by Meg Cabot
“She’s always worried,” said Gretchen, a welder who specializes in metal replicas of body parts. Particularly of the male variety. “She’s Mia, remember?”
All the feminist artists laughed uproariously at that, too.
This made me feel bad. Like my mom’s been talking about me behind my back. I mean, I talk about HER behind HER back, of course. But it’s different when your own mother has been talking about YOU.
Clearly, Lilly is not the only one who thinks I’m a baby-licker.
“You spend way too much time freaking out about things, Mia.” Becca, the neon light artist, waved her margarita glass at me knowingly. “You should stop thinking so much. I don’t remember thinking half as much as you do when I was your age.”
“Because you were already on lithium when you were her age,” Kate pointed out.
But Becca ignored her.
“Is it the snails?” Becca wanted to know.
I just blinked at her. “The what?”
“The snails,” she said. “You know, the ones you dumped in the bay. Are you worried about how everyone is upset about them?”
“Um,” I said, wondering if she, like Tina, had seen this on the news. “I guess so.”
“That’s understandable,” Becca said. “I’d be worried, too. Why don’t you take up yoga?” she suggested. “That always helps me to relax.”
“Or watch more TV,” suggested Dee, who enjoys creating totem poles and then dancing around them with pieces of liver strapped beneath her arms.
I couldn’t believe this. I was being told by these intelligent women to watch MORE TV? Clearly, they’re not friends with Karen Martinez.
“Stop picking on Mia.” Windstorm, who happens to be one of my mom’s oldest friends AND a midwife AND a minister AND a professional choreographer, got up to put more ice in the blender. “She’s got a right to think too much and freak out if she wants to. There isn’t anything more stressful than being a fifteen-year-old, with the possible exception of being a fifteen-year-old princess.”
I had never thought of that before. DO I think too much? Do other people not think as much as I do? Except according to Ms. Martinez, I don’t think ENOUGH….
“I guess it must have been one of those delivery boys, slipping a menu under the door,” my mom said, coming back to the table. “What’d I miss?”
“Nothing,” I said, taking my plate and hurrying off to my room. “Have fun, you guys! I mean, women!”
I wonder if Windstorm is right. About my thinking too much. Maybe that’s my problem. I can’t shut my brain off. Maybe other people can, but I can’t. I’ve never actually tried, of course, because who wants to have an empty head? Except for, you know, the Hilton sisters. Because it’s probably easier to party all the time if you aren’t worrying about killer algae or all the petroleum running out.
Still, maybe there’s something to it. I can hardly sleep at night, my mind is so busy whirring away up there, wondering what I’m going to do if aliens come in the night and take over everything, or whatever. I would LOVE to be able to shut my mind off, the way other people seem to be able to. If Windstorm is right, anyway.
Ooooo, Michael’s Instant Messaging me now!
SKINNERBX: So, are we still getting together on Saturday?
Right as Michael asked this, I got another Instant Message.
WOMYNRULE: BL, what are you doing Saturday?
Seriously. Why me? WHY?
FTLOUIE: I can’t talk to you right now. I’m IMing your brother.
WOMYNRULE: Tell him Mom’s turning his room into a shrine to the Reverend Moon.
FTLOUIE: LILLY! GO AWAY!
WOMYNRULE: Just keep Saturday free, okay? It’s important. It has to do with the campaign.
FTLOUIE: I already have plans with your brother on Saturday.
WOMYNRULE: What, are you two going to Do It then, or something?
FTLOUIE: NO WE ARE NOT GOING TO DO IT THEN. WHO TOLD YOU THAT?
WOMYNRULE: No one! Geez! Don’t get the princess panties in a royal twist. Why would you even get so mad about that unless—Wait—ARE YOU GUYS DOING IT???? AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME??????????
FTLOUIE: NO, FOR THE LAST TIME WE ARE NOT DOING IT!!!!
SKINNERBX: Doing what? What are you talking about?
OH, MY GOD.
FTLOUIE: Not you! I meant to send that to Lilly!
SKINNERBX: Wait, is Lilly IMing you right now, too?
WOMYNRULE: I can’t believe you’re Doing It with my brother. That is so gross. You know, he has hair growing out of his toes. Like a hobbit.
FTLOUIE: Lilly! SHUT UP!
SKINNERBX: Is Lilly giving you a hard time? Tell her if she doesn’t cut it out I’ll tell Mom about the time she did the “gravitational experiment” with Grandma’s Hummel figurines.
FTLOUIE: BOTH OF YOU! STOP IT!!!! YOU’RE DRIVING ME INSANE!!!!
FTLOUIE: terminated
Seriously. I’m GLAD I’m a baby-licker if it means Rocky and I will never end up like those two.Thursday, September 10, Homeroom
Oh.
My.
God.
That is all I have to say.Thursday, September 10, PE
They’re even in the gym. I don’t know how she did it. But they’re even HANGING FROM THE ROPES IN THE GYM.
Seriously.
They’re in the showers, too. Encased in plastic sheets, so they won’t get wet.
I know we learned in Health and Safety that it’s physically impossible to die from embarrassment, but I might turn out to be the exception to the rule.Thursday, September 10, Geometry
THEY ARE EVERYWHERE.
GIANT FULL-COLOR HEADSHOTS OF ME IN MY TIARA. WITH MY SCEPTER. From when I got formally introduced to the people of Genovia last December.
And underneath my photo, it says:
VOTE FOR MIA.
Then underneath that:
PIT.
PIT. What does that even MEAN?????
Everyone is talking about them. EVERYONE. I was just sitting here, innocently going over my homework, when Trisha Hayes came in and was all, “Nice try, PIT. But it won’t make any difference. You may be a princess, but Lana is the most popular girl in school. She’s going to decimate you on Monday.”
“Somebody’s been studying up on their vocab,” is what I said to Trisha. Because of her use of the word “decimate.”
But that’s not what I wanted to say. What I wanted to say was, “IT WASN’T ME!!!! I DIDN’T DO IT!!!! I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT PIT MEANS!!!!!”
But I couldn’t. Because everyone was looking at us. Including Mr. Harding. Who took five points off Trisha’s homework for not being in her seat by the time the bell rang.
“You can’t do that,” Trisha had the bad judgment to say to him.
“Uh,” Mr. Harding said. “Excuse me, Miss Hayes, but yes, I can.”
“Not for long,” Trisha said. “When my friend Lana is student council president, she’s going to abolish tardy demerits.”
“And what do you have to say about that, Miss Thermopolis?” Mr. Hardy wanted to know. “Is abolishing tardy demerits part of your campaign strategy, as well?”
“Um,” I said. “No.”
“Really?” Mr. Harding looked way interested. Except that I think he was only interested because he found the whole thing vaguely hilarious. On some weird teacher level. “And why is that?”
“Um,” I said, feeling my ears starting to turn red. That’s because I could tell that everyone in the entire class was staring at us. “Because I thought I might concentrate on stuff that actually matters. Like the lack of choice in vegetarian entrées in the cafeteria. And the cameras they’ve installed outside by Joe, which are a violation of our right to privacy. And the fact that some of the teachers around here don’t grade objectively.”
And to my VERY great surprise, some of the people in the back of the room started to clap. Really. Like that slow clap they do in the movies, the kind where everybody eventually joins in, until it turns in
to fast clapping.
Only Mr. Harding nipped it in the bud before it ever turned to fast clapping by going, “All right, all right, that’s enough of that. Turn to page twenty-three and let’s get started.”
Oh, my God. This presidential thing has gotten WAY out of hand.
Syllogism = argument of the form a b (first premise) b c (second premise)
Therefore: a c (conclusion)
WHATEVER. Why did she have to use the one of me with my SCEPTER??? I look like a total freak in that one.
Note to self: Look up “decimate.”Thursday, September 10, English
LILLY!!! WHERE DID YOU GET THOSE POSTERS????
Where do you think I got them? And stop yelling at me!
I’m not yelling. I’m very calmly asking…Did you get those posters from my grandmother?
Yes, of course I did. What do you think, I paid for them myself? Do you have any idea how much full-color posters that size cost? I could have used up the entire annual budget for Lilly Tells It Like It Is on the copy setting alone!
But I thought you hated Grandmère! Why would you do something like that? Like let my grandmother be involved in this?
Because in case you haven’t noticed, this election is important to me, Mia. I REALLY want us to win. We HAVE to win. It’s the only way we’re going to save this school from becoming a completely fascist state under the tyrannical reign of Gutless Gupta.
But, Lilly. I DON’T WANT TO BE STUDENT COUNCIL PRESIDENT.
Don’t worry. You won’t be.
THAT MAKES NO SENSE! I mean, Lilly, I know everyone just assumed Lana is going to win because she wins everything, but things are getting really weird. In Geometry today, I said something about those cameras outside being a violation of our right to privacy, and someone started CLAPPING for me.
It’s happening. Just like I KNEW it would!
What’s happening?????
Never mind. Just keep doing what you’re doing. It’s great. It’s so NATURAL. I could never be that natural.
BUT I’M NOT DOING ANYTHING!
That’s what’s so great about it. Now come on, pay attention to this. You need to know this stuff, if you’re going to be a writer, and all.
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.”