Except that even after fifteen hours of sleep, I still feel like a bit of a talentless bum. But at least today I don't feel like it's

such a tragedy. I think sleeping for fifteen hours straight has given me some perspective. I mean, not everyone can be super-geniuses like Lilly and Michael. Just like not everyone can be a violin virtuoso like Boris. I have to be good at something. I just need to figure out what that something is. I asked Mr. G today at breakfast what he thinks I am good

at, and he said he thinks I make some interesting fashion statements sometimes.

But that cannot have been what Lilly was referring to, as I was wearing my school uniform at the time she mentioned my mystery talent, which hardly leaves room for creative expression.

Mr. G's remark reminded me that I still haven't found my Queen Amidala underwear. But I wasn't about to ask my

stepfather if he'd seen them. EW! I try not to look at Mr. Gianini's underwear when it comes back all folded from the laundry-by-the-pound place, and thankfully he extends the same courtesy to me.

And I couldn't ask my mom because once again she was dead to the world this morning. I guess pregnant women need

as much sleep as teenagers and DJs.

But I had seriously better find them before Friday, or my first date with Michael will be a full-on disaster, I just know it.

Like he'll probably open his present and be all, 'Uh ... I guess it's the thought that counts.'

I probably should have just followed Mrs. Hakim Baba's rules and got him a sweater.

But Michael is so not the sweater type! I realized it as we pulled up in front of his building today. He was standing there, looking all tall and manly and Heath Ledger-like . . . except for having dark hair, not blond.

And his scarf was kind of blowing in the wind, and I could see that part of his throat, you know, right beneath his Adam's

apple and right above where his shirt collar opens, the part that Lars once told me if you hit someone hard enough, it would paralyse them. Michael's throat was so nice-looking, so pink and concave, that all I could think about was Mr. Rochester standing out on the moor, brooding about his great love for Jane . . .

And I knew, I just knew, I was right not to have gotten him a sweater. I mean, Jane would never have given Mr. Rochester

a sweater. Ew.

Anyway, then Michael saw me and smiled and he didn't look like Mr. Rochester any more, because Mr. Rochester never smiled, he just looked like Michael.

And my heart turned over in my chest like it always does when I see him.

Are you OK?' he wanted to know, as soon as he got into the limo. His eyes, so brown they are almost black — like the

peat bogs Mr. Rochester was always striding past out there on the moor, because if you step into a peat bog, you can sink

in up to your head and never be heard of again . . . which in a way is like what happens every time I look into Michael's eyes:

I fall and fall and am pretty sure I will never be able to get out of them again, but that's OK, because I love being there -

looked deeply into mine. My eyes are merely grey, the colour of a New York City sidewalk.

'I called you last night,' Michael said, as his sister pushed him to move over on the seat so that she could get into the limo, too. 'But your mom said you'd passed out. . .'

'I was really, really tired,' I said, delighted by the fact that he appeared to have been worried about me. 'I slept for fifteen

hours straight.'

'Whatever,' Lilly said. She was clearly not interested in the details of my sleep cycle. 'I heard from the producers of your movie.'

I was surprised. 'Really? What did they say?'

'They asked me to take a breakfast meeting with them,' Lilly said, sounding like she was trying not to brag. Only she wasn't succeeding terribly well. You could totally hear the gloating in her voice. 'Friday morning. So I won't be needing a ride.'

'Wow,' I said. A breakfast meeting? Really? Will they serve bagels?'

'Probably,' Lilly said.

I was impressed. I have never been invited to a breakfast meeting with producers before. Just with the Prince of Wales.

I asked Lilly if she had come up with a list of demands for the producers, and she said she had, but she wouldn't tell me

what they were.

I think I am going to have to watch this movie and see what's making her so mad. My mom has it on tape. She said it was

one of the funniest things she has ever seen.

But then, my mom laughs all through Dirty Dancing, even the parts that aren't supposed to be funny, so I don't know if she

is the best judge.

Uh-oh. One of the cheerleaders (sadly, not Lana) tore her Achilles tendon doing pilates over the break, so they just

announced they are holding tryouts for a replacement. The team's substitute got transferred to an all girls' school in Northampton due to having too wild a party while her parents were in Martinique.

I sincerely hope Lilly is too busy protesting about the movie of my life to protest about the new cheerleading try-outs. Last semester she made me walk around with a big sign that said Cheerleading is sexist and not a sport, which I am not even

sure is technically true, since they have cheerleading championships on the sports channel. But it is a fact that there are no cheerleaders for the female sports in our school. Like Lana and her gang never turn out for the girls' basketball team or the

girls' volleyball team, but they never miss a boys' game. So maybe the sexist part is true.

Oh, God, a geek just came in with a hall pass. A hall pass for me! I am being summoned to the office! And I didn't even

do anything! Well, this time, anyway.

This is so unfair.










Wednesday, January 20,

Outside Principal Guptas Office




I can't believe it is only the second day of second semester, and already I am sitting here outside the principal's office.

And I didn't even do anything! I mean, yeah, I didn't finish my homework, but I fully have a note from my stepdad.

I turned it in to the administrative office first thing. It says:


 Please excuse Mia for not completing her homework for Tuesday, January 19th. 

She was crippled with jetlag and unable to attend to her academic

responsibilities last evening.  She will, of course, make up the work tonight.

- Frank Gianini

It kind of sucks when your stepdad is also your teacher.

But why would Principal Gupta object to this? I mean, I realize it is only the second day of second semester, and already

I've fallen behind. But I'm not THAT far behind.

And I haven't even seen Lana today, so it's not like I could have done anything to her or her personal belongings.

OH, MY GOD. It just occurred to me. What if they realize they made a mistake, putting me back in Gifted and Talented?

I mean, because I have no gifts or talents? What if I was only put in there in the first place because of some computer glitch, and now they've corrected it, and they're going to put me in Tech. Ed. or Domestic Arts, where I belong? Oh, my God,

I will have to make a spice rack!!! Or worse, a western omelette!!!

And I will never see Michael any more! OK, I will see him on the way to school and during lunch and after school and on weekends and holidays, but that's it. By taking me out of Gifted and Talented class, they will be depriving me of five whole hours of Michael a week! And true, during class we don't talk all that much, because Michael really is gifted and talented, unlike me, and needs to use that class period to hone his musical abilities. But still, at least we are together.

Oh, God, this is awful! WHY didn't Lilly just tell me what my talent is? Then I could throw it in Principal Gupta's face

when she tries to deport me back to Tech. Ed.

Wait. . . who does that voice belong to? The one coming from Principal Gupta's office? It sounds kind of familiar.

It sounds kind of like . . .









Wednesday, January 20,

Grandmere's Limo




I cannot believe Grandmere just did this. I mean, what kind of person DOES this? Just yanks a teenager out of school?

She is supposed to be the adult. She is supposed to be setting a good example for me. And what does she do instead?

Well, first she tells a big fat LIE, and THEN she removes me from school property under false pretences.

I am telling you, if my mom or dad finds out about this, Clarisse Renaldo will be a dead woman.

She practically gave me a heart attack, you know. Good thing my cholesterol and everything is so low thanks to my

vegetarian diet, otherwise I might have suffered a serious cardiac infarction, she scared me so bad, coming out of Principal Gupta's office like that and being all, 'Well, yes, we are of course praying for his quick recovery, but you know how these things can be . . .'

I felt all the blood run out of my face at the sight of her. Not just because, you know, it was Grandmere, talking to

Principal Gupta, of all people, but because of what she was saying.

I stood up fast, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might go flying right out of my chest.

'What is it?' I asked, all panicky. 'Is it my dad? Is the cancer back? Is that it? You can tell me, I can take it.'

Because the reason that I, a technically illegitimate teenager (seeing as how my mom never married my dad), am heir to the throne of Genovia is that my dad can't have any more kids, on account of having been rendered sterile due to cancer. I was sure, from the way Grandmere was talking to Principal Gupta, that the cancer was back, and that my dad was going to have