by Meg Cabot
“Mia,” my mom said. “Michael is not going to break up with you just because you have a familial commitment you cannot get out of.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I said darkly. “Dave Farouq El-Abar broke up with Tina today because she didn’t return his call.”
“That’s different,” my mom said. “It’s just plain rude not to return someone’s calls.”
“But Mom,” I said. I was getting tired of having to explain this stuff to my mom all the time. It is a wonder to me she ever got a single guy in the first place, let alone two of them, when she clearly knows so little about the art of dating. “If you are too available, the guy might think all the thrill has gone out of the chase.”
My mother looked suspicious. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Your grandmother told you that?”
“Um,” I said. “Yes.”
“Well, let me give you a little tip my mother once gave me,” my mom said. I was surprised. My mom doesn’t get along so well with her parents, so it is rare that she mentions either of them ever giving her a piece of advice worthy of passing down to her own daughter.
“If you think there’s a chance you might have to cancel on Michael for Friday night,” she said, “you’d better cat-on-the-roof him now.”
I was understandably perplexed by this. “Cat on the whatta?”
“Cat on the roof,” my mother said. “You need to begin mentally preparing him for the disappointment. For instance, if something had happened to Fat Louie while you were in Genovia—” My mouth must have fallen open, since my mom went, “Don’t worry, nothing did. But I’m just saying, if something had, I would not just have blurted it right out to you, over the phone. I’d have prepared you gently for the eventual letdown. Like I might have said, ‘Mia, Fat Louie escaped through your window, and now he’s up on the roof, and we can’t get him down.’”
“Of course you could get him down,” I protested. “You could go up by the fire escape and take a pillowcase and when you get near him, you could throw the pillowcase over him and scoop him up and carry him back down again.”
“Yes,” my mom said. “But supposing I told you I’d try that. And the next day I called you and said it hadn’t worked, Fat Louie had escaped to the neighbor’s roof—”
“I’d tell you to go to the building next door and make someone let you in, then go up to their roof.” I really did not see where this was going. “Mom, how could you be so irresponsible as to let Fat Louie out in the first place? I’ve told you again and again, you’ve got to keep my bedroom window closed, you know how he likes to watch the pigeons. Louie doesn’t have any outdoor survival skills—”
“So naturally,” my mom said, “you wouldn’t expect him to survive two nights out of doors.”
“No,” I practically wailed. “I wouldn’t.”
“Right. See. So you’d be mentally prepared when I called you on the third day to say despite everything we’d done, Louie was dead.”
“OH, MY GOD!” I snatched up Fat Louie from where he was lying beside me on the bed. “And you think I should do that to poor Michael? He has a dog, not a cat! Pavlov’s never going to get up on the roof!”
“No,” my mother said, looking tired. Well, and why not? Her life’s essence was being slowly devoured by the insatiable fetus growing inside her. “I’m saying you should begin mentally preparing Michael for the disappointment he is going to feel if indeed you need to cancel on him Friday night. Call him and tell him you might not be able to make it. That’s all. Cat-on-the-roof him.”
I let Fat Louie go. Not just because I finally realized what my mom was getting at, but because he was trying to bite me in order to get me to loosen the stranglehold I had on him.
“Oh,” I said. “You think if I do that—start mentally preparing him for my not being able to go out with him on Friday—he won’t dump me when I get around to breaking the actual news?”
“Mia,” my mom said. “No boy is going to dump you because you have to cancel a date. If any boy does, then he wasn’t worth going out with anyway. Much like Tina’s Dave, I’d venture to say. She’s probably better off without him. Now, do your homework.”
Only how could anyone expect me to do my homework after receiving a piece of information like that?
Instead I went online. I meant to instant message Michael, but instead, I found that Tina was instant messaging me.
ILUVROMANCE: Hi, Mia. What R U doing?
She sounded so sad! She was even using a blue font!
FT LOUIE: I’m just doing my Bio. How are you?
ILUVROMANCE: OK, I guess. I just miss him so much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I wish I had never even heard of stupid Jane Eyre.
Remembering what my mom had said, I wrote
FT LOUIE: Tina, if Dave was willing to break up with you just because you didn’t return his calls, then he was not worthy of you. You will find a new boy, one who appreciates you.
ILUVROMANCE: Do U really think so?
FT LOUIE: Absolutely.
ILUVROMANCE: But where am I going to find a boy who appreC8s me at AEHS? All the boys who go there are morons. Except MM of course.
FT LOUIE: Don’t worry, we’ll find someone for you. I have to go IM my dad now—
I didn’t want to tell her that the person I really had to IM was Michael. I didn’t want to rub it in that I had a boyfriend and she didn’t. Also, I hoped she didn’t remember that in Genovia, where my dad was, it was four o’clock in the morning. Also that the Palais de Genovia isn’t exactly state-of-the-art, technologically speaking.
FT LOUIE: —so TTYL.
ILUVROMANCE: OK, bye. If U feel like chatting later, I’ll be here. I have nowhere else to go.
Poor, sweet Tina! She is clearly prostrate with grief. Really, if you think about it, she is well rid of Dave. If he wanted to leave her for this Jasmine girl so badly, he could have let her down gently by cat-on-the-roofing her. If he was any kind of gentleman, he would have. But it was all too clear now that Dave was no gentleman at all.
I’m glad my boyfriend is different. Or at least, I hope he is. No, wait—of course he is. He’s MICHAEL.
FT LOUIE: Hey!
LINUX RULZ: Hey back atcha! Where have you been?
FT LOUIE: Princess lessons.
LINUX RULZ: Don’t you know everything there is to know about being a princess yet?
FT LOUIE: Apparently not. Grandmère’s got me in for some fine tuning. Speaking of which, is there,like, a later showing of Star Warsthan the seven o’clock?
LINUX RULZ: Yeah, there’s an eleven. Why?
FT LOUIE: Oh, nothing.
LINUX RULZ: WHY?
But see here was the part where I couldn’t do it. Maybe because of the capital letters, or maybe because my conversation with Tina was still too fresh in my mind. The unparalleled sadness in her blue U s was just too much for me. I know I should have just come right out and told him about the ball thingie right then and there, only I couldn’t go through with it. All I could think about was how incredibly smart and gifted Michael is, and what a pathetic talentless freak I am, and how easy it would be for him to go out and find someone worthier of his attentions.
So instead, I wrote
FT LOUIE: I’ve been trying to think of some names for your band.
LINUX RULZ: What does that have to do with whether or not there’s a later showing of Star WarsFriday night?
FT LOUIE: Well, nothing, I guess. Except what do you think of Michael and the Wookiees?
LINUX RULZ : I think maybe you’ve been playing with Fat Louie’s catnip mouse again.
FT LOUIE : Ha ha. OK, how about the Ewoks?
LINUX RULZ: The EWOKS? Where did your grandma take you today when she hauled you out of homeroom? Electric shock therapy?
FT LOUIE: I’m only trying to help.
LINUX RULZ : I know, sorry. Only I don’t think the guys would really enjoy being equated with furry little muppets from the planet Endor. I mean, I know one of them is Boris, but even he would
draw the line at Ewoks, I hope—
FT LOUIE : BORIS PELKOWSKI IS IN YOUR BAND????
LINUX RULZ: Yeah. Why?
FT LOUIE: Nothing.
All I can say is, if I had a band, I would not let Boris in it. I mean, I know he is a talented musician and all, but he is also a mouth breather. I think it’s great that he and Lilly get along so great, and for short periods of time, I can totally put up with him and even have a nice time with him and all. But I would not let him be in my band. Not unless he stopped tucking his sweaters into his pants.
LINUX RULZ: Boris isn’t so bad, once you get to know him.
FT LOUIE : I know. He just doesn’t seem like the band type. All that Bartok.
LINUX RULZ : He plays a mean bluegrass, you know. Not that we’ll be playing any bluegrass in the band.
This was comforting to know.
LINUX RULZ : So will your grandmother let you off on time?
I genuinely had no idea what he was talking about.
FT LOUIE :What????
LINUX RULZ : On Friday. You’ve got princess lessons, right? That’s why you were asking about later showings of the movie, wasn’t it? You’re worried your grandmother isn’t going to let you out on time?
This is where I screwed up. You see, he had offered me the perfect out—I could have said, “Yes, I am,” and chances were, he’d have been like, “Okay, well, let’s make it another time, then.”
BUT WHAT IF THERE WERE NO OTHER TIME????
What if Michael, like Dave, just blew me off and found some other girl to take to the show????
So instead, I went
FT LOUIE : No, it will be okay. I think I can get off early.
WHY AM I SO STUPID???? WHY DID I WRITE THAT???? Because of COURSE I won’t be able to get off early, I will be at the stupid black-and-white ball ALL NIGHT!!!!!
I swear, I am such an idiot, I don’t even deserve to have a boyfriend.
Thursday, January 22, Homeroom
This morning at breakfast, Mr. G was all, “Has anyone seen my brown corduroy pants?” and my mom, who had set her alarm so that she could wake up early enough to possibly catch my dad on a break between Parliament sessions (no such luck) went, “No, but has anyone seen my Free Winona T-shirt?”
And then I went, “Well, I still haven’t found my Queen Amidala underwear.”
And that’s when we all realized it: Someone had stolen our laundry.
It is really the only explanation for it. I mean, we send our laundry out to the Thompson Street laundry-by-the-pound place, and then they do it for us and deliver it all folded and stuff. Since we don’t have a doorman, generally the bag just sits in the vestibule until one of us picks it up and drags it up the three flights of stairs to the loft.
Only apparently no one has seen the bag of laundry we dropped off the day before I left for Genovia! (I guess I am the only one in my family who pays attention to things like laundry—clearly because I am the talentless one, and have nothing deeper to think about than clean underwear.)
Which can only mean that one of those freaky news reporters (who regularly go through our garbage, much to the chagrin of Mr. Molina, our building’s superintendent) found our bag of laundry, and any minute we can expect a groundbreaking news story on the front cover of the Post : OUT OF THE CLOSET : WHAT PRINCESS MIA WEARS , AND WHAT IT
MEANS , ACCORDING TO OUR EXPERTS .
AND THEN THE WHOLE WORLD WILL FIND OUT THAT I WEAR QUEEN AMIDALA PANTIES!
I mean, it is not like I go around advertising that I have Star Wars underwear, or even that I have any kind of lucky panties at all. And by rights, I should have taken my Queen Amidala underwear with me to Genovia, for luck on my Christmas Eve address to my people. If I had, maybe I wouldn’t have gone off on that parking-meter tangent.
But whatever, I had been too caught up in the whole Michael thing, and had completely forgotten.
And now it looks like someone has gotten hold of my special lucky underwear, and the next thing you know, it will be showing up on eBay! Seriously! Who is to say a pair of my panties wouldn’t sell like hotcakes? Especially the fact that they are Queen Amidala panties.
I am so, so dead.
Mom has already called the Sixth Precinct to report the theft, but those guys are too busy tracking down real criminals to go after a laundry swiper. They practically laughed her off the phone.
It is all very well for her and Mr. G; all they lost were regular clothes. I am the only one who lost underwear. Worse, my lucky underwear. I fully understand that the men and women who fight crime in this city have more important things to do than look for my underwear.
But the way things have been going, I really, really need all the good luck I can get.
Thursday, January 22, Algebra
THINGS TO DO
Have Genovian ambassador to the UN call the CIA. See if they can dispatch some agents to track down my underwear (if it falls into the wrong hands, there could be an international incident!).
Get cat food!!!!!
Check on Mom’s folic acid intake.
Tell Michael I will not be able to make first date with him.
Prepare to be dumped.
Defn: Square root of perfect sq is either of the identical factors.
Defn: Positive sq root is called the principle sq root. Negative numbers have no sq root.
Thursday, January 22, Health and Safety
Did you see that? They are meeting at Cosi for lunch!
Yes. He so loves her.
It’s so cute when teachers are in love.
So are you nervous about your breakfast meeting tomorrow?
Hardly. THEY are the ones who should be nervous.
Are you going all by yourself? Your mom and dad aren’t going with you, are they?
Please. I can handle a bunch of movie executives on my own, thanks. How can they keep stuffing this infantile swill down our throats, year after year? Don’t they think we know by now that tobacco kills? Hey, did you get all your homework done, or were you up all night IMing my brother instead?
Both.
You two are so cute, it makes me want to puke. Almost as cute as Mr. Wheeton and Mademoiselle Klein.
Shut up.
God, this is boring. Want to make another list?
Okay, you start.
LILLY MOSCOVITZ’S GUIDE TO WHAT’S HOT AND WHAT’S NOT ON TV(with commentary by Mia Thermopolis)
7th Heaven
Lilly: A complex look at one family’s struggles to maintain christian mores in an ever-evolving, modern-day society. Fairly well acted and occasionally moving, this show can turn “preachy,” but does depict the problems facing normal families with surprising realism, and only occasionally sinks to the banal.
Mia: Even though the dad is a minister and everyone has to learn a lesson at the end of every episode, this show is pretty good. High point: When the Olsen twins guest starred. Low point: When the show’s cosmetologist gave the youngest girl straight hair.
Popstars
Lilly: A ridiculous attempt to pander to the lowest common denominator, this show puts its young stars through a humiliatingly public “audition,” then zeroes in as the losers cry and winners gloat.
Mia: They take a bunch of attractive people who can sing and dance and make them audition for a place in a pop group, and some of them get it and some of them don’t, and the ones who do are instant celebrities who then crack up, all while wearing interesting and generally navel-baring outfits. How could this show be bad?
Sabrina the Teenage Witch
Lilly: Though based on comic-book characters, this show is surprisingly affable, and even occasionally amusing. Although, sadly, actual Wiccan practices are not described. The show could benefit from some research into the ages old religion that has, through the centuries, empowered millions, primarily females. The talking cat is a bit suspect: I have not read any believable documentation that would support the possibility of transfiguration.
Mia: Totally awesome dur
ing the high school/Harvey years. Good-bye Harvey = good-bye show.
Baywatch
Lilly: Puerile garbage.
Mia: Most excellent show of all time. Everyone is good-looking; you can fully follow every plotline even while instant messaging; and there are lots of pictures of the beach, which is great when you are in dark, gloomy Manhattan in February. Best episode: When Pamela Anderson got kidnapped by that half man/half beast, who after plastic surgery became a professor at UCLA. Worst episode: Anytime Mitch adopts a son.
Powerpuff Girls
Lilly: Best show on television.
Mia: Ditto. ’Nough said.
Roswell
Lilly: Now, sadly, canceled, this show offered an intriguing look at the possibility that aliens live among us. The fact that they might be teenagers, and extraordinarily attractive ones, at that, stretches the show’s credibility somewhat.
Mia: Hot guys with alien powers. What more can you ask? High point: Future Max; any time anybody made out in the eraser room. Low point: When that skanky Tess showed up. Oh, and when it got canceled.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Lilly: Feminist empowerment at its peak, entertainment at its best. The heroine is a lean, mean, vampire-killing machine, who worries as much about her immortal soul as she does about messing up her hair. A strong role model for young women—nay, people of both genders and all ages will benefit from the viewing of this show. All of television should be this good. The fact that this show has, for so long, been ignored by the Emmys is a travesty.
