by Meg Cabot
2. Our Town - OK, this is a play and not a book, but they still made us read it and all I have to say about it is that, basically, you find out when you die that nobody cared about you and we're all alone for ever, the end. OK! Thanks
for that! I feel much better now!
3. The Mill on the Floss — I don't want to give anything away here, but midway through the book, just when things were going good and there were all these hot romances (not as hot as in Emanuelle, though, so don't get your hopes up), someone very crucial to the plot DIES, which if you ask me is just a cop-out so the author could make her deadline on time.
4. Anne of Green Gables -All that blah-blah-blah about imagination. I tried to imagine some car chases or explosions that would actually make this book good, but I must be like all of Anne's drippy unimaginative friends, because I couldn't.
5. Little House on the Prairie - Little yawn on the big snore. I have all ninety-seven thousand of these books because people kept on giving them to me when I was little and all I have to say is if Half Pint had lived in Manhattan,, she'd have gotten her you-know-what kicked from here to Avenue D.
* Mrs Spears, I believe the word 'sucked' is transitive in this instance.
Thursday, December 10, Fourth Period
No PE today!
Instead there is an Assembly.
And it's not because there's a sporting event they want us all to show our support for. No! This is no pep rally. There isn't a cheerleader in sight. Well, OK, there are cheerleaders in sight, but they aren't in uniform or anything. They are sitting in the bleachers with the rest of us. Well, not really with the rest of us since they are in the best seats, the ones in the middle, all jostling to see who can sit next to Justin Baxendale, who has apparently ousted Josh Richter as hottest guy in school, but whatever.
No. Instead, it appears that there has been a major disciplinary infraction at Albert Einstein High School. An act of random vandalism that has shaken the administration's faith in us. Which is why they called an Assembly, so that they could better convey their feelings of - as Lilly just whispered in my ear - disillusionment and betrayal.
And what was this act that has Principal Gupta and the trustees so up in arms?
Why, someone pulled a fire alarm yesterday, that's what.
Oops.
I have to say, I have never done anything really bad before — well, I dropped an eggplant out of a fifteenth-floor window a couple of months ago, but no one got hurt or anything — but there really is something sort of thrilling about it. I mean, I would never want to do anything too bad - like anything where someone might get hurt.
But I have to say, it is immensely gratifying to have all these people coming up to the microphone and decrying my behaviour.
I probably wouldn't feel so good about it if I'd gotten caught, though.
I am being urged to come forward and turn myself in even as I write this. Apparently, the guilt for my action is going to hound me well past my teen years - possibly even into my twenties and beyond.
OK, can I just tell you how much I'm NOT going to think about high school when I am in my twenties? I am going to be way too busy working with Greenpeace to save the whales to worry about some stupid fire alarm I pulled in the ninth grade.
The administration is offering a reward for information leading to the identity of the perpetrator of this heinous crime. A reward! You know what the reward is? A free movie pass to the Sony Imax theatre. That's all I'm worth! A movie pass!
The only person who could possibly turn me in isn't even paying attention to the Assembly. I can see Justin Baxendale has got
a Gameboy out and is playing it with the sound off while Lana and her fellow cheer cronies look over his broad shoulders, probably panting so hard they are fogging up the screen.
I guess Justin hasn't put two and two together yet. You know, about seeing me in the hallway just before that fire alarm went off. With any luck, he never will.
Mr Gianini, though. That's another story. I see him over there, talking to Mrs Hill. He has obviously not told anyone that he suspects me.
Maybe he doesn't suspect me. Maybe he thinks Lilly did it and I know about it. That could be. I can tell Lilly really wishes she'd done it because she keeps on muttering under her breath about how when she finds out who did it, she's going to kill
that person, etc.
She's just jealous, of course. That's because now it seems like some kind of political statement, instead of what it actually
was: a way to prevent a political statement.
Principal Gupta is looking at us very sternly. She says that it is always natural to want to burn off a little steam right before Finals, but that she hopes we will choose positive channels for this, such as the penny drive the Community Outreach Club is holding in order to benefit the victims of Tropical Storm Fred, which flooded several suburban New Jersey neighbourhoods
last November.
Ha! As if contributing to a stupid penny drive can ever give anybody the same kind of thrill as committing a completely random act of civil disobedience.
Thursday, December 10, Gifted and Talented
Today was my lunch with Kenny at Big Wong.
I really don't have anything to say about it, except that he didn't ask me to the Non-Denominational Winter Dance. Not only that, but it appears that Kenny's passion for me has ebbed significantly since it hit its zenith on Tuesday.
I, of course, was beginning to suspect this, since he's stopped calling me after school and I haven't had one Instant Message from him since before the great Ice-skating Debacle. He says it's because he's so busy studying for Finals and all, but I suspect something else: He knows. He knows about Michael. I mean, come on. How can he not? Well, OK, maybe he doesn't know about Michael specifically, but Kenny must know generally that he is not the one who lights my fire. If I had a fire, that is.
No, Kenny is just being nice.
Which I appreciate and all, but I just wish he'd come out and say it. All this kindness, this solicitousness - it's just making me feel worse. I mean, really? How could J have ever agreed to be Kenny's girlfriend, knowing full well I liked someone else? By rights, Kenny should go to Majesty magazine and spill all. Royal Betrayal, they could call it. I totally would understand it, if he did.
But he won't. Because he's too nice. Instead, he ordered steamed vegetable dumplings for me and pork buns for him (one encouraging sign that Kenny might not love me as much as he used to insist: he's eating meat again) and talked about Bio. and what had happened at Assembly (I didn't tell him it was me who pulled the alarm and he didn't ask me, so there was no need shield my nostrils). He mentioned again how sorry he was about my tongue, and asked how I was doing in Algebra, and offered to come over and tutor me if I wanted (Kenny tested out of freshman Algebra), even though of course I live with an Algebra teacher. Still, you could tell he meant to be nice.
Which just makes me feel worse. Because of what I'm going to have to do after Finals and all.
But he didn't ask me to the dance.
I don't know if this means we aren't going, or if it means he considers the fact we are going a given.
I swear, I do not understand boys at all.
As if lunch wasn't bad enough, G & T isn't too great, either. No, Judith Gershner isn't here . . . but neither is Michael. The guy is AWOL. Nobody knows where he is. Lilly had to tell Mrs Hill, when she took attendance, that her brother was in the bathroom.
I wonder where he really is. Lilly says that since he started writing this new program that the Computer Club will be unveiling
at the Winter Carnival, she's hardly seen him.
Which is no real change since Michael hardly comes out of his room anyway, but still. You'd think he'd come home once in a while to study.
But I guess, seeing as how he already got into his first-choice college, his grades don't really matter any more.
Besides, like Lilly, Michael is a genius. What does he need to study for?
&n
bsp; Unlike the rest of us slobs.
I wish they'd put the door back on the supply closet. It is extremely hard to concentrate with Boris scraping away on his violin in there. Lilly says this is just another tactic by the trustees to weaken our resistance so we will remain the mindless drones they are trying to make us, but I think it's On account of that time we all forgot to let him out and he was stuck in there until the night custodian heard his anguished pleas to be released.
Which is Lilly's fault, if you think about it. I mean, she s his girlfriend. She should really take better care of him.
Homework:
Algebra: practice test
English: term paper
World Civ.: practice test
G & T: none
French: l'exarnen pratique
Biology: practice test
Thursday, December 10, 9 p.m.
Grandmere is seriously out of control. Tonight she started quizzing me on the names and responsibilities of all of my dad's cabinet ministers. Not only do I have to know exactly what they do, but also their marital status and the names and ages of
their kids, if any. These are the kids I am supposedly going to have to hang out with while celebrating Christmas at the Palace.
I am figuring they will probably hate me as much, if not more, than Mr Gianini's niece and nephew hated me at Thanksgiving.
All of my holidays from now on are apparently going to be spent in the company of teens who hate me.
You know, I would just like to say that it is totally not my fault I am a princess. They have no right to hate me so much. I have done everything I could to maintain a normal life in spite of my royal status. I have totally turned down opportunities to be on the covers of Cosmo Girl, Teen People, Seventeen, YM and Girl's Life. I have refused invitations to go on TRL and introduce the number one video in the country, and when the mayor asked if I wanted to be the one to press the button that drops the ball in Times Square on New Year's Eve, I said no (aside from the fact I am going to be in Genovia for New Year's, I oppose the Mayor's mosquito-spraying campaign, as runoff from the pesticides used to kill the mosquitoes that may be carrying the West Nile virus has infected the local horseshoe crab population. A compound in the blood of horseshoe crabs, which nest all along the eastern seaboard, is used to test the purity of every drug and vaccine administered in the U.S. The crabs are routinely gathered, drained of a third of their blood, then re-released into the sea . . . a sea which is now killing them, as well as many other arthropods, such as lobsters, thanks to the amount of pesticide in it).
Anyway, I am just saying, all the kids who hate me should chill because I have never once sought the spotlight I have been thrust into. I've never even called my own press conference.
But I digress.
So Sebastiano was there, with Grandmere, drinking aperitifs and listening as I rattled off name after name (Grandmere has made flashcards out of the pictures of the cabinet ministers - kind of like those bubble gum cards you can get of the Backstreet Boys, only the cabinet ministers don't wear as much leather). I was kind of thinking maybe I was wrong about Sebastiano's commitment to fashion, and that maybe he was there to try and pick up some pointers for after he's thrust me into the path of
an oncoming limo or whatever.
But when Grandmere paused to take a phone call from her old friend General Pinochet, Sebastiano started asking me all these questions about clothes, in particular what clothes my friends and I like to wear. What were my feelings, he wanted to know, on velvet stretch trousers? Spandex tube-tops? Sequins?
I told him all of that sounded, you know, OK for Halloween or Jersey City, but that generally in my day-today life I prefer cotton. He looked saddened by this, so I told him that I really felt orange was going to be the next pink and that perked him right up, and he wrote a bunch of stuff down in this notebook he carries around. Kind of like I do, now that I think about it.
When Grandmere got off the phone, I informed her -quite diplomatically, I might add - that, considering how much progress we'd made in the past two months, I felt more than prepared for my impending introduction to the people of Genovia, and that
I did not feel it would be necessary to have lessons next week as I have SIX finals to prepare for.
But Grandmere got totally huffy about it! She was all, 'Where did you get the idea that your academic education is more important than your royal training? Your father, I suppose. With him, it's always education, education, education. He doesn't realize that education is nowhere near as important as deportment.'
'Grandmere,' I said. 'I need an education if I'm going to run Genovia properly.' Especially if I'm going to convert the palace into a giant animal shelter - something I'm not going to be able to do until Grandmere is dead, so I see no point in mentioning it to her now ... or ever, for that matter.
Grandmere said some swear words in French, which wasn't very dowager-princessy of her, if you ask me. Thankfully, right then my dad walked in, looking for his Genovian Air Force medal since he had a state dinner to go to over at the Embassy. I told him about my Finals and how I really needed time off from princess stuff to study, and he was all, 'Yes, of course.'
When Grandmere protested, he just went, 'For God's sake, if she hasn't got it by now, she never will.'
Grandmere pressed her lips together and didn't say anything more after that. Sebastiano used the opportunity to ask me about my feelings on rayon. I told him I didn't have any.
For once, I was telling the truth.
Friday, December 11 Homeroom
Here's what I have to do:
1. Stop thinking about Michael, especially when I should be studying.
2. Stop telling Grandmere anything about my personal life.
3. Start acting more:
A. Mature
B. Responsible
C. Regal
4 Stop biting my fingernails.
5 Write down everything Mom and Mr G need to know about how to take care of Fat Louie while I'm gone.
6 CHRISTMAS/HANUKKAH PRESENTS!
7. Stop watching Baywatch when I should be studying.
8 Stop playing Pod-Racer when I should be studying.
9. Stop listening to music when I should be studying.
10. Break up with Kenny.
Friday, December D, Principal Guptas Office
Well, I guess it's official now:
I, Mia Thermopolis, am a juvenile delinquent.
Seriously. That fire alarm I pulled was only the beginning, it appears.
I really don't know what's come over me lately. It's like the closer I get to actually going to Genovia and performing my first official duties as its princess, the less like a princess I act.
I wonder if I'll be expelled.
If I am, it is totally unfair. Lana started it. I was sitting there in Algebra, listening to Mr. G go on about the Cartesian plane, when suddenly Lana turns around in her seat and slaps a copy of USA Today down in front of me. There is a headline screaming:
Today's Poll Most Popular Young Royal
Fifty-seven per cent of readers say that Prince William of England is their favourite young royal, with Will's little brother Harry coming in at twenty-eight per cent. America's own royal, Princess Mia Renaldo of Genovia, comes in third, with thirteen per cent of the votes, and Prince Andrew and Sarah Ferguson's daughters, Beatrice and Eugenie, round out the votes with one per cent each.
The reasons given for Princess Mia's lack of popularity? 'Not out-going' is the most common answer. Ironically, Princess Mia
is perceived as being as shy as Princess Diana — the mother of William and Harry — when she first stepped into the harsh glare of the media spotlight.
Princess Mia, who only recently learned she was heir to the throne of Genovia, a small principality located just off the Cote d'Azur, is expected to make her first official trip to that country in her capacity as its future ruler next week. A representative
for the princess describes her as looking fo
rward to her visit with 'eager anticipation'. The princess will continue her education
in America and reside in Genovia only during the summer months. I read the stupid article and then passed the paper back to Lana.
'So?' I whispered to her.
'So,' Lana whispered. 'I wonder how popular you'd be — especially with the people of Genovia — if they found out their future ruler goes around pulling fire alarms when there isn't any fire.'