Mia Goes Fourth

But that, see, is the problem. I have all these great things going for me, and I should be totally happy. I should be over the

moon with joy.

And maybe it's only the jet lag talking - I am so tired, I can barely keep my eyes open - or maybe it's PMS - I am sure my internal clock is way messed up from all this intercontinental flying. But I can't shake this feeling that I am . . .

Well, a total reject.

And I will tell you why I feel this way. I mean, take Gifted and Talented class, for example:

WHAT AM I DOING IN HERE????

I am not gifted. I am not talented. I am not good at anything. Really. I have no gifts or special talents. I AM A POSER.

I SHOULD NOT BE HERE.

It hit me today at lunch. I was sitting there like always with Lilly and Boris and Tina and Shameeka and Ling Su, and then Michael came and sat down with us, which of course caused this total cafeteria sensation, since seniors NEVER sit at the freshman tables.

And I was totally embarrassed but of course proud and pleased, too, because Michael NEVER sat at our table back when

he and I were just friends, so his sitting there MUST mean that he is at least slightly in love with me, because it is quite a sacrifice to give up the intellectual talk at the table where he normally sits for the kinds of talks we have at my table, which

are generally, like, in-depth analyses of last night's episode of Charmed and how cute Rose McGowan's halter top was or whatever.

But Michael was totally a good sport about it, even though he thinks Charmed is facile. And I really did try to steer the conversation around to things a guy would like, such as Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Milla Jojovich.

Only it turned out I didn't even need to, because Michael is like one of those peppered moths we read about in Bio.

You know, the ones that turned black when the tree bark they were camouflaged against got all sooty during the industrial revolution? He can totally adapt to any situation, and feel at ease. This is an amazing talent that I wish I had. Maybe if I

did, I wouldn't feel so out of place at meetings of the Genovian Olive Growers' Association.

Anyway, today at the lunch table, someone brought up cloning, and everyone was talking about who would you clone if you could clone anyone, and people were saying like Albert Einstein so he could come back and tell us the meaning of life and

stuff, or Jonas Salk so he could find a cure for cancer, and Mozart so he could finish his last requiem (whatever, that one

was Boris's, of course), or Madame Pompadour so she could give us all tips on romance (Tina) or Jane Austen so she

could write scathingly about current social mores and we could all benefit from her cutting wit (Lilly).

And then Michael said he would clone Kurt Cobain, because he was a musical genius who was taken too young. And then

he asked me who I would clone, and I couldn't think of anyone, because there really isn't anyone dead that I would want to bring back, except maybe Grandpa, but how creepy would that be? And Grandmere would probably freak. So I just said

Fat Louie, because I love Fat Louie and wouldn't mind having two of him around.

Only nobody looked very impressed by this except for Michael who said, 'That's nice,' which he probably only said

because he is my boyfriend.

But, whatever, I could deal with that, I am totally used to being the only person I know who sits through Empire Records every time it comes on TBS and who thinks it is one of the best movies ever made - after Star Wars and Dirty Dancing

and Say Anything and Pretty Woman, of course. Oh, and Tremors and Twister.

I am content to keep secret the fact that I must watch the Miss America Pageant every single year without fail, even though

I know it is degrading to women and not a scholarship fund, considering no one bigger than a size ten ever gets into it.

I mean, I know these things about myself. It is just the way I am. And though I have tried to improve myself by watching award-winning movies such as Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Gladiator, I don't know, I just don't like them. Everybody dies at the end and besides, if there isn't any dancing or explosions, it is very difficult for me to pay attention.

So, OK, I accept these things about myself. They are just me. Like I am good at English and not so good at Algebra. Whatever.

But it wasn't until we got to Gifted and Talented today, after lunch, and Lilly started working on the shot list for this week's episode of her cable access show, Lilly Tells It Like It Is, and Boris got out his violin and started playing a concerto (sadly

not in the supply closet because they still haven't put the door back on it), and Michael put on headphones and started

working on a new song for his band, that I realized it:

I have no special talent. I have no gift. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that I am a princess, I would be the most ordinary

person alive.

I mean, all my friends have these incredible things they can do: Lilly knows everything there is to know and isn't shy about saying it in front of a camera. Michael can not only play guitar and, like, fifty other instruments including the piano and drums, but he can also design whole computer programs. Boris has been playing his violin at sold-out Carnegie Hall concerts since

he was eleven years old, or something. Tina Hakim Baba can read, like, a book a day. Shameeka knows everything there is

to know about makeup and amoebas and Ling Su is an extremely talented artist.

But me?

Yeah, I can't do anything. I mean, nothing really well. Nothing better than anybody else.

I am just blah. I do not know why Michael even likes me, I am so talentless and boring. I mean, I guess it's a good thing my destiny as the monarch of a nation is sealed, because if I had to go apply for a job somewhere, I so fully wouldn't get it, because I'm not good at anything.

So here I am, sitting in Gifted and Talented, and there really is no getting around this basic fact:

I, Mia Thermopolis, am neither gifted nor talented.

WHAT AM I DOING IN HERE????? I DO NOT BELONG HERE!!!! I BELONG IN TECH. ED.!!!! OR DOMESTIC ARTS!!!!! I SHOULD BE MAKING A BIRDHOUSE OR A PIE!!!!

Just as I was writing this, Lilly leaned over and went, 'Oh my God, what is wrong with you? You look like you just ate a

sock,' which is what we say whenever someone looks super depressed, because that is how Fat Louie always looks

whenever he accidentally eats one of my socks and has to go to the vet to have it surgically removed.

Fortunately, Michael didn't hear her on account of having his headphones on. I would never have been able to confess

in front of him what I confessed then to his sister, which is that I am a big talentless phoney.

'And they only put me in this class in the first place because I was flunking Algebra,' I told her.

And she went, 'You have a talent.'

I stared at her, my eyes wide and, I am afraid, filled with tears. 'Oh, yeah, what?' I was really scared I was going to cry.