by Meg Cabot
When is Lilly going to realize that she’ll never find the emotional fulfillment she’s looking for in a relationship that’s based on pure physical attraction? I mean, what kind of muay thai fighter can keep up with Lilly on an intellectual basis? She’s going to toss him to the curb as soon as he opens his mouth.
It’s sad, really. You would think the daughter of two psychoanalysts would be able to recognize her own pathology for what it is.
But I guess since Lilly’s not in formal therapy, like I am, she thinks she doesn’t have a problem.
Ha!
Which reminds me—school tomorrow.
And I haven’t done any of my make-up work.
I wonder if I can get a note from Dr. Knutz? Please excuse Mia from her homework. She is depressed. Sincerely, Dr. Arthur T. Knutz.
Yeah. That’d go over great. Especially with Ms. Martinez—
OH MY GOD. Another e-mail from Michael just popped into my inbox.
Okay, I have got to stop having a panic attack every time this happens. I mean, we’re friends now. He’s going to write to me. I’ve got to stop losing it when he does. I’ve got to be normal. I can’t keep hyperventilating just because he’s reached out to me through cyberspace.
I’m sure he’s not writing because he’s realized what an awful, terrible mistake he’s made, saying he just wanted to be friends, and that he wants to get back together. I’m sure that’s not it at all. I’m sure he’s just wondering why I never replied to his last e-mail.
Or maybe I’m on some kind of forward list of his, and this is just some update on his eternal quest for an egg sandwich in Japan, or whatever.
Well. I guess I better click on it, or I’ll never know.
Maybe I’ll just wait for my heart rate to go down a little….
SKINNERBX: Dear Mia,
Hey, heard you had bronchitis. That sucks. Hope you’re feeling better now.
Things here are still good. We’re already working hard on the first stage of the robotic arm—or Charlie, as we’re calling it. I’m even starting to get used to the food, though baby squid isn’t really my idea of a snack. I understand my sister’s been giving you a hard time. You know how Lilly is, Mia. She’ll get over it eventually. You just have to give her space.
I know you’re feeling under the weather and probably swamped with homework and princess stuff, but if you get a chance, I’d love to hear from you.
Michael
Oh…God.
After I spent about half an hour crying over this e-mail, I deleted it without replying.
Because, I mean, seriously. I can’t be friends with him.
I just can’t.
I’d rather have the plague.
Monday, September 20, French
Mia—what is that you’re reading?
It’s nothing, Tina. Just a journal belonging to one of my ancestresses.
Does it have a hot romance in it????
Um…not really. It’s actually kind of boring. Right now she’s just drafting some kind of executive order based on something she read in the palace library. Not that it’s going to do anybody any good. She, along with almost everybody else in the palace, dies of the plague at the end.
That doesn’t sound like your kind of read at all!
Yeah, I know. I don’t know what’s come over me lately.
Well, a lot’s been going on. Naturally, you’re growing and changing with the times. Speaking of growing—is that your new uniform?
Oh, yeah, it is. Thank God it came. I thought I was going to suffocate in that old one. Although I guess it wasn’t nearly as bad as the corsets they made my ancestress wear. Hey, did you hear Lilly was out this weekend with her mystery muay thai fighter man?
No! Who’d you hear that from?
Uh, I forget. Anyway, T, this is serious. You have to find out the 411 on this guy! Lilly could get seriously hurt.
I don’t know, I’m not exactly Lilly’s favorite person these days either. It’s like she hates me for still hanging out with you. You might have better luck with Kenny in your Chem class.
Right. I’m on it. Oh my God, did you know that in the 1600s people wore the lice they’d picked off you in lockets as a sign of affection?
Gross! I’m glad we have Kay Jewelers instead.
Seriously.
Monday, September 20, G & T
You know, I really didn’t think things could get any worse than my boyfriend dumping me and my best friend deciding I’m a cheating ho and refusing to speak to me anymore. Oh, and someone starting a website about what a dork I am and how much they hate me.
Then Lana Weinberger decided she’s my new best friend.
Look. I’m not saying I can’t use any more friends. Because God knows, I can.
But I’m just not sure I’m ready to have QUITE AS MANY FRIENDS as I apparently have now.
Especially since all I really want to do is get back in my bed and stay there.
Preferably forever.
But no. Clearly this is asking way, way too much.
Because today at lunch, when I went to sit down by Tina and Boris and J.P., I was astonished to find Lana and Trisha had put their trays down beside mine as well.
“Oh my God,” Lana said, when she saw what I was having for lunch. “Are you eating the corn dog? Do you have any idea how many carbs are in that? No wonder you’ve gone up a size. Hey, are those the new earrings you got Saturday? They look cute.”
Oh, yes. I was outed:
Outed as being a Friend of Lana.
Well, whatever. I mean, she’s not THAT bad. Sure, we’ve had our differences in the past.
But she does have some really great tips on how to stop biting your nails (put Sally Hansen Hard As Nails on them every night without fail before bed, and afterward, an olive oil cuticle rub).
Tina was staring at Lana with her mouth hanging open in astonishment, causing Trisha to say, “Take a picture, sweetie, it’ll last longer,” then remark that she liked the way Tina does her eyeliner, and asked if wearing it that way was part of her religion, or what.
This caused Tina to choke on her tuna salad.
“So do any of you have Schuyler for Precalc?” Lana wanted to know. “Because I don’t have a freaking clue what’s going on in that class.”
To which Boris replied, looking pained, “Um…I do.”
And then he spent the rest of the lunch period helping Lana with her homework, while Tina spent the rest of the lunch period showing Trisha how she does her eyes, and J.P. spent the rest of the lunch period smirking into his chili (sans corn).
All I wanted to do was read my translation of Amelie’s journal. But I couldn’t, because I was worried about how that might look. You know, that it might appear antisocial.
And I have enough strikes against me at the moment without “antisocial” being added to the list.
I did notice Lilly giving me a very dirty look over her shoulder as she went to take her tray up to the counter.
But that might have been because I was letting Lana put mini barrettes in my hair and Lilly has a thing about personal grooming in the caf.
Monday, September 20, Chemistry
J.P. wants to know how, merely by going shopping with Lana, I became one of the In Crowd.
I told him Lana and I didn’t merely go shopping: We went bra shopping.
To which J.P. replied, “Please tell me all about it. And I mean all.”
But I was too busy reading about Princess Amelie. Uncle Francesco busted into the palace library and ordered all the books there burned, just to be mean, I’m sure, because he happened to know Amelie really liked them, not because he seriously believed they were contributing to the spread of the disease.
As if that weren’t upsetting enough, he also threw the drafts of the executive order she’d so carefully penned and signed—and had witnessed, which was no joke, since it was hard to find two living people in the palace to witness the signing of a document—into the fire. Even though Amelie explained
to him that whatever it was she’d drawn up had been for the good of the Genovian people! Whom she did not believe he cared about. Especially since they were dropping like flies, and yet he was still allowing foreign ships to dock in the port, which only seemed to be bringing more disease into the country…not to mention spreading it back to the towns the ships had come from, on their return trips.
Amelie accused her uncle of only caring about whether or not the olive oil got delivered. To Uncle Francesco, it was always about the olive oil. And the crown, of course.
But no! He thought burning books (and executive orders) was the answer to all their problems!
I really wanted to keep reading because things were finally getting good with poor Amelie (or bad, as the case might be).
But Kenny yelled at me that if I wasn’t going to help with the experiment, I could just accept the zero I deserved.
So I’m stirring. Which would explain why my handwriting looks so bad.
Monday, September 20, the loft
Even though I am still in the depths of despair and all, I was actually kind of excited after school today because
No princess lessons
Even though I have no TV, I have something totally excellent to read.
I fully intended to take off my school uniform, put on my sweats, curl up in bed, and read about my ancestress.
But my (admittedly mild) excitement was short-lived, due to walking into the loft and finding Mr. G at the dining room table with all of the assignments that I missed last week.
“Sit,” he said, holding out a chair.
So I sat.
And now we’re tackling all my make-up work. One class at a time.
This is so unfair.
Monday, September 20, 11 p.m., the loft
Oh my God, I am so tired. And we’re not even halfway caught up with everything.
What is the POINT of piling so much work on us? Don’t they know that all they are doing is breaking our already fragile spirits? Is this really what the powers-that-be want? A generation of wounded, broken souls?
No wonder so many teens turn to drugs. I would, too, if I weren’t so tired. And I could find some.
So, it turns out Uncle Francesco didn’t appreciate Amelie saying he didn’t care about the people of Genovia. He told her that if she really cared about the people of Genovia, she’d step down and let him rule. Because she’s just a girl who doesn’t have any idea what she’s doing.
!!!!!!!!!!!!
But I guess Amelie had more of an idea about what she was doing than she let on, because she drew up ANOTHER executive order—this one was to close all Genovian roads and ports. No one was allowed in or out of the country. She did this because she thought it might do a little more to reduce the spread of the plague than burning all the books in the country.
Ha! Take that, Francesco, you loser!
Also, she had the best mousers in the city brought to the palace. Because she couldn’t help noticing that there’d been no outbreaks of the disease in places where there were cats—like back at the convent, where she’d left Agnès-Claire.
For a girl who’d lived in the 1600s back when they didn’t know what germs were, Princess Amelie was pretty smart.
Oh, and she had her uncle thrown out of the castle.
Man. And I thought MY family was dysfunctional.
Tuesday, September 21, Intro to Creative Writing
My relatives turn out not to be the only ones conspiring against me. The minute I walked into school today, Principal Gupta was waiting for me. She crooked her finger at me to follow her into her office. Lars and I exchanged panicky looks, like—Uh-oh! I couldn’t figure out what we’d done now.
Or what I’d done, anyway. I was sure Principal Gupta must have found out about the time I pulled the fire alarm when there wasn’t really a fire. True, that was a year ago, but maybe that’s how long it had taken them to go through all the video surveillance of the hallways or something….
But it turned out to have nothing to do with that. Instead, she confiscated my journal.
I am writing this in my Chemistry notebook right now.
Principal Gupta said, “Mia, I understand you’re going through a rough time right now. But your grades are slipping. You’re a junior in high school. Soon colleges will be looking at your transcripts.”
I wanted to point out to her what she and everyone else knows perfectly well: that I am going to get into every college I apply to. Because I’m a princess. I wish it weren’t true. But it is. I mean, even Trisha knows it.
“I understand from Mrs. Potts,” Principal Gupta went on, “that you were even writing in your journal during physical education class the other day. This can’t go on. You can’t expect to be able to slide by just because you’re a minor celebrity, Mia.”
Talk about unfair! I have never tried to slide by on my celebrity, however minor!
“Consider writing in your journal during class verboten from this moment on,” Principal Gupta said. “I am holding on to your journal—don’t worry, I will NOT read it—until classes let out for the day. You may have it back then. And kindly do NOT bring it to school again tomorrow. Is that understood?”
What could I say? I mean…she’s not wrong.
She’s instructed all of my teachers to take away any paper they catch me writing on, unless it’s class-related. I am only getting away with writing this because Ms. Martinez thinks it’s the creative writing assignment she just gave us, to describe a moment that touched us deeply.
You know what moment touched me deeply?
When Principal Gupta locked my journal in the school safe. It was like being gutted with a Bic disposable pen.
Tuesday, September 21, English
Mia—Where’s your journal????
I don’t want to talk about it.
Oh. Okay. I’m sorry!
No, I’m sorry. That was rude. It’s just—Principal Gupta took it away. Because my grades are slipping.
Oh, Mia! That’s terrible!
No, it’s not. It’s my own fault. I’m not supposed to be passing notes, either. All of the teachers are supposed to take away anything they see me writing on that’s not class-related. So look out.
We’ll be careful,, then. Anyway, I wanted to say—that was kind of weird yesterday at lunch, huh? I didn’t know you and Lana had become such good friends! When did that happen? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking?
No, it’s okay. I should have told you. I just felt weird about it. I know she’s been really mean to you in the past, and I didn’t—well, I just didn’t want you to hate me.
Mia! I could never hate you! You know that!
Thanks, Tina. But you’re the only one.
What are you talking about? No one could ever hate you!
Uh…A lot of people hate me, actually. And Lilly REALLY hates me.
Oh. Well. LILLY. You know why she hates you.
Right. Your J.P. theory. Which is wrong. Anyway, I’m supposed to give this speech at the end of the week for this charity function Lana’s mother’s in charge of, and one thing led to another, and…she really isn’t that bad, you know. I mean, she’s BAD. But not AS BAD as we previously thought. I think. Do you know what I mean?
I think so. At least, when she says snarky things, it seems like she just doesn’t know better rather than, like, that she means to be hurtful.
I know. Kind of like Lindsay Lohan.
Exactly! Still. I don’t think Lilly’s too happy about it.
What do you mean? Did she say something about me?
Well, she doesn’t speak to ME anymore, either, since I’m friends with you, so no, she didn’t say anything to me. But I saw her giving you dirty looks across the caf.
Oh, yeah. I saw those, too. I—
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
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I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
I will not pass notes in class.
Tuesday, September 21, Lunch
I apologized NONSTOP to Tina for getting her in trouble in English. Thank GOD our note didn’t get read out loud. That is the only good thing.
Tina says not to worry about it, that it’s nothing.
But it’s NOT nothing. I can’t believe I am dragging my friends down with me. It’s just WRONG, and I’ve got to STOP.
Anyway, they can’t stop me from writing at LUNCH. Even if I have to do it in my Chemistry notebook.
Though it’s very hard to write with Lana jostling me every minute and going, “Wait, so Gupta says you need to work harder if you want to get into college? Oh my God, that is so easily rectified. Just join the Spirit Squad. Seriously, we don’t even DO anything, except have bake sales, like, every five weeks. Oooh, or I know! You could join Hola—the Spanish Club? We just sit around and watch movies in Spanish. Like that one where the hot guys fight to the death with the hams. Well, we didn’t really watch that one in class because it was too sexy, Trisha and I watched that one at home for extra credit. Oh, or the dance committee! We’re working on the Cultural Diversity Dance right now! It’s going to be so rockin’ this year, we’re trying to get an actual band instead of a DJ for a change. Or there’s peer tutoring. Oh my God, I’m tutoring the cutest little second grader right now. I totally taught her to stay within the lines with her eyeshadow.”
I was just like, “Um. You know, I already have a lot going on, with the princess stuff. And the school paper.”
