student council president. Someone has to nominate you.”
Lilly stands up, and out of her mouth come the words, “I’m not nominating myself this year. I NOMINATE MIA THERMOPOLIS!!!”
Tuesday, September 8, in the limo on the way to the Plaza Hotel
Seriously. Why am I even friends with her?
Tuesday, September 8, the Plaza
First princess lesson of the new school year, and—thank God—Grandmère is tied up by a phone call. She just snapped her fingers at me and pointed at the coffee table in the middle of her suite. I went over there and found all these faxes all over it, letters of complaint from various members of the French scientific community and Monaco’s oceanographic institute.
Huh. I guess they’re kind of mad about the snails.
Whatever! Like I don’t have WAY bigger problems right now than a bunch of angry marine biologists. Hello, apparently, if I want to keep my boyfriend, I have to Do It. As if that’s not bad enough, I’ve been nominated for STUDENT COUNCIL PRESIDENT.
I honestly don’t know what Lilly was thinking. Could she REALLY have thought I’d just sit there and be all, “Student council president? Oh, okay. Sure. Because, you know, I’m the only heir to the throne of an entire foreign country. It’s not like I don’t have anything else to do.”
WHATEVER!!! I fully grabbed her arm and pulled it down and was all, “LILLY, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING????” under my breath, since, of course, every single head in the entire gym had swiveled in our direction and everyone was staring at us, including Perin and Ramon Riveras and the guy who hates it when they put corn in the chili who I thought had graduated. But I guess not.
“Don’t worry,” Lilly whispered back. “I’ve got a plan.”
Apparently, part of Lilly’s plan was to kick Ling Su in the shin very very hard until she squeaked, “Um, I do, Principal Gupta,” when Principal Gupta asked in a confused voice, “Does, uh, anyone second that nomination?”
I couldn’t believe this was even happening. It was like a nightmare, only worse, because that guy who hates corn in his chili is never in my nightmares.
“But I—” I started to protest, but then Lilly kicked ME really hard in the shin.
“Ms. Thermopolis accepts the nomination!” Lilly called down to Principal Gupta.
Who totally didn’t look as if she believed it. But who went, “Well. If you’re sure, Mia,” anyway, without waiting for any response from me.
Next thing I knew, Trisha Hayes had jumped to her feet and was screaming, “I nominate Lana Weinberger for student council president!”
“Well, isn’t that nice,” Principal Gupta said, when Ramon Riveras seconded Trisha’s nomination of Lana—but only after Lana elbowed him…pretty hard, it looked like, from where I was sitting. “Do any members of the junior or senior classes care to enter a nomination? No? Your apathy is duly noted. Fine then. Mia Thermopolis and Lana Weinberger are your nominees for student council president. Ladies, I trust you’ll run a good clean election. Voting will be next Monday.”
And that was that. I’m running for student council president. Against Lana Weinberger.
My life is over.
Lilly kept saying it’s not. Lilly kept saying she has a plan. Lana running against me wasn’t part of that plan—“I can’t believe she’s doing that,” Lilly said as we were filing out of school after Assembly. “I mean, she’s only doing it because she’s jealous.”—but Lilly says it doesn’t matter, because everyone
hates Lana, so no one will vote for her.
Everyone does NOT hate Lana. Lana is one of the most popular girls in school. Everyone will vote for her.
“But, Mia, you’re pure and good of heart,” Boris pointed out to me. “People who are pure and good of heart always beat out evil.”
Um, yeah. In books like The Lord of the Rings, for crying out loud.
And the fact that I’m so pure? That’s probably why I’m about to lose my boyfriend.
And I think there are many historical examples of people who are very clearly NOT good of heart winning more elections than not.
“You’re not going to have to lift a finger,” Lilly said, as Lars helped me into the limo to Grandmère’s. “I’ll be your campaign manager. I’ll take care of everything. And don’t worry. I have a plan!”
I don’t know why Lilly thinks her constant assurances that she has a plan are in any way comforting to me. In fact, the opposite is true.
Grandmère just hung up the phone.
“Well,” she says. She’s already on her second Sidecar since I got here. “I hope you’re satisfied. The entire Mediterranean community is up in arms about that little stunt you pulled.”
“Not everybody.” I found two very supportive faxes in the pile and showed them to her.
“Pfuit!” was all Grandmère said. “Who cares what some fishermen have to say? They aren’t exactly experts on the matter.”
“Yeah,” I said, “but they happen to be Genovian fishermen. My countrymen. And isn’t my first obligation to protect the interests of my countrymen?”
“Not at the expense of straining diplomatic relations with your neighbors.” Grandmère’s lips are pressed so tightly together, they’re practically disappearing. “That was the prime minister of France, and he—”