Also by Meg Cabot
The Princess Diaries
The Princess Diaries: Take Two
The Princess Diaries: Third Time Lucky
The Princess Diaries: Mia Goes Fourth
All American Girl
Nicola and the Viscount
Look out for:
The Princess Diaries: Six Appeal
Grave Doubts: The Mediator
Victoria and the Rogue
And for older readers:
The Guy Next Door
ISBN 0 330 42046 1 Copyright © Meg Cabot 2003
The Princess Diaries:
Give Me Five
Meg Cabot
Many thanks to the usual suspects: Beth Ader,
Jennifer Brown, Barb Cabot, Sarah Davies, Laura Langlie,
Abby McAden, David Walton and especially Benjamin Egnatz.
'It's true,' she said. 'Sometimes I do pretend I am a princess.
I pretend I am a princess, so that I can try and behave like one.'
A Little Princess
Frances Hodgson Burnett
Senior Week
by Josh Richter, Senior Class President
The week of May 5-10 is Senior Week. This is the time to honour this year's AEHS graduating class, who have worked so hard to show you leadership throughout the year. The Senior Week Events Calendar goes like this:
Monday
Senior
Awards Banquet
Tuesday
Senior
Sports
Banquet
Wednesday
Senior Debate
Thursday
Senior
Skit Nite
Friday
Senior
Skip Day
Saturday
Senior Prom
A Note From Your Principal:
Senior Skip Day is not an event sanctioned by school administration. All students are required to attend classes Friday 9 May. In addition, the request made by certain members of the freshman class to lift the sanction against underclassmen attending the prom unless invited by an upperclassman is denied.
Notice to all Students:
It has come to the attention of the administration that many pupils do not seem to know the proper words to the AEHS School Song. They are as follows:
Einstein Lions, we're for you Come on, be bold, come on,
be bold, come on, be bold Einstein Lions,
we're for you Blue and gold, blue and gold, blue and gold
Einstein Lions, we're for you
We've got a team no one else can ever tame
Einstein Lions, we're for you
Let's win this game!
Please note that at this year's graduation ceremony, any student caught singing alternative (particularly explicit and/or suggestive) words to the AEHS School Song will be removed from the premises. Complaints that the AEHS School Song
is too militaristic must be submitted in writing to the AEHS administrative office, not scrawled on toilet doors or discussed
on any student's public access television programme.
Letters to the Editor:
To Whom it May Concern:
Melanie Greenbaum's article in last week's issue of The Atom on the strides the women's movement has made in the past
three decades was laughably facile. Sexism is still alive and well, not only around the world, but in our own country. In Utah,
for instance, polygamous marriages involving brides as young as eleven years of age are thriving, practised by fundamentalist Mormons who continue to live by traditions their ancestors brought west in the mid-1800s. The number of people in polygamous families in Utah is estimated by human rights groups at perhaps as many as 50,000, despite the fact that polygamy is not tolerated by the mainstream Mormon church, and also that the enforcement of tough penalties in the case of underage brides can sentence a polygamous husband or church leader arranging such a marriage to up to fifteen years in prison.
I am not telling other cultures how to live, or anything. I am just saying take off the rose-coloured spectacles, Ms Greenbaum, and write an article about some of the real problems that affect half the population of this planet. The staff of The Atom might well consider giving some of their other writers a chance to report on these issues, instead of relegating them to the cafeteria beat. Lilly Moscovitz
AEHS Food Court Menu
compiled by Mia Thermopolis
Monday
Potato Bar
Fr.Bread Pizza
Fish Fingers
Meatball Sub
Spicy Chix Tuesday
Soup & Sand.
Chicken Pattie
Tuna in Pitta
Indiv. Pizza
Nachos Delux Wednesday
Taco
Salad Bar
Burrito
Corndog/Pickle
Deli Bar
Italian Beef
Thursday
Asian Bar
Chicken Pharm.
Corn/FF
Pasta Bar
Fish Stix Friday
Bean bar
Grilled Cheese
Curly Fries
Buffalo Bites
Soft Pretzel
Take out your own personal ad!
Available to AEHS students at 50 cents/line
Happy Ad
Happy Birthday, Reggie!
Sweet Sixteen At Last!
The Helens
Found: one pair glasses, wire frames,
the Gifted and Talented classroom.
Describe to claim. See Mrs Hill
Happy Ad
Go to the prom with me, CF?
Please say yes.
GD
Lost: Spiral notebook in caf., on or about 4/27.
Read and DIE! Reward for safe return.
Locker No. 510
Happy Ad
Happy Birthday in advance, MT!
Love,
Your Loyal Subjects
Happy Ad
Shop at Ho's Deli for all your school supply needs!
New this week: ERASERS, STAPLES, NOTEBOOKS, PENS.
Also Yu-Gi-Oh cards, Slimfast in Strawberry
For Sale:
One Fender precision bass, baby-blue, never been played.
With amp, how-to videos. 0. Locker No. 345
Looking for Love:
Female frosh, loves romance reading, wants older boy who
enjoys same. Must be taller than 5'8", no mean people,
non-smokers only. NO METALHEADS.
Email: Iluvromance@aehs.edu
Happy Ad
Personal to MK from MW:
My love for you Like a flower grows
Where it will stop No one knows.
Wednesday, April 30, Bio.
Mia - Did you see the latest issue of The Atom?
I know, Shameeka, I just got my copy. I wish Lilly would stop mentioning me in her letters to the editor. I mean, as
the only freshman on the newspaper staff, I have to pay my dues. Lesley Cho, the editor-in-chief, got her start on the cafeteria beat. I am TOTALLY FINE with covering the lunch menu every week.
Well, I think Lilly just feels if your goal really is to be a writer someday, you aren't going to get there writing about Buffalo Bites!
That is not true. I have made some very important innovations in the lunch column. For instance, it was my idea to capitalize the T in Individual Pizza.
Lilly is only looking out for your best interests.
Whatever. Melanie Greenbaum is on the girls' basketball team. She could fully slam-dunk me if she wanted to. I
don't think Lilly antagonizing her is in my best interests.
So...
So what?
So has he asked you yet?????
Has who asked me what?
HAS MICHAEL ASKED YOU TO THE PROM???????
Oh. No.
Mia, the prom is in less than TWO WEEKS! Jeff asked me a MONTH ago. How are you going to get your dress in
time if you don't find out soon whether or not you're going? Plus you have to make an appointment to get your hair and nails done, and get the boutonniere, and he has to rent the limo and his tux and make dinner reservations. This
is not pizza at Bowlmore Lanes, you know. It's dinner and dancing at Maxim's! It's serious!
I'm sure Michael is going to ask me soon. He has a lot on his mind, what with the new band and college in the autumn and all.
Well, you better light a fire under him. Because you don't want to end up having him ask at the last minute. Because then if you say yes it'll be like you were waiting around for him to ask.
Hello, Michael and I are going out. It's not like I'm going to go with somebody else. As if anybody else would ask me.
I mean, I'm not YOU, Shameeka. I don't have all these senior guys lined up at my locker, just waiting for a chance to ask me out. Not that I would. Go out with another guy, I mean. If one asked. Because I love Michael with every fibre
of my being.
Well, I hope he asks you soon, because I don't want to be the only freshman girl at the prom! Who will I hang with in the Ladies' Room?
Don't worry. I'll be there. Oops. What was that about ice-worms?
They differ from earthworms in that they . . .
The Ice-Worm
by Mia Thermopolis*
Contrary to popular opinion, glaciers do not just support life above and below them, but also within them.
Recently, scientists discovered the existence of worms that live inside ice - even mounds of methane ice on the floor of the Gulf of Mexico. These creatures, called ice-worms, are one to two inches long and live off the chemosynthetic bacteria that grows on the methane, or are otherwise living symbiotically with them . . .
*Mr Sturgess, the notes Shameeka and I were passing were fully class-related. I swear. But whatever.
Only 70 words. 180 to go.
HOW CAN I THINK ABOUT ICE-WORMS WHEN MY BOYFRIEND HASN'T ASKED ME
TO THE PROM???????
Wednesday, April 30, Health and Safety
M - Why do you look like you just swallowed a sock?
Because, Lilly, the Bio sub caught Shameeka and me passing notes and assigned us both a 250-word paper on ice-worms.
So? You should look at it as an artistic challenge. Besides, 250 words is nothing for an ace journalist like yourself. You should be able to knock that out in half an hour.
Lilly, has your brother mentioned the prom to you?
Um. What?
Prom. You know. Senior Prom. The one they are holding at Maxim's a week from this Saturday. Has he mentioned
to you whether or not he's, um, planning on asking anyone?
ANYONE? Just who do you mean by ANYONE? His DOG?
You know what I mean.
Michael does not discuss things like the prom with me, Mia. Mainly what Michael discusses with me is whether or not it is my turn to empty the dishwasher, set the table, or take the wadded-up tissues down the
hall to the incinerator chute after Mom and Dad's Adult Survivors of Childhood Alien Abduction group therapy meetings.
Oh. Well, I was just wondering.
Don't worry, Mia. If Michael's going to ask anyone to the prom, it will be you.
What do you mean IF Michael's going to ask anyone to the prom?
I meant WHEN. OK? What is WITH you?
Nothing. Only that Michael is my one true love and he's graduating and so if we don't go to the prom this year I'll
never get to go. Unless we go when I'M a senior, but that won't be for THREE YEARS!!!!!!!!!!
And besides, by that time Michael might be in graduate school. He might have a beard or something!!!!! You can't
go to the prom with someone who has a BEARD.
/ can see that you're very emotional about this. Are you premenstrual or something?
NO!!!!!! I JUST WANT TO GO TO THE PROM WITH MY BOYFRIEND BEFORE HE GRADUATES AND/OR GROWS EXCESSIVE AMOUNTS OF FACIAL HAIR!!!!!!!!! IS THERE ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT??????
Whoa. You fully need to take a Midol. And rather than asking me whether or not I think my brother is going
to ask you to the prom, I think you should ask YOURSELF something, and that's why a completely outdated, pagan dance ritual is so important to you.
It's just important to me, OK????
Is this because of that time your mom wouldn't buy you the Prom Queen Glamour Gown for your Barbie,
and you had to make your own out of toilet paper?
HELLO!!!! Lilly, I would think that you might have noticed that the prom plays a key role in the socialization process
of the adolescent. I mean, look at all the movies that have been made about it:
Movies That Feature The Prom As Prominent Plot Device
by Mia Thermopolis
Pretty in Pink: Will Molly Ringwald go to the prom with the cute rich boy or the poor weird boy? Whichever one she
goes with, does she really think he's going to like that hideous pink potato sack of a dress she makes?
Ten Things I Hate About You: Julia Stiles and Heath Ledger. Was there ever a more perfect couple? I think not. It just takes the prom to prove it to them.
Valley Girl: Nicholas Cage's first starring role in a movie ever, and he plays a punk rocker who crashes a suburban mall
rat's prom. Who will she ride home with in the limo, the guy with the Members Only jacket, or the guy with the Mohawk? What happens at the prom will decide it.
Footloose: Who can forget Kevin Bacon in the immortal role of Ren, convincing the kids in the town with the no-dancing ordinance to rent a place outside of city limits so they can assert their independence by tripping the light fantastique to
Kenny Loggins?
She's All That: Rachael Leigh Cook has to go to the prom in order to prove that she is not as big a nerd as everyone
thinks she is. And then it turns out she still is, but - and this is the best part of the whole thing - Freddie Prinze Junior loves
her anyway!!!!!
Never Been Kissed: Girl reporter Drew Barrymore goes undercover to crash a masquerade prom! Her friends dress as a strand of DNA, but Drew knows better and wins the heart of the teacher she loves by dressing as, what else, a princess
(Oh, OK, Rosalind. But it looks like a princess costume).
And who can forget:
Back to the Future: If Michael J. Fox doesn't get his parents together by the prom, he might not ever be BORN!!!!!!!!! Proving the importance of the prom from both a societal as well as a BIOLOGICAL point of view!
What about Carrie? Or do you not count buckets of pig blood as essential to the adolescent socialization process?
YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!!!!!!!!!
OK, OK, calm down, I get your point.
You're just jealous because Boris can't ask you because he's still just a freshman like us!
/ am making sure you get some protein at lunch because I think your vegetarianism has finally short-circuited your brain cells. You need meat, now.
Why are you minimalizing my pain? I have a legitimate concern here, and I think you need to consider the fact that it has nothing to do with my diet or menstrual cycle.
/ seriously think you need to lie down with your feet above your head to get the blood flowing back into your brain because you are suffering from severe cognitive impairment.
Lilly, SHUT UP! I am way stressed right now! I mean, tomorrow is my fifteenth birthday, and I am still nowhere close
to becoming self-actualized. Nothing is going right in my life: my father is insisting that I spend July and August with him
in Genovia; my home life is completely unsatisfactory, what with my pregnant mother's incessant references to her bladder, and her insistence on giving birth to my future brother or sister at home, in the LOFT, with only a midwife - a midwife! - in attendance; my boyfriend is graduating from high school and starting college, where he will constantly be thrust into the presence of large-busted co-eds in black turtlenecks who like to talk about Kant, and my best friend doesn't seem to understand why the prom is important to me!!!!!!!!!!!
You forgot to complain about your grandmother.
No, I didn't. Grandmere has been in Palm Springs having a chemical face peel. She won't be back until tonight.
Mia, I thought you prided yourself on the fact that you and Michael had this open and honest relationship. Why don't you just ask him yourself if he plans on going?
I CAN'T DO THAT! I mean, then it will sound like I am asking him to ask me.
No, it won't.
Yes, it will.
No, it won't.
Yes, it will.
No, it won't. And not all co-eds have large breasts. You really ought to speak to a mental health specialist about this absurd fixation you have with the size of your chest. It's not healthy.
Oh, there's the bell, THANK GOD!!!!!!
Wednesday, April 30, Gifted and Talented
IT IS NOT FAIR. I mean, I know my friends have more important things on their minds than the prom — Michael is busy
with graduation and Skinner Box, his band; Lilly's got her TV show which, even if it is still only on the public access channel, continues to break new ground in television news journalism every week; Tina's still looking for a guy to replace her ex, Dave Farouq El-Abar, in her heart; Shameeka's got cheerleading, and Ling Su has Art Club and all.
But, HELLO!!!!!!! Isn't ANYONE thinking about the prom? ANYONE AT ALL, besides me and Shameeka??? I mean, it
is next week, and Michael hasn't asked me yet. NEXT WEEK!!!! Shameeka is right, if we are going, we really have to start planning for it now.
Only how am I supposed to ask Michael whether or not he is planning on asking me? You can't do that. That fully ruins the romance of the thing. I mean, it's bad enough that my own mother was the one who had to propose when she found out she was pregnant. When I asked her how Mr. G popped the question, my mom said he didn't. She said the conversation went
like this:
Helen Thermopolis: 'Frank, I'm pregnant.'
Mr Gianini: 'Oh. OK. What do you want to do?'
Helen Thermopolis: 'Marry you.'
Mr Gianini: 'OK.'
HELLO!!!!!!!!! Where is the romance in THAT???? 'Frank, I'm pregnant, let's get married.' 'OK.' AAAAACKKKK!!!!
What about:
Helen Thermopolis: 'Frank, the seed from your loins has sprung to fruition in my womb.'
Mr Gianini: 'Helen, I have never heard such joyous news in all of my thirty-nine years. Will you do me the very
great honour of becoming my bride, my soul mate, my life partner?'
Helen Thermopolis: 'Yes, my sweet protector.'
Mr Gianini: 'My life! My hope! My love!'
(KISS)
That's how it SHOULD have gone. Look at the difference. It is so much better when the guy asks the girl instead of the
girl asking the guy.
So obviously, I can't just walk up to Michael and be all:
Mia Thermopolis: 'So are we going to the prom or what? 'Cause I need to buy my dress.'
Michael Moscovitz: 'OK.'
NO!!!!!!!!! That will never work!!!!!!! Michael has to ask ME. He has to be all:
Michael Moscovitz: 'Mia, the past five months have been the most magical of my life. Being with you is like having a
refreshing ocean breeze blowing constantly against my passion-fevered brow. You are my sole reason for living, the purpose for which my heart beats. It would be the greatest honour of my life if I could escort you to the Senior Prom, where you must promise to dance every single dance with me, except the fast ones that we will sit down during because they are lame.'
Mia Thermopolis: 'Oh, Michael, this is so sudden! I simply wasn't expecting it. But I adore you with every fibre of my being, so of course I will go to the prom with you, and dance every single dance with you, except the fast ones because they are lame.'
(KISS)
That's how it should go. If there is any justice in the world, that's how it WILL go.
But WHEN? When is he going to ask me? I mean, look at him over there. He is so clearly NOT thinking about the prom. He
is arguing with Boris Pelkowski over the rhythm of their band's new song, 'Rock Throwing Youths', a searing criticism of the current situation in the Middle East. I am sorry, but someone who is worrying about the situation in the Middle East is HARDLY LIKELY TO REMEMBER TO ASK HIS GIRLFRIEND TO THE PROM.
This is what I get for falling in love with a genius.
Not that Michael isn't a perfectly attentive boyfriend. I mean, I know a lot of girls - like Tina, for instance - are totally jealous
of me for having such a hot and yet so incredibly supportive life mate. I mean, Michael ALWAYS sits next to me at lunch, every single day, except Tuesdays and Thursdays when he has a Computer Club meeting during lunch. But even then he
gazes at me longingly from the Computer Club table on the other side of the caf.
Well, OK, maybe not longingly, but he smiles at me sometimes when he catches me staring at him from across the cafeteria, trying to figure out who he looks like the most, Josh Hartnett or a dark-haired Heath Ledger.
And OK, so Michael doesn't feel comfortable with public displays of affection - which is no big surprise seeing as how everywhere I go I am followed by a six-foot-five Swedish expert in krav maga - so it's not like he ever kisses me in school or holds hands in the hallway or sticks his hand in the back pocket of my overalls when we are strolling down the street or leans his body up against mine when we're at my locker the way Josh does to Lana . . .
But when we are alone . . . when we are alone . . . when we are alone . . .
Oh, all right, so we haven't got to second base yet. Well, except for that one time during Spring Break when we were building that house. But I think that might have been a mistake on account of my hammer was hanging by its claw from the bib of my overalls and Michael asked to borrow it and I couldn't hand it to him because I was busy holding up that sheet of dry wall so his hand sort of accidentally brushed up against my chest while he was reaching . . .
Still. We are perfectly happy together. More than happy. We are ecstatically happy.
SO WHY HASN'T HE ASKED ME TO THE PROM?????????????????
Oh, my God. Lilly just leaned over to see what I was writing and saw that last part. That is what I get for using capital letters. She just went, 'Oh, God, don't tell me you're still obsessing over that.'
As if that weren't bad enough, Michael looked up and went, 'Obsessing over what?'!!!!!!!!!!!
I thought Lilly was going to say something!!!!!!!!!! I thought she was going to go, 'Oh, Mia's just having an embolism because you haven't asked her to the prom yet.'
But she just went, 'Mia's working on an essay about methane ice-worms.'
Michael said, 'Oh,' and turned back to his guitar.
Trust Boris to go, 'Oh, methane ice-worms. Yes, of course. If they turn out to be ubiquitous on shallow sea-floor gas
deposits, they could have a significant impact on how methane deposits are formed and dissolve in seawater, and how
we go about mining and otherwise harvesting natural gas as a source of energy.'
Which, you know, is good to know for my essay and all, but seriously. Why does he even know this?
I don't know how Lilly puts up with him. I really don't.
Wednesday, April 30, French
Thank God for Tina Hakim Baba. At least SHE understands how I feel. AND she totally sympathizes. She says that it has always been her dream to go to the prom with the man she loves - like Molly Ringwald dreamed of going to the prom with Andrew McCarthy.
Sadly for Tina, however, the man she loves - or once loved - dumped her for a girl named Jasmine with turquoise braces.
But Tina says she will learn to love again, if she can find a man willing to break down the self-defensive emotional wall she
has built-up around herself since Dave Farouq El-Abar's betrayal. It was looking like Peter Hu, whom Tina met over
Spring Break, might succeed, but Peter's obsession with Korn soon drove her away, as it would any right-thinking woman.
Tina thinks Michael is going to ask tomorrow, on my birthday. About the prom, I mean. Oh, please let that be true! It would
be the best birthday present anyone has ever given me. Except for when my mom gave me Fat Louie, of course.
Except I hope he doesn't do it, you know. In front of my family. Because Michael is coming out with us on my birthday. We are going to dinner tomorrow night with Grandmere and my dad and Mom and Mr. Gianini. Oh, and Lars, of course. And
then on Saturday night, my mom is having a big blow-out party for me and all of my friends at the Loft (that is, providing she can still walk by then, on account of her you-know-what).
I haven't mentioned Mom's problem with her you-know-what to Michael, though. I believe in having a fully open and honest relationship with the man you love, but seriously, there are some things he just doesn't need to know. Like that your pregnant mother has problems with her bladder.
I only invited Michael to both the dinner and the party. Everyone else, including Lilly, is just invited to the party. Hello, how unromantic would that be, to have your birthday dinner with your mom, your stepdad, your real dad, your grandma, your bodyguard, your boyfriend and his sister. At least I was able to narrow it down a little.
Michael said he would come to both, the dinner and the party, which I thought was very brave of him and further proof that
he is the best boyfriend that ever lived.
If I could just nail him down on this prom thing, though.
Tina says I should just come out and ask him. Michael, I mean. Tina is a staunch believer in being very up front with boys, on account of how she played games with Dave and he fled from her into the arms of the turquoise-toothed Jasmine. But I don't know. I mean, this is the PROM. The prom is special. I don't want to mess it up. Especially since I'm only going to be able to see Michael for like another month or so before my dad drags me off to Genovia for the summer. Which is so totally unfair. 'But you signed a contract, Mia,' is what he keeps saying to me. My dad, I mean.
Yeah, I signed a contract, like a year ago. OK, eight months ago. How was I supposed to know then that I would fall madly and passionately in love? Well, OK, I was madly and passionately in love back then, but hello, it was with somebody totally different. And the real object of my affections didn't like me back. Or if he did (he says he did!!!!!!!!!), I didn't exactly know
it, did I?
And now my dad expects me to spend two whole months away from the man to whom I have pledged my heart?
Oh, no. I don't think so.
It is one thing to spend Christmas in Genovia. I mean, that was only thirty-two days. But July and August? I'm supposed to spend two whole months away from him?
Well, it is so not happening. My dad thinks he's being all reasonable about it, since originally he was going to make me spend the WHOLE summer in Genovia. But since Mom's due date is in June, he's acting like it's this big concession to let me stay in New York until the baby's born. Oh, yeah. Thanks, Dad.
Well, he is just going to have to exhale, because if he thinks I am spending the last two months of the first summer of my life with an actual boyfriend away from said boyfriend, then he is in for a very big surprise. I mean, what is there even to do in Genovia in the summer? NOTHING. The place is lousy with tourists (well, so is New York, but whatever, New York tourists are different, they are much less repulsive than the ones who go to Genovia) and Parliament isn't even in session. What am I going to do all day? I mean, at least here there'll be the whole baby thing, once my mom hurries up and has it, which I actually wish would be sooner than June because it is like living with Sasquatch. I swear to God, all she does is stomp around and grunt at us, she is in such a bad mood on account of all the water weight and the pressure on her you-know-what (my mom shares WAY too much information sometimes).
Whatever happened to pregnancy being the most magical time in a woman's life? Whatever happened to being full of the wonder and glory of creation?
Clearly my mom has never heard of either of those things.
The point is, this is Michael's last summer before he leaves for college. And OK, the college he is going to is just a few subway stops uptown, but whatever, I am not going to see him at school any more after this. For instance, he is no longer going to be swinging by my Algebra class to give me strawberry gummy worms like he did this morning, to the wrath of Lana Weinberger, who is just jealous because her boyfriend Josh NEVER surprises her with gummy worms.
No. Michael and I should be spending this summer together, having lovely picnics in Central Park (except that I hate having picnics in public parks because all the homeless people come around and look longingly at your egg-salad sandwich, or whatever, and then you have to give it to them because you feel so guilty about having so much when others have nothing and they are usually not even grateful, they usually say something like, 'I hate egg salad,' which is very ungracious if you ask me)
and seeing Tosca on the Great Lawn (except that I hate opera because everybody dies all tragically at the end, but whatever). There's still strolling through the San Gennaro festival and Michael maybe winning me a stuffed animal at the air-rifle booth (except that he is ethically opposed to guns, as am I, except if you are a member of law enforcement or a soldier or whatever, and those stuffed animals they give away at fairs are fully made by children in Guatemalan sweatshops).
Still. It could have been totally romantic, if my dad hadn't gone and ruined it all.
Lilly says my father clearly has abandonment issues from when his father died and left him all alone with Grandmere and that's why he is being so totally rigid on the whole spending-my-summer-in-Genovia thing.
Except that Grandpere died when my dad was in his twenties, not exactly his formative years, so I don't see how this is possible. But Lilly says the human psyche works in strange and mysterious ways and that I should just accept that and
move on.
I think the person with issues might be Lilly on account of how it's been almost four months since her cable access television programme Lilly Tells It Like It Is was optioned by the producers who made the movie based on my life and they still
haven't managed to find a studio willing to tape a pilot episode. But Lilly says the entertainment industry works in strange
and mysterious ways (just like the human psyche) and that she has accepted it and moved on, just like I should about the
whole Genovian thing.
BUT I WILL NEVER ACCEPT THE FACT THAT MY DAD WANTS ME TO SPEND SIXTY-TWO WHOLE DAYS AWAY FROM THE MAN I LOVE!!!! NEVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tina says I should try to get a summer internship somewhere here in Manhattan, and then my dad won't be able to make me go to Genovia, on account of how that would be shirking my responsibilities here. Only I don't know of any place that would want a princess for an intern. I mean, what would Lars do all day while I was alphabetizing files or making photocopies or whatever?
When I walked in before class started, Mademoiselle Klein was showing some of the sophomore girls a picture of this slinky dress she is ordering from Victoria's Secret to wear to the prom. She is a chaperone. So is Mr.Wheeton, the track coach and my Health and Safety teacher. They are going out together. Tina says it is the most romantic thing she has ever heard of, besides my mom and Mr. Gianini. I have not revealed to Tina the painful truth about my mom being the one to propose to
Mr. Gianini, because I don't want to crush all of Tina's fondest dreams. I have also hidden from her the fact that I don't think Prince William is ever going to email her back. That's on account of how I gave her a fake email address for him. Well, I had
to do something to get her to quit bugging me for it. And I'm sure whoever is at princew@windsorcastle.com is very appreciative of her five-page testimonial on how much she loves him, especially when he is wearing his polo jodhpurs.
I sort of feel bad about lying to Tina, but it was only to make her feel better. And someday I really will get Prince William's
real email address for her. I just have to wait until somebody important dies, and I see him at the state funeral. It probably
won't be long - Elizabeth Taylor is looking pretty shaky.
Il mefaut des lunettes de soleil.
Didier demand a essayer lajupe.
I don't know how someone who is as deeply in love with Mr.Wheeton like Mademoiselle Klein is supposed to be can assign
us so much homework. Whatever happened to spring, when the world is mud-luscious and the little lame balloon-man whistles far and wee?
Nobody who teaches at this school has a grain of romance in them. Ditto most of the people who go here, too. Without Tina,
I would be truly lost.
Jeudi, jai faitde I'aerobic.
Homework
Algebra: pages 279-300
English: The Iceman Cometh
Biology: Finish ice-worm essay
Health and Safety: pages 154—160
Gifted and Talented: As if
French: Ecrivez une histoire personnelle
World Civ.: pages 310-330
Wednesday, April 3O, in the limo on the way home from the Plaza
Grandmere fully knows there is something up with me. But she thinks it's because I'm upset over the whole going-to-Genovia-for-the-summer thing. As if I don't have much more immediate concerns.
'We shall have a lovely time in Genovia this summer, Amelia,' Grandmere kept saying. 'They are currently excavating a tomb they believe might belong to your ancestress, Princess Rosagunde. I understand that the mummification processes used in the 700s were really every bit as advanced as ones employed by the Egyptians. You might actually get to gaze upon the face of
the woman who founded the royal house of Renaldo.'
Great. I get to spend my summer looking up some old mummy's nasal cavity. My dream come true. Oh no, sorry, Mia. No hanging out at Coney Island with your one true love for you. No fun volunteer work tutoring little kids with their reading. No cool summer job at Kim's Video, rewinding Princess Mononoke and Fist of the North Star. No, you get to commune with
a thousand-year-old corpse. Yippee!
I guess I must be more upset about the whole Michael thing than even I thought, because midway through Grandmere's
lecture on tipping (manicurists: ; pedicurists: ; cab drivers: for rides under , for airport trips; double the tax for restaurant bills except in states where the tax is less than 8 per cent; etc.) she went, 'AMELIA! WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?'
I must have jumped about ten feet into the air. I was totally thinking about Michael. About how good he would look in a tux. About how I could buy him a red-rose boutonniere, just the plain kind without the baby's breath because boys don't like
baby's breath. And I could wear a black dress, one of those off-one-shoulder kinds like Kirsten Dunst always wears to
movie premieres, with a butterfly hem and a slit up the side, and high heels with laces that go up your ankle.
Only Grandmere says black on girls under eighteen is morbid, that off-one-shoulder gowns and butterfly hems look like they were made that way accidentally, and that those lace-up high heels look like the kind of shoes Russell Crowe wore in Gladiator - not a flattering look on most women.
But whatever. I could fully put on body glitter. Grandmere doesn't even KNOW about body glitter.
'Amelia!' Grandmere was saying. She couldn't yell too loud because her face was still stinging from the chemical peel. I could tell because Rommel, her mostly hairless miniature poodle who looks like he's seen a chemical peel or two himself, kept
leaping up into her lap and trying to lick her face, like it was a piece of raw meat or whatever. Not to gross anybody out, but that's sort of how it looked. Or like Grandmere had accidentally stepped in front of one of those hoses they used to get the radiation off Cher in that movie Silkwood.
'Are you listening to a single word I've said?' Grandmere looked peeved. Mostly because her face hurt, I'm sure. 'This could
be very important to you someday, if you happen to be stranded without a calculator or your limo.'
'Sorry, Grandmere,' I said. I was sorry, too. Tipping is totally my worst thing, on account of how it involves maths and also thinking quickly on your feet. When I order food from Number One Noodle Son back home I always have to ask the restaurant while I am still on the phone with them ordering how much it will be so I can work on calculating how much to tip
the delivery guy before he gets to the door. Because otherwise he ends up standing there for like ten minutes while I figure
out how much to give him for a seventeen dollar and fifty cent order. It's embarrassing.
'I don't know where your head's been lately, Amelia,' Grandmere said, all crabby. Well, you would be crabby too if you'd
paid money to have the top two or three layers of your skin chemically removed. 'I hope you're not still worrying about your mother, and that ridiculous home birth she's planning. I told you before, your mother's forgotten what labour feels like. As
soon as her contractions kick in, she'll be begging to be taken to the hospital for a nice epidural.'
I sighed. Although the fact that my mother is choosing a home birth over a nice safe clean hospital birth - where there are oxygen tanks and candy machines and Dr. Kovach - is upsetting, I have been trying not to think about it too much . . . especially since I suspect Grandmere is right. My mother cries like a baby when she stubs her toe. How is she going to withstand hours and hours of labour pains? She was much younger when she gave birth to me. Her thirty-six-year-old
body is in no shape for the rigours of childbirth. She doesn't even work out!
Grandmere fastened her evil eye on to me.
'I suppose the fact the weather's starting to get warm isn't helping,' she said. 'Young people tend to get flighty in the spring. And, of course, there's your birthday tomorrow.'
I fully let Grandmere think that's what was distracting me. My birthday and the fact that my friends and I are all twitterpated, like Thumper gets in springtime in Bambi.
'You are a very difficult person for whom to find a suitable birthday gift, Amelia,' Grandmere said, reaching for her Sidecar
and her cigarettes. Grandmere has her cigarettes sent to her from Genovia, so she doesn't have to pay the astronomical tax
on them that they charge here in New York, in the hopes of making people quit smoking on account of it being too expensive. Except that it isn't working, since all of the people in Manhattan who smoke are just hopping on the PATH train and going
over to New Jersey to buy their cigarettes.
'You are not the jewellery type,' Grandmere went on, lighting up and puffing away. And you don't seem to have any appreciation whatsoever for couture. And it isn't as if you have any hobbies.'
I pointed out to Grandmere that I do have a hobby. Not just a hobby, even, but a calling. I write.
Grandmere just waved her hand, and said, 'But not a real hobby. You don't play golf or paint.'
It kind of hurt my feelings that Grandmere doesn't think writing is a real hobby. She is going to be very surprised when I grow up and become a published author. Then writing will not only be my hobby, but my career. Maybe the first book I write will be about her. I will call it, Clarisse: Ravings of a Royal, A Memoir, by Princess Mia of Genovia. And Grandmere won't be able to sue, just like Daryl Hannah couldn't sue when they made that movie about her and John F. Kennedy Junior, because all
of it will be one hundred percent true. HA!
'What DO you want for your birthday, Amelia?' Grandmere asked.
I had to think about that one. Of course, what I REALLY want, Grandmere can't give me. But I figured it wouldn't hurt to
ask. So I drew up the following list:
What I would like for my 15th birthday, by Mia Thermopolis, aged 14 and 364 Days
1. End to world hunger
2. New pair overalls, size eleven
3. New cat brush for Fat Louie (he chewed the handle off the last one)
4. Bungee cords for palace ballroom (so I can do air ballet like Lara Croft in Tomb Raider)
5. New baby brother or sister, safely delivered
6. Elevation of orcas to endangered list so Puget Sound can receive federal aid to clean up polluted breeding/feeding grounds
7. Lana Weinberger's head on a silver platter (just kidding - well, not really)
8. My own mobile phone
9. Grandmere to quit smoking
10. Michael Moscovitz to ask me to the Senior Prom
In composing this list, it occurred to me that sadly the only thing on it that I am likely to get for my birthday is item number 2.
I mean, I am going to get a new brother or sister, but not for another month, at the earliest. No way was Grandmere going to go for the quitting smoking thing or the bungee cords. World hunger and the orca thing are sort of out of the hands of anyone
I know. My dad says I would just lose and/or destroy a mobile, like I did the laptop he got me (that wasn't my fault. I only took it out of my backpack and set it on that sink for a second while I was looking for my Chapstick. It is not my fault that Lana Weinberger bumped into me and that the sinks at our school are all stopped up. That computer was only underwater
for a few seconds, it fully should have worked again when it dried out. Except that even Michael, who is a technological as
well as musical genius, couldn't save it).
Of course the one thing Grandmere fixated on was the last one, the one I only admitted to her in a moment of weakness and should never have mentioned in the first place, considering the fact that in twenty-four hours, she and Michael will be sharing
a table at Les Hautes Manger for my birthday dinner.
'What is the prom?' Grandmere wanted to know. 'I don't know this word.'
I couldn't believe it. But then, Grandmere hardly ever watches TV, not even Murder She Wrote or Golden Girls reruns, like everyone else her age, so it was unlikely she'd ever have caught an airing of Pretty in Pink on TBS or whatever.
'It's a dance, Grandmere,' I said, reaching for my list. 'Never mind.'
'And the Moscovitz boy hasn't asked you to this dance yet?' Grandmere wanted to know. 'When is it?'
'A week from Saturday,' I said. 'Can I have that list back now?'
'Why don't you go without him?' Grandmere demanded. She let out a cackle, then seemed to think better of it, since I think it hurt her face to stretch her cheek muscles like that. 'Like you did last time. That'll show him.'
'I can't,' I said. 'It's only for seniors. I mean, seniors can take underclassmen, but underclassmen can't go on their own. Lilly says I should just ask Michael whether or not he's going, but—'
'NO!' Grandmere's eyes bulged. At first I thought she was choking on an ice cube, but it turned out she was just shocked. Grandmere's got eyeliner tattooed all the way around her lids like Michael Jackson, so she doesn't have to mess with her make-up every morning. So when her eyes bulge, well, it's pretty noticeable.
'You cannot ask him," Grandmere said. 'How many times do I have to tell you, Amelia? Men are like little woodland creatures. You have to lure them to you with tiny breadcrumbs and soft words of encouragement. You cannot simply whip
out a rock and conk them over the head with it.'
I certainly agree with this. I don't want to do any conking where Michael is concerned. But I don't know about breadcrumbs.
'Well,' I said. 'So what do I do? The prom is in less than two weeks, Grandmere. If I'm going to go, I've got to know soon.'
'You must hint around the subject,' Grandmere said. 'Subtly.'
I thought about this. 'Like do you mean I should go, "I saw the most perfect dress for the prom the other day in the Victoria's Secret catalogue?'"
'Exactly,' Grandmere said. 'Only of course a princess never purchases anything off the rack, Amelia, and NEVER from a catalogue.'
'Right,' I said. 'But Grandmere, don't you think he'll see right through that?'
Grandmere snorted, then seemed to regret it, and held her drink up to her face, as if the ice in the glass was soothing to her tender skin. 'You are talking about a seventeen-year-old boy, Amelia,' she said. 'Not a master spy. He won't have the slightest idea what you are about, if you do it subtly enough.'
But I don't know. I mean, I have never been very good at being subtle. Like the other day I tried subtly to mention to my mother that Ronnie, our neighbour who Mom trapped in the hallway on the way to the incinerator room, might not have
wanted to hear about how many times my mom has to get up and pee every night now that the baby is pressing so hard
against her bladder. My mom just looked at me and went, 'Do you have a death wish, Mia?'
Mr Gianini and I have decided that we will be very relieved when my mom finally has this baby.
I am pretty sure Ronnie would agree.
Thursday, May 1 12:01 a,m.
Well. That's it. I'm fifteen now. Not a girl. Not yet a woman. Just like Britney.
HA HA HA.
I don't actually feel any different than I did a minute ago, when I was fourteen. I certainly don't LOOK any different. I'm the same five foot nine, thirty-two-A-bra-size freak I was when I turned fourteen. Maybe my hair looks a little better, since Grandmere made me get highlights and Paolo's been trimming it as it grows out. It is almost to my chin now, and not so triangular shaped as before.
Other than that, I'm sorry, but there's nothing. Nada. No difference. Zilch.
I guess all of my fifteeness is going to have to be on the inside, since it sure isn't showing on the outside.
I just checked my email to see if anybody remembered, and I already have five birthday messages, one from Lilly, one from Tina, one from my cousin Hank (I can't believe HE remembered. He's a famous model now and I almost never see him any more — no big loss — except half-naked on billboards or the sides of telephone booths, which is especially embarrassing if he's wearing tighty-whities), one from my cousin Prince Rene and one from Michael.
The one from Michael is the best. It's a cartoon he's made himself, of a girl in a tiara with a big orange cat opening a giant present. When she gets all the wrapping off, these words burst out of the box, with all these fireworks: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MIA, and in smaller letters, Love, Michael.
Love. LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!
Even though we have been going out for more than four months, I still get a thrill when he says - or writes - that word. In reference to me, I mean. Love. LOVE!!!!! He LOVES me!!!!!
So what's taking him so long about the prom thing, I'd like to know?
Now that I am fifteen, it is time that I put away childish things, like the guy in the poem, and begin to live my life as the adult
that I am striving to become. According to Carl Jung, the famous psychoanalyst, in order to achieve self-actualization — acceptance, peace, contentment, purposefulness, fulfilment, health, happiness and joy - one must practise compassion, love, charity, warmth, forgiveness, friendship, kindness, gratitude and trust. Therefore, from now on, I pledge to:
1. Stop biting my nails. I really mean it this time.
2. Make decent grades.
3. Be nicer to people, even Lana Weinberger.
4. Write faithfully in my journal every day.
5. Start - and finish - a novel. Write one, I mean, not read one.
6. Get it published before I turn 20.
7. Be more understanding of Mom and what she is going through now that she is in the last trimester of her pregnancy.
8. Stop using Mr. G's face-razor on my legs. Buy my own razors.
9. Try to be more sympathetic to Dad's abandonment issues while also getting out of having to spend July and August in Genovia.
10. Figure out way to get Michael Moscovitz to take me to the prom without stooping to trickery and/or grovelling.
Once I've done all this, I should become fully self-actualized and ready to experience some well-deserved joy. And really, everything on that list is fairly doable. I mean, yes, it took Margaret Mitchell ten years to write Gone With the Wind, but I am only fifteen, so even if it takes me ten years to finish my own novel, I will still only be twenty-five by the time I get it published, which is only five years behind schedule.
The only problem is I don't really know what I'm going to write a novel about. But I'm sure I'll think of something soon.
Maybe I should start practising with some short stories or haikus or something.
The prom thing, though. THAT is going to be hard. Because I truly do not want Michael to feel pressured about this. But I
have GOT TO GO TO THE PROM!!! IT IS MY LAST CHANCE!!!!!!!
I hope Tina is right, and that Michael intends to ask me tonight at dinner.
OH PLEASE GOD LET TINA BE RIGHT!!!!!!!!!
Thursday, May I MY BIRTHDAY, Algebra
Josh asked Lana to the prom.
He asked her last night, after the varsity lacrosse game. The Lions won. According to Shameeka, who hung around after the junior varsity game, at which she'd cheered, Josh scored the winning goal. Then, as all the Albert Einstein fans poured out on
to the field, Josh whipped off his shirt and swung it around in the air a few times, a la Mia Hamm, only of course Josh wasn't wearing a sports bra underneath. Shameeka says she was astounded by the lack of hair on Josh's chest. She said he was in
no way Hugh Jackman-like in the goody trail department.
This, like the trouble my mother is currently having with her bladder, is really more than I want to know.
Anyway, Lana was on the sidelines, in her little sleeveless blue-and-gold AEHS cheerleading micro-mini. When Josh whipped his shirt off, she went running out on to the field, whooping. Then she leaped into his arms - which, considering that he was probably all sweaty, was a pretty risky endeavour, if you ask me - and they Frenched until Principal Gupta came over and whacked Josh on the back of the head with her clipboard. Then Shameeka says that Josh put Lana down and said, 'Go to
the prom with me, babe?' And Lana said yes, and then ran squealing over to all her fellow cheerleaders to tell them.
And I know that one of my resolutions now that I am fifteen is that I am going to be nicer to people, including Lana, but really,
I am having a hard time right now keeping myself from stabbing my pencil into the back of her head. Well, not really, because
I don't believe violence ever solves anything. Well, except for when it comes to getting rid of Nazis and terrorists and all. But really, Lana is practically GLOATING. Before class started, she was fully on her mobile, telling everyone. Her mother is
taking her to the Nicole Miller store in SoHo on Saturday to buy her a dress.
A black, off-one-shoulder dress, with a butterfly hem and a slit up one side. She's getting high heels that lace up the ankles,
too, at Saks.
No doubt body glitter as well.
And I know I have a lot to feel grateful for. I mean, I have:
1. A super, loving boyfriend who, when the royal limo pulled over to pick him and Lilly up on the way to school today, presented me with a box of cinnamon mini-muffins, my favourites, from the Manhattan Muffin Company, which he'd gone
all the way down to Tribeca really early in the morning to get me, in honour of my birthday.
2. An excellent best friend, who gave me a bright-pink cat collar for Fat Louie with the words I Belong to Princess Mia written on it in rhinestones that she'd hot-glue gunned on herself while watching old Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns.
3. A great mom who, even if she does talk a little too much lately about her bodily functions, nevertheless dragged herself
out of bed this morning to wish me a happy birthday.
4. A great stepdad who swore he wouldn't say anything in class about my birthday and embarrass me in front of everyone.
5. A dad who will probably give me something good for my birthday when I see him at dinner tonight, and a grandmother
who, if she won't actually give me something I like, will at least WANT me to like it, whatever heinous thing it ends up being.
I seriously don't mean to be ungrateful for all of that, because it is so much more than so many people have. I mean, like kids
in Appalachia - they are happy if they get socks for their birthday, or whatever, since their parents spend all their money on hooch.
But HELLO. IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK THAT I GET THE ONE THING FOR MY BIRTHDAY THAT I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED - and that is ONE PERFECT NIGHT AT THE PROM??????????????? I mean, Lana Weinberger
is getting that, and she is not even striving to become self-actualized. She probably doesn't even know what self-actualization means. She has never been kind to anyone in her whole entire life. So why does SHE get to go to the prom?
I am telling you, there is no justice in the world.
NONE.
Expressions with radicals can be multiplied or divided as long as the root power or value under the radical is the same.
Thursday, May 1, MY BIRTHDAY, Gifted and Talented
Today, in honour of my birthday, Michael ate lunch at my table, instead of with the Computer Club, even though it's a Thursday. It was actually quite romantic, because it turns out that not only had he paid that little visit to the Manhattan Muffin Company this morning, but he also ditched fourth period and snuck out to Wu Liang Ye to get me the cold sesame noodles
I like so much and can't get downtown, the ones that are so spicy you need to drink TWO cans of Coke before your tongue feels normal again after you eat them.
Which was totally sweet of him, and was actually even a bit of a relief, because I have been quite worried about what Michael is going to give me as a birthday present, because I know he must feel like he has a lot to live up to, seeing as how I got him moon rocks for his birthday.
I hope he realizes that, being a princess and all, I have access to moon rocks, but that I truly do not expect people to give me gifts that are of moon rock quality. I mean, I hope Michael knows that I would be happy with a simple, 'Mia, will you go to the prom with me?' And, of course, a Tiffany's charm bracelet with a charm that says Property of Michael Moscovitz on it that I could wear everywhere I go and so the next time some European prince asks me to dance at a ball I can hold up the bracelet and be all, 'Sorry, can't you read? I belong to Michael Moscovitz.'
Except Tina says even though it would be totally great if Michael got this for me, she doesn't think he will, because giving a
girl - even his girlfriend - a chain that says Property of Michael Moscovitz seems a little presumptuous and not something Michael would do. I showed Tina the collar Lilly had given me for Fat Louie, but Tina says that isn't the same thing.
Is it wrong of me to want to be my boyfriend's property? I mean, it's not like I'm willing to usurp my own identity or take his name or anything if we got married (being a princess, even if I wanted to, I couldn't, unless I abdicated). In fact, chances are, the guy I marry is going to have to take MY name.
I just, you know, wouldn't mind a LITTLE possessiveness.
Uh-oh, something is going on. Michael just got up and went to the door to make sure Mrs. Hill was firmly ensconced in the Teachers' Lounge, and Boris just came out of the supply closet, but the bell hasn't rung yet. What's up with that?
Thursday, May 1, still MY BIRTHDAY, French
I guess I needn't have worried about what Michael was going to get me for my birthday, because just now his band showed
up - yes, his band, Skinner Box, right here in the G and T room. Well, Boris was already here because he is supposed to practise his violin during G and T, but the other band members - Felix, the drummer with the goatee, tall Paul the keyboardist and Trevor the guitar-player - all cut class to set up in the G and T classroom and play me a song Michael wrote just for me.
It went:
Combat boots and veggie burgers
Just one glance gives me the shivers
There she goes Princess of my heart
Hates social injustice and nicotine
She's no ordinary beauty queen
There she goes Princess of my heart
Chorus: Princess of my heart
Oh I don't know where to start
Say I'll be your prince
Till this lifetime ends.
Princess of my heart
I loved you from the start
Say you love me too
Over my heart you so rule.
Promise you won't execute me
with those gorgeous smiles you shoot me
There she goes Princess of my heart
You don't even have to knight me
Every time you laugh you smite me
There she goes Princess of my heart
Chorus: Princess of my heart
Oh I don't know where to start
Say I'll be your prince
Till this lifetime ends.
Princess of my heart
I loved you from the start
Say you love me too
and then together we will rule.
And this time there was no question the song was about me, like there was that time Michael played me that 'Tall Drink of Water' song he wrote!
Anyway, the whole school heard Michael's song about me because Skinner Box had their
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