What You Think Of And What You Do
"One of Sara's 'pretends' is that she is a princess," said Jessie. "She plays it all the time-even in school. She wants Ermengarde to be one too, but Ermengarde says she is too fat."
"She is too fat," said Lavinia. "And Sara is too thin."
"Sara says it has nothing to do with what you look like, or what you have. It only has to do with what you think of, and what you do." Jessie explained.
-A Little Princess, Francis Hodgeon Burnett
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Book 3 (Princess Diaries Volume III: Princess in Love)
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English Class Assignment (due December 8)
Here at Albert Einstein High School we have a very diverse student population. Over one hundred and seventy different nations, religions and ethnic groups are represented by our student body. In the space given, describe the manner in which your family celebrates the uniquely American holiday, Thanksgiving.
Mia Thermopalis' Thanksgiving.
6:45AM: Roused by the sound of my mother vomiting. She is well into the third month of her pregnancy, and according to her obstetrician, all the morning sickness should stop in the next trimester. Thank god.
7:45AM: Frank, my stepfather (and also Algebra teacher, so life at school with him is weird) knocks on my door. It's time to go, because we are having Thanksgiving at his parent's house in Sagaponack on Long Island. We have to leave by 8 if we want to beat the traffic.
8:45AM: There is no traffic this early on Thanksgiving, so we arrive at Frank's parents house three hours early.
Mrs Gianini (not my mother. Frank's mother. My mother is still Helen Thermopalis because she is a fairly well-known painter by that name, and also because she does not believe in the cult of the patriarchy. Also legally changing your name is a lengthy process with lots of paperwork, and Mum doesn't like the paperwork needed to legalise a sale of her own work, nevermind something she considers pointless) is still in her curlers, and very surprised to see us. Not just due to the early hour though, but also because my mother entered the house and immediately had to go vomit in the bathroom, on account of the smell of the cooking turkey.
I know better than to hope this means my future baby sibling will be a vegetarian like me, but it doesn't hurt to wish.
My mother has informed me during the car ride that Frank's parents are very old-fashioned and are used to enjoying a conventional Thanksgiving meal; my annual Thanksgiving speech about the genocide committed against the Native Americans by the Pilgrims for whom we are giving Thanks – for deliberately infecting the natives with smallpox and enabling the natives' own self-destruction under their influence with the 'gifting' of weapons, ammunition and alcohol, which the natives were not used to and therefore affected them more heavily than it did their European counterparts – and that it is reprehensible that we, as a country, annually celebrate this destruction of an entire culture.
Instead, my mother said, I should discuss more neutral topics, such as the weather.
9:45AM-11:45AM: I watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade with Frank's father, Frank Senior, in what is apparently a rec room.
I don't even understand the function of a rec room, but the couches are comfortable.
Remembering my mother's warning, I refrain from repeating another of my Thanksgiving rants – that the Macy's parade is a gross example of American capitalism run amok; I'm sorry, but using cute animal-shaped balloons to lure children into begging their parents to buy them things they don't need and the manufacture of which is contributing to the destruction of our planet – both by destroying the land and polluting the air and sky with fumes, and the land with plastic toys that won't degrade for decades at soonest?
It is sickening, FIGHT ME.
Biting my tongue is made easier by the fact that I caught sight of my friend Lilly standing in the crowd, her video camera clutched to her face as a float carrying Miss America and Star Trek actor William Shatner passed by. So I know Lilly is going to take care of denouncing Macy's on the next episode of her public-access show, Lilly Tells It Like It Is.
12:00PM: Frank's elder sister and her family arrive, along with the pumpkin pies. The twin kids are my age, named Nathan and Claire. I know right away that Claire and I are not going to be best friends, because no sooner are we introduced that she looks at me the way the mean cheerleaders at AEHS look at me in the hallway, before asking in the snottiest voice someone could use with a perfect stranger, "You're the one who's supposed to be a princess?"
All I could say back was, "Yeah, I was disappointed too."
Which made Nathan laugh, if nothing else.
But frankly I don't care if Claire doesn't like me, given that she's wearing a pony-skin leather miniskirt. And no, it's not imitation. I don't like cow-leather on clothes, but at least we eat cows. So they're dying for more than one reason; I doubt Claire cares, however, that a horse had to die for the sole purpose of her having that skirt.
Nathan didn't show up in the skin of dead animals, but he was dressed as every rapper on MTV, all baggy pants and gold chains – and when Frank G. Senior let Nathan change the channel, MTV2 provoked Nathan to sing along to every song, which he knows all the words to. Even when the dirty words were bleeped out, Nathan sang them anyway.
1:00PM: The food is ready and served. We begin eating.
1:15PM: We finish eating.
1:20PM: I help Frank's mother clean up. She told me not to be ridiculous and to go have 'a nice gossip' with Claire. I wonder if all grandmothers that aren't mine have the same sweet demeanour, because Mrs G reminds me of Lilly's Nana a lot, which means she's the complete opposite of Clarisse Renaldo.
Instead of going back to the table to be ignored by Claire, I stayed with Mrs G and told her how much I'm enjoying having Frank live with us. Frank is a very good housemate, given that he can cook and doesn't mind cleaning, and the bigger TV he brought when he moved in definitely isn't hated.
Mrs G was immensely gratified to hear this, because old people like hearing nice stuff about their kids. Even if their kid, Frank, is thirty-nine.
3:00PM: We have to leave if we are going to beat the traffic. I say goodbye. Clair doesn't say anything back to me, but Nathan advises me to keep it real.
We also get given a lot of leftover turkey, even though I don't eat turkey, being a vegetarian and opposed to the mass slaughter of helpless fowl every time a holiday rolls around. My cat Fat Louie will eat more of this dead bird than I will.
6:30PM: We finally make it home, after spending three and a half hours in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Long Island Expressway, which is an oxymoron of a name if there ever was one. I barely have time to change into my evening dress and flat shoes before my bodyguard, Lars, gets to the Loft with the car to take me to my second Thanksgiving event.
7:30PM: We get to the Plaza Hotel, where I am greeted by the concierge, who announces me to the masses assembled in the Palm Court: 'Presenting Her Royal Highness Princess Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopalis Renaldo'.
God forbid they just say Mia.
My father, the Prince of Genovia, and his mother, the Dowager Princess, rented the Palm Court for the evening to throw a Thanksgiving banquet for their friends and the important people of NYC. When told of this, I found it odd that a pair of people who are not even American would want to care about an American holiday; voicing this was a mistake, however, because Grandmere made me recite the names and positions of every single member of the Genovian Parliament until I got them all completely correct. From memory.
It was her idea to have what she calls an 'old-fashioned' Thanksgiving dinner (which is rich, because she's French by birth, and she's only been in New York since September, which makes this the longest stretch of time she's EVER been in America), so the food was mussels in white wine sauce, squab stuffed with fois gras, and lobster tails and caviar. You know. Your 'standard' Thanksgiving dinner. I'm pretty sure turkey never appeared on the table. Grandmere invited two hundred guests to the dinner, including the Emperor of Japan and his wife, since they were in town for a world trade summit.
Which is why I wasn't wearing heels. I'm five foot nine, and Grandmere says it's rude to be taller than an emperor.
8:00PM-11:30PM: I make polite conversation with the empress while we eat. She is a lovely old woman, and also the first commoner of Japan to marry into the royal family, so she and I found some commonality, in being raised utterly normal before having to be trained into behaving royally. Although I imagine her teacher was not her grandmother bullying her into behaving ladylike every summer when she had no escape, like my training has been.
I felt very bad, however, because I was so tired from my early start I couldn't stop yawning, no matter how I tried to stop. She was very understanding, but yawning in an empress' face is bad manners. I could tell, because every time I yawned, Grandmere glared at me like she wanted to stab me with her lobster fork.
My father noticed my yawning eventually and granted me a royal reprieve from dessert. Lars took me back home. Grandmere was clearly upset I was leaving before the cheese course, but it was either that or fall asleep in the fromage bleu.
12:00AM: After a long and exhausting day of giving thanks to the founders of America – those genocidal hypocrites known as the Pilgrims- I finally go to bed.
And that concludes Mia Thermopalis' Thanksgiving.
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HalfAgonyHalfHope: How's life?
FtLouie: Well, I have no idea what I'm doing, but I know I'm doing it really, really well.
HalfAgonyHalfHope: At least that's something. Your exams are coming up, aren't they?
FtLouie: Yes. Why?
HalfAgonyHalfHope: Wanted to see your reaction to them being mentioned.
FtLouie: Look, I'm studying for them as best I can, despite all the stress and the prep for me coming to Genovia over Christmas and my big speech I have to give – I'm doing my best. And when I get tired of that, I curl into the fetal position on my bedroom floor and desperately wish for the sweet release of death for half an hour, and then I get up and go back to revision.
HalfAgonyHalfHope: Sounds like a perfect plan.
FtLouie: I know, right?
FtLouie: How about you?
HalfAgonyHalfHope: About the same. When we finish this conversation I'm going to just. Die. For like an hour or something.
FtLouie: Good plan. I'll leave you to it, and go back to learning about the history of the Genovian Olive Farmers Association.
HalfAgonyHalfHope: (thumbs-up emoji)
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Maybe the one small upside of Mia's impending trip to Genovia is the ray of light that she'll get after it's all over – Grandmere will be staying in Genovia once the trip is over, and Mia's going to just resume her normal life, except with a bodyguard! Yay! No more princess lessons!
Maybe! If Mia is absolutely perfect over this trip! So there's no pressure on any aspect of this situation!
Yeah okay. She's screwed.
Why is the idea behind exams to basically stress out anyone who takes them? You have to remember an entire semester's worth of stuff to have a chance of answering one question right. How is that okay? Wouldn't it be better to just have tests about each subject after you complete a class module or something?
Argh.
The fact that Mia's got a whole damn country's opinion of her to worry about doesn't help very much either – was Christmas really a good deadline? She knew her dad wanted to get it out of the way quickly, the whole formal announcement of Mia being his heir, etcetera, but oh my sweet God was Mia not needing the mental pressure. Literally, the whole month was December was going to be crap – school, then flying to Genovia, then being in Genovia what with the whole jam-packed schedule Grandmere and her dad had come up with (insert schedule), then the speech she had to give, then Christmas, then the whole flight back to New York.
She's going to be dead by January, is the point.
So, you would think she'd look forward to spending as much time with her friends as possible – you'd think that going ice skating would be something to look forward to. And Mia is looking forward to that, because her Biology homework is blurring before her eyes.
But she also isn't, because even though it's skating with Lilly and Tina, both of them are going to be bringing their boyfriends. And Mia's going to be a third wheel. Fifth wheel.
And she feels defensive about it. Like, Kenny tried to ask her out, and she said no, because she didn't want to date him. Because she wasn't into Kenny, and she's busy. And she's ridiculously infatuated with Michael, Lilly's brother. But being single surrounded by couples is a weird feeling, and Mia just feels uncomfortable. She feels like she should be giving an excuse for being single.
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Annndd apparently she needs even more of a reason not to like hanging out with couples – because the guy she's crushing on has a girlfriend now, apparently.
Yeah. Michael is dating (or – he was on a date?) Judith Gershner, president of the Computer Club, she of the pale skin and raven hair, who rocks the Geek Chic look far better than someone so stereotypical of 'pretty girl into science' really should. God, she's so in Michael's league the way Mia isn't, it's ridiculous. Judith, like Michael, is a senior at their school. Judith, like Michael, is on the Honour Roll. Judith, like Michael, has been accepted early-decision into Columbia University, like Michael, because Judith, like Michael, is brilliantly intelligent. Judith Gershner is, in fact, so intelligent that she won first-place prize at the Albert Einstein High School Annual Bio-Medical Technology Fair for her science project, in which she cloned a fruit fly.
She cloned a fruit fly. She's eighteen.
Mia can't multiply fractions. Mia's fourteen. Mia is a princess.
If this is not an indication of which Mia is oh so much Not Michael's Type, she honestly can't comprehend a better one. Like, if you were Michael Moscovitz, the straight-A student who got into Columbia in your junior year of high school, who would you rather date? A girl who can clone animals, or a girl only getting a D in Freshman Algebra, in spite of her Algebra teacher being her live-in stepfather?
Seriously. Michael and Judith are stupidly perfect for each other, and Mia is wishing for a dream. Arguably, she's living one, but she'd rather have a fun dream to live, like the hot older boy is, in fact, into her right back, instead of the crappy one where she's thrown into politics at fourteen.
Of course, it turns out there's one thing Mia can do that Judith can't: stay upright on ice skates under her own power. Seriously, Judith was so bad that Michael had to hold onto both her hands to keep her upright. Mia wasn't sure what surprised her more: that Michael could skate backwards, or that he didn't seem to mind having to tow Judith around the entire rink the whole time they were there.
It did, however, make her feel bad for one other couple – apparently, the boyfriend saw what Michael and Judith were doing and wanted to give it a go, to his girlfriend's consternation. Mia figured the girlfriend had a good point, since her boyfriend didn't seem very good at skating backwards the way Michael was, and the two of them collapsed onto the ice, making the girlfriend shout and storm off the rink. Yowch.
Despite it all, the lovey-dovey couples, Michael and Judith, the fact that Mia honestly felt like the third wheel to everyone at the rink, it was a pretty good time. Mia got hot chocolate before they left, and the barista had put two marshmallows in her drink instead of the usual one.
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Sunday dinner at Grandmere's is generally the same thing every week: terrible; but this one was especially grim, what with the recitation of her schedule for her Winter In Genovia - which, by the way, looks like this:
December 20: 3pm. Commencement of Royal Duties
3:30pm. – 5pm. Meet and greet palace staff
5pm. – 7pm. Tour of the palace
7pm. – 8pm. Change for dinner
8pm. – 11pm. Dinner with Genovian dignitaries
December 21: 8am. – 9:30am. Breakfast with Genovian public officials
10am. – 11:30am Tour of Genovian state schools
12pm. – 1pm. Meet with Genovian schoolchildren
1:30pm. – 3pm. Lunch with members of Genovian Teacher's Association
3:30pm. – 4:30pm. Tour of Port of Genovia and Genovian naval cruiser (the Prince Philipe)
5pm. – 6pm. Tour of Genovian General Hospital
6pm. – 7pm. Visit with hospital patients.
7pm. – 8pm. Change for dinner
8pm. – 11pm. Dinner with Prince Philipe, Dowager Princess, Genovian military advisors.
December 22: 8am. – 9am. Breakfast with members of Genovian Oliver Grower's Association
10am. – 11am. Christmas-tree lighting ceremony, Genovian palace courtyard
11:30am. – 1:00pm. Meet with Genovian Historical Society
1pm. – 3pm. Lunch with Genovian Tourist Board
3:30pm – 5:30pm. Tour of Genovian National Art Museum
6pm. – 7pm. Visit Genovian War Veterans Memorial, place flowers on grave of Unknown Soldier
7:30pm. – 8:30pm. Change for dinner
8:30pm. – 11:30pm. Dinner with the Royal family of Monaco
Etcetera. There's exactly one upside to the jam-packed schedule for this trip, and it's that the reason it's all jammed in like this is so that Mia's introduced to as many public figures and members of Genovia's government as possible, so that whenever she's in Genovia in the future, she won't have a schedule this packed, unless it's for a special formal event or something. Like touring another country. Of course, Mia expects she'll be dead of exhaustion and jet lag before then, but the sentiment is what Mia's desperately clinging to.
The whole schedule culminates in her appearance on Christmas Eve, when her dad gives an annual televised address to the Genovian people, during which he's going to formally introduce her to the public as his heir. Mia is then going to give a whole speech about how she promises to try to do good job as his heir and when she steps into his position, and lead Genovia into the twenty-first century.
Nervous? Mia? About going on television and promising 60,000 people she, a fourteen-year-old, won't let their country down? Nah. She's not nervous.
She just also wants to vomit, scream and cry – in that order – whenever the thought crosses her mind. That's all.
There are some, minute, aspects of this whirlwind tour – she does actually want a tour of the palace, and listen to more about the history of Genovia (because she's willing to bet that the Historian Society will be more accurate in their retelling than Grandmere usually is. Call it a hunch), and she honestly doesn't mind that she'll have to meet a bunch of officials – you have to be passionate about your job to get high up enough in a government that you meet the royalty, after all, so Mia bets that she'll hear interesting stuff, more or less.
But GOD, it's going to be exhausting all crammed in together.
And despite Mia trying really, really hard to look on the bright side, she can't lie and say it's possible to do that when you're at dinner with Clarisse Renaldo.
At this particular Sunday dinner, though, there was a fourth person: Sebastiano Grimaldi, her cousin. He's her dead grandfather's sister's daughter's son. So technically, he's her first cousin once removed(?), but he's also not removed enough that, if not for Mia's existence, he wouldn't be inheriting the throne of Genovia.
Seriously. If her dad had died without ever having a child, Sebastiano would be the next Prince of Genovia.
Which is probably why, whenever her dad looks at Sebastiano, he heaves a giant shudder. Although that probably has more to do with Philipe's relationship with Sebastiano being more like that of Mia's with her own cousin Hank Thermopalis: in theory, you like them, but in physical practice they annoy the hell out of you.
But Clarisse adores Sebastiano. Truly, she really does; when Mia met Sebastiano for the first time, and he literally bowed over Mia's hand with a big flourish and a kiss to Mia's knuckles, Clarisse was beaming beneath her silk pink-and-gold turban.
Mia's never seen Clarisse beam before. Glare, plenty of times. But never beam.
Which might be why Mia's dad started chewing the ice in his whiskey in a very irritated manner. Clarisses's smile disappeared immediately when she heard the chewing, and her trademark glare was swung her son's way, and she hissed out, "If you want to chew ice, Philipe, you can go and have your dinner at McDonald's with the rest of the proletariats."
Philipe stopped chewing his ice.
That's how scary Clarisse Renaldo is. She can make adult men who run countries as their day job stop chewing ice with one sentence.
Sebastiano was in New York at Grandmere's request, it turned out, because Mia needed a formal dress to wear for her big speech on Christmas Eve, and Sebastiano was one of the most up-and-coming fashion designers in Genovia – according to Grandmere, anyway. She said that its important that Genovia supports its artists and craftspeople, or they will flee to New York, or even worse, Los Angeles.
Which is a shame for Sebastiano, in Mia's opinion, because he looks like a guy who'd probably like LA a lot – he's thirtyish with dark hair long enough he tied it in a ponytail for dinner, and he's all tall and flamboyant-looking. He'd dressed for dinner in a white silk shirt, a blue velvet jacket, black pants that Mia's pretty sure are leather, and a white ascot instead of a tie. He at least looked the part of someone who cared deeply about his clothes, although was about as happy to sit at a table with someone wearing dead cow skin as she was to eat her Thanksgiving lunch with Claire of the dead horse skin skirt, but at least cows are killed for more than their skin.
Still, Mia's okay to forgive Sebastiano for his leather pants if he could make her a really good dress – you know, the kind of dress that she could be seen in, god willing, by Michael Moscovitz, and the sight causes all thoughts of Judith Gershner to flee his mind and be replaced with nothing but Mia, Mia, Mia.
Of course, the chances of Michael actually seeing Mia in the dress are basically nil, because the speech is only going to be on Genovian TV, not CNN or anything except maybe as a background image as the anchors talk about her speech or whatever.
Sebastiano seemed ready to take on that challenge, though, because he pulled out a pen from his jacket and began sketching – right on the white tablecloth! – a design he thought might accentuate what he called Mia's narrow waist and long legs. Which was a pretty flattering description of Mia, honestly.
But Mia got kind of bored waiting to be included in Grandmere and Sebastiano's conversation – given that she couldn't even see the design he was drawing, so she got up to join her dad on the balcony. He was checking messages on his phone, and making sure his racquetball game with the prime minister of France was still scheduled for Tuesday.
"Mia," Philipe said when he saw her on the balcony, "what are you doing out here? It's freezing, go back inside."
"In a minute. I want some air." Mia stood next to him and looking out at the city. It really is an awe-inspiring sight, Manhattan at night. You look at all those lights in all those windows and you think for each light there's at least one person, but maybe even more, maybe like ten people, and well. It's pretty mind-boggling.
Mia's lived in Manhattan her whole life and it still impresses her.
Anyway, Mia's standing there, looking at all the lights, and she realised that one of them probably belonged to Judith Gershner, wherever she lived (she and Lars had dropped of the Computer Club near their homes after Halloween and Rocky Horror, but Mia was half-asleep at that point and couldn't remember where Judith lived to save her life), and Judith was probably doing something really smart and impressive or whatever. Maybe she'd graduated to cloning crickets or moths. Mia got another flash of Judith and Michael at the ice rink the day before, when they'd smiled at each other when they left to take the subway back to the Moscovitz apartment. Let's think: a girl who can clone things, or a girl who can't stay in a conversation with her grandmother and cousin. Which girl would you choose?
Philipe must have noticed something was wrong, because he said, "Look, I know Sebastiano is a bit much, but just put up with him for the next couple of weeks. For my sake."
"I wasn't thinking about Sebastiano," Mia said sadly.
Philipe made a grunting noise, but also no move to go back inside, even though the windows had frosted over from the freezing cold, and Philipe, well. He's completely bald. Mia watched the tips of his ears and nose start going red from it, but her dad didn't budge.
She figured this was an invitation to go on. Ordinarily, her dad wasn't someone she went to with her problems – it's not that they weren't close, but he's her dad. What does he know about her problems?
On the other hand, Philipe generally had a rotation of model-like girlfriends every summer of Mia's youth, so Mia figured he might just be able to offer some insight for Mia's particular dilemma.
"Dad," Mia began, "what do you do if you like someone but they don't know that?"
Philipe stopped looking at his phone, and instead looked at Mia. "Do I know this someone, or is this a hypothetical?"
"You know them, but we can pretend it's a hypothetical. If you want."
Philipe twisted his mouth up in one corner. "I'd rather have a name."
Mia hesitated. She'd never admitted to anyone out loud her crush on Michael. Really, who could she tell? Lilly would probably make fun of her, or worse; and her mum had her own problems.
"It's Lilly's brother," Mia blurted, all in a rush.
Her dad looked alarmed. "Isn't he in college?"
"Not yet," Mia said, "he's going to Columbia in September." When her dad still looked alarmed, Mia said, "Don't worry, Dad. I don't stand a chance. Michael is very smart, he'd never want someone like me."
Which got her dad all offended. It was interesting to watch, because his face twitched this way and that, like he couldn't figure out which to be, worried about Mia liking an older boy, or angry the boy didn't like Mia back. "What do you mean, he'd never want someone like you?" He demanded. "What's wrong with you?"
"Duh, Dad," Mia said. "I practically failed Algebra, remember? Michael is going to an Ivy League school, which he got into early choice, for crying out loud. What would he want with someone like me?
Now her dad looked really annoyed. "You make take after your mother as far as your aptitude with numbers is concerned, but you take after me in every other respect."
This was surprising to hear. Mia stuck out her chin and tried to believe it. "Yeah."
"And you and I, Mia, are not unintelligent." Her dad continued. "If you want this Michael boy, you must let him know it." Her dad looked out at all the lights before continuing in a different, softer tone of voice, "Don't make the mistake I have in the past, Mia, of keeping your feelings to yourself, out of shyness . . . or, worse, pride."
Mia didn't know what to make of that, but her dad sounded . . she wasn't sure. Sad? Wistful? She couldn't help wondering if her dad was talking about her mum. Did he wish he'd said something to her, before she'd met Frank, about how he felt? Really felt, not about Helen leaving the electricity bills in the salad spinner or her work cheques in her sixties gas mask, but how he really felt, deep down?
Maybe so, Mia figured, especially when her dad looked down at her – he wasn't a super tall man, but Mia's five-nine – and his eyelids were all crinkled in the corners as he said softly, "Faint heart never won fair lady, Mia."
What do you say to that, though? It's a pretty loaded sentence.
"You think I should just walk up to Michael or something and be all, 'Hey, I like you'?"
The spell on Philipe had been broken, all wistfulness gone as he shook his head disgustedly, saying, "No, no; of course not. You need to be more subtle than that, Mia. Show him how you feel."
"Oh." Mia may take after her dad in all respects but math, but she had no idea what he meant from that. She kept having this picture of showing Michael how she felt about him by grabbing his face during Gifted and Talented and sucking his tongue into her mouth.
Maybe as a last resort.
"We'd better get back in," her dad said. "Or your grandmother will suspect us of plotting against her."
What else is new? Grandmere was always suspecting someone of plotting something against her. Her current belief was that the launderers at the Plaza were plotting against her, because Grandmere blamed the soap used on the Plaza linens for making Rommel's fur all fall out.
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Monday was a standard, but god, the Final Exam schedule made Mia want to curl up and cry.
FINAL EXAM SCHEDULE
December 14 – Reading Day
December 15 – Periods One and Two
So, that's Algebra and English. Mia's totally acing English, her grades never getting lower than an A minus since maybe second grade; but her tutor-sessions with Michael during G&T and her after-school sessions with Frank were still totally necessary for her to even understand what Frank was talking about in class.
December 16 – Periods Three and Four
World Civics – totally easy. Between Nick ranting about Pre-and-During World War II Europe and Grandmere yammering about Post-War Europe, Mia could pass that in her sleep.
But what the heck counts as a final in P.E.?
December 17 – Periods Five, Six and Seven
Gifted and Talented? Mia's pretty sure you can't give tests in classes that are basically study hall. French is seventh period, and she's aces at oral, but not the best at written. Tina's in the same class though, so maybe they can study together.
Sixth period is Biology, and things have been kind of weird between Mia and Kenny ever since she rejected him on Halloween. It's been getting better, but having a conversation isn't always the easiest between them.
December 18 – (Non-Denominational) Winter Carnival and Dance
The Winter Carnival should be fun. All the different school clubs and stuff set up booths, with traditional winter fare, hot cider and stuff. This is followed in the evening with the winter dance, which Mia wants to go to, but she doesn't have a date, so unless she third-wheels her entirely friend group (likely, at this point), she'll spend the night at her home like she spent the Cultural Diversity Dance after she told Josh Ritcher to take a hike.
But it's her last night in NYC before her whirlwind month-ish in Genovia, and she wants to have fun! She leaves the next day, for god's sake! She should just buy herself a corsage and go stag and hang out with her friends. Maybe some other boy will have done the same and she can make a new friend for the night or something. Maybe make out with a boy for the night. It wouldn't be Michael, but at least then she'd be able to talk to her friends about kissing instead of staying quiet whenever the subject comes up during sleepovers.
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Given that Mia had her dad's tacit permission to try and date an older boy, Mia figured that asking the girl who consumed romance novels like M&Ms wouldn't be a bad idea. Tina Hakim Baba was always a great go-to for advice with romance stuff, because she knew so much from her reading, so Mia joined her in the ladies' between third and fourth periods while Tina was putting on her eye makeup.
Her dad wouldn't let her wear makeup, see, so Tina had to wait until she got to school until she put it on. Mia wasn't sure why that rule wasn't overturned by Tina's mum, given that the woman was a former supermodel, but she also didn't ask. Tina had a deal with her bodyguard Wahim (Tina's dad was super rich in oil and also vaguely related to the royal family of Saudi Arabia somehow, and he's paranoid Tina was going to get kidnapped and held for ransom). The deal is that Tina won't tell her parents about how much Wahim flirts with Mademoiselle Klein, their French teacher, if Wahim won't tell her father about Tina's Maybelline addiction.
Somehow, their conversation got to the point that Mia spilled the whole crush thing to Tina, and she had the reaction that Mia'd hoped she'd have – functionally, the opposite of the reaction she'd expect from Lilly – she jumped up and down in a circle, squealing happily, "I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!"
Then she stopped jumping and grabbed Mia's arms, grinning up at Mia from her height at five-foot-five. "Oh, Mia," Tina said excitedly, "I always thought you two would make the cutest couple."
Mia wanted to fling her arms round Tina and give her the biggest hug, for both being happy and also because Tina didn't dismiss Mia's crush as totally out of her league. "Really? You don't think it's stupid?"
"Duh," Tina said, in a total this-should-be-obvious way that was totally sweet. "Michael is hot. And he's a senior. Wait." The shine on Tina's face faded a little. "What about Judith? I don't know if they're dating or not."
Mia slumped. "I know. Tina, I don't know what to do."
Tina's dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "I think I read a book where this happened once. A Heart's Storm, I think it was called. How did they resolve everything?" that last bit was muttered to herself, but anything more Tina was going to say got cut off by the school bell. They were totally late to class.
But, also totally worth the tardy demerit. Now, Mia didn't have to worry alone.
;;
Lunch was . . . distracting, for Mia, because she'd gotten caught against Michael while she was getting a second serving of lunch, and she'd asked him about a dental appointment he'd had, and then she'd immediately gotten distracted while he was talking, because she'd been focusing entirely on Michael's lips. Look. They just looked soft and super kissable, and Mia wants to get in on that, okay?
But somehow she'd managed to not make an ass out of herself, and now she's in G&T, and she's not being distracted by Michael, because he is actually using class time to work on his personal project the way G&T time is supposed to be used – it's a class to work on individual projects: Michael was doing some computer program for the Computer Club booth for the Winter Carnival, Lilly's boyfriend Boris was learning some new sonata on his violin. Lilly was supposed to be working on her public-access TV show and Mia was supposed to be studying Algebra, but doing your individual project was honestly always more optional than anything else, because Mrs Hill, the 'teacher' of Gifted and Talented, generally spent all the class time across the hall in the Teacher's Lounge. Today she was yelling at someone from American Express on the phone.
So instead of working on their projects, Lilly was railing to Mia about how mad Lilly was at their English teacher, Mrs Spears, who shot down Lilly's term-paper proposal. Which was a stance Mia could kind of understand – it was kind of inflammatory and . . what's a good term? Personally-biased offer of a topic.
How to Survive High School by Lilly Moscovitz
Having spent the past two months locked into that institution of secondary education commonly referred to as high school I feel that I am a qualified authority on the subject. From pep rallies to morning announcements, I have observed high-school life and all its complexities. Sometime in the next four years I will be released from this festering hellhole, and then I will publish my carefully complied High School Survival Guide.
Little did my peers and teachers know that as they went about their daily routines, I was recording their activities for study by future generations. With my handy guide, every ninth grader's sojourn in high school can be a little more fruitful. Students of the future will learn that they way to settle their differences with their peers is not through violence, but through the sale of a really scathing screenplay – featuring characters based on those very individuals who tormented them all those years – to a major Hollywood movie studio. That, not a Molotov cocktail, is the path to true glory.
Here, for your reading pleasure, are a few examples of the topics I will explore in 'How to Survive High School':
High School Romance: Or, I cannot open my locker because two oversexed adolescents are leaning up against it, making out.
Cafeteria food: Can corndogs be legally listed as a meat product?
How to communicate with the subhuman individuals who populate the hallways.
Guidance Counsellers: who do they think they're kidding?
Get Ahead by Forging: The Art of the Hall Pass.
Mia, personally, wants to read the HELL out of this book. Although she does get Mrs Spears maybe not liking it so much, given that Lilly refers to Mrs Spears' place of work as a 'festering hellhole', calling other students 'subhuman', and also that Lilly thinks that being in high school for one semester means she's an expert (as well as admitting she knows how to forge hall passes), so Mia isn't surprised at Mrs Spears' reaction:
Lilly – Sorry as I am to hear that your experience thus far at AEHS has not been a positive one, I am afraid I am going to have to make it worse by asking you to find another topic for your term paper. An A for creativity, as usual, however.
Mrs Spears.
While Mia read all this, Lilly decried how appalled she was that, considering how much AEHS tuitions costs, this is the kind of support the students receive from their teachers. When Mia tried to point out that Frank was actually going rather above and beyond the call of duty by staying behind after work hours to help students who aren't doing so well in Algebra. Such as, say, Mia.
Lilly fired back that Frank probably only started pulling the staying-after-school thing so that he could integrate himself with Mia's mother, and now he can't stop because then she'll realise it as all just a set-up and divorce him. Which is some rather ludicrous conjecture, in Mia's opinion. Frank didn't even meet Mia's mother in person until he'd been tutoring her for a full two weeks – everything before then was just phone calls. Besides, Frank would've stayed behind to help whether he was dating Mia's mum or not. He's that kind of guy.
Anyway, the upshot/downshot of all this is that Lilly's decided to start another of her campaigns.
Lilly: The real problem with this school isn't the teachers. It's the apathy of the student body. For instance, let's say we wanted to stage a walkout.
Mia: A walkout?
Lilly: You know. We all get up and walk out of school at the same time.
Mia: (dubious) Because Mrs Spears turned down your term paper proposal?
Lilly: (impatient) No, Mia. Because she's trying to usurp our individuality by forcing us to bend to corporate feudalism. Again.
Mia: Oh. And how is she doing that?
Lilly: By censoring us when we are at our most creatively fertile. Michael, can you send a mass email to the student body, declaring a walkout tomorrow at ten?
Michael: (not looking up from his laptop) I can, but I won't.
Lilly: WHY NOT?
Michael: Because it was your turn to empty the dishwasher last night, but you weren't home so I had to do it.
Lilly: But I TOLD Mum I had to go down to the studio to edit the last few finishing touched on this week's show!
Michael: Look, if you're having time-management issues, don't take it out on me. Just don't expect me to meekly do your bidding, especially when you already owe me one.
Mia: Lilly, no offence, but I don't think it's a good time for a walkout anyway. It's almost Finals.
Lilly: SO?
Mia: So some of us really need to stay in class. I can't afford to miss any review sessions. I'm getting bad enough grades as it is.
Michael: (looking up from his laptop) Really? I thought you were doing better in Algebra.
Mia: If you call a D plus better.
Michael: Aw, come on. You have to be making better than a D plus. Your mum is married to your Algebra teacher!
Mia: Frank doesn't play favourites.
Michael: I would think if he doesn't mind you calling him Frank, he'd cut you some slack, is all.
Lilly: WOULD YOU TWO PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE SITUATION AT HAND, WHICH IS THE FACT THAT THIS SCHOOL IS IN VITAL NEED OF SERIOUS REFORM?
But then it was the end of class, so as far as Mia knows, the walk-out is a no-go.
The fact that Lilly's term paper got rejected is also kind of weird for Mia, though, because Mia isn't anywhere near as smart as Lilly, but Mrs Spears was very enthusiastic about Mia's proposal topic: Cinderella - She Didn't Want A Prince, She Wanted a Night Off: an argument against the misinterpretation of how dances and social class used to work, and our cultural history's misunderstanding of the Cinderella tale.
And Mia's isn't nearly as socially relevant as anything Lilly ever talks about.
;;
Mia totally gets that her appearance is going to be important for her future public life, and that probably nothing she owns is good enough for the nine billion appearances she's got scheduled for Genovia, but does Grandmere really think that any of that will be resolved by her scolding Mia for a million years about her posture?
And it's especially degrading now, because Mia's surrounded by Sebastiano and his twenty assistants as they take Mia's measurements. Because now, apparently, Sebastiano isn't just designing her formal inauguration dress, but almost all the outfits Mia's going to wear over Christmas, apparently. Grandmere is droning about how Mia, when in Genovia, should wear as many Genovian-designed-and-made clothes as possible, as a show of patriotism.
Which basically means that Mia's only going to be wearing Sebastiano, apparently. He' the only Genovian fashion designer Mia's ever heard of.
Whatever. Mia can think of so many other topics than her winter wardrobe.
Which Grandmere seemed to have caught on to, because midway through Sebastiano's description of the beading he was going to have sewn on to the formal gown's bodice, Grandmere slammed down her Sidecar and shouted, "Amelia, what is the matter with you?"
Mia must have jumped a foot in the air. "What?"
"Sebastiano asked if you prefer a sweetheart or square-cut neckline?"
Mia stared at her grandmother blankly. "I get a choice?"
Grandmere gave the Evil Eye. She does it quite frequently.
"Sebastiano," Grandmere said, "will you please leave the princess and myself for a moment." It wasn't a question.
Sebastiano bowed and left the room, followed by the slim ladies that made up his professional entourage.
It didn't take long for Grandmere to draw out Mia's crush – the path of least resistance was often the best manner in dealing with Clarisse Renaldo.
What Mia would like to know is why the hell she ended up with a Grandmother like Grandmere – Lilly and Michael's Nana remembers the names of all their friends, bakes them food all the time and worries that they don't get enough to eat, even though the Drs Moscovitz are more than capable of bringing home groceries or ordering out.
Tina's grandma lives in Saudi Arabia, sure, but Tina says that she always cooks spicy curries and sends Tina flavourful teas, along with recommendations for romance novels, because Tina's grandma also loves romance novels and wants her granddaughters to 'meet a nice man'.
Mia ended up with a Grandmere who smokes constantly with a hairless poodle and nine-carat diamond rings whose greatest joy seems to be making fun of the things that make Mia upset, as well as being the cause of Mia being upset.
Mia's never been able to figure out why this is, either. Mia's never done anything to Grandmere. Except be her only living grandchild, anyway. Every summer, Mia's always done whatever mind-numbing boring thing that's turned out to be princess training, and maybe she's complained about that, but it's not like Mia's ever told Grandmere to her face that she thinks Clarisse is a horribly mean old lady who contributes to the destruction of the environment and health of those around her with her private jet, fur coats and filterless French cigarettes.
So when Grandmere dragged out that Mia has a crush on an older boy, Mia can only brace herself for the ridicule.
Except Grandmere doesn't. Make fun of her, that is. Sure, she's sneering and rude, but she also doesn't seem to consider Judith's smarts very highly, either, so . . . not so bad?
But then Grandmere suggested that Mia go stag to the Winter Dance, and if Mia was wearing something from Sebastiano, then Michael would look her way. It was . . "Grandmere," Mia said, "The guy I like? Well, he likes girls who can clone insects. Okay? I highly doubt he is going to be impressed by a dress."
The only reaction Mia got was a sort of suit-yourself "Hmph."
;;
Good god. She's home before 7pm on a weeknight. This hasn't happened since before Halloween.
Seriously, Grandmere is either smoking something stronger than tobacco, or having Sebastiano in town is literally the light of Grandmere's week. Although she did seem pretty normal at their princess lesson, what with making Mia recite the Genovian pledge of allegiance ten times from memory (because she'll have to do it during the school visit, and Mia would prefer not to look like a tool in front of school kids for not knowing it).
Grandmere kept saying this stuff about how Kenny had tried to get Mia's interest – because Mia had told Grandmere about it in a fit of mild insanity during one princess lesson about a month ago – and she kept saying how ingenious it was, the anonymous letters, even if Mia had rejected him.
Mia was like, "What was so ingenious about it?" to which Grandmere replied, "Well. He almost got you, didn't he?"
Anyway, Helen and Frank were so surprised at Mia's arrival home that Mia was put in charge of ordering the takeout, and everyone went a little hogwild with their choices – Mia usually goes for margarita pizza, but this time she got one with a bit more spice that left her tongue all tingly, even after she drank two sodas to cool down her mouth.
It's amazing to be home early, but Mia definitely doesn't have the time to relax. Figuring out gifts for Christmas and Hanukkah, start her term paper, studying and revision, not to mention review the speech for her introduction to Genovia, she's got so much work to do, and for one night only, she might actually have both time and energy to work!
;;
Okay, fine. She's multitasking – she can study and message Nick at the same time.
FtLouie: How's life? I feel like we haven't spoken in weeks.
HalfAgonyHalfHope: I've been in detention for this entire week, my uncle is so wrapped up in plans he won't tell me about that he hasn't even gotten mad at me for it, and yesterday the cat jumped down the chimney into the (thankfully unlit) fireplace in my bedroom and scared the crap out of me. You?
FtLouie: School is kicking my butt, Grandmere's brought Sebastiano Grimaldi (first cousin once removed) to plot my dress for my speech, my best friend is on the warpath because our English teacher told her she has to choose a new writing topic.
FtLouie: What did you get detention for?
HalfAgonyHalfHope: Arguing with my teacher. The usual. Sebastiano isn't so bad – I've met him a couple times.
FtLouie: You've met him? How?
HalfAgonyHalfHope: My uncle is a desperate social climber despite already being nobility in this country? Duh? It's the same reason he never had a problem with me hanging out with you. Get an in with the probable heir.
FtLouie: God your uncle's mercenary.
HalfAgonyHalfHope: Somehow, sometimes the horribleness of it almost wraps around itself into being charming.
FtLouie: Oh My God.
HalfAgonyHalfHope: What?
FtLouie: You know how I mentioned that my friend Lilly is on the warpath? She's just sent this – I think it's a mass email:
ATTENTION
ALL STUDENTS AT ALBERT EINSTEIN HIGH SCHOOL
Stressed from too many exams, term papers and final projects? Don't just passively accept the oppressive workload handed down to us by the tyrannical administration! A silent walkout has been scheduled for tomorrow. At 10am exactly, join your fellow students in showing our teachers how we feel about inflexible exam schedules, repressive censorship and have only one Reading Day in which to prepare for our Finals. Leave your pencils, leave your books and gather on East 75th Street between Madison and Park (use doors by main administration offices, if possible) for a rally against Principal Gupta and the trustees.
LET YOUR VOICE BE HEARD!
HalfAgonyHalfHope: Lilly is aware that school governing districts are the ones setting homework allotments and exam schedules, right?
FtLouie: God, I hope so/not.
HalfAgonyHalfHope: Explique?
FtLouie: If she does know, then she's taking out her anger on the teacher who can't do anything about it. If she doesn't, then five bucks says she starts a protest against the school governing district.
FtLouie: I think she's somehow getting atrophy of the brain from studying or something, because this is insane. 10am is in the middle of Algebra – I can't walk out in the middle of that! Frank would be so hurt!
HalfAgonyHalfHope: Then don't walk out.
FtLouie: If I don't partake, Lilly will KILL me! And before you say 'then do it', Dad and Mum will kill me if I do.
HalfAgonyHalfHope: Sounds like you're in the middle of a rock and a hard place.
FtLouie: No, the hard place will be the delivery truck that runs us all down; there's a billion of them on 75th at that time of morning.
HalfAgonyHalfHope: Ooof.
FtLouie: My best female friend is a sociopath. What do I do?
HalfAgonyHalfHope: Trade her in for Tina?
FtLouie: That's COLD Nick.
HalfAgonyHalfHope: But at least Tina doesn't make you do stuff like THIS.
FtLouie: Uggghhhhhh.
HalfAgonyHalfHope: Good luck.
FtLouie has left the chat.
Mia can hear Nick laughing.