Mia Goes Fourth pd-4

by Meg Cabot

  FtLouie: I'm only trying to help.

  LinuxRulz:! know, sorry. Only I don't think the guys would really enjoy being equated

  with furry little muppets from the planet Endor. I mean, I know one of them

  is Boris, but even he would draw the line at Ewoks, I hope . . .

  FtLouie: BORIS PELKOWSKI IS IN YOUR BAND????

  LinuxRulz: Yeah. Why?

  FtLouie: Nothing.

  All I can say is, if I had a band, I would NOT let Boris in it. I mean, I know he is a talented musician and all, but he is also a mouth breather. I think it's great that he and Lilly get along so well, and for short periods of time I can totally put up with him and even have a nice time with him and all. But I would not let him be in my band. Not unless he stopped tucking his sweaters into his pants.

  LinuxRulz: Boris isn't so bad, once you get to know him.

  FtLouie: I know. He just doesn't seem like the band type. All that Bartok.

  LinuxRulz: He plays a mean bluegrass, you know. Not that we'll be playing any

  bluegrass in the band.

  This was comforting to know.

  LinuxRulz: So will your grandmother let you off on time?

  I genuinely had no idea what he was talking about.

  FtLouie: What????

  LinuxRulz: On Friday. You've got princess lessons, right? That's why you were asking

  about later showings of the movie, wasn't it? You're worried your grandmother

  isn't going to let you out on time?

  This is where I screwed up. You see, he had offered me the perfect get-out - I could have said, 'Yes, I am,' and chances

  were, he'd have been like, 'OK, well, let's make it another time, then.'

  BUT WHAT IF THERE WERE NO OTHER TIME????

  What if Michael, like Dave, just blew me off and found some other girl to take to the show????

  So instead, I went:

  FtLouie: No, it will be OK. I think I can get off early.

  WHY AM I SO STUPID???? WHY DID I WRITE THAT???? Because of COURSE I won't be able to get off early,

  I will be at the stupid black-and-white ball ALL NIGHT!!!!!

  I swear, I am such an idiot, I don't even deserve to have a boyfriend.

  Thursday, January 21,

  Homeroom

  This morning at breakfast, Mr G was all, 'Has anyone seen my brown corduroy pants?' and my mom, who had set her

  alarm so that she could wake up early enough to possibly catch my dad on a break between Parliament sessions (no

  such luck), went, 'No, but has anyone seen my Free Winona T-shirt?'

  And then I went, 'Well, I still haven't found my Queen Amidala underwear.'

  And that's when we all realized it: someone had stolen our laundry.

  It is really the only explanation for it. I mean, we send laundry out, to the Thompson Street laundry-by-the-pound place,

  and then they do it for us and deliver it all folded and stuff. Since we don't have a doorman, generally the bag just sits in

  the vestibule until one of us picks it up and drags it up the three flights of stairs to the loft.

  Only apparently, no one has seen the bag of laundry we dropped off the day before I left for Genovia!

  Which can only mean that some freaky newsreporter (they regularly go through our garbage, much to the chagrin of

  Mr. Molina, our building's superintendent) found our bag of laundry, and any minute we can expect a ground-breaking

  news story on the front cover of the Post Out of the Closet: What Princess Mia Wears, and What it Means,

  According to our Experts.

  AND THEN THE WHOLE WORLD WILL FIND OUT THAT I WEAR QUEEN AMIDALA PANTIES!

  I mean, it is not like I go around ADVERTISING that I have Star Wars underwear, or even that I have any kind of lucky panties at all. And by rights, I should have taken my

  Queen Amidala underwear with me to Genovia, for luck on my Christmas Eve address to my people. If I had, maybe

  I wouldn't have gone off on that six-pack-holder tangent.

  But, whatever, I had been too caught up in the whole Michael thing, and had completely forgotten.

  And now it looks like someone has gotten hold of my special lucky underwear, and the next thing you know, it will be

  showing up on Ebay! Seriously! There is a ton of Princess Mia stuff being sold on Ebay, like used copies of the

  unauthorized biographies of my life. Who is to say my underwear wouldn't sell like hotcakes? Especially the fact that

  they are Queen Amidala panties.

  I am so, so dead.

  Mom has already called the 6th Precinct to report the theft, but those guys are too busy defusing bombs and tracking

  down real criminals to go after a laundry swiper. They practically laughed her off the phone.

  It is all very well for her and Mr G — all they lost were regular clothes. I am the only one who lost underwear. Worse,

  my lucky underwear. Though I fully understand that the men and women who fight crime in this city have more important

  things to do than look for my panties.

  But the way things have been going, I really, really need all the good luck I can get.

  Thursday; January 21

  Algebra

  Today, before class started, Lana was on her mobile, and this is what I overheard her saying:

  'No, I can't make it to Pam's on Friday, I've got this stupid thing to go to. I don't know, it's some patient of my dad's.

  Every year she has this stupid dance where everybody has to dress up in black and white.'

  I froze, my Algebra I-II textbook only halfway open. Lana's dad, I remembered, all of my blood turning cold, is a plastic surgeon. Could he have been the one who gave Contessa Trevanni her anteater face?

  'I don't know,' Lana was saying, into her phone. 'She claims to be some kind of countess. I swear to God, this town is

  littered with wannabe royals.'

  As she said the words wannabe royals, Lana swivelled her head around — getting her long, shiny blonde hair all over

  Chapter Twelve of my Algebra book - and looked at me.

  Um, excuse me. I never wanted to be royal. Never, ever, ever did I even remotely suggest to anyone that I thought it might

  be cool to be a princess.

  Oh, sure, I wouldn't mind being a princess the way Belle became a princess at the end of Beauty and the Beast. You know,

  a fairy-tale princess with no problems or responsibilities, except to look pretty and be all sweet to people.

  But being a princess in real life is nothing like that. You have to make all these decisions that affect the good of your country. Like should you or should you not make tourists pay for parking? And should you, or should you not, protect dolphins and

  sea turtles from pollution?

  Clearly Lana has never thought about any of this, however.

  'No, I'm not taking Josh,' she said scornfully into the hone, as more of her stupid hair fell all over my textbook. In fact, I

  thought about closing my book on her hair, just to hear her scream, but I wanted to hear why she wasn't taking her long-time boyfriend, Josh Richter, to the black-and-white ball with her.

  'He is so immature at these things,' Lana said to her friend. 'I mean, at the last one we went to together, he actually started throwing grapes down the front of this one girl's dress. I know. High-school boys just don't know how to act. Besides,

  there'll be all these West Pointers there. It'll be nice to be with some college boys for a change.'

  Really, I may not have had a boyfriend all that long (thirty-four days to be exact) but it seems pretty disloyal to be looking forward to going to a dance with someone other than your significant other. I mean, I am totally dreading going to the contessa's black-and-white ball without Michael.

  And now I am dreading it even more, knowing that Lana is going to be there.

  Especially when Mr G walked into the classroom, and Lana — who had
learned a lesson from last time — went,

  'Oops, gotta go,' into her mobile and hung up, then happened to glance in my direction.

  'What are you looking at, fish breath?' she wanted to know.

  Now, I happen to know that I don't have fish breath. For one thing, I fully had oatmeal for breakfast, and for another, Lars

  is addicted to those Listerine Pocket Pak thingies that melt on your tongue and is always handing them out, and I had just

  had one in anticipation of Michael possibly stopping by my Algebra class on his way to Senior English (which he did, to

  hand me a CD he burned for me last night of Pearl Jam's greatest hits, even though of course I don't really like bands that

  don't have girls in them, except *NSYNC of course, but I will totally pretend that I listened to it and liked it).

  So I know that my breath did not smell like fish.

  But I didn't get to say anything back to Lana because Mr. G told us to get out last night's homework problems

  (which I actually had done) so my opportunity was cut off.

  But I am going to remember what she said for ever, because we Renaldo women, we can really hold a grudge when

  we want to.

  Defn: Square root of perfect sq. is either of the identical factors

  Defn: Positive sq. root is called the principal sq. root

  Negative numbers have no sq. root

  Things to Do:

  1. Have Genovian ambassador to the UN call the CIA. See if they can dispatch some agents to track down my

  underwear (if it falls into the wrong hands, could be an international incident!)

  2. Get cat food!!!!!

  3. Check on Mom's folk-acid intake.

  4. Tell Michael I will not be able to make first date with him.

  5. Prepare to be dumped.

  Thursday, January 21,

  Health and Safety

  Did you see that? They are meeting at Cosi for lunch!

  Yes. He so loves her.

  It's so cute when teachers are in love.

  So are you nervous about your breakfast meeting tomorrow?

  Hardly. THEY are the ones who should be nervous.

  Are you going all by yourself? Your mom and dad aren't coming with you, are they?

  Please. I can handle a bunch of movie executives on my own, thanks. God, how can they keep

  stuffing this infantile swill down our throats,year after year. Don't they think we know by now that tobacco kills? Hey, did you get all your homework done, or were you up all night instant messaging

  my brother instead?

  Both.

  You two are so cute, it makes me want to puke. Almost as cute as Mr Wheeton and Mademoiselle Klein.

  Shut up.

  God, this is boring. Want to make another list?

  OK, you start.

  Lilly Moscovitz's Guide to What's Hot and What's Not on TV

  (with commentary by Mia Thermopolis):

  Seventh Heaven

  Lilly: A complex look at one family's struggles to maintain Christian mores in an ever-evolving, modern-day society. Fairly well acted and occasionally moving, this show can turn 'preachy', but does depict the problems facing normal families with surprising realism, and only occasionally sinks to the banal.

  Mia: Even though the dad is a minister and everyone has to learn a lesson at the end of every episode, this show is pretty good. High point When the Olsen twins guest-starred. Low point When the show's cosmetician gave the youngest girl straight hair.

  Popstars

  Lilly: A ridiculous attempt to pander to the lowest common denominator, this show puts its young stars through

  a humiliatingly public 'audition', then zeroes in as the losers cry and winners gloat.

  Mia: They take a bunch of attractive people who can sing and dance and make them audition for a place in a pop group, and

  some of them get it and some of them don't, and the ones who do are instant celebrities who then crack up, all the while

  wearing interesting and generally navel-baring outfits. How could this show be bad?

  Sabrina the Teenage Witch

  Lilly: Though based on comic-book characters, this show is surprisingly affable, and even occasionally amusing. Although, sadly, actual Wiccan practices are not described. The show could benefit from some research into the age-old religion that has, through the centuries, empowered millions, primarily females. The talking cat is a bit suspect: I have not read any believable documentation that would support the possibility of transfiguration.

  Mia: Totally awesome during the high school/Harvey years. Goodbye Harvey - goodbye show.

  Baywatch

  Lilly: Puerile garbage.

  Mia: Most excellent show of all time. Everyone is good-looking; you can fully follow every plotline, even while instant messaging;

  and there are lots of pictures of the beach, which is great when you are in dark gloomy Manhattan in February. Best episode:

  when Pamela Anderson Lee got kidnapped by that half-man/half-beast, who after plastic surgery became a professor at UCLA. Worst episode: anytime Mitch adopts a son.

  Powerpuff Girls

  Lilly: Best show on television.

  Mia: Ditto. Nuffsaid.

  Roswell High

  Lilly: An intriguing look at the possibility that aliens live among us. The fact that they might be teenagers, and extraordinarily attractive ones at that, stretches the show's credibility somewhat.

  Mia: Hot guys with alien powers. What more can you ask? High point Future Max; any time anybody made out in the eraser

  room. Low point: when that skanky Tess showed up.

  Buffy the Vampire Slayer

  Lilly: Feminist empowerment at its peak, entertainment at its best. The heroine is a lean, mean, vampire-killing machine, who worries as much about her immortal soul as she does messing up her hair. A strong role model for

  young women - nay, people of all sexes and ages will benefit from the viewing of this show. All of television should

  be this good. The fact that this show has, for so long, been ignored by the Emmys is a travesty.

  Mia: If only the Buffster could just find a boyfriend who doesn't need to drink platelets to survive. High point

  any time there's kissing. Low point none.

  Gilmore Girls

  Lilly: Thoughtful portrayal of single mother struggling to raise teenage daughter in a small, northeastern town.

  Mia: Many, many, many, many, many, many cute boys. Plus it is nice to see single moms who sleep with their kid's teacher getting respect instead of lectures from the Moral Majority.

  Charmed

  Lilly: While this show at least accurately portrays historical Wiccan practices, the spells these girls routinely cast are completely unrealistic. You cannot, for instance, travel through time or between dimensions without creating rifts in the space-time continuum. Were these girls really to transport themselves to seventeenth-century Puritan America, they would arrive there with their oesophaguses ripped inside out, not neatly stuffed into a corset, as no one can

  travel through a wormhole and maintain their mass integrity. It is a simple matter of physics. Albert Einstein must

  be spinning in his grave.

  Mia: Hello, witches in hot clothes. Like Sabrina, only better because the boys are cuter, and sometimes they are

  in danger and the girls have to save them.

  Thursday; January 21.

  Gifted and Talented