Me: Um. Okay.
Mr. Gianini: And tell her thanks from me, too. The last thing we need right now, with tensions running so high over finals, is a student walkout. (Mr. Gianini picked up his briefcase and jacket.) See you at home.
Then he winked at me. WINKED at me, like he knew I was the one who’d done it. But he couldn’t know. I mean, he doesn’t know about my nostrils (which were fully flaring the whole time; I could feel them!) Right? RIGHT????
Thursday, December 11, Homeroom
Lilly is going to drive me crazy.
Seriously. Like it’s not enough I have finals and my introduction to Genovia and my love life and everything to worry about. I have to listen to Lilly complain about how the administration of Albert Einstein High is out to get her. The whole way to school this morning she just droned on and on about how it’s all a plot to silence her because she once complained about the Coke machine outside the gym. Apparently the Coke machine is indicative of the administration’s efforts to turn us all into mindless soda-drinking, Gap-wearing clones, in Lilly’s opinion.
If you ask me, this isn’t really about Coke, or the attempts by the school’s administration to turn us into mindless pod-people. It’s really just because Lilly’s still mad she can’t use a chapter of the book she’s writing on the high-school experience as her term paper.
I reminded Lilly if she doesn’t submit a new topic, she’s going to get an F as her nine-week grade. Factored in with her A for the last nine weeks, that’s only like a C, which will significantly lower her grade-point average, and put her chances of getting into Berkeley, which is her first-choice school, at risk. She may be forced to fall back on her safety school, Brown, which I know would be quite a blow.
She didn’t even listen to me. She says she’s having an organizational meeting of this new group (of which she is president) Students Against the Corporatization of Albert Einstein High School (SACAEHS) on Saturday, and I have to come, because I am the group’s secretary. Don’t ask me how that happened. Lilly says I write everything down anyway, so it shouldn’t be any trouble for me.
I wish Michael had been there to protect me from his sister, but like he has every day this week, he took the subway to school early so he could work on his project for the Winter Carnival.
I wouldn’t doubt Judith Gershner has been showing up to school on the early side, too, this week.
Speaking of whom, I picked up another greeting card, this one from the Plaza gift shop on the way to Sebastiano’s showroom last night. It’s a lot better than that stupid one with the strawberry. This one has a picture of a lady holding a finger to her lips. Inside, it says, Shhhh . . .
Under that, I am having Tina write:
Roses are red
But cherries are redder
Maybe she can clone fruit flies
But I like you better.
What I meant was that I like him more than Judith Gershner does, but I’m not really sure that comes through in the poem. Tina says it does, but Tina thinks I should have used love instead of like, so who knows if her opinion is of any value? This is a poem clearly calling for a like and not a love.
I should know. I write enough of them.
Poems, I mean.
English Journal
This semester, we have read several novels, including To Kill a Mockingbird, Huckleberry Finn, and The Scarlet Letter. In your English journal, please record your feelings about the books we have read, and books in general. What have been your most meaningful experiences as a reader? Your favorite books? Your least favorite?
Please utilize transitive verbs.
Books I Have Read, and What They Meant to Me
by Mia Thermopolis
Books that were good:
Jaws—I bet you didn’t know that in the book version of this, Richard Dreyfuss and Roy Scheider’s wife have sex. But they do.
The Catcher in the Rye—This is totally good. It has lots of bad words.
To Kill a Mockingbird—This is an excellent book. They should do a movie version of this with Mel Gibson as Atticus, and he should blow Mr. Ewell away with a flame thrower at the end.
A Wrinkle in Time—Only we never find out the most important thing: whether or not Meg has breasts. I’m thinking she probably did, considering the fact that she already had the glasses and braces. I mean, all of that, and flat-chested, too? God wouldn’t be so cruel.
Emanuelle–In the eighth grade, my best friend and I found this book on top of a trash can on East Third Street. We took turns reading it out loud. It was very, very good. At least the parts I remember. My mom caught us reading it and took it away before we’d gotten a chance to finish it.
Books that sucked*
The Scarlet Letter—You know what would have been cool? If there had been a rift in the space-time continuum, and one of those Euro-trash terrorists Bruce Willis is always chasing in the Die Hard movies dropped a nuclear bomb on the town where Arthur Dimmesdale and all those losers lived, and blew it sky high. That’s about the only thing I can think of that would have made this book even remotely interesting.
Our Town—Okay, this is a play and not a book, but they still made us read it, and all I have to say about it is that basically, you find out when you die that nobody cared about you and we’re all alone forever, the end. Okay! Thanks for that! I feel much better now!
The Mill on the Floss—I don’t want to give anything away here, but midway through the book, just when things were going good and there were all these hot romances (not as hot as in Emanuelle, though, so don’t get your hopes up) someone very crucial to the plot DIES, which if you ask me is just a cop-out so the author could make her deadline on time.
Anne of Green Gables—All that blah-blah-blah about imagination. I tried to imagine some car chases or explosions that would actually make this book good, but I must be like all of Anne’s drippy unimaginative friends, because I couldn’t.
Little House on the Prairie—Little yawn on the big snore. I have all ninety-seven thousand of these books, because people kept on giving them to me when I was little, and all I have to say is if Half Pint had lived in Manhattan, she’d have gotten her you-know-what-kicked from here to Avenue D.
* Mrs. Spears, I believe the word sucked is transitive in this instance.
Thursday, December 11, fourth period
No PE today!
Instead there is an assembly.
And it’s not because there’s a sporting event they want us all to show our support for. No! This was no pep rally. There wasn’t a cheerleader in sight. Well, okay, there were cheerleaders in sight, but they weren’t in uniform or anything. They were sitting in the bleachers with the rest of us. Well, not really with the rest of us, since they were in the best seats, the ones in the middle, all jostling to see who could sit next to Justin Baxendale, who has apparently ousted Josh Richter as hottest guy in school, but whatever.
No. Instead, it appears that there has been a major disciplinary infraction at Albert Einstein High School. An act of random vandalism that has shaken the administration’s faith in us. Which was why they called an assembly, so that they could better convey their feelings of—as Lilly just whispered in my ear—disillusionment and betrayal.
And what was this act that has Principal Gupta and the trustees so up in arms?
Why, someone pulled a fire alarm yesterday, that’s what.
Oops.
I have to say, I have never done anything really bad before—well, I dropped an eggplant out a sixteenth floor window a couple of months ago, but no one got hurt or anything—but there really is something sort of thrilling about it. I mean, I would never want to do anything too bad, like anything where someone might get hurt.
But I have to say, it is immensely gratifying to have all these people coming up to the microphone and decrying my behavior.
I probably wouldn’t feel so good about it if I’d gotten caught, though.
I am being urged to come forward and turn myself in even as I wr
ite this. Apparently, the guilt for my action is going to hound me well past my teen years, possibly even into my twenties and beyond.
Okay, can I just tell you how much I’m NOT going to think about high school when I am in my twenties? I am going to be way too busy working with Greenpeace to save the whales to worry about some stupid fire alarm I pulled in the ninth grade.
The administration is offering a reward for information leading to the identity of the perpetrator of this heinous crime. A reward! You know what the reward is? A free movie pass to the Sony Imax theater. That’s all I’m worth! A movie pass!
The only person who could possibly turn me in isn’t even paying attention to the assembly. I can see Justin Baxendale has got a Gameboy out, and is playing it with the sound off, while Lana and her fellow cheer cronies look over his broad shoulders, probably panting so hard they’re fogging up the screen.
I guess Justin hasn’t put two and two together yet. You know, about seeing me in the hallway just before that fire alarm went off. With any luck, he never will.
Mr. Gianini, though. That’s another story. I see him over there, talking to Mrs. Hill. He has obviously not told anyone that he suspects me.
Maybe he doesn’t suspect me. Maybe he thinks Lilly did it, and I know about it. That could be. I can tell Lilly really wishes she’d done it, because she keeps on muttering under her breath about how, when she finds out who did it, she’s going to kill that person, etc.
She’s just jealous, of course. That’s because now it seems like some kind of political statement, instead of what it actually was: a way to prevent a political statement.
Principal Gupta is looking at us very sternly. She says that it is always natural to want to burn off a little steam right before finals, but that she hopes we will choose positive channels for this, such as the penny drive the Community Outreach Club is holding in order to benefit the victims of Tropical Storm Fred, which flooded several suburban New Jersey neighborhoods last November.
Ha! As if contributing to a stupid penny drive can ever give anybody the same kind of thrill as committing a completely random act of civil disobedience.
LILLY MOSCOVITZ’S LIST OF THE
TOP TEN BEST MOVIES OF ALL TIME
(with commentary by Mia Thermopolis)
Say Anything: Kick-boxing iconoclast Lloyd Dobler, as played by John When-is-He-Going-to-Run-for-President-So-We-Can-Have-Someone-Cute-in-the-Oval-Office Cusack, goes after the class brain (Ione Skye), who soon learns what we all know: Lloyd is every girl’s dream date. He understands us. He longs to protect us from broken glass in the parking lot of the local Seven Eleven. Need we say more? (This movie also contains classic song, Joe Lies.)
Reckless: Rebel from wrong side of tracks (Aidan Quinn) goes after straight-arrow cheerleader (Daryl Hannah). A classic example of teens struggling to break the yoke of parental expectation. (Plus you get to see Aidan Quinn’s you-know-what!)
Desperately Seeking Susan: Bored suburban housewife finds man of her dreams in East Village. An Eighties manifesto about female empowerment. Also starring Madonna and that lady who played Roseanne’s sister Jackie. (Also starring Aidan Quinn as the East Village hottie, only you don’t really get to see his you-know-what in this one. But you do get to see his butt!)
Ladyhawke: Star-crossed lovers are caught in an evil spell that only Matthew Broderick can help them break. Rutger Hauer makes a powerful Navarre, a knight who lives only to exact vengeance upon the man who wronged his fair Isabeau, played by Michelle Pfeiffer. An elegant and moving love story. (But what is with Matthew Broderick’s hair?)
Dirty Dancing: Spoiled teenage Baby learns a lot more than the cha-cha from long-haired summer resort dance instructor Johnny. A classic tale of coming-of-age in the Catskills, with important messages about the class system in America. (Only you don’t get to see anyone’s butt.)
Flashdance: A welder by day and an exotic dancer by night, Jennifer Beals’s Alex is a feminist in a thong, the Elizabeth Cady Stanton of the lap dance, who longs to audition for the Pittsburgh ballet. (But first she sleeps with her totally hot boss Michael Nouri and throws a big rock through his window!)
The Cutting Edge: Former hockey stud D.B. Sweeney is paired with figure skater and prissy rich girl Moira Kelly in an unlikely quest for Olympic gold. Interesting for its strategic build-up of sexual tension through ice dancing. (Toe-pick. Toooooooe-pick.)
Some Kind of Wonderful: Victory of tomboy Mary Stuart Masterson over prissy Lea Thompson for the heart of Eric Stolz. As usual, keen insight by John Hughes into the teen psyche/social structure. (Last movie in which Eric Stolz was actually cute.)
Reality Bites: Who will indie filmmaker Winona Ryder choose, smart aleck slacker Ethan Hawke, or clean-cut go-getter Ben Stiller? (Isn’t it obvious?)
Footloose: Out-of-towner flaunts small town’s anti-dancing laws. Starring Kevin Bacon, who saves Lori Singer from her abusive hick boyfriend. Most notable for scene at the PTA meeting in which Kevin Bacon’s character reveals he has actually done homework, as illustrated by his quoting from several Biblical passages which support dancing. (In the movies Wild Thing and Hollow Man you get to see Kevin Bacon’s you-know-what.)
Thursday, December 11, G & T
Today was my lunch with Kenny at Big Wong.
I really don’t have anything to say about it, except that he didn’t ask me to the Nondenominational Winter Dance. Not only that, but it appears that Kenny’s passion for me has ebbed significantly since it hit its zenith on Tuesday.
I of course was beginning to suspect this, since he’s stopped calling me after school, and I haven’t had one Instant Message from him since before the great Ice-Skating Debacle. He says it’s because he’s so busy studying for finals and all, but I suspect something else:
He knows. He knows about Michael.
I mean, come on. How can he not?
Well, okay, maybe he doesn’t know about Michael specifically, but Kenny must know generally that he is not the one who lights my fire.
If I had a fire, that is.
No, Kenny is just being nice.
Which I appreciate, and all, but I just wish he’d come out and say it. All of this kindness, this solicitousness, it’s just making me feel worse. I mean, how could I? Really? How could I have ever agreed to be Kenny’s girlfriend, knowing full well I liked someone else? By rights, Kenny should go to Majesty magazine and spill all. “Royal Betrayal,” they could call it. I totally would understand it, if he did.
But he won’t. Because he’s too nice.
Instead, he ordered steamed vegetable dumplings for me, and pork buns for him (one encouraging sign that Kenny might not love me as much as he used to insist: he’s eating meat again) and talked about Bio and what had happened at assembly (I didn’t tell him it was me who pulled the alarm, and he didn’t ask me, so there was no need to shield my nostrils). He mentioned again how sorry he was about my tongue, and asked how I was doing in Algebra, and offered to come over and tutor me if I wanted (Kenny tested out of freshman Algebra), even though of course I live with an Algebra teacher. Still, you could tell he meant to be nice.
Which just makes me feel worse. Because of what I’m going to have to do after finals and all.
But he didn’t ask me to the dance.
I don’t know if this means we aren’t going, or if it means he considers the fact we are going a given.
I swear, I do not understand boys at all.
As if lunch wasn’t bad enough, G and T isn’t too great, either. No, Judith Gershner isn’t here . . . but neither is Michael. The guy is AWOL. Nobody knows where he is. Lilly had to tell Mrs. Hill, when she took attendance, that her brother was in the bathroom.
I wonder where he really is. Lilly says that since he started writing this new program that the Computer Club will be unveiling at the Winter Carnival, she’s hardly seen him.
Which is no real change, since Michael hardly comes out of his room anyway, but still. You’d think he’d come home once in
a while to study.
But I guess, seeing as how he already got into his first-choice college, his grades don’t really matter anymore.
Besides, like Lilly, Michael is a genius. What does he need to study for?
Unlike the rest of us.
I wish they’d put the door back on the supply closet. It is extremely hard to concentrate with Boris scraping away on his violin in there. Lilly says this is just another tactic by the trustees to weaken our resistance, so we will remain the mindless drones they are trying to make us, but I think it’s just on account of that time we all forgot to let him out, and he was stuck in there until the night custodian heard his anguished pleas to be released.
Which is Lilly’s fault, if you think about it. I mean, she’s his girlfriend. She should really take better care of him.
HOMEWORK
Algebra: practice test
English: term paper
World Civ: practice test
G & T: none
French: l’examen pratique
Biology: practice test
Thursday, December 11, 9 p.m.
Grandmère is seriously out of control. Tonight she started quizzing me on the names and responsibilities of all of my dad’s cabinet ministers. Not only do I have to know exactly what they do, but also their marital status and the names and ages of their kids, if any. These are the kids I am supposedly going to have to hang out with while celebrating Christmas at the palace. I am figuring they will probably hate me as much, if not more, than Mr. Gianini’s niece and nephew hated me at Thanksgiving.
All of my holidays from now on are apparently going to be spent in the company of kids who hate me.
You know, I would just like to say that it is totally not my fault I am a princess. They have no right to hate me so much. I have done everything I could to maintain a normal life in spite of my royal status. I have totally turned down opportunities to be on the covers of CosmoGirl, Teen People, Seventeen, YM, and Girl’s Life. I have refused invitations to go on TRL and introduce the number-one video in the country, and when the mayor asked if I wanted to be the one to press the button that drops the ball in Times Square on New Year’s Eve, I said no (aside from the fact I am going to be in Genovia for New Year’s, I oppose the mayor’s mosquito spraying campaign, as runoff from the pesticides used to kill the mosquitos that may be carrying the West Nile virus has infected the local horseshoe crab population. A compound in the blood of horseshoe crabs, which nest all along the eastern seaboard, is used to test the purity of every drug and vaccine administered in the U.S. The crabs are routinely gathered, drained of a third of their blood, then re-released into the sea . . . a sea which is now killing them as well as many other arthropods, such as lobsters, thanks to the amount of pesticide in it).