FTLOUIE: So, in other words…in about ten to fifteen years, we’re all going to die?
SKINNERBX: Basically. How about you? What did YOU learn today?
Um, that you are going to dump me if I don’t put out.
But, of course, I couldn’t SAY that. So I just told Michael about how this weekend my mom and Mr. G are making an emergency trip to Indiana to introduce Rocky to his Hoosier grandparents. And how Lilly has stabbed me in the back ONCE AGAIN, this time by nominating me for student council president but how she’d said not to worry about it since she “has a plan”; also about how I hate Geometry already.
SKINNERBX: Wait…your parents are going to Indiana this weekend?
FTLOUIE: Not my parents. My mom and Mr. G.
I love Mr. G and all, I guess, but it still weirds me out when anyone refers to him as my parent or my dad. I already have a dad.
I forgive Michael for this common mistake, however, as he does not know—as I do—what it’s like to come from a broken home.
FTLOUIE: What do you think your sister could be up to, anyway? I mean, I would be the worst student council president EVER.
SKINNERBX: What day are they leaving?
Why is Michael fixated on the fact that Mom and Mr. G are going out of town? This is totally the LEAST of my problems.
FTLOUIE: I don’t know. Friday, I guess.
Which reminded me:
FTLOUIE: Do you still want me to come over on Saturday to meet Doo Pak?
SKINNERBX: Sure. Or if you want, I could come over there.
FTLOUIE: With Doo Pak?
SKINNERBX: No. I meant by myself.
FTLOUIE: Well, if you want to. But I don’t know why you would, nobody’s going to be here but me.
Oh, no. Rocky’s crying again.
I’m not a baby-licker. I’m NOT.
SKINNERBX: Mia? Are you still there?
But how can they just sit there and listen to him cry like that? It’s just WRONG.
SKINNERBX: Mia?
FTLOUIE: Sorry, Michael, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.
I wonder if there’s a Baby-lickers Anonymous I could join.
Wednesday, September 9, Homeroom
Well, Lana certainly didn’t waste any time launching her campaign for student council president into overdrive.
When Lilly and I walked into school this morning, it was to find the hallways WALLPAPERED with giant full-color glossy posters of Lana with the words VOTE LANA written underneath them.
Some of the posters are just like headshots, showing Lana tossing her long shimmery golden hair back and laughing, or with her chin cupped in her hands, smiling with the angelic sweetness of Britney on her first album cover. In the pictures, Lana doesn’t look at all like someone who might grab the back of another girl’s bra and hiss, “Why do you bother to wear one of these when you have nothing to put in it?”
Or someone who might tell a girl in the jet line that college boys expect their girlfriends to Do It.
Some of the other posters show Lana in full-on action shots, like jumping into the air and doing the splits in her cheerleading uniform. One of them shows Lana in her prom dress from last year, standing at the bottom of some staircase. I don’t know where, since there was no staircase like it at the actual prom. Maybe her apartment? I wouldn’t know, of course, having never been invited there.
Lilly took one look at all the posters and then down at her own posters—yes, Lilly spent all last night, while I was learning about Wendell Jenkins, making campaign posters for me—and said a very bad word.
Because even though Lilly’s posters are very nice—they say MIA RULES and PICK THE PRINCESS—they are only glitter poured over Elmer’s on white foam core (for rigidity). Lilly didn’t exactly blow up any full-color glossy headshots of me and plaster the school with them.
“Don’t worry, Lilly,” I told her, very sympathetically. “I don’t want to be president anyway, so maybe this is for the best.”
Even Boris noticed how sad Lilly was and felt bad for her, which I thought was really nice of him, given how she’d ripped his heart out of his chest and stomped all over it just last May.
“Your posters are much nicer than Lana’s,” he told her. “Because they come from the heart, and not some photocopy shop.”
But Lilly ripped her posters in half and stuffed them into a trash can outside the administrative offices anyway. There was glitter everywhere by the time she was done.
She did say, kind of darkly, “She wants war? She’s got one.”
But Lilly may have been referring to the fact that they are serving brandade for lunch today in the caf. With cod, the main ingredient in brandade, being nearly extinct due to overfishing, Lilly’s been conducting a very vocal campaign on her public access show against its use in New York City restaurants.
I really wish those producers who optioned Lilly’s show would hurry up and find a studio to buy it already. Lilly really needs a new project. She has WAY too much time on her hands.
I have not heard from Michael since I signed off last night. I’m hoping this means he is busy with the whole petroleum-running-out thing, and not, you know, that he’s breaking up with me because he’s realized I’m not exactly the Do It type.
Wednesday, September 9, PE
There should be a law against dodgeball.
Also, what did I ever do to HER? I mean, she’s clearly winning this stupid election.
What is the point of even HAVING a bodyguard if he is going to allow me to be pelted in the thigh with red rubber balls?
I think that’s definitely going to leave a mark.
Wednesday, September 9, Geometry
“a if b” and “a only if b”
The phrase “if and only if” is represented by the abbreviations “if” and by the symbol
a b means both a b and b a.
Is the converse of a true statement necessarily true?
Excuse me, but
WHAT???????????????
There is a Euler diagram appearing on my thigh where Lana hit me with that ball.
Wednesday, September 9, English
Don’t you LOVE that pink sweater thing Ms. M’s wearing? She looks so totally Elle Woods in it! If Elle Woods had black hair, I mean.—T.
Yes. It’s nice.
R U OK? R U mad about what Lilly did? I think you’d make a really good student council prez, 4 what it’s worth.
Thanks, Tina. Actually, I’d sort of forgotten about that. So much other stuff is happening.
What other stuff? That thing with the snails?
You KNOW about that????
It was on the news last night. I guess those people in Monaco are kind of mad.
They have no right to be mad! It’s all their fault!
Yeah, the reporter kind of mentioned that. Is that what’s bothering U?
No. Well, partly. I mean—can you keep a secret?
Of course!
I know, but like a REAL secret. You CANNOT tell Lilly.
Pinky swear.
OR BORIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
PINKY SWEAR!!! I SAID PINKY SWEAR!!!!
Okay. Well. It’s just that yesterday in the jet line Lana told me that college boys expect their girlfriends to Do It and that means Michael must be expecting for ME to Do It, only I’m not sure I want to. I mean, I guess I WANT to, but not if it involves taking my clothes off in front of him. But I’m not sure there’s any way around that. Also, I thought college boys only Did It with college girls. But I’m not a college girl, I’m a high school girl. But then I talked to my mom about it and she said she Did It when she was 15 with this guy named Wendell Jenkins but then he married this corn princess named April and my mom hasn’t even seen him since. And what if that happens with me and Michael? Like, what if we Do It and then we break up because it turns out we want different things and he marries a corn princess? I think that might kill me. Although my mom says she hasn’t thought about Wendell in years. I don’t know. What should I do?<
br />
Just because things didn’t work out with Wend dell and your mom is no reason to think that you and Michael are also going to break up. And what kind of name is WENDELL, anyway?
So you’re saying…I should Do It?????
I don’t think Lana really knows what college boys do. She doesn’t know any college boys. Or if she does they’re probably frat boys. And Michael isn’t even in a frat. Besides, Michael really loves you. It’s obvious just in the way he looks at you. If you don’t want to Do It, don’t Do It.
Yeah, but what about what Lana said?????
Michael isn’t one of those guys who would dump you just for not Doing It with him. I mean, maybe the guys LANA knows would do this. Like Josh Richter, for instance. Or that Ramon guy. He looks kind of sketchy, But not Michael. Because he actually CARES about you. Besides, I really don’t think Michael expects you to Do It. At least, not right now.
REALLY??????
Really. I mean, it would be kind of presumptuous of him. You guys have not even been going out for a year. I don’t think anyone should Do It with a guy unless they’ve been going out for at least a year. And then they have to Do It for the first time on prom night. Because when you Do It for the first time, the boy should be wearing a tux. It’s only polite.
Tina, I barely managed to get Michael to take me to the prom once. I highly doubt I’m ever going to be able to get him to go again.
Hmmm. Well, coronations count. I’m sure it would be just as romantic to Do It for the first time after your coronation.
I’m not having a coronation until after my dad dies and leaves me the throne!!!! I could be as old as Prince Charles by the time that happens!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I do WANT to Do It, before I’m ANCIENT, you know. Just not, you know. NOW.
Well, then you just need to tell Michael that. You two really need to have The Talk. You need to get this all out in the open. Because communication is the key to success in a romantic relationship.
Have you and Boris had it? You know, The Talk. About DOING IT?
Of course!!!! I mean, providing things don’t work out between Prince William and me, Boris knows that if he ever hopes to be bestowed the gift of my flower, he will need to do it after the prom
on a king-sized bed with white satin sheets
in a deluxe suite with Central Park views
at the Four Seasons over on East 57th Street
with champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries upon arrival
an aromatherapy bath for after
then waffles for two in bed the next morning.
Oh. Tina, I don’t know how to break this to you…but that sounds like a little more than Boris might be able to afford. I mean, he IS still in high school.
I know. That’s why I suggested he start saving his allowance now. Also, that he better have more than just that one condom he’s been carrying around in his wallet for the past two years.
Boris has a condom in his wallet???? Right NOW??????????
Oh, yes. He is very proactive. That is one of the reasons I love him.
WOULD YOU GUYS PLEASE QUIT PASSING NOTES AND PAY ATTENTION? THIS IS THE BEST TEACHER WE HAVE EVER HAD AND YOU TWO ARE TOTALLY EMBARRASSING ME WITH YOUR INABILITY TO PAY ATTENTION—
Wait. What’s this about a condom?
Nothing! Eyes front!
Who are you guys talking about, anyway?
No one, Lilly. Never mind. Look, she’s passing back our expository writing samples.
I suppose you think that’s going to distract me. I want to know who you guys are talking about. WHO carries around a condom??
Pay attention, Lilly!
Right! Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. What did you get, anyway? An A as usual, Miss I Always Get An A in English?
Well, I DID work really hard on it—
Ha! THAT’s not an A!!!! Told you. You really should be paying attention in this class if you’re serious about this writing thing.
Wednesday, September 9, French
I don’t understand this. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THIS.
I am a talented writer. I KNOW I am. I have been TOLD I am. By more than one person.
I mean, I’m not saying I don’t have more to learn. I know I do. I know I’m no Danielle Steel. Yet. I know I have a lot of work to do before I can ever hope to win a Booker Prize or one of those other awards writers get.
But a B????
I have never gotten a B on an English assignment in my life!!!!
There must be some mistake.
I was in so much shock after I got my paper back that I think I just sat there with my mouth hanging open for a very long period of time…long enough for the line of people gathered around Ms. Martinez’s desk to thin out enough for her to finally notice me, and go, “Yes, Mia? Do you have a question?”
“This is a B,” was all I managed to choke out. On account of my throat had kind of closed up. And my palms were sweaty. And my fingers were shaking.
Because I have never gotten a B on an English assignment before. Never, never, never, never…
“Mia, you’re a very good writer,” Ms. Martinez said. “But you lack discipline.”
“I do?” I licked my lips. They had gotten all parched, just while I was sitting there, it seemed to me.
Ms. Martinez shook her head all sadly.
“I realize it isn’t entirely your fault,” Ms. Martinez went on. “You’ve probably been getting A’s in your English classes for years using the same cartoonish slapstick humor and slick popular culture references you used in your writing sample. I’m sure your teachers were too busy dealing with students who couldn’t write at all to deal with one who clearly can. But, Mia, don’t you see? This kind of self-conscious pseudo-zaniness has no place in a serious expositional work. If you don’t learn to discipline yourself, you’ll never grow as a writer. Pieces like this one you handed in to me only prove that you have a way with words, NOT that you are a writer.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. All I knew was, I had gotten a B. A B!!! IN ENGLISH.
“If I write a new one,” I asked, “will you accept it in the place of this one, and cancel out my B?”
“If it’s good enough,” Ms. Martinez said. “I don’t want you just dashing off something completely over the top again, Mia. I want you to put some thought into it. I want you to make me think.”
“But,” I protested weakly, “that’s what I tried to do in my piece about the snails—”
“By comparing your pouring ten thousand snails into the Bay of Genovia with Pink’s refusal to perform for Prince William because he hunts?” Ms. Martinez shuddered. “No, Mia. That didn’t make me think. It just made me sad for your generation.”
Thankfully, just then the warning bell went off, so I had to go.
Which is a good thing, because I was just about to throw up all over my desk, anyway.
Wednesday, September 9, G&T
Michael called during lunch. AEHS students are not supposed to make or receive cell phone calls during class, but at lunch it’s okay.
Anyway, he was all, “What happened to you last night? We were IMing, and then you just disappeared!”
Me: Oh, yeah. Sorry. Rocky woke up crying, and I had go sing him back to sleep.
Michael: Oh. So everything’s okay?
Me: Well, I mean, if you think the fact that two days into the school year I’m already flunking Geometry, I’m being forced to run for student council president against my will, and my new English teacher thinks I’m a talentless hack is okay, then yeah, I guess so.
Michael: I don’t think any of those things are okay. Have you talked to—who do you have? Harding? He’s a decent guy—about getting some extra help in his class? Or if you want, we can go over the chapter together on Saturday, when I see you. And how could your English teacher think you’re a talentless hack? You’re the best writer I know. And as for the student council thing, Mia, just tell Lilly you don’t care WHAT her plan is, you have enough to worry about, and you d
on’t want to run. What’s the worst that could happen?
Ha. That is all so easy for Michael to say. I mean, he is not afraid of his sister—not even a little bit, like I am. And Mr. Harding? A decent guy? My God, he threw a piece of chalk at Trisha Hayes’s head today! Granted, I’d do the same if I thought I could get away with it. But still.
And how does Michael even know what kind of writer I am? Except for a couple of articles in the school paper last year, and my letters, e-mails, and Instant Messages to him, he has never read anything I’ve written. I certainly haven’t given him any of my poems to read. Because what if he doesn’t like them? My writer’s spirit would be crushed.
Even more crushed than it is right now.
Me: I guess. How’s YOUR day going?
Michael: Great. Today in my Principles of Geomorphology class we talked about how the ice cap has shrunk by two hundreds and fifty million acres—that’s the size of California and Texas put together—in the past twenty years, and how if it continues to erode at the rate it’s going—about nine percent per decade—it could vanish altogether by the end of this century, which will, of course, have devastating consequences for life on Earth as we know it. Whole species will vanish, and anyone who owns seafront property is essentially going to own underwater property. Unless, of course, we do something to control pollutant emissions that are destroying the ozone layer and allowing this melt-off.