Sort of like the way people accept that the jocks and the cheerleaders run this school, despite the fact that they don’t necessarily make the best grades, so it’s not like they’re the smartest group of people here, nor are they even very nice to those of us who don’t eat, drink, and breathe sports and partying. How are they even QUALIFIED to lead us? And yet their word is law and everyone pays tribute to them by not calling them on their cruelty to others or by not telling on them when they flagrantly disregard school policy, such as smoking on school grounds and wearing their boyfriends’ shorts beneath their skirts. This is just wrong. The misdeeds of a few are having a negative impact on the many, and that’s not fair. I wonder what John Locke would have to say about it.Thursday, September 10, Earth Science

Why won’t Kenny stop talking about his girlfriend? I’m sure she’s nice, and all, but really, does he HAVE to keep reciting every conversation he’s ever had with her to me?

Magnetic field

1.       Not constant—varies in strength but hardly detectable

2.       Poles wander—number of times poles have reversed

3.       Reversal of magnetic field—during times poles reverse, field disappears, allowing ions to hit Earth, mutations, climactic ruin, etc.

Last major reversal, 800,000 years ago, magnetic particles that were pointing north about-faced to point south



HOMEWORK

PE: n/a

Geometry: exercises, pages 33–35

English: Strunk and White, pages 30–54

French: lisez L’Étranger pour lundi

G&T: n/a

U.S. Government: Define force theory of gov.

Earth Science: orbital perturbationsThursday, September 10, limo on the way home from the Plaza

So when I walked into Grandmère’s suite at the Plaza for my princess lesson this afternoon, what did I find?

A pop quiz about seating arrangements for heads of state at a diplomatic banquet? Oh, no.

A waltz I needed to learn for some ball? Uh-uh.

Because those would be the kinds of things you’d EXPECT at a princess lesson. And Grandmère likes to keep me on my toes, apparently.

Instead, I found about two dozen journalists gathered in her suite, all eager to discuss my student council presidency campaign with me and my campaign manager, Lilly.

That’s right. Lilly. Lilly was sitting, cool as a cucumber, on a blue velvet settee with Grandmère, answering the reporters’ questions.

When the journalists saw me come in, they all jumped up and shoved microphones in my face instead of Lilly’s, and went, “Your Highness, Your Highness! Are you looking forward to your debate on Monday?” and “Princess Mia, do you have anything you’d like to say to your constituents?”

I had one thing I wanted to say to one constituent. And that was, “LILLY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

That was when Grandmère sprang into action. She hurried up and draped an arm around my shoulder and went, “Your dear friend Lilly and I were just chatting with these nice reporters about your campaign for student council president, Amelia. But what they’d really like is a statement from you. Why don’t you be a darling and give them one?”

The minute Grandmère calls you darling, you know something is up. But, of course, I already knew something was up, because Lilly was there. How had she even gotten to the Plaza so fast? She must have taken the subway, while I’d been tied up in traffic in the limo.

“Yes, Princess,” Lilly said, reaching out to take my hand, then pulling me—none too gently—down onto the settee beside her. “Tell the nice reporters about all the reforms you’re planning to make at AEHS.”

I leaned over, pretending I was reaching for a watercress sandwich from the tray Grandmère’s maid had set out for the reporters, who are always hungry, and not just for a story. But then, as I grabbed one of the dainty little sandwiches, I hissed in Lilly’s ear, “Now you’ve gone too far.”

But Lilly just smiled blandly at me and said, “I think the princess would like some tea, Your Highness,” to which Grandmère replied, “But, of course. Antoine! Tea for the princess!”

The press conference went on for an hour, with reporters from all over the country peppering me with questions about my campaign platform. I was just thinking that it must be a REALLY slow news day if my running for student council president qualified as a decent story, when one of the reporters asked me a question that shed a little light on just why Grandmère was so keen on my making an ass of myself in front of Middle America, and not just my fellow AEHS students.

“Princess Mia,” a journalist from the Indianapolis Star asked. “Isn’t it true that the only reason you’re running for student council president—and the only reason we were invited here today—is that your family is trying to distract the news media from the real story currently hitting headlines in Europe—your act of ecoterrorism, concerning the dumping of ten thousand snails into the Bay of Genovia?”

Suddenly, two dozen microphones were shoved into my face. I blinked a few times, then went, “But that wasn’t an act of ecoterrorism. I did that to save the—”

Then Grandmère was clapping her hands and going, “Who wants a nice glass of grappa? Come now, real Genovian grappa. No one can resist that!”

But none of the reporters were falling for it.

“Princess Mia, would you like to comment on the fact that Genovia is currently being considered for expulsion from the EU, thanks to your selfish act?”

Another one cried, “How does it feel, Your Highness, to know that you’re single-handedly responsible for destroying your own nation’s economy?”

“Wh…What?” I couldn’t believe it. What were these reporters talking about?

For once, Lilly came to my rescue.

“People!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “If you don’t have any more questions about Mia’s campaign for school president, then I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave!”

“Cover-up!” someone yelled. “That’s all this is! A cover-up to keep us from the real story!”

“Princess Mia, Princess Mia,” someone else called, as Lars began herding—or, to put it more accurately, bodily removing—all of the reporters from the suite. “Are you a member of ELF, the Earth Liberation Front? Do you want to make a statement on behalf of other ecoterrorists like yourself?”

“Well,” Grandmère said, downing half a Sidecar in one gulp as Lars finally closed the doors on the last of the reporters. “That went well, don’t you think?”

I couldn’t believe it. I just sat there in total shock. Ecoterrorism? ELF? All because of some SNAILS????

Lilly picked up her Palm Pilot (when did she get one of those???) and strolled over to where Grandmère was standing.

“Right. So we’ve got Time magazine at six, and Newsweek at six thirty,” Lilly said. “I heard from NPR, and I definitely think we should squeeze them in this evening—drive time, you know. It can’t hurt. And we got a request from New York One for Mia to go on tonight’s broadcast of Inside Politics. I’ve gotten them to swear there won’t be any questions about the E word. What do you think?”

“Marvelous,” Grandmère said, taking another swig from her Sidecar. “What about Larry King?”

Lilly tapped the headset she’d slipped on and said, “Antoine? Have you gotten hold of Larry K yet? No? Well, get on it.”

Larry K? The E word? What was HAPPENING?

Which is exactly what I wailed.

Grandmère and Lilly looked at me as if only just realizing I was there at all.

“Oh,” Lilly said, taking off the headset. “Mia. Right. The ELF thing? Don’t worry about it. Par for the course.”

PAR FOR THE COURSE???? Since when has Lilly known anything about golf?

“We didn’t want to trouble you, Amelia,” Grandmère said coolly, as she lit a cigarette. “It’s nothing, really. Tell me, is that really how you’re wearing your hair these days? Wouldn’t you like it better if it were a little…shorter?”

“What is going on?” I demanded, ignoring her hair question. “Is Genovia REALLY going to get expelled from the EU for what I did with the snails?”

Grandmère exhaled a long plume of blue smoke.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” she informed me, casually.

My heart seemed to twist inside my chest. It’s true!

“Can they do that?” I demanded. “Can the European Union really kick us out because of a few snails?”

“Of course not.” This came from my dad, who’d wandered into the room, a cell phone clutched to his ear. I felt a momentary relief, until I realized he wasn’t speaking to me. He was talking into his cell phone.

“No,” he yelled at whoever was on the end of the line, as he bent to scoop up a handful of leftover sandwiches from the tray, then head back to his own suite. “She was acting entirely on her accord, not in the name of any global organization. Oh, really? Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. Maybe when you have a teenaged daughter of your own, you’ll understand.”

He slammed the door on his way out.

“Well,” Grandmère said, stubbing out her cigarette and reaching for the rest of her Sidecar. “Shall we talk about Amelia’s platform, then?”

“Excellent idea,” Lilly said, and pressed some buttons on her Palm Pilot.

So, now at least I know why GRANDMÈRE is so behind this presidency thing. It’s the only thing she can think of to keep reporters distracted from the whole Genovia being kicked out of the EU for ecoterrorism thing.

But what’s LILLY’s excuse? I mean, she’s the LAST person I ever thought Grandmère could turn to the dark side.

Et tu, Lilly?

My dad came back into the room between my Time and Newsweek interviews. He looked way stressed. I felt really bad, and apologized to him about the whole snail-dumping thing.