by Meg Cabot
Oh my God, who CARES?
The average height (arithmetic mean) of 4 members of a 6-member cheerleading squad is 175 cm. What does the average height in centimeters of the other 2 cheerleaders have to be if the average height of the entire squad equals 180 cm?
CHEERLEADERS???? ON THE SATS?????
Oh my God, who am I fooling? I can’t do this. I CANNOT DO THIS!!! I can’t have SEX. I’m a PRINCESS, for crying out loud.
Oh my God, I think I’m having a heart attack.
Thursday, September 9, nurse’s office
Okay. Well, this isn’t embarrassing, or anything. I mean, that I hyperventilated during our PE class’s run around the reservoir.
I am supposed to be breathing into a paper bag with my head between my knees. But I did that already and it didn’t help. Well, obviously, I can breathe now. But I’m still FREAKING OUT. I can’t believe I’m really going to DO IT.
What if something goes wrong, and my mom and dad find out, somehow? Like, what if it turns out I still have my hymen, or whatever (even though in Health and Safety last year they said that most girls lose theirs through ordinary physical activity, such as biking and horseback riding)? And I start bleeding out, and Michael has to rush me to Cabrini and some Dr. Kovac-type has to put in a central line and then I slip into a coma like onER ?
EVERYONE WILL KNOW I GAVE AWAY MY PRECIOUS GIFT.
And okay, I have never actually heard of this happening to a girl, but in Tina’s historical romance novels sometimes the girl does bleed—although she never seems to mind and goes on to have a massive earth-shattering orgasm anyway.
I just don’t think I’m good enough at orgasms yet to have one under those particular circumstances. Particularly with someone else in the same room. Someone besides James Franco dressed in a suit of armor, I mean.
Oh, no, here comes the nurse….
Okay, well, Nurse Lloyd just said it’s highly unlikely anyone would bleed so much from the breaking of a hymen that they would have to be hospitalized, unless they are a hemophiliac. She also said that most women’s hymens are already perforated. If they weren’t, we wouldn’t be able to menstruate.
So that whole Precious Gift thing is kind of bull.
She also said romance novels aren’t necessarily the most reliable health guides, and gave me a pamphlet that saysSo You Think You’re Ready for Sex. The pamphlet has a confused-looking couple on the front and talks about the need for protection. It didn’t say anything about your virginity being your Precious Gift that you should save for the person you marry. But it did say how you should wait to have sex until you have really gotten to know the person and are sure you really love them—which I already knew from the oxytocin thing.
And then there was some stuff about the age of consent (Whatever. Like my dad would really press charges. Would he want the whole world to know his daughter had had premarital sex? Not so much.), and not feeling pressured.
Then there was this section on abstinence and how it’s okay not to Do It. Like this is supposed to be news to me. I fully know it’s okay not to Do It. It’s fine for other girls not to Do It.
But other girls’ boyfriends have not invented robotic arms to use in heart surgery and are not moving to Japan tomorrow for a year.
I didn’t say any of this stuff to Nurse Lloyd. Well, not the sex stuff. I told her about Michael, though, and how he’s moving and how I’m freaking out about it, and am pretty sure I won’t be able to survive if he actually leaves.
To which Nurse Lloyd replied, “My brother had a triple bypass after a heart attack last year. They had to crack his chest open. He said he’s never felt pain like that in his life, and that for six weeks afterward he just wished he was dead.”
Which is very sad for Nurse Lloyd’s brother, but in no way helps me out with MY problem.
Thursday, September 9, Chemistry
Mia, are you all right? I heard you spent P.E. in the nurse’s office.
God, word travels fast in this school. And I’m fine, thanks, J.P. Just got a little winded from running around the reservoir.
Got it. I’m glad you’re all right. Though you look a little pale.
I have a lot on my mind, I guess.
That’s right! Michael leaves tomorrow, right?
Yeah. Well, supposedly.
What do you mean, supposedly? I thought he was going for sure.
Well, maybe. We’ll see.
It would be a shame if he didn’t get to go. It’s such a great opportunity.
I know it is. For him. But what about ME? I’m the one who’s going to be stuck back here with nothing.
What do you mean with nothing? You’ve got ME!
Ha, ha. You know what I mean.
Well, I guess I sort of did wonder about that thing Boris said the other day at lunch. I know you got mad at him, but he did have a point…ARE you going to date other people while Michael’s gone? Have you two talked about that? Because it would be kind of unfair for him to expect you not to go out with other guys the whole time he’s gone. That is, if you wanted to.
But I don’t want to!!!! I mean, I love Michael.
Of course you do. But you’re also only sixteen years old. Are you really going to stay home every Saturday night until he gets back?
I don’t have to stay home every Saturday night. I mean, I’ve got all my girls. L.O.V.E., and all that. Girls for life.
Your girls all have significant others. I’m not saying they won’t want to spend time with you, but it’s going to be kind of lonely when they’re all out with their partners and you’re home.
That’s true. But it will give me the opportunity to work on my novel. And my screenplay! And then maybe—if Michael really does go—I’ll have them both done by the time he gets back. And then I’ll have accomplished something, too! Maybe not as earth-shattering as HIS accomplishment. But, you know. SOMETHING more than just being a princess.
I thought we established yesterday that just being you is enough of an accomplishment.
Yeah, but you were just being nice. Anybody can be THEMSELVES. I want to do something really special.
Mia, if you’re not going to pay attention in this class, I don’t see how you plan to pass it. Don’t expect me to bail you out again this year, I’ve got other things to do.—Kenny
That guy is really getting on my nerves.
He’s right, though. We should stop. It’s wrong.
But it feels so right!
J.P.! Stop it! You’re making me laugh!
Good. You need a laugh, I suspect.
J.P. is so nice!!!! Lilly’s so lucky to have found such a perfect guy.
All right, back to Chemistry.
Wait…there’s HOW many chemical compounds? And we have to know them ALL???????
Thursday, September 9, Precalculus
REASONS TO DO IT TONIGHT
VS.
WAIT UNTIL PROM NIGHT
Pro:
It could convince him to stay in New York and not move to Japan, thus keeping me from having a nervous breakdown when he isn’t around for me to smell his neck.
Con:
It could convince him to stay in New York and not move to Japan, thus depriving the world of a potentially life-saving medical breakthrough, and my grandmother of her reason to keep trying to fix me up with other guys she believes are “more worthy” (meaning richer) than Michael.
Pro:
Michael says he is never going to another prom anyway, so I might as well just get it over with now.
Con:
But maybe by the time my senior prom rolls around, he might be so desperate for sex he’ll agree to go after all!
Pro:
It will be a chance for us to express our love physically in a way that will truly make us one heart, one mind, one soul.
Con:
What if I pass gas or something? I mean, seriously, you are NAKED, he’s going to be able to tell it was you.
Pro:
Speaking of naked, I wi
ll finally get to see Michael naked.
Con:
He will get to see ME naked.
Pro:
By having sex tonight, instead of waiting until prom night, we will avoid being a cliché, like couples in teen movies.
Con:
The fact that I am not yet eighteen could lead to legal complications for Michael down the road. Although I’m sure my dad wouldn’t want the tabloids finding out about something like that.
Pro:
Lilly’s Done It already. At least I think so. And it doesn’t seem to have done her and J.P. any harm.
Con:
I don’t actually know this for sure.
Pro:
By giving each other the Precious Gift of our virginity, we will be forging an emotional and spiritual bond with each other that we will never have with anyone else in our lives, even if the unthinkable should happen and we someday part ways.
Con:
I can’t think of a con to that one.
Oh whatever. We’re so Doing It.
I’m so going to throw up.
HOMEWORK
Homeroom: n/a
Intro to Creative Writing: Some idiotic thing I can’t remember
English: 1,000 words onRaise High the Roof Beams, Carpenters
French: Moredécrire un soir amusant avec les amis
G & T: n/a
PE: n/a
Chemistry: Who knows?
Precalculus: Who cares?
Only six more hours until Michael and I Do It!!!!!!!!
Thursday, September 9, the Four Seasons
It’s getting harder and harder to find Grandmère for my princess lessons these days. We finally tracked her down in the penthouse of the Four Seasons, but when I walked in, it was bedlam, as usual.
“These curtains are unacceptable,” Grandmère was saying to a man in a business suit whose gold nametag read Jonathan Greer.
“I’ll have them replaced immediately, madam,” Jonathan Greer said.
Grandmère looked kind of surprised that he wasn’t arguing. She said, “A floral print. NOT stripes.”
“Absolutely, madam,” Jonathan Greer said. “They’ll be replaced with floral patterned curtains at once.”
Grandmère gave him a startled look. She was clearly used to more resistance from the hotel concierges she’s been dealing with lately.
“And I cannot abide leather furniture,” she said, pointing to a very nice club chair in the corner. “It’s far too slippery, and Rommel dislikes it. The smell makes him nervous. He was kicked in the head by a cow once.”
“I’ll have the chair re-covered at once, madam,” the concierge said. He caught my eye, and nodded politely in my direction. But then he turned back to Grandmère. “Perhaps in the same material as the curtains?”
Grandmère looked even more taken aback. “Why, yes…yes, that would be acceptable.”
“And would Your Highness care for tea,” Jonathan Greer wanted to know, “as I see your granddaughter has arrived? Service for two can be brought immediately. Finger sandwiches or scones or both?”
Grandmère looked like she might pass out, she was so astonished. “Both, of course,” she said. “And Earl Grey tea.”
“Absolutely,” Jonathan Greer said, as if there were no other kind. “And perhaps a cocktail for you, Your Highness? I believe a Sidecar—served in a stemmed cocktail glass, no sugar on the rim—is your preference?”
Grandmère had to sit down. She did it gracefully—well, except for the part where she almost sat on Rommel. But he got out of the way in the nick of time. It’s not like he hasn’t had plenty of practice.
“That would be lovely,” she said faintly.
“Anything that we can do to make your stay in the Royal Suite more pleasurable, Your Highness,” Jonathan Greer said, with a bow. “You need only call.”
And with that, he stepped smartly out of the room and into the hallway—where I saw my dad, out of Grandmère’s sight, slip the guy a folded-up bill and murmur his thanks.
Wow. My dad can be slick sometimes.
“So,” he said to Grandmère, as he strolled back into the room. “What do you think? Does this place meet with your approval?”
“It’s called the Royal Suite,” Grandmère said, still a bit faintly.
“Indeed it is,” my dad said. “Three bedrooms of luxury for you, Rommel, and your maid. I hope you approve. Look…there’s even an ashtray.”
Grandmère blinked at the crystal bowl he held up. “There are roses,” she said. “Pink and white. In vases everywhere.”
“Well, look at that,” Dad said. “So there are. Do you think you can stand to live here until your condo at the Plaza is completed?”
Grandmère rallied herself. “I suppose it will betolerable ,” she said. “Though hardly what I’m used to.”
“Of course not,” Dad said. “But sometimes in life we must suffer. Mia. How are you?”
I jumped away from the window, which I’d been looking out of. We were on the thirty-second floor, and I have to say that the view, while beautiful, wasn’t doing much for the vomity feeling I was kind of pushing down.
I didn’t just feel like throwing up, either. There was fluttering going on in my stomach. It was like there was one of those hummingbirds, that sometimes hover around outside my window back in Genovia, trapped inside my abdomen.
I’m sure this was just nervous anticipation of the ecstasy I am bound to experience tonight in Michael’s arms.
“I’m fine,” I said to my dad. Too fast, though, since he gave me a strange look.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “You look…pale.”
“I’m good,” I said. “Just, um, ready for today’s princess lesson!”
My dad gave me an even STRANGER look at that. I have NEVER been ready for a princess lesson. EVER.
“Oh, Amelia,” Grandmère groaned, from her couch. “I haven’t the time or patience today. Jeanne and I have so much unpacking to do.” Which translates from Grandmère speak toMy maid, Jeanne, has to unpack while I, the dowager princess, boss her around. “I need to get settled before I can think of more things to teach you. This constant moving about has been VERY unsettling. Not just for me, but for Rommel, as well.”
We all looked at Rommel, who had curled into a ball at the end of the couch and was snoring fitfully, while he dreamed of being far, far away from Grandmère.
“Well, Mother,” Dad said. “Now that you have Mr. Greer looking after you, I feel as if I can leave you for a bit—”
Grandmère just snorted. “Which lucky Victoria’s Secret lingerie model is it tonight, Phillipe?” she wanted to know. Then, before he could even answer, she went on to say, “Amelia, all of this rushing around town has wreaked havoc on my pores. I’m going to have a facial. Princess lessons are canceled for the day.”
“Um,” I said. “Okay, Grandmère.” It was really hard to hide my relief. I have a LOT of shaving to do.
Hmmm, I wonder if she knows this, and that’s WHY she’s letting me go home early?
But no, that’s not possible. Not even GRANDMÈRE could actually WANT me to have premarital sex.
I mean. Could she? Why else would she have—
No. Not even Grandmère could be that calculating.
Thursday, September 9, the Moscovitzes’ apartment, 7 p.m.
Okay, so I’m here. I’m shaved and exfoliated and conditioned and the sponges are secured in my backpack and I think I’m ready.
I mean, aside from the throwing-up feeling, which still hasn’t gone away.
Everything iscrazy here. Michael is packing to leave, and his mother seems to think they don’t actually have things like shampoo and toilet paper in Japan. She keeps slipping that kind of stuff into his suitcase. She and Maya, the Moscovitzes’ housekeeper, went to Sam’s Club in New Jersey and bought a year’s supply of stuff like family-size containers of Tums for him to take with him.
He’s like, “Mom, I’m sure they have Tums in Japan. Or something simi
lar. I do not need a family-size container of them. Or this giant vat of Listerine mouthwash.”
But Dr. Moscovitz doesn’t care, she just keeps putting them back in his suitcase every time Michael takes them out.
It’s kind of sad. I mean, I know how Dr. Moscovitz feels. She just wants to have SOME feeling of control in a world that is rapidly spinning into chaos. And apparently making sure her son has enough antacid to last him until the next millennium helps Michael’s mother feel more in control.
I wish I could tell her she has nothing to worry about, since Michael won’t be going to Japan after all. But I can’t really let HER in on my plan before I let MICHAEL in on it.
Anyway, I already told him we’re going to be sneaking out. He doesn’t like it—he’s always afraid of getting on my dad’s bad side, which I can understand might be a concern to anyone, seeing as how my dad has command of an elite security task force—but I can tell he’s intrigued. He was like, “Okay. Let me just find my jacket. I know it’s in my room…somewhere.”
Little does he know he’s not going to need his jacket.
Lilly just came out of her room with her video camera and said, “Oh, good, POG, I’m glad you’re here. Quick—what are some ways you’d reduce climate-heating pollution so that we don’t experience a climatic disaster equivalent to the ones portrayed inThe Day After Tomorrow andCategory 6 ? I mean, if you ruled the world, and not just Genovia.”
