This made me realize that in spite of the sweaters and the mouth-breathing, Boris really is a funny and nice person. Lilly is so lucky. I mean, that the boy she loves actually loves her back. If only I could love Kenny the way Lilly loves Boris!
But I don't seem to have any control over who I fall in love with. Believe me, if I did I would NOT love Michael. I mean, for one thing he is my best friend's older brother, and if Lilly ever found out I liked him, she would NOT understand. Also, of course, he is a senior and is graduating soon.
And oh, yeah, he already has a girlfriend.
But what am I supposed to do? I can't make myself fall in love with Kenny, any more than I can make him stop liking me, you know, in that special way.
Although he still hasn't asked me to the dance. Or mentioned it at all. Lilly says I should just call him and be like, 'So are we going, or not?' After all, she keeps pointing out, I had the guts to smash up Lana's mobile. Why don't I have the guts to call
my own boyfriend and ask him whether or not he is taking me to the school dance?
But I smashed up Lana's phone in the heat of passion. I cannot summon up anything like passion where Kenny is concerned. There is a part of me that doesn't want to go to the dance with him at all, and that part of me is relieved he hasn't mentioned anything about it.
OK, it is a very small part of me, but it is still there. So actually, even though I was having fun sitting by Boris at the restaurant and all, it was also a little depressing, on account of the whole Kenny thing.
And then things got even more depressing. That's because some little Chinese-American girls came up to me as I was opening my fortune cookie and wanted to know if they could have my autograph. Then they handed me pens and the advertising supplement that had appeared in that day's Times for me to sign.
I seriously thought about killing myself, only I couldn't think how I'd do it, except for maybe stabbing myself through the heart with a chopstick.
Instead, I just signed the stupid thing for them and tried to smile. But inside, of course, I was FREAKING OUT, especially when I saw how happy the little girls were to have met me. And why? No, not because of my tireless work on behalf of the polar bears or the whales or starving kids. Which I haven't actually done yet, but I fully intend to do.
No, because I'd been in a magazine in a bunch of pretty dresses, and I'm tall and skinny like a model.
Which is no accomplishment at all!
After that, my headache came back and I said I had to go home.
Nobody protested very much - I think because everybody realized all of a sudden how much time we'd wasted and how
much studying we all had left to do. So we left, and now I am home again and my mom says that while I was gone Sebastiano called four times AND he had this dress delivered.
Not just any dress, either. It is a dress Sebastiano designed just for me. To wear to the Non-Denominational Winter Dance.
It isn't sexy at all. It is dark green velvet with long sleeves and a wide square-shaped neckline.
But when I put it on and looked at my reflection in the mirror in my room, something funny happened:
I looked good. Really good.
There was a note attached to the dress that said:
Please forgive me.
I promise this dress will not make him think of you as his little sister's best friend.
S.
Which is very sweet. Sad, but sweet. Sebastiano can't know, of course, that the Michael situation is completely hopeless and that no dress is going to make any difference, no matter how nice I look in it.
But, hey, at least Sebastiano apologized. That's a lot more, I've noticed, than Grandmere has done.
Of course I forgive Sebastiano. I mean, none of it his fault, really.
And I guess someday I'll probably forgive Grandmere since she's too old to know any better.
But the person I will never, ever forgive is myself for getting into this situation in the first place. I totally should have known better. I should have told Sebastiano 'No photos, please'.
Only I was so carried away, looking at myself in all those beautiful dresses, that I forgot being a princess is more than
just wearing pretty dresses: it's being an example to a lot of people . . . people you don't even know and may not ever even meet.
Which is why if I don't pass this Algebra test, I am dead.
Monday, December 14, Homeroom
Here are the number of students at Albert Einstein High School who (so far) have felt compelled to make comments to me about my smashing Lana Weinberger's mobile phone last Friday:
37
Here are the number of students at Albert Einstein High School who (so far) have felt compelled to mention my suspension last Friday:
59
Here are the number of students at Albert Einstein High School who (so far) have felt compelled to make comments to me about my appearance in an advertising supplement to the New York Times over the weekend:
74
Total number of comments made to me so far today by students at Albert Einstein High School:
170
Oddly, after wading through all of this negativity, when I got to my locker I found something that seemed extremely out of place: a single yellow rose, sticking out of the door.
What can this mean? Can there be someone in this school who does not despise me?
Apparently so. But when I looked around, wondering who my one supporter could be, I saw only Justin Baxendale, being stalked (as usual) by a horde of worshipful girls.
I suppose my anonymous rose-leaver must be Kenny, trying to cheer me up. He will not admit it, but who else could it be?
It is Reading Day today, which means we are supposed to spend the whole day - except for lunch - sitting in Homeroom, studying for Finals, which begin tomorrow. This is fine by me, since at least this way there's no chance I'll run into Lana. Her homeroom is on a whole other floor.
The only problem is that Kenny's in this class. We have to sit alphabetically, so he's way up at the front of this row, but he keeps passing notes back to me. Notes that say things like, Keep on smilin! and Hang in there, sunshine!
He won't fess up to the rose thing, though.
By the way, want to know the total number of comments made to me so far today by Michael Moscovitz?
1
And it wasn't even really a comment. He told me in the hallway that my combat boot had come untied.
And it had.
My life is so over.
Five days until the Non-Denominational Winter Dance, and still no date.
Distance formula: d-10xrt
r=10
t=2
d=10 + (10)(2)
= 10 + 20= 30
Variables are place holders for numbers (letters)
Distributive law
5x + 5y - 5
5(x + y- 1)
2a - 2b + 2c
2(-l)-2(-2) + 2(5)
-2 + 4+ 10= 12
| Four times a number is added to three, the result is five times the number.
Find the number.
x = the number
4x + 3 = 5x
-4x
-4x
3 = x
Regardez les oiseaux stupides.
Cartesian coordinate system divides the plane into four parts called quadrants
Quadrant 1 (positive, positive)
Quadrant 2 (negative, positive)
Quadrant 3 (negative, negative)
Quadrant 4 (positive, negative)
Slope: slope of a line is line denoted m
Find slope
negative slopes
positive slopes
zero slope
vertical line has no slope
horizontal line has 0 slope
Collinear - points that lie on the same line parallel lines have the same slope
4x + 2y = 6
2y = -4x + 6 y
= -2x + 3
active voice indicates that the subject of the verb is acting passive voice indicates that the subject of the verb is being acted upon
Tuesday, December 15
Algebra and English finals completed. Only three more, plus term paper, to go.
76 comments today, 53 of them negative:
'Sellout' = 29 times
I-Must-Think-I'm-All-That = 14 times
Here Comes Miss Thang = 6 times
Lilly says, 'Who cares what people are saying? You know the truth, right? And that's all that matters.'
That's easy for Lilly to say. Lilly's not the one who people are saying all those mean things about. I am.
Somebody left another yellow rose in my locker. What is up with that? I asked Kenny again if it was him, but he denied it. Strangely, he seemed to get very red in the face about it. But this might have been because Justin Baxendale, who was
walking by at the time, stepped on Kenny's foot. Kenny has very large feet - larger even than mine.
Four more days until the Non-Denominational Winter Dance, and nada on the date front.
Wednesday, December 16
World Civ. exam finis.
Two more, plus term paper, to go.
62 comments, 34 negative: '
Don't give up your day job' = 12 times
'Sellout' = 5 times
'If I was flat-chested like you, Mia, I could be a model too' = 6 times
1 rose, yellow, still no indication who left it. Perhaps someone is mistaking my locker for Lana's. She is, after all, always hanging out in that area, waiting for Josh Richter whose locker is next door to mine, so that the two of them can suck face.
It is possible that someone thinks he is leaving roses for her.
God knows, no one at Albert Einstein High School would want to leave flowers for me. Unless I were dead, maybe, and
they could fling them on to my grave and say, 'Good riddance, Miss Thang.'
Three more days until the dance. Still nothing.
Thursday, December 17,1 a.m.
It just occurred to me:
Maybe Kenny is lying about the roses. Maybe they really are from him. Maybe he's leaving them as kind of teasers, leading
up to asking me to the dance tomorrow night.
Which is kind of insulting, really. I mean, him waiting this long to finally ask. For all he knows, I could have said yes to somebody else by now.
As if somebody else might have asked. HA!
Thursday, December 17, 4 p.m.,
Limo on the Way to the Plaza
THAT'S IT!!!!!
I'M DONE!!!!!!
DONE WITH FINALS!!!!!!!!!!!!
And guess what?
I'm pretty sure I passed all of them. Even Algebra. The grades aren't posted until tomorrow, during the Winter Carnival, but I bugged Mr. G so much he finally said, 'Mia, you did fine. Now leave me alone, all right?'
Got that????? He said I did FINE!!!!!!!!!! You know what fine means, don't you?
IT MEANS I PASSED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thank God all of that's over. Now I can concentrate on what's important:
My social life.
I am serious. It is in a state of total disrepair. Everyone at school — with the exception of my friends - thinks I am this total sellout. They're like, 'You talk the talk, Mia, but you don't walk the walk.'
Well, I'm going to show them. Right after the World Civ. exam yesterday, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I knew exactly what
to do. It's what Grandmere would do.
Well, OK, maybe not quite what Grandmere would do, but it will solve the whole problem. Granted, Sebastiano isn't going
to like it very much. But, then, he should have asked ME, not Grandmere, if it was all right to run those photos in an ad for his clothes. Right?
I have to say, this is the most princessy thing I've done so far. And I am very, very nervous. Seriously. You wouldn't believe how much my palms are sweating.
But I cannot continue to lie back and meekly take this abuse. Something must be done about it, and I think I know what.
The best part is, I am doing it all by myself with no help from anyone.
Well, all right, the concierge at the Plaza helped by getting me a room, and Lars helped by making all the calls on his mobile phone.
And Lilly helped me write down what I was going to say, and Tina did my make-up and hair just now.
But other than that, it was all me.
OK, we're here.
Here goes nothing.
Thursday, December 17, 7 p.m.
I have now watched myself on all four major networks, plus New York 1, CNN, Headline News, MSNBC, and Fox News Channel. Apparently, they are also going to show it on Entertainment Tonight, Access Hollywood and E! Entertainment
News.
I have to say, for a girl who supposedly has issues with her self-image, I think I did a fine job. I didn't mess up, not even once. And if I maybe spoke a little too fast, well, you could still understand me. Unless, you know, you're a non-English speaker
or something.
I looked good too. I probably should have worn something other than my school uniform, but you know, royal blue comes off pretty good on TV.
The phone has been ringing off the hook ever since the press conference was first aired. The first time it rang, my mom picked
it up and it was Sebastiano, screaming incomprehensibly about how I've ruined him.
Only he can't say ruined. It just came out 'rued'.
I felt really bad. I mean, I didn't mean to ruin him. Especially after he was so nice about designing me that dress for the dance.
But what was I supposed to do? I tried to make him look on the bright side:
'Sebastiano,' I said, when I got on the phone. 'I haven't ruined you. Really. It's just the proceeds from the sales of the dresses I'm wearing in the ad that will go to Greenpeace.'
But Sebastiano completely failed to look at the big picture. He kept screaming, 'Rued! I'm rued!'
I pointed out that far from ruining him, his donating all the proceeds from sales of the dresses I modelled to Greenpeace was going to be perceived in the industry as a brilliant stroke of marketing genius, and that I wouldn't be surprised if those dresses flew off the racks since girls like me, who are really the people his fashions are geared for, care a great deal about the environment.
I must have picked up a thing or two during my princess lessons with Grandmere since in the end I totally won him over. By
the time I hung up, I think Sebastiano almost believed the whole thing had been his idea in the first place.
The next time the phone rang it was my dad. I may have to scratch the plan to get him a book on anger management because he was laughing his head off. He wanted to know if it had been my mom's idea, and when I said, No, it was all me, he went, You really have got the princess thing down, you know.
So in a weird way I feel like I passed that Final too.
Except, of course, that I'm still not speaking to Grandmere. Not a single one of the calls I've gotten tonight (which even included Mamaw and Papaw back in Indiana, who saw the broadcast) have been from her.
Really, I think she should be the one to apologize because what she did was totally underhanded.
Almost as underhanded, my mom pointed out to me over dinner from Number One Noodle Son, as what I did.
Which is sort of shocking. I mean, I never thought about it before, but it's true: what I did tonight was as sneaky as anything Grandmere's ever done.
But I guess that shouldn't be very surprising. We are related, after all.
Then again, so were Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader.
Must go. Baywatch is on. This is the first time in weeks I've been home to watch it.
Thursday, December 17, 9 p.m.
Tina just called. She didn't want to talk about the press conference. She wanted to know what I got from my Secret Snowflake. I was all, 'Secret Snowflake? What are you talking about?'
'You know,' Tina said. 'Your Secret Snowflake. You remember, Mia. We signed up for it like a month ago. You put your name in the jar and then someone draws it, and they have to be your Secret Snowflake for the last week of school before Winter Break. They're supposed to surprise you with little gifts and stuff. You know, as a stress breaker. Since it's Finals
week and all.'
I dimly remembered, one day before Thanksgiving Break, Tina dragging me over to a folding table where some nerdy-looking kids from the student government were sitting on one side of the cafeteria with a big jar filled with little pieces of paper. Tina had made me write my name on a slip of paper, then pick, someone else's name out of the jar.
'Oh my God,' I cried. With all the stress of Finals and everything, I had forgotten all about it!
Worse, I had forgotten that I had drawn Tina's name. No real coincidence since she'd stuffed her slip of paper into the jar
right before I picked. Still, what kind of heinous friend am I that I would forget something like this?
Then I realized something else. The yellow roses. They hadn't been put in my locker by mistake! And they really weren't from Kenny, either! They had to be from my Secret Snowflake.
Which was kind of upsetting in a way. I mean, it's really starting to look as if Kenny has no intention of asking me to tomorrow night's dance whatsoever.
'I can't believe you forgot about it,' Tina said, sounding amused. 'You have been getting stuff for your Secret Snowflake, haven't you, Mia?'
I felt a rush of guilt. I had totally blown it. Poor Tina!
'Uh, sure,' I said, wondering where I was going to find a present for her by tomorrow morning, the last day of the Secret Snowflake thing. 'Sure, I have.'
Tina sighed. 'I guess nobody picked me,' she said. 'Because I haven't gotten anything.'
'Oh, don't worry,' I said, hoping the guilt washing over me wasn't noticeable in my voice. 'You will. Your Secret Snowflake is probably waiting, you know, until the last day because she's - or he's — gotten you something really good.'
'Do you think so?' Tina asked wistfully.
'Oh, yes,' I gushed.
Reassured, Tina got businesslike.
'Now,' she said, 'that Finals are over . . . '
'Um, yes?'
'... when are you going to tell Michael that you're the one who sent him those cards?'
Shocked, I went, 'How about never?'
To which Tina replied, tartly, 'Mia, if you don't tell him, then what was the point of sending those cards?'
'To let him know that there are other girls out there who might like him, besides Judith Gershner.'
Tina said severely, 'Mia, that's not enough. You've got to tell him it was you. How are you ever going to get him if he doesn't know how you feel?' Tina Hakim Baba, surprisingly, has a lot in common with my dad. 'Remember Kenny? That's how
Kenny got you. He sent the anonymous notes but then he finally fessed up.'
'Yeah,' I said sarcastically. 'And look how great that turned out.'
'It'll be different with you and Michael,' Tina insisted.
'Because you two are destined for one another. I can just feel it. You've got to tell him, and it's got to be tomorrow, because the next day you are leaving for Genovia.'
Oh, God. In my self-congratulations over having successfully manoeuvered my first press conference, I'd forgotten about that too. I am leaving for Genovia the day after tomorrow! With Grandmere! To whom I am not even speaking any more!
I told Tina that I'd confess to Michael tomorrow and she hung up all happily.
But it was a good thing she hadn't been able to see my nostrils, because they were flaring like crazy on account of the fact that I was totally lying to her.
Because there is no way I am ever telling Michael Moscovitz how I feel about him. No matter what anyone says. I can't.
Not to his face.
Not ever.
Friday, December 18, Homeroom
They are holding us hostage here in Homeroom until they've passed out our final semester grades. Then we are free to spend the rest of the day at the Winter Carnival in the gym, and then, later this evening, the dance.
Really. We don't have any more classes after this. We are just supposed to have fun.
As if. I am so never having fun again.
That is because - aside from my many other problems -I think I know who my Secret Snowflake is.
Really, there is no other explanation. Why else would Justin Baxendale — who, even though he's so new is still totally popular, not to mention way good-looking - be hanging around my locker so much? I mean, seriously. This is the third time I've spotted him lurking around there this week. Why would he do that except to leave those roses?
Unless he's planning on blackmailing me about the whole fire alarm thing.
But Justin Baxendale doesn't exactly strike me as the blackmailer type. I mean, he looks to me like somebody who'd have something better to do than blackmail a princess.
Which leaves only one other explanation: he is my Secret Snowflake.
And how totally embarrassing is it going to be if I go out there when the bell rings, and Justin comes up to me to confess - because that's the rule, it turns out: you have to reveal your identity to your Secret Snowflake today - and I have to look up into his smoky eyes with those long lashes and give a big fake smile and go, 'Oh, gee, thanks, Justin. I had no idea it was you!'
Whatever. But actually, this is the least of my problems,
right? I mean, considering that I am the only girl in this entire school who does not have a date to the dance tonight. And that tomorrow I have to leave for a country I am princess of, with my lunatic grandmother who isn't speaking to my father, and who, I know from past experience, is not above smoking in the airplane lavatory, if the urge to do so strikes her.
Really. Grandmere is a flight attendant's worst nightmare.
But that's not even half of it. I mean, what about my mom and Mr. Gianini? Sure, they are acting like they don't mind that I am going to be spending the holidays in another country.-And, yes, we are going to have our own private little Christmas amongst ourselves before I leave. But really, I bet they mind. I bet they mind a lot.
And what about my grade in Algebra? Oh, Mr. Gianini says it's fine, but what is fine, exactly? A D? A D is not fine. Not considering the number of hours I've put into raising my grade from an F, it isn't. A D is not acceptable.
And what - oh, God, what - am I going to do about Kenny?
At least I got Tina's present out of the way. I went on-line last night and signed her up for a teen romance book-of-the-month club. I printed out the certificate, saying she is an official member, and will give it to her when the bell rings.
Which is also when I have to go out there and face Justin Baxendale.
It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for those eyes of his. Why does he have to be so good-looking? And why did someone like him have to pick me as his Secret Snowflake? Beautiful people, like Lana and Justin, can't help but be repulsed by ordinary-looking people like me.
He probably didn't even pull my name from that jar at all. Probably, he picked Lana's name and has been putting those roses
in my locker, thinking it is Lana's, seeing as how God knows she never hangs out in front of her own locker.
What's even worse is that Tina told me yellow roses mean love everlasting.
Which of course was why I figured maybe Kenny was the one doing it after all.
Oh, great. They are passing around the printouts with our grades on them. I am not looking. I don't even care. I DO NOT CARE ABOUT MY GRADES.
Thank God for the bell. I'm just going to slip out of here — totally not looking at my grades - and go about my business like nothing out of the ordinary is going on.
Except, of course, when I get to my locker, Justin is there, looking for someone. Lana is there too, waiting for Josh.
You know, I really don't need this. Justin revealing that he is my Secret Snowflake right in front of Lana, I mean. God only knows what she's going to say - the girl who has been suggesting I wear Band Aids instead of a bra every day since the two
of us hit puberty. Plus it isn't like she's been super-happy with me since the whole mobile phone thing. I'll bet she'll have something extra-mean all prepared for the occasion . . .
'Dude,' Justin says.
Dude? I am not a dude. Who is Justin talking to?
I turn around. Josh is standing there, behind Lana.
'Dude, I've been looking for you all week,' Justin says, to Josh. 'Do you have those Trig notes for me or not? I've got to make-up the Final in one hour.'
Josh says something, but I do not hear him. I do not hear him because there is a roaring sound in my ears. Because standing behind Justin is Michael.
Michael Moscovitz,.
And in his hand is a yellow rose.
Friday, December 18, Winter Carnival
Oh, God.
I am in so much trouble.
Again.
And it isn't even my fault this time. I mean, I couldn't help myself. It just happened. And it doesn't mean anything. It was just, you know, one of those things.
Besides, it's not what Kenny thinks. Really. I mean, if you think about it, it is a complete and total letdown. For me, anyway.
Because, of course, the first thing Michael says when he sees me standing there gaping at him while he is holding that flower,