Lilly. Is there going to be a debate? Because Grandmère said something about a debate.
Shhhh. Pay attention. Hey, what’s going on with my brother, anyway? Are you two really Doing It?
STOP TRYING TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT! IS THERE GOING TO BE A DEBATE?????
LILLY!!!!
LILLY!!!!!!!!!!!! ANSWER ME!!!!!!
I don’t think Lilly’s going to answer you. Is there anything I can do?
Oh. Hi, Tina. No. Just…well, you wouldn’t be willing to get your bodyguard to shoot me, would you? Because I’d really appreciate it.
Um, Wahim’s not allowed too shoot anyone unless they’re trying to kidnap me. You know that.
I know. But I still wish I were dead.
I’m so sorry. The election thing?
That, and Michael, and everything else.
Did you and Michael have that talk like I told you to?
No. When could we have had a talk? I never get to see him anymore because he’s always in class, learning new ways we’re all going to die. And you can’t talk about Doing It—or, in this case, NOT Doing It—over the phone, or IMing. It’s kind of a face-to-face topic.
That’s true. So when are you going to talk about it?
Saturday, I guess. I mean, that’s the earliest we’re going to see each other.
Good! Don’t you love Ms. M in those totally adorable culottes! Who knew culottes could even BE adorable?
You know, someone could be wearing culottes and still not be…um, right.
What do you mean? Ms. Martinez is ALWAYS right. She loves Jane Austen, doesn’t she?
Um, yes. But maybe not for the same reasons we do.
You mean not because Colin Firth looks so hot every time he dives into that pond on A & E? But what other reason IS there to love Jane Austen?
Never mind. Pretend I didn’t say anything.
Do you think Ms. M knows how in real life Emma Thompson had the guy who played Willoughby’s baby???? Because even though he played a bad guy in Sense and Sensibility, I’m sure he’s really nice in person. And besides, Emma needed to find love after that Kenneth Branagh left her for Helena Bonham-Carter.
Sometimes I wish I could live inside Tina’s head instead of mine. I swear. It must be very restful there.
Thursday, September 10, ladies’ room, Albert Einstein High School
How do I always end up here? Writing in my journal in a stall of the ladies’ room, I mean? It is becoming like a ritual or something.
Anyway, it all started innocently enough. We were talking about last night’s episode of The OC when next thing I knew, Tina was going, “Hey, did you tell Lilly yet?”
And Lilly was all, “Tell me what?”
And I totally thought Tina meant the thing about Doing It with Michael and I mouthed, PINKY SWEAR at her until she went, “About your parents going away to Indiana this weekend, I mean,” which I must have mentioned to her in a moment of weakness, although I don’t remember doing so.
Lilly looked at me all excited. “They are? That’s great! We can have another party!”
Hello. You would think Lilly, of ALL people, wouldn’t want to come to another party at my place. Or at least be a little more sensitive about the fact that her ex, who she LOST FOREVER at my last party, was sitting right there.
But she totally didn’t seem to notice or care.
“So, what time can we come over?” she wanted to know.
“Just because my mom and Mr. G are going away does NOT mean I’ll be having a party,” I yelled, all panicky.
“Yeah,” Lilly said, looking thoughtful. “I forgot. You’re heir to the throne of Genovia. It’s not like they’re going to leave you there alone. But that’s okay. We can probably get Lars and Wahim to go off by themselves somewhere—”
“NO,” I said, “that’s not it. I’m not having a party because the last time I had one, it was a total disaster.”
“Yeah,” Lilly said. “But this time, Mr. Gianini won’t be there—”
“NO PARTIES,” I said, in my most princessy voice.
Lilly just sniffed and went, “Just because you got a B on an English paper, don’t take it out on me.”
Oh, okay, Lilly, I won’t. And just because YOUR parents don’t trust you enough to let you stay alone in the house on account of that one time you set off the sprinkler system in the building with your homemade lighter-and-Rave-hairspray flamethrower, don’t take it out on me.
Only, of course, I didn’t say that out loud.
“Wait,” Boris said. “YOU got a B on an English paper, Mia? How is that possible?”
So then I had no choice but to break the news to everyone at the lunch table. You know, about Ms. Martinez being a big huge uber-phony.
They were all shocked, of course.
“But she has such cute clogs!” Tina cried, her heart clearly breaking.
“It just goes to show,” Boris said, “that you can’t tell what’s in someone’s heart by the way he or she dresses.” He shot a very significant look at me while he said this.
But I don’t care. Tucking your sweater into your pants is not a good look for ANYONE.
“She probably means well,” Tina said, since she tries to find the good in everyone.
“There is never any justification for crushing the artistic spirit,” Ling Su said—and, since she can draw better than anyone in our whole school, she would know. “Lots of so-called critics and reviewers meant well when they ravaged the works of the Impressionists in the nineteenth century. But if artists like Renoir and Monet had followed their advice, some of the greatest works of art in the world would never have been created.”
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly compare my writing to a Renoir painting,” I felt obligated to say. “But thanks, Ling Su.”
“The thing is, even if Mia’s writing DOES stink,” Boris said, in his usual blunt fashion, “does a teacher really have the right to tell her so?”
“It does sort of seem antieducational,” Shameeka said.
“Something’s got to be done about this,” Ling Su said. “The question is, what?”
But before we could come up with anything, this dark shadow fell over our lunch table, and we looked up, and there was…
Lana.
Our hearts sank. Well, mine did, anyway.
Lana was accompanied by the new Grand Moff Tarkin to her Darth Vader, Trisha Hayes.
“Nice posters, PIT,” Lana said. Only, of course, she was being sarcastic. “But they aren’t going to do you any good.”
“Yeah,” Trisha said. “We took a random poll of the cafeteria, and if the election were today, you’d only get sixteen votes.”
“You mean there are sixteen people in this cafeteria,” Lilly said, mildly, as she peeled the chocolate coating off a Ho Ho, “who were willing to tell you to your face that they aren’t voting for you? God, I had no idea there were so many masochists in this school.”
“Keep sucking on that Twinkie, fatty,” Lana said. “And we’ll see who’s the masochist.”
“It’s a Ho Ho,” Boris pointed out, because that is what Boris does.
Lana didn’t even look at him.
“And you know what else?” Lana said. “I’m going to trounce you at Monday’s debate during Assembly. Nobody at Albert Einstein wants a snail-dumper as president.”
Snail-dumper! That’s almost as bad as being called a baby-licker!
But before I had a chance to defend my snail-dumping ways, Lana had flounced away.
Since I didn’t want to humiliate Lilly by screaming at her in front of her ex, especially now that he’s hot, I just looked at her and went, “Lilly. Ladies’ room. NOW.”
Somewhat to my surprise, she followed me in here.
“Lilly,” I said, summoning all of the people skills Grandmère has taught me. Not, you know, that Grandmère has actually taught me any useful skills for dealing with people. It’s just so hard dealing with Grandmère that I have sort of acquired some along the way. “This has
gone on long enough. I never wanted to run for student council president in the first place, but you kept telling me you had a plan. Lilly, if you really have a plan, I want to know what it is. Because I am sick of people calling me PIT—whatever that means. And there is NO WAY I’m going to debate Lana on Monday. NO FREAKING WAY.”
“Princess in training,” was all Lilly had to say to that.
I just looked at her like she’s a mental case. Which, I’m pretty sure, she is.
“Princess in training,” she said, again. “That’s what PIT stands for. Since you asked.”
“I told you,” I said, through gritted teeth, “not to call me that anymore!”
“No,” Lilly said. “You said not to call you baby-licker or POG—Princess of Genovia. Not PIT—Princess in Training.”
“Lilly.” My teeth were still gritted. “I do not want to be student council president. I have enough problems right now. I do not need this. I do not need to debate Lana Weinberger on Monday in front of the whole school.”
“Do you want to make this school a better place or not?” Lilly wanted to know.
“Yeah,” I said. “I do. But it’s hopeless, Lilly. I can’t beat Lana. She’s the most popular girl in school. No one is going to vote for me.”
At that moment, even though I’d thought we were alone in the ladies’ room, a toilet flushed. The next thing I knew, a tiny little freshman girl came out of a stall and over to the sinks to wash her hands.
“Um, excuse me, Your Highness,” she said to me, after Lilly and I had stared at her in dumbfounded silence for several seconds. “But I really admire that thing you did with the snails. And I’m planning on voting for you.”
Then she threw her paper towel in the trash and walked out.
“Ha!” said Lilly. “HA HA! See? I TOLD you! Something’s HAPPENING, Mia. It’s like a groundswell of resentment toward Lana and her ilk. The people are sick of the reign of the popular crowd. They want a new queen. Or princess, as the case may be.”
“Lilly—”
“Just keep doing what you’re doing, and everything will be fine.”
“But, Lilly—”
“And keep Saturday during the day open. You can do whatever it is you’re doing with my brother at night. Just give me the day.”
“Lilly, I don’t WANT to be president,” I screamed.
“Don’t worry,” Lilly said, giving my cheek a pat. “You won’t be.”
“But I also don’t want to be humiliatingly beat by Lana in a student election, either!”
“Don’t worry,” Lilly said, adjusting one of her many barrettes in the mirror above the sinks. “You won’t be.”
“Lilly,” I said. “HOW CAN BOTH OF THOSE THINGS NOT HAPPEN???? IT’S IMPOSSIBLE!!!!”
But then the bell rang and she left.
I wonder if there’s a disorder in Yahoo! Health for whatever it is that’s wrong with my best friend.
Thursday, September 10, U.S. Government
THEORIES OF GOVERNMENT, con’t
THEORY OF FORCE
Religion and economics play important roles in history. As a result, this theory says:
Governments have always forced the people within their reach to pay tribute or tax.
This became sanctioned by custom and people developed myths and legends to justify their rule.
Sort of like the way people accept that the jocks and the cheerleaders run this school, despite the fact that they don’t necessarily make the best grades, so it’s not like they’re the smartest group of people here, nor are they even very nice to those of us who don’t eat, drink, and breathe sports and partying. How are they even QUALIFIED to lead us? And yet their word is law and everyone pays tribute to them by not calling them on their cruelty to others or by not telling on them when they flagrantly disregard school policy, such as smoking on school grounds and wearing their boyfriends’ shorts beneath their skirts. This is just wrong. The misdeeds of a few are having a negative impact on the many, and that’s not fair. I wonder what John Locke would have to say about it.
Thursday, September 10, Earth Science
Why won’t Kenny stop talking about his girlfriend? I’m sure she’s nice, and all, but really, does he HAVE to keep reciting every conversation he’s ever had with her to me?
Magnetic field
Not constant—varies in strength but hardly detectable
Poles wander—number of times poles have reversed
Reversal of magnetic field—during times poles reverse, field disappears, allowing ions to hit Earth, mutations, climactic ruin, etc.
Last major reversal, 800,000 years ago, magnetic particles that were pointing north about-faced to point south
HOMEWORK
PE: n/a
Geometry: exercises, pages 33–35
English: Strunk and White, pages 30–54
French: lisez L’Étranger pour lundi
G&T: n/a
U.S. Government: Define force theory of gov.
Earth Science: orbital perturbations
Thursday, September 10, limo on the way home from the Plaza
So when I walked into Grandmère’s suite at the Plaza for my princess lesson this afternoon, what did I find?
A pop quiz about seating arrangements for heads of state at a diplomatic banquet? Oh, no.
A waltz I needed to learn for some ball? Uh-uh.
Because those would be the kinds of things you’d EXPECT at a princess lesson. And Grandmère likes to keep me on my toes, apparently.
Instead, I found about two dozen journalists gathered in her suite, all eager to discuss my student council presidency campaign with me and my campaign manager, Lilly.
That’s right. Lilly. Lilly was sitting, cool as a cucumber, on a blue velvet settee with Grandmère, answering the reporters’ questions.
When the journalists saw me come in, they all jumped up and shoved microphones in my face instead of Lilly’s, and went, “Your Highness, Your Highness! Are you looking forward to your debate on Monday?” and “Princess Mia, do you have anything you’d like to say to your constituents?”
I had one thing I wanted to say to one constituent. And that was, “LILLY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”
That was when Grandmère sprang into action. She hurried up and draped an arm around my shoulder and went, “Your dear friend Lilly and I were just chatting with these nice reporters about your campaign for student council president, Amelia. But what they’d really like is a statement from you. Why don’t you be a darling and give them one?”
The minute Grandmère calls you darling, you know something is up. But, of course, I already knew something was up, because Lilly was there. How had she even gotten to the Plaza so fast? She must have taken the subway, while I’d been tied up in traffic in the limo.
“Yes, Princess,” Lilly said, reaching out to take my hand, then pulling me—none too gently—down onto the settee beside her. “Tell the nice reporters about all the reforms you’re planning to make at AEHS.”
I leaned over, pretending I was reaching for a watercress sandwich from the tray Grandmère’s maid had set out for the reporters, who are always hungry, and not just for a story. But then, as I grabbed one of the dainty little sandwiches, I hissed in Lilly’s ear, “Now you’ve gone too far.”
But Lilly just smiled blandly at me and said, “I think the princess would like some tea, Your Highness,” to which Grandmère replied, “But, of course. Antoine! Tea for the princess!”
The press conference went on for an hour, with reporters from all over the country peppering me with questions about my campaign platform. I was just thinking that it must be a REALLY slow news day if my running for student council president qualified as a decent story, when one of the reporters asked me a question that shed a little light on just why Grandmère was so keen on my making an ass of myself in front of Middle America, and not just my fellow AEHS students.
“Princess Mia,” a journalist from the Indianapolis Star asked. “Isn’t it tru
e that the only reason you’re running for student council president—and the only reason we were invited here today—is that your family is trying to distract the news media from the real story currently hitting headlines in Europe—your act of ecoterrorism, concerning the dumping of ten thousand snails into the Bay of Genovia?”
Suddenly, two dozen microphones were shoved into my face. I blinked a few times, then went, “But that wasn’t an act of ecoterrorism. I did that to save the—”
Then Grandmère was clapping her hands and going, “Who wants a nice glass of grappa? Come now, real Genovian grappa. No one can resist that!”
But none of the reporters were falling for it.
“Princess Mia, would you like to comment on the fact that Genovia is currently being considered for expulsion from the EU, thanks to your selfish act?”
Another one cried, “How does it feel, Your Highness, to know that you’re single-handedly responsible for destroying your own nation’s economy?”
“Wh…What?” I couldn’t believe it. What were these reporters talking about?
For once, Lilly came to my rescue.
“People!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “If you don’t have any more questions about Mia’s campaign for school president, then I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave!”
“Cover-up!” someone yelled. “That’s all this is! A cover-up to keep us from the real story!”
“Princess Mia, Princess Mia,” someone else called, as Lars began herding—or, to put it more accurately, bodily removing—all of the reporters from the suite. “Are you a member of ELF, the Earth Liberation Front? Do you want to make a statement on behalf of other ecoterrorists like yourself?”