Princess in the Spotlight Read online

  And that Love at the end of his e-mail was just a platonic Love. I mean, Michael’s Love obviously didn’t mean he actually loves me.

  Not that I ever thought he did. Or might. Love me, I mean.

  He did walk me to my locker, though. This was extremely nice of him. Granted, we were in the middle of a heated discussion about Tuesday’s episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but still, no boy has ever walked me to my locker before. Boris Pelkowski meets Lilly at the front doors to the school and walks her to her locker every single morning, and has done so ever since the day she agreed to be his girlfriend.

  Okay, I admit that Boris Pelkowski is a mouth-breather who continues to tuck his sweaters into his pants despite my frequent hints that in America, this is considered a Glamour “Don’t.” But still, he is a boy. And it is always cool to have a boy—even one who wears a retainer—walk you to your locker. I know I have Lars, but it’s different having your bodyguard walk you to your locker, as opposed to an actual boy.

  I just noticed that Lana Weinberger has purchased all new notebook binders. I guess she threw away the old ones. She had written “Mrs. Josh Richter” all over them, then crossed it out when she and Josh broke up. They are back together now. I guess she’s willing once again to have her identity obfuscated by taking her “husband’s” name, since she’s already got three I Love Joshes and seven Mrs. Josh Richters on her Algebra notebook alone.

  Before class started, Lana was telling everyone who would listen about some party she is going to tonight. None of us are invited, of course. It’s a party given by one of Josh’s friends.

  I never get invited to parties like that. You know, like the ones in movies about teenagers, where somebody’s parents go out of town, so everybody in the school comes over with kegs of beer and trashes the house?

  I do not actually know anybody who lives in a house. Just apartment buildings. And if you start trashing an apartment, you can bet the people next door will call the doorman to complain. That could get you in major trouble with the co-op board.

  I don’t suppose Lana has ever considered these things, however.

  The 3rd power of x is called cube of x

  The 2nd power of x is squared

  Ode to the View from the

  Window in My Algebra Class

  Sun-warmed concrete benches

  next to tables with built-in checkerboards

  and the graffiti left by hundreds

  before us in

  Day-Glo spray paint:

  Joanne Loves Richie

  Punx Rule

  Nuke Fags and Lesbos

  And

  Amber Is a Slut.

  The dead leaves and plastic bags scatter

  in the breeze from the park

  and men in business suits try to keep the

  last few remaining strands of hair covering

  their pink bald spots.

  Cigarette packets and used-up chewing gum

  coat the gray sidewalk.

  And I think

  What does it matter

  that it is not a linear equation if any variable is raised to a power?

  We’re all just going to die anyway.

  Friday, October 24, World Civ

  LIST FIVE BASIC TYPES OF GOVERNMENT

  anarchy

  monarchy

  aristocracy

  dictatorship

  oligarchy

  democracy

  LIST FIVE PEOPLE WHO COULD CONCEIVABLY BE JO-C-ROX

  Michael Moscovitz (I wish)

  Boris Pelkowski (please no)

  Mr. Gianini (in a misguided attempt to cheer me up)

  My dad (ditto)

  That weird boy I see sometimes in the cafeteria who gets so upset whenever they serve chili and there’s corn in it (please please no)

  AAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

  Friday, October 24, G & T

  It turns out that since I’ve been gone, Boris has started learning some new music on his violin. Right now he is playing a concerto by someone named Bartok.

  And let me tell you, that’s exactly how it sounds. Even though we locked him and his violin into the supply closet, it isn’t doing any good. You can’t even hear yourself think. Michael had to go to the nurse’s office for ibuprofen.

  But before he left, I tried to steer the conversation in the direction of mail. You know, casually, and all.

  Just in case.

  Anyway, Lilly was talking about her show, Lilly Tells It Like It Is, and I asked her if she’s still getting a lot of fan mail—one of her biggest fans, her stalker Norman, sends her free stuff all the time, with the understanding that he wants her to show her bare feet on the air: Norman is a foot fetishist.

  Then I mentioned that I’d received some intriguing mail lately. . . .

  Then I looked at Michael real fast, to see how he responded.

  But he didn’t even glance up from his laptop.

  And now he is back from the nurse’s office. She wouldn’t give him any ibuprofen because it is a violation of the school drug code. So I gave him some of my codeine cough syrup. He says it cleared his headache right up.

  But that might also have been because Boris knocked over a can of paint thinner with his bow and we had to let him out of the supply closet.

  HERE IS WHAT I HAVE TO DO

  1. Stop thinking so much about Jo-C-rox

  2. Ditto Michael Moscovitz

  3. Ditto my mother and her reproductive issues

  4. Ditto my interview tomorrow with Beverly Bellerieve

  5. Ditto Grandmère

  6. Have more self-confidence

  7. Stop biting off fake fingernails

  8. Self-actualize

  9. Pay more attention in Algebra

  10. Wash PE shorts

  Later on Friday

  Talk about embarrassing! Principal Gupta somehow found out about my giving Michael some of my codeine cough syrup, and I got called out of Bio and sent to her office to discuss my trafficking of controlled substances on school grounds!

  Oh, my God! I really and truly thought I was going to get expelled then and there.

  I explained to her about the ibuprofen and the Bartok, but Principal Gupta was totally unsympathetic. Even when I brought up all the kids who stand outside the school and smoke. Do they get in trouble for bumming cigarettes off one another?

  And what about the cheerleaders and their Dexatrim?

  But Principal Gupta said cigarettes and Dexatrim are different from narcotics. She took my codeine cough syrup away and told me I could have it back after school. She also told me not to bring it to school on Monday.

  She doesn’t have to worry. I was so embarrassed about the whole thing, I am seriously considering never coming back to school at all, let alone on Monday.

  I don’t see why I can’t be home-schooled, like the boys from Hanson. Look how they turned out.

  HOMEWORK

  Algebra: problems on pg. 129

  English: describe an experience that moved you profoundly

  World Civ: two hundred words on the rise of the Taliban in Afghanistan

  G&T: Please

  French: devoirs—les notes grammaticals: 141–143

  Biology: central nervous system

  ENGLISH JOURNAL

  My Favorite Things

  FOOD

  Vegetarian lasagna

  MOVIE

  My favorite movie of all time is one I first saw on HBO when I was twelve. It has remained my favorite movie in spite of my friends’ and family’s efforts to introduce me to so-called finer examples of cinematic art. Quite frankly, I think that Dirty Dancing, starring Patrick Swayze and a pre–nose-job Jennifer Grey, has everything films like Breathless and September, created by supposed “auteurs” of the medium, lack. For instance, Dirty Dancing takes place at a summer resort. Movies that take place in resorts (other good examples include Cocktail and Aspen Extreme) are just plain better, I’ve noticed, than other movies. Also, Dirty Dancing has danc
ing. Dancing in movies is always good. Think how much better Oscar Award–winning films, like The English Patient, would be if they had dancing in them. I am always so much less bored at the movies when there are people dancing on the screen. So all I have to say to the many, many people who disagree with me about Dirty Dancing is: “Nobody puts Baby in the corner.”

  TV SHOW

  My favorite TV show is Baywatch. I know people think it is very lame and sexist, but actually it isn’t. The boys are as scantily clad as the girls, and in the later episodes at least, a woman is in charge of the whole life-guarding operation. And the truth of the matter is, whenever I watch this show, I feel happy. That is because I know whatever jam Hobie gets into, whether it is giant electric eels or emerald smugglers, Mitch will get him out of it, and everything will be done to an excellent soundtrack, and with stunning shots of the ocean. I wish there was a Mitch in my life to make everything all right at the end of the day.

  Also that my breasts were as big as Carmen Electra’s.

  BOOK

  My favorite book is called IQ 83. It is by the bestselling author of The Swarm, Arthur Herzog. IQ 83 is about a bunch of doctors who mess around with DNA, and they unwittingly cause an accident that makes everyone in the world lose a bunch of IQ points and start acting dumb. Seriously! Even the president of the United States. He ends up drooling like an idiot! And it’s up to Dr. James Healey to save the country from being populated by a bunch of overweight morons who do nothing but watch Jerry Springer and eat Ho Hos all day. This book has never gotten the attention it should receive. It hasn’t even been made into a movie!

  This is a literary travesty.

  Even later on Friday

  What am I supposed to do about this stupid English journal assignment, Describe an experience that moved you profoundly? I am so sure. What do I write about? The time I walked into the kitchen and found my Algebra teacher standing there in his underwear? That didn’t move me, exactly, but it was certainly an experience.

  Or should I talk about the time my dad spilled his guts about how it turns out I am the heir to the throne of the principality of Genovia? That was an experience, although I don’t know if it was profound, and even though I was crying, I don’t think it was because I was moved. I was just mad nobody had told me before. I mean, I guess I can understand that it might be embarrassing for him to have to admit to the Genovian people that he had a child out of wedlock, but to hide that fact for fourteen years? Talk about denial.

  My Bio partner Kenny, who also has Mrs. Spears for English, says he is going to write about his family’s trip to India last summer. He contracted cholera there, and nearly died. As he lay in his hospital bed in that far-off foreign land, he realized that we are only on this planet for a short while, and that it is vital we use every moment we have left as if it were our last. That is why Kenny is devoting his life to finding a cure for cancer, and promoting Japanese anime.

  Kenny is so lucky. If only I could contract a potentially fatal disease.

  I am beginning to realize that the only thing profound about my life so far is its complete and utter lack of profundity.

  Jefferson Market

  The freshest produce—guaranteed

  Fast, Free Delivery

  Order no. 2764

  1 package soybean curd

  1 bottle wheat germ

  1 loaf whole-grain bread

  5 grapefruits

  12 oranges

  1 bunch bananas

  1 package brewer’s yeast

  1 quart skim milk

  1 quart orange juice (not from concentrate)

  1 pound butter

  1 dozen eggs

  1 bag unsalted sunflower seeds

  1 box whole-grain cereal

  Toilet paper

  Q-tips

  Deliver to:

  Mia Thermopolis, 1005 Thompson Street, #4A

  Saturday, October 25, 2 p.m., Grandmère’s suite

  I am sitting here waiting for my interview. In addition to my throat hurting, I feel like I am going to throw up. Maybe my bronchitis has turned into the flu, or something. Maybe the falafel I ordered in for dinner last night was made from rotten chickpeas, or something.

  Or maybe I’m just totally nervous, since this interview is going to be broadcast to an estimated 22 million homes on Monday night.

  Although I find it very hard to believe that 22 million families could possibly be interested in anything I have to say.

  I read that when Prince William gets interviewed, he gets the questions about a week before, so he has time to think up really smart and incisive answers. Apparently, members of the Genovian royal family are not extended that same courtesy. Not that even with a week’s worth of notice I could ever think of anything smart and incisive. Well, okay, maybe smart, but definitely not incisive.

  Well, probably not even smart, either, depending on what they ask.

  So I am sitting here and I really do feel like I am going to throw up, and I wish I could hurry up and get this over with. It was supposed to start two hours ago.

  But Grandmère isn’t satisfied with the way the cosmetic technician (makeup lady) did my eyes. She says I look like a poulet. That means “hooker” in French. Or chicken. But when my Grandmère says it, it always means hooker.

  Why can’t I have a nice, normal grandma, who makes rugelach and thinks I look wonderful no matter what I have on? Lilly’s grandma has never said the word hooker in her life, even in Yiddish. I know that for a fact.

  So the makeup lady had to go down to the hotel gift shop to see if they have any blue eyeshadow. Grandmère wants blue, because she says it matches my eyes. Except that my eyes are gray. I wonder if Grandmère is color-blind.

  That would explain a lot.

  I met Beverly Bellerieve. The one good thing about all this is that she actually seems semi-human. She told me that if she asked anything that I felt was too personal or embarrassing, that I could just say I don’t want to answer. Isn’t that nice?

  Plus she is very beautiful. You should see my dad. I can already tell that Beverly is going to be this week’s girlfriend. Well, she’s better than the women he usually hangs around with. At least Beverly looks as if she probably isn’t wearing a thong. And as if her brainstem is fully functional.

  So, considering that Beverly Bellerieve turns out to be so nice and all, you’d think I wouldn’t be so nervous.

  And truthfully, I’m not so sure it’s just the interview that’s making me feel like I’m going to hurl. It’s actually something my dad said to me, when I came in. It was the first time I’d seen him since the time he spent at the loft while I was sick. Anyway, he asked me how I was feeling and all, and I lied and said fine, and then he said, “Mia, is your Algebra teacher—”

  And I was all, “Is my Algebra teacher what?” thinking he was going to ask me if Mr. Gianini was teaching me about parallel numbers.

  But that is so totally NOT what he asked me. Instead, he asked me, “Is your Algebra teacher living in the loft?”

  Well, I was so shocked, I didn’t know what to say. Because of course Mr. Gianini isn’t living there. Not really.

  But he will be. And probably pretty shortly, too.

  So I just went, “Um, no.”

  And my dad looked relieved! He actually looked relieved!

  So how is he going to look when he finds out the truth?

  It is very hard to concentrate on the fact that I am about to be interviewed by this world-renowned television news journalist, when all I can think about is how my poor dad is going to feel when he finds out my mother is marrying my Algebra teacher and also having his baby. Not that I think my dad still loves my mom, or anything. It’s just that, as Lilly once pointed out, his chronic bed-hopping is a clear indication that he has some serious intimacy issues.

  And with Grandmère as a mother, you can see why that might be.

  I think he really would like to have what my mom has with Mr. Gianini. Who knows how he is going to take t
he news about their impending marriage, when my mom finally works up the guts to tell him? He might completely freak out. He might even want me to come live with him in Genovia, to comfort him in his grief!

  And of course I will have to say yes, because he is my dad and I love him, and all.

  Except that I really don’t want to live in Genovia. I mean, I would miss Lilly and Tina Hakim Baba and all my other friends. And what about Jo-C-rox? How would I ever find out who he is? And what about Fat Louie? Would I get to keep him, or what? He is very well behaved (except when it comes to ingesting socks, and that whole thing with the sparkly objects) and if there was a rodent problem in the castle, he would totally solve it. But what if they don’t let cats in the palace? I mean, he hasn’t had his claws removed, so if there’s any sort of valuable furniture or tapestries or whatever, you can pretty much kiss them good-bye. . . .

  Mr. G and my mom are already talking about where his stuff is going to go when he moves into the loft. And Mr. G has some really cool-sounding stuff. Like a foozball table, a drum set (who knew Mr. Gianini was musical?), a pinball machine, AND a 36-inch flat-screen TV.

  I am not even kidding. He is way cooler than I ever thought.

  If I move to Genovia, I will totally miss out on having my own foozball table.

  But if I don’t move to Genovia, who will comfort my poor dad in his chronic loneliness?

  Oops, the cosmetic technician is back with the blue eyeshadow.

  I swear I am going to heave. Good thing I was too nervous to eat anything all day.

  Saturday, October 25, 7 p.m., on the way to Lilly’s house

  Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, OH, GOD.

  I screwed up. I REALLY screwed up.

  I don’t know what happened. I honestly don’t. Everything was going along fine. I mean, that Beverly Bellerieve, she’s so . . . nice. I was really, really nervous, and she did her very best to try to calm me down.