by Meg Cabot
Really, considering all of this, isn’t my debate with Lana just SLIGHTLY insignificant?Monday, September 14, PE
WHY did we have to start our section on volleyball today, of all days? I SUCK at volleyball. All that smacking the ball with the insides of your wrists…it really HURTS! I am totally going to have black-and-blue marks.
And also, I don’t appreciate Mrs. Potts’s little joke of making Lana and me team captains. Because, of course, it totally descended into a game of the Popular versus the Unpopular, with Lana picking Trisha and all of her heinous friends, and me picking Lilly and all of the uncoordinated rejects in the class, on account of, well, I knew LANA wasn’t going to pick them, and I didn’t want them to feel left out, because I KNOW what it’s like to be the last person picked for a team. It’s the most horrible feeling in the world, standing there while the person doing the picking flicks a glance your way, then moves coolly past you, as if you weren’t even THERE!
And, of course, Lana won the coin toss so she got to serve first, and she whacked that ball straight AT ME, I swear. Good thing I ducked, or it might have hit me and left a bruise.
And I don’t care if Mrs. Potts DOES say that’s the point. Hasn’t she heard of all those volleyball-related injuries that occur every year? How would SHE like to have an EYE put out by a BALL?
But then, of course, none of my teammates rushed forward to hit it, because clearly ALL of them knew the volleyball-to-eye-related-injury ratio as well as I did.
Needless to say, we lost every round.
Now Lana is prancing around the locker room in Ramon Riveras’s soccer shorts, talking about what a FABULOUS time they had this weekend after the game. Apparently, she and Ramon went sailing around Manhattan on her dad’s yacht. This is something she won’t be able to do when the ice caps melt, because Manhattan won’t exist anymore since it will be underwater, so I hope she appreciated it. Although I don’t think she did because she said they had a fun time throwing bottle caps overboard and watching the seagulls swoop down to try to eat them, not realizing they were bottle caps and not food.
Obviously, Lana is not very environmentally savvy if she doesn’t realize those bottle caps could choke a not particularly intelligent seagull or fish.
Then her dad took them to the Water Club, a restaurant I have always wanted to go to, but that will probably be going out of business soon if something isn’t done about the killer algae strangling all the other undersea plant life in the world.
Although, I highly doubt that Lana has ever once in her life thought about what’s going on UNDER the ocean. She only cares about what’s going on ON TOP of the water. As in, how she looks in a bikini.
Which, having seen her in a thong, I can honestly state is disgustingly good.
But that doesn’t make her a good person.
Why won’t someone shoot me?Monday, September 14, Geometry
Two more periods until I make a fool of myself in front of the entire school.
Indirect proof = assumption made at the beginning that leads to contradiction.
Contradiction indicates the assumption is false and the desired conclusion is true.
Because Lana is pretty, she must be nice. Because all things that are pretty are nice.
FALSE FALSE FALSE FALSE
Killer algae is pretty, but it is also deadly.
Postulate = a statement that is assumed to be true without proof.
I can pretty much postulate that I will lose today’s debate to Lana.
You know what? I think I might be getting the hang of this Geometry thing.
Oh, my God, wouldn’t it be weird if all this time, I thought I was good at one thing, and bad at another, and it turns out I was really bad at that one thing, and good at another????
Except…I don’t want to be a mathematician when I grow up. I want to be a WRITER. I want to be good at WRITING. I don’t WANT to be good at Geometry.
Well, okay, I want to be good at it. Just not, you know, SO good that I start winning all these Geometry prizes and everyone is all, “Mia! Mia! Solve this theorem!”
Because that would be boring.Monday, September 14, English
One more period until I make a fool of myself in front of the entire school.
Look at her. Who does she think she is, in those Samantha Chang slippers?
I know! She fully thinks she’s all that. You can so tell.
I bet she doesn’t even need those glasses. She probably just wears them to distract from the fact that she has horrible, squinty little eyes.
Totally. And those cargo pants. Hello.
SO last year. I think.
MIA!!! ARE YOU PUMPED???? You don’t look pumped. In fact, you look as crappy as you did in PE. Did you get ANY sleep at all last night?
How was I supposed to sleep, knowing, as I did, that today I’m going to get flayed alive in front of the entire student body—like that guy in Horatio Hornblower?
Nobody is going to get flayed alive. Except maybe Lana. Because you are going to flatten her.
LILLY! I’m NOT! I’m no good at public speaking, you KNOW that. And evolutionarily speaking, Lana has the advantage of both looks AND the fact that her sociopolitical group is the one to whom the rest of us willingly tithe.
What are you talking about?
Just trust me. I’m going to lose.
You aren’t. I have a secret weapon.
YOU’RE GOING TO SHOOT HER?????
No, Tina, you SPAZ, I am not going to shoot Lana during the debate. I have a little something up my sleeve that—if the student body looks unconvinced—I will pull out. But only if Mia looks as if she needs it.
I NEED IT!!!! I NEED IT!!!!
Patience, my young padawan.
Lilly, PLEASE, if you know something, you’ve got to tell me, I’m DYING here. Between your brother and this and the snails, I’m completely fried—
Mia! She wants to see you! In the hallway!
Breathe. Just breathe. And you’ll be all right. Just like Drew in Ever After.
That’s easy for you to say, Lilly. She didn’t stomp all over YOUR dreams.Monday, September 14, third-floor stairwell
Who does she think she is? I mean, REALLY? Does she think just because I’m BLONDE (well, okay, dishwater blonde, but still) and a PRINCESS that I’m STUPID, too?
If so, she’s going to have to WORK ON THAT POSTULATE.
“Mia,” she said, after dragging me out into the hallway “so we can talk” in front of EVERYONE. “I’ve spoken with your father. He came in on Friday to talk to me about your schoolwork. Mia, I had no idea you were so upset over your grades in my class. You should have said something—”
Um, hello, I believe I did. I asked to rewrite the paper. Remember, Ms. Martinez?
“You know you can come talk to me about anything, anytime.”
Um, oh, okay. Can I talk to you about how worried I am about Britney’s too-hasty marriage and subsequent leave of absence from the entertainment industry? No, I don’t believe I can, can I, Ms. Martinez. Because you don’t like slick popular culture references.
“I know I’m a harsh grader, Mia, but really, a B is a very good grade for my class. I’ve only given out one A so far this semester—”
Um, I know, because I saw it. On Lilly’s writing sample.
“The only reason I didn’t feel comfortable giving you an A is because I still don’t think you’re working up to your potential. You’re a very talented writer, Mia, but you need to apply yourself, and stick to topics that are a little more substantive than Britney Spears.”
THIS is what’s wrong with this school. That people don’t understand that Britney Spears IS a substantive topic! She is a human barometer by which the mood of the country can be determined. When Britney does something outrageous, people reach excitedly for their copies of Us Weekly and In Touch magazines. Britney gives us all something to look forward to. Yes, there might be murders and natural disasters and other downers in the news. But then there’s Britney, French-k
issing Madonna on the MTV Video Music Awards, and suddenly, things don’t seem quite so bad as they did before.
I guess my outrage must have shown on my face, because a second later, Ms. Martinez was all, “Mia? Are you all right?”
But I didn’t say anything. Because what COULD I say?
Great. The late bell for fourth period just went off. I’m going to get a tardy from Mademoiselle Klein when I finally get to French.
Not that I care. What’s a tardy compared to what’s going to happen to me in precisely forty minutes in front of the WHOLE SCHOOL?Monday, September 14, French
0 periods until I make a fool of myself in front of the entire school.
WHERE WERE YOU???? YOU MISSED IT!!!!
Missed what? What are you talking about, Shameeka? WAIT—Did everybody circle around Perin and chant “PULL DOWN YOUR PANTS”????
Of course not. But Mademoiselle Klein DID make us all read our histoires out loud, and we had to say our name first when we did it—you know, like, “Mon histoire, par Shameeka” and when we got to Perin, who said, “Mon histoire, par Perinne,” Mademoiselle Klein went, “You mean Perin,” and Perin went, “No, Perinne,” and Mademoiselle Klein went, “No, you mean Perin because Perin is the masculine for Perin and you’re a boy. Perinne is feminine,” and Perin went, “I know Perinne is feminine. I’M A GIRL.”
PERIN IS A GIRL???? OH, MY GOD!!!!! Poor Perin! How embarrassing! I mean, that Mademoiselle Klein thought he was a he. I mean, that she was a he. Well, you know what I mean. What did she do? Mademoiselle Klein, I mean?
Well, she apologized, of course. What else COULD she do? Poor Perin turned BRIGHT RED. I felt so sorry for her!
That’s okay, Shameeka. We’ll ask him—I mean her—to sit with us at lunch today. I saw her sitting by herself all last week, over by the guy who hates it when they put corn in the chili. I really think she needs us.
Oh! That’s such a good idea! You’re so good at things like that. Knowing how to make people feel better. It’s kind of like—
What?
Well, I was going to say it’s kind of like you’re a princess, or something. But you ARE a princess! So, of course, you’re good at that kind of thing. It’s kind of like your job.
Yeah. It kind of is, isn’t it?Monday, September 14, Principal Gupta’s office
You know what? I don’t even care. I don’t even care that I’m sitting here in the principal’s office.
I don’t care that Lana is sitting here beside me shooting me evil looks.
I don’t care that the lion head badge is hanging off my blazer by a few threads.
And I don’t care that the entire school is currently in the gym, waiting for us to arrive for our debate.
Where does she get off? That’s what I want to know. Lana, I mean. HOW DARE SHE??? It is one thing to pick on me, but it is QUITE another to pick on someone who is completely defenseless and not to mention NEW TO OUR SCHOOL.
If she thinks I’m going to stand idly by and just let her make fun of someone that way, she is sadly, sadly mistaken. Well, I suppose she realizes that, seeing as how I’m still holding a chunk of her hair. Although, I guess it’s not actually her hair, since it turned out to be a clip-on extension braid she’d added to show her school spirit (it’s a blue ribbon braided into a lock of fake blond hair).
Which would explain why it came out so easily in my hand when I lunged at her, intent on ripping out every strand of hair on her stupid head, after she told me to mind my own business and ripped off my AEHS Lions sew-on patch.
Still. I hope it hurt.
The sad thing is, she doesn’t know how lucky she is. I’d have inflicted a lot more damage if Lars and Perin hadn’t held me back.
Perin may have turned out to be a girl, but she’s a surprisingly strong one.
She’s also very well-mannered. As Principal Gupta was dragging me off to her office, I heard Perin call, “Thank you, Mia!”
And although I may be mistaken in this—I was still in a rage-fueled frenzy—I think a few people even applauded.
Except, of course, it would never occur to Principal Gupta that Lana might have done anything wrong. Please! She thinks the reason I lunged at Lana was “nerves” over the debate. Yeah, that’s right, Principal Gupta. It was nerves, all right. It had NOTHING to do with the fact that as we were coming out of French, Lana walked by, and leaned over to Perin and said, “HERMAPHRODITE.”
Or that I, in response, told Lana to shut her stupid mouth.
Or that Lana, in retaliation, reached out and yanked off my AEHS lion patch.
The part where I, totally instinctively, yanked off Lana’s clip-on braid was the only part Principal Gupta heard about.
Principal Gupta says I’m lucky she doesn’t suspend me on the spot. She says the only reason she’s not is because she knows I have a lot of problems at home right now (HELLO??? WHAT IS SHE TALKING ABOUT? THE SNAILS? THE FACT THAT I’M A BABY-LICKER? THAT MY BOYFRIEND WANTS TO DO IT SOMEDAY? WHAT?????).
She says she thinks it would be better for Lana and me to take out our differences with each other in a more civilized manner than brawling in the second-floor hallway. She’s making us go through with the debate after all. She says, “Mia, will you please lift your head out of that journal and pay attention to what I’m saying?”
Geez. What does she THINK I’m writing about? Star Wars fan fic?
Lana’s laughing, of course.
I don’t think she’d be laughing quite so hard if she found out that I happen to be named after someone who cut off another person’s head with an axe.Monday, September 14, the gym
Oh, God. How did I ever get into this? They’re ALL here. All ONE THOUSAND students at Albert Einstein High School, grades nine through twelve, sitting there in the bleachers in front of me, LOOKING at me, STARING at me, because there’s nothing else to stare at, except for Lana and the two podiums and this potted palm they pulled out to make it look homier or something—or maybe to provide me with oxygen if I start to pass out—and Principal Gupta, standing in between our two folding chairs like a referee at a prize fight.
I’m totally going to barf into the potted palm.
Principal Gupta is going on about how this is just a friendly debate so that Lana and I can let the voters know where we stand on the issues.
Friendly. Right. That’s why I’m still holding Lana’s braid in my hand.
And, hello, issues? There are ISSUES???? NOBODY TOLD ME THERE WERE GOING TO BE ISSUES!!!
I can see Lilly, her video camera pointed and ready, in the front row of bleachers—sitting with Tina and Boris and Shameeka and Ling Su and, oh, look, isn’t that sweet, Perin—signaling me. What is Lilly trying to tell me? She can’t be getting ready to pull out her secret weapon. Not yet, anyway. The debate hasn’t even started! What is she doing with her hands??? Why is she making that folding motion?
Oh, I get it. She wants me to sit up straight and stop writing in my journal. Yeah, fat chance, Lilly. I—
OH, MY GOD. That smell. I recognize that smell. Chanel Number Five. Only one person I know of wears Chanel Number Five—or at least slathers on so much of it that you can smell it for miles before she ever enters the room—
WHAT IS SHE DOING HERE????
Oh, God. Why ME? Seriously. They should NOT allow people’s families to just saunter onto school grounds whenever they feel like it. I would not have half the amount of problems I currently have if there was some kind of security at this school, keeping my parents and grandparents OUT of it—
Oh, no. Not my dad, too.
And Rommel.
Yes. My grandmother brought her DOG to my debate.
And a phalanx of reporters.
Good grief! Is that LARRY KING????
Great. All I need now is for my mom and Rocky to show up, and it’ll turn into a Thermopolis-Gianini-Renaldo family reunion—
Oh. And there she is. Waving Rocky’s little arm at me from the bleachers. Hi, Rocky! So glad you could come! So glad you could c
ome watch your sister be totally and systematically annihilated by her mortal enemy—
Oh, no. It’s starting.
WHERE IS MICHAEL WHEN I NEED HIM????Monday, September 14, ladies’ room
Well, here I am. In the ladies’ room. How unusual.
I don’t think I’ll be coming out for awhile. A long, long while. As in…maybe never.
The whole thing was so surreal. I mean, I saw Principal Gupta tap on the microphone. I heard the murmuring from the people in the bleachers suddenly stop. Every single eye in the place was on us.
And then Principal Gupta welcomed everyone to the debate—making a special effort to thank Larry King for coming, with his cameras—and explained the importance of the student council, and the vital role the president plays in its governance. Then she said, “We have two very different young ladies—each with her own uniquely, er, strong personality—running for office today. I hope you will give them all your attention while each of our candidates tells us why she is suited to the role of president, and what she intends to do to make Albert Einstein High School a better place.”
And then—I guess as punishment for the whole braid-ripping-out thing—Principal Gupta let Lana go first.
The applause that went up as Lana swished her way to her podium could only be called thunderous. The whoops and catcalls, the chants of “La-na, La-na,” were almost deafening, especially since it was the gym, after all, and the sound really carried, what with the metal rafters.
Then Lana—looking coolly unconcerned over the fact that she was addressing a thousand of her peers, and another seventy-five or so members of the AEHS faculty and staff (if you count the lunch ladies), my entire family, and a number of CNN correspondents—began to speak.
Suffice it to say that what those thousand peers of hers wanted to hear—well, most of them, anyway—Lana gave them. Not surprisingly, Lana turned out to be a strong supporter of better cafeteria food, a longer lunch hour, larger mirrors in the girls’ bathrooms, less homework, more sports, guaranteed admission from the guidance office to such Ivy League schools as AEHS graduates might want to attend, and more diet and low-carb options in the candy and soda machines. She was against the outdoor security cameras, and vowed to have them removed. She promised a cheering student populace that if they elected her as president, she would make all of these things happen….
