Princess in Training pd-6

by Meg Cabot

  I guess I’d better stop writing now or Kenny will think I’m taking advantage of him. And then maybe he will expect me to DO IT with him to make up for it.

  EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  ORBITAL MECHANICS—

  SYSTEMATIC LONG-TERM CHANGES

  1. Shape of orbit not constant circle—extreme ellipse over 100,000 years

  2. Angle of tilt of axis varies—wobbles from 22 degrees to 24 degrees 30 over 48,400 years

  3. Precession—21,000 years

  HOMEWORK

  PE: no assignment

  Geometry: exercises, pages 11–13

  English: pages 4–14, Strunk and White

  French: écrivez une histoire

  G&T: n/a

  U.S. Government: What is the basis for Divine Right theory of gov?

  Earth Science: section 1, define perigee/apogeeTuesday, September 8, Assembly

  There really ought to be some kind of constitutional amendment to abolish high school convocations. Seriously.

  Because not only are they a huge waste of school resources (How many times can you sit and listen to some paralyzed dude talk about how he wished he’d never driven drunk? Hello, we KNOW.), but I’m also beginning to think convocations are just an excuse for teachers to take a break from teaching. I fully saw Mrs. Hill sneaking a cigarette outside the gym doors just now. I guess the front of the school isn’t the only place where we need surveillance cameras.

  And any time you get a thousand teens in one room together, you just know there’s going to be trouble. Principal Gupta already had to yell at the varsity girls’ lacrosse team for throwing Swedish fish at the kids from the Drama Club, who weren’t even doing anything, for once. Except, you know, looking weird, with their dyed black hair and facial piercings.

  And I saw a couple members of the Computer Club sneak beneath the bleachers just now. They had expressions on their faces I can only describe as diabolical. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out they’re down there unpacking their killer robot and programming it to unleash a reign of terror upon the world.

  Principal Gupta is telling us how happy she is to have us all back. Lilly’s hand just shot up. Principal Gupta said, “Not now, Lilly,” and just went right on talking. Lilly is now muttering to herself beside me.

  Tina, on my other side, is playing hangman with Boris. So far she only has the letter E right and has already earned a head and body. The spaces are:

  __ __ __ __ __ __ __ E __ __

  I can’t believe she can’t figure it out. But I’m not helping. Because what she does with her boyfriend is her own business. Just like what I do with MY boyfriend is MY own business. Or at least it WOULD be my business if, in fact, I was doing anything with him. Which I’m not. Which is apparently a huge problem, bound to lead to his breaking up with me for some college girl who WILL Do It with him.

  But why SHOULDN’T I Do It with him? People Do It all the time. I mean, I wouldn’t be here if my mom and dad hadn’t—

  Oh, great, now I feel like barfing. Why did I have to think about that? My mom and dad Doing It. Ew. Ew ew ew ew ew ew. That’s even worse than the thought of my mom and Mr. G—

  Okay, now I’m TOTALLY going to barf. EWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!

  Now Principal Gupta is talking about the wonderful extracurriculars that exist at Albert Einstein High, and how we should all really try to take advantage of them. Lilly put her hand up again, but Principal Gupta just said, “Not now, Lilly.” Nobody else is paying any attention.

  Tina got another letter. Now the spaces go:

  __ __ __ __ __ A __ E __ __

  But Boris has added two arms to his hangman. Why doesn’t Tina try the letter L? This is so aggravating.

  Now Principal Gupta is introducing the different student groups to show how many extracurriculars AEHS has to offer. It turns out the other new guy, who got assigned Josh’s old locker and who spilled his latte on my boot, is an exchange student from Brazil named Ramon Riveras. He is going to be on the soccer team.

  That ought to make all the soccer moms very happy. Especially if after he wins, he whips off his shirt and swings it around his head the way Josh used to.

  Ramon is sitting with Lana and Trisha and all the rest of the popular people. How did he know? I mean, he isn’t even FROM this country. How could he know who the popular people even are, let alone that he’s one of them, and should sit with them? Is this something popular people are just born with? Something they know innately?

  Now Principal Gupta is talking about student council, and how we should all be eager to join, and what a wonderful opportunity it is to show your school spirit, and how it also looks good on your transcript. She is almost making it seem as if anybody who wanted to could run for student council and win. Which is so bogus, because everyone knows only popular people ever win elections for student council. Lilly ran last year and didn’t win. The person who beat her wasn’t even smart. No, last year she got soundly defeated by Nancy di Blasi, captain of the varsity cheerleading squad (Lana Weinberger’s mentor in evil), a girl who spent way more time organizing bake sales so that the cheerleaders could get a well-deserved trip to Six Flags than she did lobbying for real student reforms.

  “Do we have any nominations for student council president?” Principal Gupta wants to know. Lilly’s hand just shot up. Principal Gupta is ignoring it this time.

  “Anyone?” Principal G keeps asking. “Anyone at all?”

  Tina just said, to Boris, “Um, gee, let me see. Is there a Y?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” I can no longer help myself. Maybe it’s the looming threat of defloration. Or maybe it’s just that I don’t get to play hangman during school hours with the love of my life anymore. In any event, I went, “It’s JOSHUA BELL, okay? JOSHUA BELL!”

  Tina’s all, “Ooooooh! You’re right!”

  Ramon Riveras is laughing at something Lana has whispered in his ear.

  Lilly’s waving her arm around like a crazy person. Hers is the only hand in the air. Finally, Principal Gupta has no choice but to go, “Lilly. We discussed this last year. You can’t nominate yourself for student council president. Someone has to nominate you.”

  Lilly stands up, and out of her mouth come the words, “I’m not nominating myself this year. I NOMINATE MIA THERMOPOLIS!!!”Tuesday, September 8, in the limo on the way to the Plaza Hotel

  Seriously. Why am I even friends with her?Tuesday, September 8, the Plaza

  First princess lesson of the new school year, and—thank God—Grandmère is tied up by a phone call. She just snapped her fingers at me and pointed at the coffee table in the middle of her suite. I went over there and found all these faxes all over it, letters of complaint from various members of the French scientific community and Monaco’s oceanographic institute.

  Huh. I guess they’re kind of mad about the snails.

  Whatever! Like I don’t have WAY bigger problems right now than a bunch of angry marine biologists. Hello, apparently, if I want to keep my boyfriend, I have to Do It. As if that’s not bad enough, I’ve been nominated for STUDENT COUNCIL PRESIDENT.

  I honestly don’t know what Lilly was thinking. Could she REALLY have thought I’d just sit there and be all, “Student council president? Oh, okay. Sure. Because, you know, I’m the only heir to the throne of an entire foreign country. It’s not like I don’t have anything else to do.”

  WHATEVER!!! I fully grabbed her arm and pulled it down and was all, “LILLY, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING????” under my breath, since, of course, every single head in the entire gym had swiveled in our direction and everyone was staring at us, including Perin and Ramon Riveras and the guy who hates it when they put corn in the chili who I thought had graduated. But I guess not.

  “Don’t worry,” Lilly whispered back. “I’ve got a plan.”

  Apparently, part of Lilly’s plan was to kick Ling Su in the shin very very hard until she squeaked, “Um, I do, Principal Gupta,” when Principal Gupta asked in a confused voi
ce, “Does, uh, anyone second that nomination?”

  I couldn’t believe this was even happening. It was like a nightmare, only worse, because that guy who hates corn in his chili is never in my nightmares.

  “But I—” I started to protest, but then Lilly kicked ME really hard in the shin.

  “Ms. Thermopolis accepts the nomination!” Lilly called down to Principal Gupta.

  Who totally didn’t look as if she believed it. But who went, “Well. If you’re sure, Mia,” anyway, without waiting for any response from me.

  Next thing I knew, Trisha Hayes had jumped to her feet and was screaming, “I nominate Lana Weinberger for student council president!”

  “Well, isn’t that nice,” Principal Gupta said, when Ramon Riveras seconded Trisha’s nomination of Lana—but only after Lana elbowed him…pretty hard, it looked like, from where I was sitting. “Do any members of the junior or senior classes care to enter a nomination? No? Your apathy is duly noted. Fine then. Mia Thermopolis and Lana Weinberger are your nominees for student council president. Ladies, I trust you’ll run a good clean election. Voting will be next Monday.”

  And that was that. I’m running for student council president. Against Lana Weinberger.

  My life is over.

  Lilly kept saying it’s not. Lilly kept saying she has a plan. Lana running against me wasn’t part of that plan—“I can’t believe she’s doing that,” Lilly said as we were filing out of school after Assembly. “I mean, she’s only doing it because she’s jealous.”—but Lilly says it doesn’t matter, because everyone hates Lana, so no one will vote for her.

  Everyone does NOT hate Lana. Lana is one of the most popular girls in school. Everyone will vote for her.

  “But, Mia, you’re pure and good of heart,” Boris pointed out to me. “People who are pure and good of heart always beat out evil.”

  Um, yeah. In books like The Lord of the Rings, for crying out loud.

  And the fact that I’m so pure? That’s probably why I’m about to lose my boyfriend.

  And I think there are many historical examples of people who are very clearly NOT good of heart winning more elections than not.

  “You’re not going to have to lift a finger,” Lilly said, as Lars helped me into the limo to Grandmère’s. “I’ll be your campaign manager. I’ll take care of everything. And don’t worry. I have a plan!”

  I don’t know why Lilly thinks her constant assurances that she has a plan are in any way comforting to me. In fact, the opposite is true.

  Grandmère just hung up the phone.

  “Well,” she says. She’s already on her second Sidecar since I got here. “I hope you’re satisfied. The entire Mediterranean community is up in arms about that little stunt you pulled.”

  “Not everybody.” I found two very supportive faxes in the pile and showed them to her.

  “Pfuit!” was all Grandmère said. “Who cares what some fishermen have to say? They aren’t exactly experts on the matter.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “but they happen to be Genovian fishermen. My countrymen. And isn’t my first obligation to protect the interests of my countrymen?”

  “Not at the expense of straining diplomatic relations with your neighbors.” Grandmère’s lips are pressed so tightly together, they’re practically disappearing. “That was the prime minister of France, and he—”

  Thank God the phone rang again. This is pretty awesome. I’d have dumped ten thousand snails into the Bay of Genovia a long time ago if I’d had any idea doing so would get me out of having princess lessons.

  Although it kind of sucks that everyone is so mad.

  Geez. I knew all about the French, of course. But who knew marine biologists were so TOUCHY?

  But seriously, what was I supposed to do, sit around and LET killer algae destroy the livelihoods of families who for centuries made their living off the sea? Not to mention innocent creatures such as seals and porpoises whose very survival depends on ready access to the kelp beds the Caulerpa taxifolia are totally strangling? Could anyone really imagine that I would allow an environmental disaster of those proportions to occur under my very nose, in my own bay—me, Mia Thermopolis?—when I knew of a way (albeit only theoretical) to stop it?

  “That was your father,” Grandmère said after slamming down the phone. “He is extremely distraught. He just heard from the Oceanographic Museum & Aquarium in Monaco. Apparently, some of your snails have drifted over to their bay.”

  “Good.” I kind of like this environmentalist rebel thing. It keeps my mind off other stuff. Like that my boyfriend is going to dump me if I don’t put out. And that I am currently running against the most popular girl in school for student council president.

  “Good?” Grandmère jumped up out of her seat so fast, she totally dumped Rommel, her toy poodle, off her lap. Fortunately Rommel is used to this kind of treatment and has trained himself to land on his feet, like a cat. “Good? Amelia, I don’t pretend to understand any of this—all of this fuss over a little plant and some snails. But I would think you of all people would know that”—she picked up one of the faxes and read aloud from it—“‘When you introduce a new species into a foreign environment, total devastation can occur.’”

  “Tell that to Monaco,” I said. “They’re the ones who dumped South American algae into the Mediterranean in the first place. All I did was dump South American snails in after it to clean up THEIR mess.”

  “Have you learned NOTHING from what I’ve tried to teach you this past year, Amelia?” Grandmère wants to know. “Nothing of tact, or diplomacy, or even SIMPLE COMMON SENSE?”

  “I GUESS NOT!!!!”

  Okay, I probably shouldn’t have screamed that quite as loudly as I did. But seriously, WHEN is she going to GET OFF MY BACK????? Can’t she see I have WAY BIGGER THINGS to worry about than what a bunch of stupid FRENCH MARINE BIOLOGISTS have to say????

  Now she’s giving me the evil eye. “Well?”

  That’s what she said. Just “Well?”

  And even though I know I’m going to regret it—how can I not?—I go, “Well…what?”

  “Well, are you going to tell me what’s got you so frazzled?” she wants to know. “Don’t try denying it, Amelia. You are as bad at hiding your true feelings as your father. What happened at school today that’s got you so upset?”

  Yeah. Like I’m really going to discuss my love life with Grandmère.

  Although I have to say that the last time I did this—with the whole prom thing—Grandmère gave me some pretty kick-ass advice. I mean, it got me to the prom, didn’t it?

  Still, how can I tell my GRANDMOTHER that I’m afraid if I don’t have sex with my boyfriend, he’s going to dump me?

  “Lilly nominated me to be student council president,” I said, because I had to say SOMETHING, or she’d hound me into an early grave. She’s done it before.

  “But that’s wonderful news!”

  For a minute, I thought Grandmère was actually going to kiss me or something. But I totally ducked and she pretended like instead she was going to lean down and pat Rommel on the head. Which is maybe what she meant to do all along. Grandmère is not a very kissy person. At least with me. Rocky, she kisses all the time. And she is not even technically related to him.

  I keep antibacterial wipes around for this very reason. To wipe Grandmère’s kisses off Rocky, I mean. There is no telling where Grandmère’s lips have been on any given day.

  Anyway.

  “It’s not wonderful!” I yelled at her. Why am I the only person who sees this? “I’m going to be running against Lana Weinberger! She’s the most popular girl in the whole school!”

  Grandmère swirled the swizzle stick in her Sidecar.

  “Really,” she said, thoughtfully. “Interesting turn of events. There’s no reason, however, that you shouldn’t be able to defeat this Shana person. You’re a princess, remember! What is she?”

  “A cheerleader,” I said. “And it’s Lana, not Shana. And believe me,
Grandmère, in the real world—such as high school—being a princess is NOT an advantage.”

  “Nonsense,” Grandmère said. “Being a royal is ALWAYS beneficial.”

  “Ha!” I said. “Tell that to Anastasia!” Who, you know, got shot for being royal.

  But Grandmère was totally not paying attention to me anymore.

  “A student election,” she was muttering to herself, looking far away. “Yes, that might be just the thing….”

  “I’m glad you’re happy about it,” I said, not very graciously. “Because, you know, it’s not like I don’t have other things to worry about. Like I’m pretty sure I’m going to flunk Geometry. And then there’s the whole thing with dating a college boy…”

  But Grandmère was totally off in her own little world.

  “What day are votes cast?” Grandmère wanted to know.

  “Monday.” I narrowed my eyes at her. I’d wanted to throw her off the Michael scent, but now I wasn’t so sure this had been such a good idea. She seemed WAY too into the election thing. “Why?”

  “Oh, no reason.” Grandmère leaned over, scooped up all the snail faxes, and dropped them into the ornate gilt trash can by her desk. “Shall we proceed with your lesson for the day, Amelia? I believe a little brushing up on our public speaking techniques might be in order, given the circumstances.”

  Seriously. Is it not enough I am burdened with a psychotic best friend? Must my grandmother be losing her mind AT THE EXACT SAME TIME????Tuesday, September 8, the loft

  So as if this day hasn’t been long enough, when I got home just now, it was to find utter chaos reigning. Mom was bouncing a screaming Rocky in her arms, tearfully singing “My Sharona” to him, while Mr. G sat at the kitchen table, yelling into the phone.

  I could tell right away something was wrong. Rocky hates “My Sharona.” Not that I would expect a woman who took her three-month-old to a protest rally where someone ended up throwing a trash can through a Starbucks window would remember which songs he likes and doesn’t like. But the “M-m-m-my” part actually makes him spit up, if you accompany it with jiggling, as my mom was doing, and she seemed oblivious to the white stuff all over her shoulder.