by Meg Cabot
And I don’t think I’ll EVER figure out Kenny. “Bootylicious” is an appropriate song for him, because one thing I do know: I don’t think he’s ready for this jelly.
And I am DEFINITELY “Crazy in Love” with Michael! And the Friends theme song is TOTALLY my life—No one told you life was gonna be this way… Because nobody ever TOLD me I was going to be PRINCESS OF GENOVIA.
And as for the song “Belle,” Lilly can laugh all she wants, but it IS one of my favorite songs, ever. And yeah, Ms. Martinez would probably find that reprehensible…you know, a so-called writer liking a song from a Disney musical. But whatever! Belle and I have a LOT in common: We both always have our head in a book (well, mine’s a journal, but whatever) and everyone thinks we’re weird.
Except the men who love us.
Whatever. This is so much fun! We’ve ordered, like, EVERYTHING from room service. And a little while ago, Lilly practically made us all wet ourselves from laughing so hard after Shameeka told her about Perin, from French, and how we can’t tell if Perin is a boy or a girl, and Lilly said we should go into class on Monday and make a circle around Perin and chant, “Pull…down…your…pants! Pull…down…your…pants!” so we could look and see.
Could you imagine the look on Mademoiselle Klein’s face if we did that? Only, of course, I think that would be sexual harassment. And it wouldn’t be very nice to Perin, that poor girl or boy.
So, then we all jumped up and down on the bed and chanted, “Pull…down…your…pants! Pull…down…your…pants!” at the top of our lungs until I thought I actually might WET my pants from laughing so hard.
Next, we’re going to have a karaoke contest. Because I told everyone about how if we are ever traveling cross-country and we have to sing for gas money and all, like Britney Spears in Crossroads, we’ll need a good act. So we’re gonna get on that right away.
Oh, and Michael called a minute ago, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying, on account of how Tina was screaming because we found a love note Boris left in her backpack and Ling Su was reading it out loud. Even Lilly was laughing.
This is the BEST NIGHT EVER. Except, of course, for the night of the Nondenominational Winter Dance.
And the night Michael and I watched Star Wars together and he told me he was IN love with me, not just loved me.
And the prom.
Except for those.
Note to self: Remember to tell Mom to keep Rocky away from Papaw’s chewing tobacco! Nicotine is toxic to babies if ingested! I saw it on Law and Order!
LILLY, SHAMEEKA, TINA, LING SU, AND MIA’S LIST OF TOTALLY HOT GUYS
1. Orlando Bloom, in anything, with or without a shirt on.
2. Boris Pelkowski (This is so WRONG! Boris should NOT be on this list. But Lilly and I were outvoted.)
3. The cute guy from the most recent movie of Mia’s life (Except that none of what happened in that movie could ever happen in real life since Genovia is a principality, not a monarchy, and it doesn’t matter if the heir is married or not. Plus, Skinner Box is unlikely to get a record deal since most of its members are too busy getting college degrees/thirty-day sobriety chips to practice.)
4. Seth from The OC.
5. Harry Potter. Because even though he plays a boy wizard, he’s getting kind of hot.
6. Jesse Bradford from Swimfan.
7. Chad Michael Murray from A Cinderella Story and One Tree Hill. Ooooh la la.
8. Samantha’s hot boyfriend on Sex and the City, particularly when he shaved his head for her (Shameeka had to abstain from voting on this one since her dad won’t let her watch this show.)
9. Trent Ford from How to Deal.
10. Ramon Riveras.
11. Hellboy (Even if Mia is the only one who thinks Hellboy is hot on account of her obsession with two-dimensional heroes.) Saturday, September 12, the Great Lawn, Central Park
I’m so tired. WHY did I invite everybody over last night? And WHY did we stay up singing karaoke until 3 A.M.???
More to the point, WHY did I let Lilly talk me into going to an Albert Einstein High School SOCCER game today????
It’s so boring. I mean, I’ve always thought sports were boring—God knows Mrs. Potts has yelled “Let’s see some hustle, Mia!” at me enough times when I’ve let balls bounce right past me.
But watching sports is even more boring than playing them. At least when you’re playing sports, you get those sweaty-palmed, heart-pounding moments of Oh, no! The ball’s not coming toward ME, is it? Oh, no. It IS coming toward me. What do I do? If I try to catch it, I’ll miss, and everyone will hate me. But if I DON’T try to catch it, everyone will hate me for THAT, too.
But when you’re WATCHING sports, there’s none of that. There’s just…boredom. Seemingly never-ending boredom.
When Lilly asked me to keep Saturday during the day free for her, I didn’t know she meant it was for a school-related event. Why would I want to do school stuff (besides homework, I mean) on a WEEKEND?
But Lilly says it’s important that I show myself at as many school functions as possible before the election on Monday. She keeps poking me and going, “Stop writing in your journal and go mingle.”
But I’m not actually so sure mingling at a school soccer game is the way to get votes. You know? Because it’s pretty much guaranteed that everyone here is going to vote for Lana.
And why SHOULDN’T they? Look at her over there, doing all those basket tosses, or whatever. She’s totally PERFECT. On the outside, anyway. Inside, I know her heart is black as pitch and all. But outside—well, she’s got that perfect smile with those perfect, gap-free teeth, and those perfectly smooth tanned legs with no razor nicks, and that shiny lip gloss her hair never gets stuck to—why WOULD anyone vote for me when they could vote for Lana?
Lilly says not to be stupid—that the election for student council president isn’t a beauty or popularity contest. But then how come she wants ME to run in her place? And how come I’m HERE? The only people AT this game are the other jocks and cheerleaders. And none of them are likely to vote for ME.
Lilly says they for sure won’t vote for me if I don’t get my nose out of this book and go talk to them. TALK TO THEM! THE PERFECT POPULAR PEOPLE!
They’ll be lucky if I don’t BARF on them.Saturday, September 12, 3 p.m., Ray’s Pizza
Well, THAT was a big waste of time.
Lilly says it wasn’t. Lilly says that actually, the day was extremely EDUCATIONAL. Whatever that means.
I’m not sure how Lilly would even KNOW this, since she spent almost the entire game sitting behind Dr. and Mrs. Weinberger—who were in the stands—eavesdropping on their conversation with Trisha Hayes’s parents. She didn’t even WATCH the game, so far as I know. I was the one who had to wander around, going up to people who wouldn’t have looked twice at me if we passed in the hallway at AEHS, and going, “Hi, we haven’t met. I’m Mia Thermopolis, princess of Genovia, and I’m running for student council president.”
Seriously. I have never felt like a bigger dork.
Nobody paid the least bit of attention to me, either. The game was apparently a superexciting one. We were playing the Trinity varsity men’s team, who have basically kicked our butts every single year in, like, the history of AEHS soccer, or something.
But not today. Because today AEHS produced their secret weapon: Ramon Riveras. Basically, once Ramon got hold of the ball, it pretty much never left his feet, except when he was kicking it past the Trinity goalie, into the big netty thing. AEHS beat Trinity four to nothing.
And it turned out I was right about Ramon. He fully whipped his shirt off and threw it into the air after the winning goal. I don’t want to start a rumor, or anything, but I saw Mrs. Weinberger sit up a little straighter when that happened.
And of course Lana went running out onto the field and fell into Ramon’s arms. The last time I saw her that day, he was carrying her around on his shoulders as if she were a trophy, or something. For all I know, maybe she is: Win a game for AEHS,
get one cheerleader, free.
Whatever. Ramon can have her. Maybe he’ll keep her busy enough to leave ME alone. Me and my “college boy.”
Which reminds me. I’m supposed to go over to Michael’s dorm room after this, to meet his roommate and “catch up” since we haven’t seen each other all week.
At least, that’s what Michael said we were going to do, when we managed to get ahold of each other, earlier today. He sounded kind of annoyed when I finally remembered to turn my cell phone on and he got through at last.
“What was going on last night when I called?” he wanted to know.
“Um,” I said. I was kind of in the middle of buying a pretzel from one of those carts in the park when he called. A lot of people don’t know this, but New York City pretzels—the kind you buy from a vendor on the street—have healing properties. It’s true. I don’t know what’s in them, but if you buy one when you have a headache, or whatever, as soon as you bite into one, your headache goes away. And I had a pretty big headache, on account of not having had any sleep.
“I had the girls over,” I explained to Michael, once I’d swallowed my first bite of hot, salty pretzel. “For a sleepover. Only, you know, there wasn’t much sleeping.” And I told him how we jumped on the bed screaming “Pull…down…your…pants,” and all.
Only, Michael didn’t seem to think it was very funny. Of course, I didn’t mention the part about how later I sang “Milkshake” into the TV remote for everyone while wearing the rubber shower mat as a minidress. I mean, I don’t want him to think I am completely INSANE.
“You have a hotel suite all to yourself,” was all Michael said, “and you invite my sister over.”
“And Shameeka and Tina and Ling Su,” I said, wiping mustard from my chin. Because you have to put mustard on your pretzel, or the healing properties don’t work.
“Right,” Michael said. “Well, are you going to come over here later, or not?”
Which some people might have found kind of, you know, rude. Except to me the fact that Michael was annoyed with me—for whatever reason—was kind of a relief. Because if he was annoyed with me, it probably meant that Doing It wasn’t foremost on his mind. And I really wasn’t looking forward to having the Doing It conversation, even though I knew Tina was right, and we were going to have to get that out in the open one of these days.
So, now I’m just having a restorative slice of plain cheese pizza with Lilly before I summon up my strength to get into the limo with Lars and head uptown to Michael’s dorm. Really, after an evening of partying, it is very difficult to function the next day. I don’t know how those Hilton sisters do it.
Lilly is now saying that we have this election in the bag. I don’t have the slightest idea what she’s talking about, since
A) We never did end up doing that mock debate thingie last night, so it’s not like I ever had a chance to brush up on my answers for Monday, and
B) Most of the people I talked to in the stands at the game today just looked at me like I was a mental case and went, “I’m voting for Lana, dawg.”
But whatever. Lilly spent the entire game sitting with people’s PARENTS, so what does she even know?
I wish I could ask her about this Doing It thing, though. I mean, Lilly’s never Done It either…at least, I don’t think so. She only got to second base with her last boyfriend.
Still, I’m sure she’d have some valuable insights into the whole thing.
But I can’t talk to Lilly about Doing It or not Doing It with her BROTHER. I mean, GROSS. If any girl wanted to talk to me about Doing It with Rocky, I would probably punch her lights out. Although he is, of course, my younger brother, and only four months old.
Besides, I think I kind of know what Lilly would say: Go for it.
Which is very easy for Lilly to say, because she is very at ease in her body. She doesn’t, like I do, change out of her school uniform and into her gym shorts as fast as possible before and after PE, and in the darkest, emptiest corner of the room she can find. She has even, upon occasion, strutted around the locker room COMPLETELY naked, going, “Does anyone have any deodorant I can borrow?” And the remarks Lana and her friends make concerning Lilly’s pot-belly and cellulite seem not to bother her in the least.
Not that I’m worried Michael’s going to make remarks about my nude body. I’m just not so sure I’m comfortable with him knowing anything about it at all.
Although, I wouldn’t mind, of course, seeing his.
Probably, this means I’m inhibited and a prude and sexist and everything bad. Probably, I don’t deserve to be president of the Albert Einstein student council, even for only a couple of days before I resign and let Lilly take over. Certainly, I don’t deserve to be princess of a country that I have managed to get thrown out of the EU…well, if it comes to that, anyway.
Really, I don’t deserve much of anything.
Well, I guess I’ll go to Michael’s now.
Someone, please shoot me.Saturday, September 12, 5 p.m., Michael’s dorm room bathroom
Okay, I thought Columbia was a hard school to get into. I thought they actually screened their applicants.
So, what are they doing letting crazy people like Michael’s roommate in here?
Everything was going fine until HE showed up. Lars and I buzzed Michael from the lobby of Engle Hall, which is Michael’s dorm, and Michael came down to sign us in, because they take their students’ safety very seriously here at Columbia University (too bad they don’t worry as much about the safety of their students’ guests!). I had to leave my student ID at the security desk so I wouldn’t try to leave the building without signing out. Lars had to leave his gun permit (although they let him keep his gun when they found out I was the princess of Genovia and he was my bodyguard).
Anyway, once we were all signed in, Michael took us upstairs. I had been in Engle Hall before, of course, the day he moved in, but it looks very different now that all the moving carts and parents are gone. There were people running around in just towels up and down the hallway, screaming, just like on Gilmore Girls! And very loud music was blaring out of some open doorways. There were posters everywhere urging residents to come to this or that protest march, and invitations to poetry readings at various nearby coffeehouses. It was all very collegiate!
Michael seemed to have gotten over being annoyed with me, since he gave me a very nice kiss hello, during which I got to smell his neck, and immediately felt better about things. Michael’s neck is almost as good as a NYC vendor pretzel, as far as healing properties go.
Anyway, we managed to ditch Lars in the student lounge on Michael’s floor, since there was a baseball game on the big TV in there. You would think Lars would have had enough athletics for one day, seeing as how we’d just spent, like, three hours at one sporting event, but whatever. He took one look at the score, which was tied, and was glued to the set, along with a number of other people who were as slackjawed as he was.
Michael went ahead and took me to his room, which looks a lot better than it did the last time I’d seen it, the day he’d moved in. There’s a map of the galaxy covering most of the cinderblock, more computer equipment than they probably have in NORAD covering every available flat surface (not counting the beds), and a big sign on the ceiling that says DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT PARKING HERE that Michael swears he didn’t steal off the street.
Michael’s side of the room is very tidy, with a dark blue comforter over the bed and a tiny fridge as a nightstand, and CDs and books EVERYWHERE.
The other side of the room is a little messier, with a red comforter, a microwave instead of a fridge, and DVDs and books EVERYWHERE.
Before I even had a chance to ask where Doo Pak was and when I was going to get to meet him, Michael pulled me down onto his bed. We were getting very nicely reacquainted after our week apart when the door opened suddenly and a tall Korean boy wearing glasses came in.
“Oh, hi, Doo Pak,” Michael said, very casually. “This is my girlfriend, M
ia. Mia, this is Doo Pak.”
I held out my right hand and gave Doo Pak my best princess smile.
“Hello, Doo Pak,” I said. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
But Doo Pak didn’t take my hand and shake it. Instead, he looked from Michael to me and back again very quickly. Then he laughed and said, “Ha ha, that is very funny! How much is he paying you to play this joke on me, huh?”
I looked at Michael all confused, and he said, “Uh, Doo Pak, I’m not joking. This really is my girlfriend.”
Doo Pak just laughed some more and said, “You Americans are always playing jokes! Really, you can stop now.”
So then I tried.
“Um,” I said. “Doo Pak, I really am Michael’s girlfriend. My name’s Mia Thermopolis. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
This is when Doo Pak began laughing so hard that he doubled up and fell over onto his bed.
“No,” he said, shaking his head, as tears of laughter streamed down his face. “No, no. This is not possible. You”—he pointed at me—“cannot be going out with him.” And he pointed at Michael.
Michael was kind of starting to look irritated.
“Doo Pak,” he said, in the same kind of warning voice I’ve heard him use with Lilly when she starts in on him about his fondness for Star Trek: Enterprise.
“Seriously,” I said to Doo Pak, trying to help, even though I didn’t have the slightest idea what was so funny. “Michael and I have been going out for over nine months. I go to Albert Einstein High School, which is just down the street, and live with my mother and stepdad down in the Vill—”
“You stop talking now, please,” Doo Pak said to me—very politely, I have to admit. But still. It’s kind of weird to be told to stop talking. Especially when then Doo Pak turned his back on me and started talking to Michael in a very urgent, low voice, and Michael responded in an equally low, but more annoyed than urgent voice.
It is extremely weird to be standing in a room watching two people have an urgent and annoyed conversation that you can’t even eavesdrop on. So, I came in here, to give them some privacy.