by Meg Cabot
But anyway. The whole thing was still pretty cool. Especially the part where Grandmère said she had to cancel our princess lesson for the day so she could go have a facial. Apparently, all the stress of helping Lilly with the election has caused her pores to expand.
All in all, it was almost enough to make me think things—I don’t know—might actually go my way for a change.
But then I remembered Michael. Who, by the way, hasn’t once called or even text messaged me today, to say good luck on the debate, or ask how I’d done, or anything. In fact, I haven’t talked to him at all since the whole Doing It talk.
And I’ll admit, that talk didn’t actually go as well as I’d hoped it would.
But still. You’d think he’d call. Even if, you know, I’m the one who hasn’t returned HIS calls or e-mails.
Boris is playing “God Save the Queen” on his violin on my behalf. I told him it’s a little early for that. After all, the votes collected over lunch are still being tabulated. Principal Gupta’s going to make the announcement over the loudspeaker last period.
Lilly just went, all softly, to me, “Then, when you win, next week you can make an announcement of your own. You know, about your stepping down, and leaving the presidency to me.”
Huh. Isn’t it funny? But up until that moment, I had kind of forgotten about that part of our plan.Monday, September 14, U.S. Government
Mrs. Holland congratulated me on my speech today, and said it made her proud. PROUD! OF ME!!! A teacher is proud of me!!!
ME!!!!!!!Monday, September 14, Earth Science
Kenny just said the strangest thing to me. Just blurted it right out, as we were drawing our diagrams of the Van Allen radiation belts.
“Mia,” he said. “I want to tell you something. You know my girlfriend, Heather?”
“Yeeee-ah,” I said, reluctantly, because I thought he was getting ready to tell me another long boring story about Heather’s gymnastic prowess.
“Well.” Kenny’s face turned red as the radiation belt I was coloring. “I made her up.”
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yes, that is right. Kenny has spent the past five days telling me MADE-UP stories about his MADE-UP girlfriend, Heather. A girlfriend who, I will admit, I actually felt threatened by! Because she’s so perfect! I mean, blond and sporty AND she gets straight A’s????
Actually, now that I think about it, I should probably be grateful Heather turns out not to be real. She was making me feel pretty inadequate, to tell the truth.
But anyway. I just looked at him and was like, “Kenny. Why would you do that?”
And he said, all shamefaced, “I just couldn’t stand it, you know? You having this whole perfect princess life, with Michael, your perfect princely boyfriend. It…I don’t know. It just got to me.”
Yeah. Right. My perfect life. My perfect princess life, with Michael, my perfect princely boyfriend. Let me tell you something, Kenny. You want to know how NOT perfect my perfect princess life is? My perfect princely boyfriend is getting ready to dump me, because I don’t want to Do It. How’s that for perfect, Kenny?
Except, of course, I couldn’t say that. Because that’s none of Kenny’s business. Also, because I don’t much want the whole Michael-wants-to-Do-It thing getting around school. Thanks to the many movies based—however loosely—on my life that are floating around out there, enough people already think they know everything there is to know about me. I don’t need any MORE info leaking out.
But whatever. I just assured Kenny that my life isn’t as perfect as he might think. That, in fact, I have a LOT of problems, among them the fact that I am a baby-licker and very nearly got my own country kicked out of the EU.
Surprisingly, this information seemed to cheer him up excessively. So much so, in fact, that I’m feeling kind of annoyed.
Wha—
Oh, no. The classroom loudspeaker just crackled. Principal Gupta is coming on to announce the results of today’s votes.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
Here it is:
Lana Weinberger, three hundred fifty nine votes.
Mia Thermopolis, six hundred forty one votes.
Oh, my God.
OH, MY GOD.
I’M THE NEW STUDENT COUNCIL PRESIDENT OF ALBERT EINSTEIN HIGH.Monday, September 14, 5 p.m., Ray’s Pizza
Okay. That was…that was just totally surreal.
I don’t even know how else to describe it. I’m in a total and complete daze. Still. And it’s been two hours since Principal Gupta declared me the winner. And I’ve had half a plain cheese pizza and three Cokes since then.
And I’m STILL in shock.
Maybe it’s not so much winning the election as it is what happened after I found out I won the election. Which was…
…a LOT, actually.
First off, everyone in my Earth Science class, including Kenny, started jumping all over the place, congratulating me, then asking me if I could please ask the trustees to buy the bio lab electrophoresis kits, something for which they’d unsuccessfully lobbied the last president.
So, obviously, in no time at all, I understood the full weight of the responsibility I would bear as president.
And…
I welcomed it.
I know. I KNOW.
I mean, like it’s not enough I’m
the princess of Genovia
sister to a defenseless infant whose mother and father are somewhat lacking in the parenting department, if you know what I mean
a budding writer who still has to get through sophomore Geometry this year
a teen, with all that that word implies, such as mood swings, insecurities, and the occasional zit
in love with a college boy.
Now I’m actually entertaining the idea of being all that, AND president of my school student council???
But. Well. Yeah.
Yeah, I am. Because winning that election against Lana?
That totally RULED.
But anyway. That was just the FIRST thing that happened.
The next thing was that after the bell rang, letting us out for the day, I was making my way down to my locker—slowly…very slowly, because everyone kept stopping me to congratulate me—when I ran into Lilly, who leapt into my arms (even though I’m a lot taller than she is, she still weighs more. She’s lucky I didn’t drop her. But I guess I had, like, that adrenaline thing you get when your baby is stuck under a car or you win the presidency of your school’s student council, or something, since I was able to hold on to her until she climbed down again).
Anyway, Lilly was all, “WE DID IT!!! WE DID IT!!!!”
And then Tina and Boris and Shameeka and Ling Su and Perin showed up, and started jumping up and down along with us. Then, we all made our way down to my locker, singing that “We Are the Champions” song.
Then, as everybody else was chatting excitedly, and I was working the combination to my locker, I noticed something very odd going on at the locker next door to mine. And that was that Ramon Riveras, flanked by Principal Gupta and Lana Weinberger’s DAD, of all people, was taking everything—and I do mean EVERYTHING—out of his locker, and putting it glumly in his gym bag.
And standing a little ways behind him, tears streaming down her face, was Lana, who kept stomping her foot and going, “But, Daddy, WHY???? Why, Daddy, WHY???”
Except that Dr. Weinberger wasn’t answering her. He just stood there, looking very solemn, until Ramon had gotten the last of his stuff out of the locker. Then Principal Gupta said, “Very well. Come along.”
And she, Ramon, Dr. Weinberger, and Lana all trailed back to the principal’s office.
But not before Lana swung a decidedly nasty look over her shoulder at me, and hissed, “I’ll get you back for this if it’s the last thing I do! You’ll be sorry!”
I thought she meant she’d get back at me for winning the election over her. But when Shameeka went, “Hey, where are they taking Ramon?” Lilly smiled in an evil way and said, “The
airport, probably.”
While we all asked, in a chorus, what she was talking about, Lilly said, “My secret weapon. Only after that speech you gave, Mia, I knew we didn’t need it. Looks like that grandmother of yours dropped the dime on the Weinbergers anyway, even though she didn’t have to. I have to hand it to that Clarisse. She is one old dame you don’t want to get on your bad side.”
Since this didn’t exactly clear the matter up any—at least as far as I was concerned—I asked Lilly just what the heck she was talking about, and she explained. It turns out that day at the soccer game, when Lilly had been sitting behind Lana’s parents, she’d totally eavesdropped on their conversation, and found out that Ramon is a ringer!
Yes! He is already a high school graduate! He graduated last year, back in his native Brazil, where he’d led his school district to claim the national championship! Dr. Weinberger and a couple of the other trustees got the brilliant idea to PAY him to come to this country and enroll at AEHS, so we’d have a chance at actually winning some games for a change.
Lilly and Grandmère had planned on using this information as part of a smear campaign against Lana, in the event that it looked as if, after the debate, she was going to win.
But my pulling out Sailor Moon and that John Locke quote convinced them I had the election in the bag. So, Grandmère ended up not calling Principal Gupta’s office to tell her about Ramon until after the election results were announced.
I must say, this information caused me to look at Lilly in a new light. I mean, I’ve always known that Lilly is capable of some underhanded things. And I’m not saying the Weinbergers had a right to use poor Ramon that way, or to dupe the other trustees.
But, geez! I would not want to be on the wrong side of Lilly—much less Grandmère—in a fight.
Lilly was standing there looking all pleased with herself while everyone else patted her on the back and said what a cool thing she had done.
And I guess it was cool, in a way, if you agree—which I most definitely do—that anything that makes Lana cry is a good thing.
“So,” Lilly said, when I’d gotten all my stuff together and was standing there, ready to go. “Since Clarisse let you out of princess hell for the day, want to go celebrate OUR victory?”
She put a very significant emphasis on the word OUR that only a moron would have missed.
I got it, all right.
And felt my stomach lurch.
“Um,” I said. “Yeah, Lilly. About that. Something kind of happened when I was giving that speech today….”
“You’re telling me something happened,” Lilly said, patting me on the back. “You struck a blow for unpopular kids everywhere, is what happened while you were giving that speech today.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know. About that. I just don’t know how I feel about it now. I mean, Lilly, don’t you think your plan is kind of unfair? Those people voted for me. I’m the one they expect—”
I saw Lilly’s eyes widen at something she saw behind my back.
“What’s HE doing here?” she wanted to know. Then, to whoever was standing back there, she said, “In case you forgot, you GRADUATED, you know.”
Something gripped my heart at her words. Because I knew—just KNEW—who she was talking to.
The LAST person I wanted to see just then.
Or maybe the person I MOST wanted to see just then.
It all depended on what he had to say to me.
Slowly, I turned around.
And there stood Michael.
I guess it would sound superdramatic to say that everything else in the hallway seemed to vanish, until it was as if it was only Michael and me alone, standing there, just looking at each other.
If I wrote that in a story, Ms. Martinez would probably write CLICHÉ on it, or something.
Except, that it’s NOT a cliché. Because that’s really what it was like. Like there was no one else in the whole world except us two.
“We need to talk,” is what Michael said to me. No Hello. No Why didn’t you call me? or Where have you been? And certainly no kiss.
Just We need to talk.
And those four words were all it took to make my heart feel as shriveled and hard as St. Amelie’s.
“Okay,” I said, even though my mouth had gone completely dry.
And when he turned around to leave the school, I followed him, after throwing a warning glance over my shoulder—letting Lars know to stay FAR behind me, and Lilly know there wasn’t going to be any celebrating.
At least, not just yet.
Lars took it like the professional he is. But I heard Lilly scream, “Fine! Go with your BOYFRIEND! See if we care!”
But Lilly didn’t know. Lilly didn’t know about how shriveled and small my heart had suddenly gotten. Lilly didn’t know that I suspected that my life—my perfect princess life—was about to explode into fifty billion pieces. That supervolcano under Yellowstone? Yeah, when that thing finally blows, it’ll be NOTHING in comparison.
I followed Michael down the steps of the school—right under the watchful eye of the security cameras—and away from the crowds gathered around Joe. I followed him across two avenues, neither of us saying a word. I certainly wasn’t going to speak first.
Because everything was different now. If he was going to break up with me because I wouldn’t Do It—well, I didn’t care.
Oh, I CARED, of course. My heart was breaking ALREADY, and all he’d said was, “We need to talk.”
But, hello. I am the princess of Genovia. I am the newly elected president of the AEHS student council.
And NO ONE—not even Michael—is going to tell me when to Do It.
Finally, we got here—to Ray’s Pizza. The place was empty because school hadn’t been out long enough for it to fill up, and it was way past lunchtime, and not quite dinner.
Michael pointed to a booth and said, “You want a pie?”
“We need to talk.”
“You want a pie?”
That’s all he’d said to me so far.
I said, “Yes.” And because my mouth still felt as dry as sand, I added, “And a Coke.”
He went to the counter and ordered both. Then he came back to the booth, slid into the seat across from mine, looked me in the eye, and said, “I saw the debate.”
This was NOT what I’d expected him to say.
It was SO not what I’d expected him to say, that my jaw dropped. I didn’t remember to shut my mouth again until I felt cool, pizza-scented air on my tongue, and realized I was breathing out of my mouth, just like Boris.
I snapped my mouth shut. Then I asked, “You were there?”
AND YOU DIDN’T COME UP AND SAY HI??????????? Only I didn’t say that last part.
Michael shook his head.
“No,” he said. “It was on CNN.”
“Oh,” I said. Seriously, who else but ME would get their school debate aired on CNN?
And who else but MY BOYFRIEND would happen to catch its broadcast?
“I liked what you said about Sailor Moon,” he said.
“You DID?” I don’t know why this came out so squeaky.
“Yeah. And the John Locke quote? That kicked butt. You get that from Holland’s government class?”
I nodded, unable to speak, I was so astonished he’d known this.
“Yeah,” he said. “She’s cool. So.” He leaned an arm against the back of his side of the booth. “You’re the new president of AEHS.”
I folded my hands on the tabletop, hoping he wouldn’t notice the damage I’d done to my fingernails since the last time I’d seen him. Damage that was almost entirely due to worry about HIM.
“Looks like it,” I said.
“I thought Lilly wanted to be president,” Michael said. “Not you.”
“She does,” I said. “But now…well, I sort of don’t want to give it up.”
Michael raised his eyebrows. Then he let out a low whistle.
“Wow,” he said. “Mind if I’m not
around when you explain that to her?”
“No,” I said. “That’s okay.”
Then I froze. Wait…if he didn’t want to be around when I explained to Lilly that I had no intention of stepping down from the presidency, did that mean…
That had to mean that…
Suddenly, my poor, shriveled heart seemed to be showing some signs of life.
“Pie’s up,” the guy behind the counter said.
So, Michael got up and got the pizza and our three sodas—he’d also gotten one for Lars, who was sitting at a table on the other side of the restaurant, pretending to be very interested in the Dr. Phil episode the guy behind the counter was watching on the TV hanging from the ceiling—and brought them back to the booth.
I didn’t know what else to do. So, I pulled a slice from the pie, slapped it onto a paper plate, and brought it over to Lars, along with his soda. It’s no joke, having to worry about your bodyguard all the time.
Then, I went and sat back down and pulled my own slice onto a plate, and carefully sprinkled hot pepper flakes all over it.
Michael, as was his custom, merely picked up a slice—seemingly oblivious to the fact that it was steaming hot—folded it in half, and took a big bite.
His hands, as he did this, looked alarmingly…large. Why had I never noticed this before? How large Michael’s hands are?
Then, after he’d swallowed, he said, “Look. I don’t want to fight about this.”
I glanced up at him kind of sharply, on account of having been staring at his hands. I wasn’t sure what he meant by “this.” Did he mean about Lilly and the presidency? Or did he mean—
“All I want to know is,” he went on, in a sort of tired voice, “are we EVER going to Do It?”
Okay. Not Lilly and the presidency.
I practically choked on the tiny bite of pizza I’d taken, and had to swallow about a gallon of Coke before I was able to say, “OF COURSE.”
But Michael looked suspicious.
“Before the end of this decade?”
“Absolutely,” I said, with more conviction than I necessarily felt. But, you know. What else could I say? Plus, my face was as red as the pizza sauce. I know because I saw my reflection in the napkin holder.
