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Authors: Meg Cabot

Tags: #Young Adult, #Romance, #Chick-Lit

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BOOK: Princess In Training
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Of course!!!! I mean, providing things don’t work out between Prince William and me, Boris knows that if he ever hopes to be bestowed the gift of my flower, he will need to do it after the prom

on a king-sized bed with white satin sheets
in a deluxe suite with Central Park views
at the Four Seasons over on East 57th Street
with champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries upon arrival
an aromatherapy bath for after
then waffles for two in bed the next morning.

Oh. Tina, I don’t know how to break this to you…but that sounds like a little more than Boris might be able to afford. I mean, he IS still in high school.

 

I know. That’s why I suggested he start saving his allowance now. Also, that he better have more than just that one condom he’s been carrying around in his wallet for the past two years.

 

Boris has a condom in his wallet???? Right NOW??????????

 

Oh, yes. He is very proactive. That is one of the reasons I love him.

 

WOULD YOU GUYS PLEASE QUIT PASSING NOTES AND PAY ATTENTION? THIS IS THE BEST TEACHER WE HAVE EVER HAD AND YOU TWO ARE TOTALLY EMBARRASSING ME WITH YOUR INABILITY TO PAY ATTENTION—

Wait. What’s this about a condom?

 

Nothing! Eyes front!

 

Who are you guys talking about, anyway?

 

No one, Lilly. Never mind. Look, she’s passing back our expository writing samples.

 

I suppose you think that’s going to distract me. I want to know who you guys are talking about. WHO carries around a condom??

 

Pay attention, Lilly!

 

Right! Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. What did you get, anyway? An A as usual, Miss I Always Get An A in English?

 

Well, I DID work really hard on it—

 

Ha! THAT’s not an A!!!! Told you. You really should be paying attention in this class if you’re serious about this writing thing.

Wednesday, September 9, French

I don’t understand this. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THIS.

I am a talented writer. I KNOW I am. I have been TOLD I am. By more than one person.

I mean, I’m not saying I don’t have more to learn. I know I do. I know I’m no Danielle Steel. Yet. I know I have a lot of work to do before I can ever hope to win a Booker Prize or one of those other awards writers get.

But a B????

I have never gotten a B on an English assignment in my life!!!!

There must be some mistake.

I was in so much shock after I got my paper back that I think I just sat there with my mouth hanging open for a very long period of time…long enough for the line of people gathered around Ms. Martinez’s desk to thin out enough for her to finally notice me, and go, “Yes, Mia? Do you have a question?”

“This is a B,” was all I managed to choke out. On account of my throat had kind of closed up. And my palms were sweaty. And my fingers were shaking.

Because I have never gotten a B on an English assignment before. Never, never, never, never…

“Mia, you’re a very good writer,” Ms. Martinez said. “But you lack discipline.”

“I do?” I licked my lips. They had gotten all parched, just while I was sitting there, it seemed to me.

Ms. Martinez shook her head all sadly.

“I realize it isn’t entirely your fault,” Ms. Martinez went on. “You’ve probably been getting A’s in your English classes for years using the same cartoonish slapstick humor and slick popular culture references you used in your writing sample. I’m sure your teachers were too busy dealing with students who couldn’t write at all to deal with one who clearly can. But, Mia, don’t you see? This kind of self-conscious pseudo-zaniness has no place in a serious expositional work. If you don’t learn to discipline yourself, you’ll never grow as a writer. Pieces like this one you handed in to me only prove that you have a way with words, NOT that you are a writer.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. All I knew was, I had gotten a B. A B!!! IN ENGLISH.

“If I write a new one,” I asked, “will you accept it in the place of this one, and cancel out my B?”

“If it’s good enough,” Ms. Martinez said. “I don’t want you just dashing off something completely over the top again, Mia. I want you to put some thought into it. I want you to make me think.”

“But,” I protested weakly, “that’s what I tried to do in my piece about the snails—”

“By comparing your pouring ten thousand snails into the Bay of Genovia with Pink’s refusal to perform for Prince William because he hunts?” Ms. Martinez shuddered. “No, Mia. That didn’t make me think. It just made me sad for your generation.”

Thankfully, just then the warning bell went off, so I had to go.

Which is a good thing, because I was just about to throw up all over my desk, anyway.

Wednesday, September 9, G&T

Michael called during lunch. AEHS students are not supposed to make or receive cell phone calls during class, but at lunch it’s okay.

Anyway, he was all, “What happened to you last night? We were IMing, and then you just disappeared!”

Me:

 

Oh, yeah. Sorry. Rocky woke up crying, and I had go sing him back to sleep.

Michael:

 

Oh. So everything’s okay?

Me:

 

Well, I mean, if you think the fact that two days into the school year I’m already flunking Geometry, I’m being forced to run for student council president against my will, and my new English teacher thinks I’m a talentless hack is okay, then yeah, I guess so.

Michael:

 

I don’t think any of those things are okay. Have you talked to—who do you have? Harding? He’s a decent guy—about getting some extra help in his class? Or if you want, we can go over the chapter together on Saturday, when I see you. And how could your English teacher think you’re a talentless hack? You’re the best writer I know. And as for the student council thing, Mia, just tell Lilly you don’t care WHAT her plan is, you have enough to worry about, and you don’t want to run. What’s the worst that could happen?

Ha. That is all so easy for Michael to say. I mean, he is not afraid of his sister—not even a little bit, like I am. And Mr. Harding? A decent guy? My God, he threw a piece of chalk at Trisha Hayes’s head today! Granted, I’d do the same if I thought I could get away with it. But still.

And how does Michael even know what kind of writer I am? Except for a couple of articles in the school paper last year, and my letters, e-mails, and Instant Messages to him, he has never read anything I’ve written. I certainly haven’t given him any of my poems to read. Because what if he doesn’t like them? My writer’s spirit would be crushed.

Even more crushed than it is right now.

 

Me:

 

I guess. How’s YOUR day going?

Michael:

 

Great. Today in my Principles of Geomorphology class we talked about how the ice cap has shrunk by two hundred and fifty million acres—that’s the size of California and Texas put together—in the past twenty years, and how if it continues to erode at the rate it’s going—about nine percent per decade—it could vanish altogether by the end of this century, which will, of course, have devastating consequences for life on Earth as we know it. Whole species will vanish, and anyone who owns seafront property is essentially going to own underwater property. Unless, of course, we do something to control pollutant emissions that are destroying the ozone layer and allowing this melt-off.

Me:

 

So, essentially, it doesn’t even matter what kind of grade I end up getting in Geometry, since we’re all going to die anyway?

Michael:

 

Well, not us, necessarily. But our grandkids, for sure.

 

Except, I was pretty sure Michael didn’t mean OUR grandkids, as in, the children of kids he and I might have if, you know, we Did It. I believe he was referring to grandkids in the general sense. Such as grandkids he might have with a corn princess he marries later, after he and I have grown apart and gone our separate ways.

 

Me:

 

But I thought we were all going to die in ten years anyway when easily accessible petroleum runs out.

Michael:

 

Oh, don’t worry about that. Doo Pak and I have decided to come up with a prototype for a hydrogen-powered car. Hopefully that ought to do the trick. If, you know, the auto industry doesn’t try to have us killed for it.

Me:

 

Oh. Okay.

 

It’s nice to know that smart people like Michael are working on this whole petroleum-running-out thing. That leaves the more easily handled problems like, you know, killer algae and student council governance to people like me.

 

Michael:

 

So, are we all set for Saturday?

Me:

 

You mean my coming over to meet Doo Pak? I think so.

Michael:

 

Actually, what I meant was—

 

This is when Lilly tried to wrestle the phone from me.

 

Lilly:

 

Is that my brother? Let me talk to him.

Me:

 

Lilly! Let go!

Lilly:

 

Seriously. I need to talk to him. Mom changed her password again and I can’t get into her e-mail.

Me:

 

You shouldn’t be reading your mother’s e-mail anyway!

Lilly:

 

But how am I going to know what she’s telling people about me?

 

Here is where I finally managed to wrench the phone out of her hands.

 

Me:

 

Uh, Michael. I’m going to have to call you back. After school. Okay?

Michael:

 

Oh. Okay. Hang in there. Everything’s going to be fine.

Me:

 

Yeah. Right.

 

It’s easy for HIM to say everything’s going to be all right. Everything IS going to be all right. For HIM. HE no longer has to be incarcerated in this hellhole for eight hours a day. He gets to take fun classes about how the polar ice cap is going to melt and we’re all going to die, while I get to walk down the hall with twenty million posters of Lana Weinberger beaming down at me, going, Loser! Loser! Princess of what? Oh yeah! Loserville!

As we left the cafeteria to go put on lip gloss before our next class, I saw Ramon Riveras, the handsome new exchange student, demonstrating Brazilian ball-handling technique to Lana and some fellow members of the AEHS varsity boys’ soccer team, all of whom were paying rapt attention (good thing, too, since last year they didn’t win one single game). Only instead of a ball, Ramon was using an orange, batting it back and forth between his feet. He was saying something, too, but I couldn’t understand a word, whatever it was. The other members of his team looked confused, too.

I saw Lana nodding like she understood, though. She probably did, too. Lana is very familiar with all things Brazilian. I know because I’ve seen her naked in the shower.

Wednesday, September 9, still G&T

Mia. Let’s make a list.

 

No! Lilly, leave me alone! I have too many problems right now to make a list.

 

What problems? You don’t have any problems. You’re a princess. You’re not flunking Algebra. You have a boyfriend.

 

That’s just it! I have a boyfriend, but apparently he expects me to—

 

To what?

 

Never mind. Let’s make a list.

 

LILLY AND MIA RATE THE REALITY SHOWS

 

Survivor:

 

Lilly: A sickening attempt by the media to draw viewers by pandering to the lowest common denominator and appealing to the public’s enjoyment of watching others being exploited and humiliated. 0/10

 

 

Mia: Yeah. And who wants to watch people eat bugs? Ew!!!! 0/10

Fear Factor:

 

Lilly: Ditto. 0/10

 

 

Mia: More bugs. Yuck. 0/10

American Idol:

 

Lilly: This show is entertaining—if your idea of being entertained is watching young people being ridiculed for attempting to share their talents with the world. 5/10

 

 

Mia: Having had my own dreams crushed all too recently, I am not a fan of watching other people get theirs stomped on. 2/10

Newlyweds:

Nick and

Jessica:

 

Lilly: If watching the pathetic ramblings of an uneducated chanteuse who doesn’t know the difference between chicken and tuna is your idea of a good time, please feel free to watch this show. I won’t try to stop you. 0/10

 

 

Mia: Jessica is not dumb, just inexperienced! She’s FUNNY. Also, Nick is hot. Best show EVA! 10/10

The Bachelor/ette:

 

Lilly: Who cares about two stupid people getting together? All they’ll end up doing is having kids, and then there’ll be more stupid people on this planet. And we’re encouraging them by watching this show! Disgraceful. 0/10

 

 

Mia: Harsh! They’re looking for love! What could be wrong with that? 5/10

Trading Spaces:

 

Lilly: I would so never let Hildi near my room. 10/10

 

 

Mia: Have to agree. What is wrong with her? But it would be cool to turn her loose on LANA’s room. 10/10

Real World:

 

Lilly: Perfection—if your idea of perfection happens to be watching young people cavort in hot tubs without parental supervision or any apparent morality. Which mine is. 10/10

 

 

Mia: Why do they all have to be so mean to one another? Still, it IS kinda good. 9/10

Queer Eye for the Straight Guy:

 

Lilly: Five homosexuals give makeovers to hetero men who can’t keep their rooms tidy and don’t know any better than to wear acid-washed jeans. Some proponents of equal rights for the same-sex-oriented fear this show will set their movement back decades. And yet…why WAS that guy wearing that hideous hairpiece for so long???? 10/10

 

BOOK: Princess In Training
7.86Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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