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Duh, Lilly, I did. She said she’d look into it.

(Why does Lilly have to be so adversarial during these meetings? It makes me look like I don’t have any authority whatsoever in front of Mrs. Hill.

I really thought she was over that whole thing about me not stepping down from office so that SHE could be president. I mean, that was MONTHS ago, and she seemed to forgive me once I got my dad to go on her TV show so she could interview him about European immigration policies.

And okay, it didn’t give her the ratings bounce she’d been hoping for.

But Lilly Tells It Like It Is is still the most popular public access program on Manhattan cable television—after that one with the Hell’s Angel who shows you how to cook over an exhaust pipe, I mean—even if those producers who optioned her show still haven’t managed to sell it to any major networks.)

VICE PRESIDENT’S REPORT:

The recycling bins have arrived and have been placed beside every regular trash can throughout the school. These are specialized bins that are divided into three sections: paper, bottles, and cans, with a built-in mechanized crusher on the can side. Student use has been frequent. There is, however, a small problem with the stickers.

PRESIDENT’S RESPONSE:

What stickers?

VICE PRESIDENT’S R TO PRESIDENT’S R:

The ones across the lids of the recycling bins that say “Paper, Cans, and Battles.”

PRESIDENT’S R TO VP’S R:

They say “Paper, Cans, and BOTTLES,” not “Battles.”

VICE PRESIDENT:

No, they don’t. See?

PRESIDENT:

Okay. Who proofed the stickers?

VICE PRESIDENT:

That would have been the secretary. Who isn’t here.

TREASURER:

But it isn’t Tina’s fault, she’s been super-stressed about midterms.

PRESIDENT:

We need to order new stickers. “Paper, Cans, and Battles” is unacceptable.

TREASURER:

We don’t have the money to order new stickers.

PRESIDENT:

Contact the vendor who supplied the stickers and inform them that they made a mistake that needs to be rectified immediately and that, because it was THEIR mistake, there should be no charge.

VICE PRESIDENT:

Excuse me, Mia, but are you writing the minutes of this meeting in your JOURNAL?

PRESIDENT:

Yes. So what?

VICE PRESIDENT:

So don’t you have a special student government notebook?

PRESIDENT:

Yes. But I sort of lost it. Don’t worry, I’m going to transcribe the minutes into my computer once I get home. I’ll give you all printouts tomorrow.

VICE PRESIDENT:

You LOST your student government notebook?

PRESIDENT:

Well, not exactly. I mean, I have a pretty good idea where it is. It’s just not accessible at this time.

VICE PRESIDENT:

And why would that be?

PRESIDENT:

Because I left it in your brother’s dorm room.

VICE PRESIDENT:

What were you doing with the student government notebook in my brother’s dorm room?

PRESIDENT:

I was just visiting him, okay?

VICE PRESIDENT:

Was that ALL you were doing? Just VISITING him?

PRESIDENT:

Yes. Madam Treasurer, we are ready for your report now.

(Okay, seriously. What’s with the Was that ALL you were doing? You so know she was talking about S-E-X. And in front of Mrs. Hill, too! As if Lilly doesn’t know perfectly well where Michael and I stand on that subject!

Could it be that maybe she’s nervous about “No More Corn!” being better than any of her stories? No, that’s not possible. I mean, “No More Corn!” IS about a sensitive young loner who becomes so distressed over the alienation he feels at the expensive Upper East Side prep school his parents send him to, as well as that school cafeteria’s insistence on putting corn in the chili, ignoring his frequent requests to them to not do so, that he eventually jumps in front of an F train.

But is this really a better plot than any of the ones in Lilly’s stories, which are all about young men and women coming to terms with their sexuality? I don’t know.

I do know that Sixteen magazine doesn’t tend to publish stories with explicit sex scenes in them. I mean, it has articles about birth control and testimonials from girls who got STDs or had unwanted pregnancies or got sold into white slavery or whatever.

But it never picks stories with stuff like that in them for its fiction contest.

When I mentioned this to Lilly, though, she said they would probably make an exception if the story were good enough, which hers definitely are—according to her, anyway.

I just hope Lilly’s expectations aren’t TOO unrealistic. Because, okay, one of the first rules of fiction is to write what you know, and I have never been a boy, hated corn, or felt alienated enough to jump in front of an F train.

But Lilly’s never had sex, and all FIVE of her stories have sex in them. In one of them, the heroine has sex with a TEACHER. You KNOW that’s not written from personal experience. I mean, except for Coach Wheeton, who is now engaged to Mademoiselle Klein and wouldn’t even LOOK at a student, there isn’t a single male teacher in this school anyone could remotely consider hot.

Well, anyone except my mom, of course, who apparently found Mr. G’s alleged hotness—EW—irresistible.)

TREASURER’S REPORT: We have no money left.

(Wait. WHAT DID LING SU SAY???????)

Tuesday, March 2, the Plaza, princess lessons

Well, that’s it, then. The student government of Albert Einstein High is broke.

Busted.

Bankrupt.

Tapped out.

We’re the first government in the history of Albert Einstein High School to have run through their entire budget in only seven months, with three more still to go.

The first government ever not to have enough money to rent Alice Tully Hall at Lincoln Center for the senior class’s commencement ceremony.

And it’s apparently all my fault for appointing an artist as treasurer.

“I told you I’m no good with money!” was all Ling Su kept repeating, over and over again. “I told you not to make me be treasurer! I told you to make Boris treasurer! But you wanted it to be all about Girl Power. Well, this girl is also an artist. And artists don’t know anything about balance sheets and fund revenues! We have more important things on our mind. Like making art to stimulate the mind and senses.”

“I knew we should have made Shameeka treasurer,” Lilly groaned. Several times. Even though I reminded her, repeatedly, that Shameeka’s dad told her she is only allowed one extracurricular activity per semester, and she’d already chosen cheerleading over student governing, in a decision sure to haunt her in her quest to be the first African-American woman to be appointed to the Supreme Court.

The thing is, it really isn’t Ling Su’s fault. I mean, I’m the president. If there is one thing I’ve learned from this princess business, it’s that with sovereignty comes responsibility: You can delegate all you want, but, ultimately, YOU’RE the one who is going to pay the price if something goes awry.

I should have been paying attention. I should have been more on top of things.

I should have put the kibosh on the uber-expensive bins. I should have just made them get the regular blue ones. It was my idea to go for the ones with the built-in crusher.

WHAT WAS I THINKING??? Why didn’t anyone try to stop me????

Oh my God. I know what this is!

It is my own personal presidential Bay of Pigs.

Seriously. We learned all about the Bay of Pigs in World Civ—where a group of military strategists back in the sixties came up with this plan to invade Cuba and overthrow Castro, and talked President Kennedy into agreeing to it, only to get to Cuba and find out they were outnumbered and also that no one had checked to make sure the mountains they were supposed to flee into for safety were actually on that side of the island (they weren’t).