I totally understand. I mean, when the seniors find out, they are NOT going to be happy. Especially Amber Cheeseman. She may look small, but I hear she’s strong as an ape.
Yeah, that’s what I mean. That’s why we’re trying to keep it on the down low.
Gotcha. My lips are sealed.
Thanks, Shameeka.
Hey, you guys. Is it true?—Perin
Is WHAT true?
About the student government being broke.
WHO TOLD YOU?
Um, I heard it from the receptionist this morning in the attendance office when I brought in my latte pass. But don’t worry, I won’t tell. She said not to.
Oh. Well. Yes. It’s true.
And you’re starting a literary magazine too make up for the lost revenue?
Who told you that?
Lilly. Can I just say that, even though I think starting a literary magazine is a neat idea and all, when we needed to make some money fast at my old school, we sold the cutest scented candles in the shapes of actual fruits, and we made a mint!
What a great idea! Don’t you think so, Mia?
NO!
Wednesday, March 3, G & T
So at lunch today Boris Pelkowski put his tray down next to mine and said, “So I hear we’re broke.”
And I seriously lost it.
“YOU GUYS,” I yelled at the entire lunch table. “YOU HAVE TO STOP TALKING ABOUT THIS. WE’RE TRYING TO KEEP IT A SECRET.”
Then I explained about how much I value my life, and how I would not care for it to be cut short by an enraged hapkido brown-belt valedictorian with monkeylike strength in her upper torso (even if, by killing and/or maiming me, she would actually be doing me a favor, since then I wouldn’t have to live with the humiliation of having my boyfriend forsake me because I am not a party girl).
“She would never kill you, Mia,” Boris pointed out helpfully. “Lars would shoot her first.”
Lars, who was showing Tina’s bodyguard, Wahim, all the games on his new Sidekick, looked up upon hearing his name.
“Who is planning to kill the princess?” Lars asked alertly.
“No one,” I said, from between gritted teeth. “Because we’re going to get the money before she ever finds out. RIGHT????”
I think I must have really impressed them with my seriousness, since they all went, “Okay.”
Then, thankfully, Perin changed the subject.
“Uh-oh, looks like they did it again,” she said, pointing to the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili. Because he was sitting in his usual place by himself, disgustedly picking pieces of corn from his bowl of chili, and flicking them onto his lunch tray.
“That poor guy,” Perin said with a sigh. “I feel so bad whenever I see him sitting alone like that. I know how that feels.”
There was a painful pause as we all recalled how Perin had sat by herself at the beginning of the school year because she was new. Until we adopted her, that is.
“I thought he got a girlfriend,” Tina said. “Didn't you say you saw him buying prom tickets last year, Mia?”
“Yes,” I replied, with a sigh. “But I was wrong. It turned out he was only asking the people who were selling the prom tickets if they knew where the closest F train station was.”
Which, incidentally, is what inspired my short story about him.
“It's so sad,” Tina said, gazing in the direction of the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili. “It makes me think that what happens in Mia’s short story about him could happen in real life.”
!!!!!
“Maybe we should ask him to sit with us,” I said. Because the last thing I need, on top of everything else, is the guilt of having caused some guy to commit suicide by not being nicer to him.
“No, thank you,” Boris said. “I have enough problems digesting this disgusting food without having to do so in the company of a bonafide weirdo.”
“Hello,” Lilly said under her breath. “Pot, this is kettle. You’re black.”
“I heard that,” Boris said, looking pained.
“You were meant to,” Lilly sang.
Then Lilly pulled a bunch of flyers from her Hello Kitty Trapper Keeper. She’d clearly been down in the office, photo-copying something. She started passing the photocopies around.
“Everybody, give these out in your afternoon classes,” she said. “Hopefully by tomorrow we’ll get enough submissions to run our first issue by the end of this week.”
I looked down at the bright pink flyer. It said:
HEY YOU!
Are you sick and tired of being told what’s hot and what’s not by the so-called media?
Do you want to read stories written by your peers, about issues that really matter to you, instead of the stream of pap we are fed by teen magazines and our parents’ newspapers?
Then submit your original articles, poetry, short stories, cartoons, manga, novellas, and photos to Albert Einstein High School’s first ever literary magazine
FAT LOUIE’S PINK BUTTHOLE!!!!
Fat Louie’s Pink Butthole now accepting submissions for Volume I, Issue I
Oh my God.
OH MY GOD.
“Before you go all reactionary about the name of our literary magazine, Mia,” Lilly began—I guess because she must have noticed my lips turning white—“may I just point out that it is extremely creative and that, if we stick with it, we will never have to worry about any other literary magazine in the world having the same name?”
“Because it’s named after my cat’s butt!”
“Yes,” Lilly said. “It is. Thanks to the movies based on your life, your cat is famous, Mia. Everyone knows who Fat Louie is. That is why our magazine is going to sell. Because when people realize it has something to do with the princess of Genovia, they will snatch it right up. Because, for reasons that are beyond me, people are actually interested in you.”
“But the title isn’t about ME!” I wailed. “It’s about my cat! My cat’s butt, to be exact!”
“Yes,” Lilly said. “I will admit it’s a bit on the juvenile side. But that is why it will get people’s attention. They won’t be able to look away. I figure for the first cover, I’ll take a picture of Fat Louie’s butt, and then—”
She kept on talking, but I wasn’t listening. I COULDN’T listen.
Why must I be surrounded by so many lunatics?
Wednesday, March 3, Earth Science
Kenny just asked me to rewrite our worksheet on subduction zones. Not do the actual WORK over again (although it wouldn’t really be over again, since I didn’t do it in the first place—he did), but redo it on a new sheet that isn’t covered in pizza stains like the one we would be handing in if I weren’t redoing it, due to the fact that Kenny did it last night while he was eating his dinner.
I wish Kenny would be more careful with our homework. It’s a big pain for me to have to copy it over. Lilly’s not the only one with carpals, you know. I mean, SHE isn’t the one who has to sign a gazillion autographs for people every time she gets out of her limo in front of the Plaza. People have started LINING UP there every day after school because they know I’ll be coming for my princess lesson with Grandmère. I have to keep a Sharpie with me at all times just for that reason.
Writing Princess Mia Thermopolis over and over again is no joke. I wish my name weren’t so long.
Maybe I should just switch to writing HRH Mia. But would that seem stuck-up?