Princess Diaries Series: Third Time Lucky Part 19

And it's not because there's a sporting event they want us all to show our support for. No! This is no pep rally. There isn't a cheerleader in sight. Well, OK, there are cheerleaders in sight, but they aren't in uniform or anything. They are sitting in the bleachers with the rest of us. Well, not really with the rest of us since they are in the best seats, the ones in the middle, all jostling to see who can sit next to Justin Baxendale, who has apparently ousted Josh Richter as hottest guy in school, but whatever.

No. Instead, it appears that there has been a major disciplinary infraction at Albert Einstein High School. An act of random vandalism that has shaken the administration's faith in us. Which is why they called an a.s.sembly, so that they could better convey their feelings of - as Lilly just whispered in my ear - disillusionment and betrayal.

And what was this act that has Princ.i.p.al Gupta and the trustees so up in arms?

Why, someone pulled a fire alarm yesterday, that's what.

Oops.

I have to say, I have never done anything really bad before a" well, I dropped an eggplant out of a fifteenth-floor window a couple of months ago, but no one got hurt or anything a" but there really is something sort of thrilling about it. I mean, I would never want to do anything too bad - like anything where someone might get hurt.

But I have to say, it is immensely gratifying to have all these people coming up to the microphone and decrying my behaviour.

I probably wouldn't feel so good about it if I'd gotten caught, though.

I am being urged to come forward and turn myself in even as I write this. Apparently, the guilt for my action is going to hound me well past my teen years - possibly even into my twenties and beyond.

OK, can I just tell you how much I'm NOT going to think about high school when I am in my twenties? I am going to be way too busy working with Greenpeace to save the whales to worry about some stupid fire alarm I pulled in the ninth grade.

The administration is offering a reward for information leading to the ident.i.ty of the perpetrator of this heinous crime. A reward! You know what the reward is? A free movie pa.s.s to the Sony Imax theatre. That's all I'm worth! A movie pa.s.s!

The only person who could possibly turn me in isn't even paying attention to the a.s.sembly. I can see Justin Baxendale has got

a Gameboy out and is playing it with the sound off while Lana and her fellow cheer cronies look over his broad shoulders, probably panting so hard they are fogging up the screen.

I guess Justin hasn't put two and two together yet. You know, about seeing me in the hallway just before that fire alarm went off. With any luck, he never will.

Mr Gianini, though. That's another story. I see him over there, talking to Mrs Hill. He has obviously not told anyone that he suspects me.

Maybe he doesn't suspect me. Maybe he thinks Lilly did it and I know about it. That could be. I can tell Lilly really wishes she'd done it because she keeps on muttering under her breath about how when she finds out who did it, she's going to kill

that person, etc.

She's just jealous, of course. That's because now it seems like some kind of political statement, instead of what it actually

was: a way to prevent a political statement.

Princ.i.p.al Gupta is looking at us very sternly. She says that it is always natural to want to burn off a little steam right before Finals, but that she hopes we will choose positive channels for this, such as the penny drive the Community Outreach Club is holding in order to benefit the victims of Tropical Storm Fred, which flooded several suburban New Jersey neighbourhoods

last November.

Ha! As if contributing to a stupid penny drive can ever give anybody the same kind of thrill as committing a completely random act of civil disobedience.

Thursday, December 10, Gifted and Talented Today was my lunch with Kenny at Big Wong.

I really don't have anything to say about it, except that he didn't ask me to the Non-Denominational Winter Dance. Not only that, but it appears that Kenny's pa.s.sion for me has ebbed significantly since it hit its zenith on Tuesday.

I, of course, was beginning to suspect this, since he's stopped calling me after school and I haven't had one Instant Message from him since before the great Ice-skating Debacle. He says it's because he's so busy studying for Finals and all, but I suspect something else: He knows. He knows about Michael. I mean, come on. How can he not? Well, OK, maybe he doesn't know about Michael specifically, but Kenny must know generally that he is not the one who lights my fire. If I had a fire, that is.

No, Kenny is just being nice.

Which I appreciate and all, but I just wish he'd come out and say it. All this kindness, this solicitousness - it's just making me feel worse. I mean, really? How could J have ever agreed to be Kenny's girlfriend, knowing full well I liked someone else? By rights, Kenny should go to Majesty magazine and spill all. Royal Betrayal, they could call it. I totally would understand it, if he did.

But he won't. Because he's too nice. Instead, he ordered steamed vegetable dumplings for me and pork buns for him (one encouraging sign that Kenny might not love me as much as he used to insist: he's eating meat again) and talked about Bio. and what had happened at a.s.sembly (I didn't tell him it was me who pulled the alarm and he didn't ask me, so there was no need shield my nostrils). He mentioned again how sorry he was about my tongue, and asked how I was doing in Algebra, and offered to come over and tutor me if I wanted (Kenny tested out of freshman Algebra), even though of course I live with an Algebra teacher. Still, you could tell he meant to be nice.

Which just makes me feel worse. Because of what I'm going to have to do after Finals and all.

But he didn't ask me to the dance.

I don't know if this means we aren't going, or if it means he considers the fact we are going a given.

I swear, I do not understand boys at all.

As if lunch wasn't bad enough, G & T isn't too great, either. No, Judith Gershner isn't here . . . but neither is Michael. The guy is AWOL. n.o.body knows where he is. Lilly had to tell Mrs Hill, when she took attendance, that her brother was in the bathroom.

I wonder where he really is. Lilly says that since he started writing this new program that the Computer Club will be unveiling

at the Winter Carnival, she's hardly seen him.

Which is no real change since Michael hardly comes out of his room anyway, but still. You'd think he'd come home once in a while to study.

But I guess, seeing as how he already got into his first-choice college, his grades don't really matter any more.

Besides, like Lilly, Michael is a genius. What does he need to study for?

Unlike the rest of us slobs.

I wish they'd put the door back on the supply closet. It is extremely hard to concentrate with Boris sc.r.a.ping away on his violin in there. Lilly says this is just another tactic by the trustees to weaken our resistance so we will remain the mindless drones they are trying to make us, but I think it's On account of that time we all forgot to let him out and he was stuck in there until the night custodian heard his anguished pleas to be released.

Which is Lilly's fault, if you think about it. I mean, she s his girlfriend. She should really take better care of him.

Homework: Algebra: practice test

English: term paper

World Civ.: practice test

G & T: none

French: l'exarnen pratique

Biology: practice test

Thursday, December 10, 9 p.m.

Grandmere is seriously out of control. Tonight she started quizzing me on the names and responsibilities of all of my dad's cabinet ministers. Not only do I have to know exactly what they do, but also their marital status and the names and ages of

their kids, if any. These are the kids I am supposedly going to have to hang out with while celebrating Christmas at the Palace.

I am figuring they will probably hate me as much, if not more, than Mr Gianini's niece and nephew hated me at Thanksgiving.

All of my holidays from now on are apparently going to be spent in the company of teens who hate me.

You know, I would just like to say that it is totally not my fault I am a princess. They have no right to hate me so much. I have done everything I could to maintain a normal life in spite of my royal status. I have totally turned down opportunities to be on the covers of Cosmo Girl, Teen People, Seventeen, YM and Girl's Life. I have refused invitations to go on TRL and introduce the number one video in the country, and when the mayor asked if I wanted to be the one to press the b.u.t.ton that drops the ball in Times Square on New Year's Eve, I said no (aside from the fact I am going to be in Genovia for New Year's, I oppose the Mayor's mosquito-spraying campaign, as runoff from the pesticides used to kill the mosquitoes that may be carrying the West Nile virus has infected the local horseshoe crab population. A compound in the blood of horseshoe crabs, which nest all along the eastern seaboard, is used to test the purity of every drug and vaccine administered in the U.S. The crabs are routinely gathered, drained of a third of their blood, then re-released into the sea . . . a sea which is now killing them, as well as many other arthropods, such as lobsters, thanks to the amount of pesticide in it).

Anyway, I am just saying, all the kids who hate me should chill because I have never once sought the spotlight I have been thrust into. I've never even called my own press conference.

But I digress.

So Sebastiano was there, with Grandmere, drinking aperitifs and listening as I rattled off name after name (Grandmere has made flashcards out of the pictures of the cabinet ministers - kind of like those bubble gum cards you can get of the Backstreet Boys, only the cabinet ministers don't wear as much leather). I was kind of thinking maybe I was wrong about Sebastiano's commitment to fashion, and that maybe he was there to try and pick up some pointers for after he's thrust me into the path of