Meg Cabot - Princess in the Spotlight

Tuesday, October 28, Principal Gupta’s office

     Oh, God! No sooner had I set foot in Homeroom today than I was summoned to the principal’s office!

     I was hoping it was so that she could make sure I’m not carrying any contraband cough syrup, but it’s more likely because of what I said last night on TV. Particularly, I would guess, the part about how divisive and clique-ridden it is around here.

     Meanwhile, all the other people in this school who have never been invited to a party given by a popular kid have rallied around me. It’s like I’ve struck a blow for dweebs everywhere, or something. The minute I walked into school today, the hip-hoppers, the brainiacs, the drama freaks, they were all, “Hey! Tell it like it is, sistah.”

     No one’s ever called me sistah before. It is somewhat invigorating.

     Only the cheerleaders treat me the way they always have. As I walk down the hall, their eyes flick over me, from the top of my head all the way down to my shoes. And then they whisper to each other and laugh.

     Well, I suppose it is amusing to see a five-foot-nine, flat-chested amazon like myself roaming loose in the halls. I’m surprised no one has thrown a net over me and hauled me off to the Natural History Museum.

     Of my own friends, only Lilly—and Shameeka, of course—aren’t entirely thrilled with last night’s performance. Lilly’s still unhappy about my spilling the beans about the socioeconomic division of our school population. Not unhappy enough to turn down a ride to school in my limo this morning, however.

     Interestingly, Lilly’s chilly treatment of me has only served to bring her brother and I closer. This morning in the limo on the way to school, Michael offered to go over my Algebra homework with me, and make sure my equations were all right.

     I was touched by his offer, and the warm feeling I had when he pronounced all my problems correct didn’t have anything to do with pride, but everything to do with the way his fingers brushed against mine as he handed the piece of paper back to me. Could he be Jo-C-rox?Could he?

     Uh-oh. Principal Gupta is ready to see me now.

Tuesday, October 28, Algebra

     Principal Gupta is way concerned about my mental health.

     “Mia, are you really so unhappy here at Albert Einstein?”

     I didn’t want to hurt her feelings or anything, so I said no. I mean, the truth is, it probably wouldn’t matter what school somebody stuck me in. I will always be a five-foot-nine freak with no breasts, no matter where I go.

     Then Principal Gupta said something surprising: “I only ask because last night during your interview, you said you weren’t popular.”

     I wasn’t quite sure where she was going with this. So I just said, “Well, I’m not,” with a shrug.

     “That isn’t true,” Principal Gupta said. “Everyone in the school knows who you are.”

     I still didn’t want her to feel bad, like it was her fault I’m a biological sport, so I explained very gently, “Yes, but that’s only because I’m a princess. Before that, I was pretty much invisible.”

     Principal Gupta said, “That simply isn’t true.”

     But all I could think was,How would you even know? You aren’t out there. You don’t know what it’s like.

     And then I felt even worse for her, because she is so obviously living in principal fantasy world.

     “Perhaps,” Principal Gupta said, “if you took part in more extracurricular activities, you’d feel a better sense of belonging.”

     This caused my jaw to drop.

     “Principal Gupta,” I couldn’t help exclaiming. “I am barely passing Algebra. All of my free time is spent attending review sessions so that I can scrape by with a D.”

     “Well,” Principal Gupta said, “I am aware of that—“

     “Also, after my review sessions, I have princess lessons with my grandmother, so that when I go to Genovia in December for my introduction to the people I will one day rule, I do not make a complete idiot of myself, like I did last night on TV.”

     “I think the wordidiot might be a little strong.”

     “I really don’t have time,” I went on, feeling more sorry for her than ever, “for extracurricular activities.”

     “The yearbook committee meets only once a week,” Principal Gupta said. “Or perhaps you could join the track team. They won’t begin training until the spring, and by that time, hopefully, you won’t be having princess lessons anymore.”

     I just blinked at her, I was so surprised.Me? Track? I can barely walk without tripping over my own gargantuan feet. God knows what would happen if I tried running.

      And the yearbook committee? Did I really look like someone who wants to remember one single thing about my high school experience?

     “Well,” Principal Gupta said, I guess realizing from my facial expression that I was not enthused by either of these suggestions. “It was just an idea. I do think you would be much happier here at Albert Einstein if you joined a club. I am aware, of course, of your friendship with Lilly Moscovitz, and I sometimes wonder if she might not be . . .well, a negative influence on you. That television show of hers is quite acerbic.”

     I was shocked by this. Poor Principal Gupta is more deluded than I thought!

     “Oh, no,” I said. “Lilly’s show is actually quite positive. Didn’t you see the episode dedicated to fighting racism in Korean delis? Or the one about how a lot of clothing stores that cater to teens are prejudiced against larger-size girls, since they don’t carry enough things in size twelve, the size of the average American woman? Or the one where we tried to hand-deliver a pound of Vaniero cookies to Freddie Prinz Jr.’s apartment because he’d been looking a little thin?”

     Principal Gupta held up her hand. “I see that you feel very passionately about this,” she said. “And I must say, I am pleased. It is good to know you feel passionate about something, Mia, other than your antipathy toward athletes and cheerleaders.”

     Then I felt worse than ever. I said, “I don’t feel antipathy toward them. I’m just saying that sometimes . . .well, sometimes it feels like they run this school, Principal Gupta.”

     “Well, I can assure you,” Principal Gupta said. “That is not true.”

     Poor, poor Principal Gupta.

     Still, I did feel that I had to intrude upon the fantasy world in which she so obviously lives, just a little.

     “Um,” I said. “Principal Gupta. About Mrs. Hill . . .”

     “What about her?” Principal Gupta asked.

     “I didn’t mean it when I said she’s always in the teachers’ lounge during my Gifted and Talented class. That was an exaggeration.”

     Principal Gupta smiled at me in this very brittle way.

     “Don’t worry, Mia,” she said. “Mrs. Hill has been taken care of.”

     Taken care of! What doesthat mean?

     I am almost scared to find out.

Tuesday, October 28, G & T

     Well, Mrs. Hill didn’t get fired.

     Instead, I guess they gave her a warning, or something. The upshot of it is, Mrs. Hill won’t budge from behind her desk here in the G and T lab.

     Which means we have to sit at our desks and actually do our work. And we can’t lock Boris in the supply closet. We actually have to sit here and listen to him play.

     PlayBartok.

     And we can’t talk to one another, because we are supposed to be working on our individual projects.

     Boy, is everyone mad at me.

     But no one is madder than Lilly.

     It turns out Lilly’s been secretly writing a book about the socioeconomic divisions that exist within the walls ofAlbertEinsteinHigh School . Really! She didn’t want to tell me, but finally Boris blurted it out at lunch today. Lilly threw a fry at him and got ketchup all over his sweater.

     I can’t believe Lilly has told Boris things that she hasn’t told me. I’m supposed to be her best friend. Boris is just her boyfriend. Why is she telling him cool things, like about how she’s writing a book, and not telling me?

     “Can I read it?” I begged.

     “No.” Lilly was really mad. She wouldn’t even look at Boris. He had already totally forgiven her about the ketchup, even though he will probably have to get that sweater dry-cleaned.

     “Can I read just one page?” I asked.

     “No.”

     “Just one sentence?”

     “No.”

     Michael didn’t know about the book either. He told me right before Mrs. Hill came in that he offered to publish it in his webzine,Crackhead, but Lilly said, in quite a snotty voice, that she was holding out for a “legitimate” publisher.

     “Am I in it?” I wanted to know. “Your book? Am I in it?”

     Lilly said if people don’t stop bothering her about it, she is going to fling herself off the top of the school water tower. She is exaggerating, of course. You can’t even get up to the water tower anymore, since the seniors, as a prank a few years ago, poured a bunch of tadpoles into it.