This, though.

This was different. I was asking people to put their trust—their vote—in me. Not like in Genovia, where that support is kind of automatic because, um, there IS no other princess. It’s just me. What I say goes. Or will, you know, when I take over the throne.

Uh-oh. I hear voices in the hallway. The debate must be over. I wonder what Lana said in her rebuttal. I probably should have stuck around to rebut her rebuttal. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

Oh, no. I hear Lilly—Monday, September 14, G&T

Well, that was fun. Lunch, I mean. Everybody kept stopping by our table to congratulate me, and tell me I had their vote. It was kind of cool. I mean, not just people from my clique—the Nerds—but the Sk8terbois, and the Punks, and the Drama kids and even a few of the Jocks. It was bizarre to be talking to all these people who normally look right past me in the hallway.

And all of a sudden, it was like they wanted to sit at MY lunch table, for a change.

Only they couldn’t, because now that Perin’s sitting there, in addition to the regular crowd, there’s no more room.

We were a particularly festive bunch today on account of a couple of pieces of good news—at least, I thought it was good news. And that’s that after I ran from the gym, and Lana attempted a rebuttal, she was booed down, and couldn’t even get a word in edgewise. Principal Gupta had to turn up the sound system until the feedback became so unbearable that people finally calmed down. And by then Lana had left the gym in tears (Serves her right. I don’t know how I’m going to get my school patch back on. My mom certainly doesn’t sew. Maybe I can ask Grandmère’s maid).

But that’s not the only good thing that happened. After Lilly finally managed to drag me out of the bathroom, I ran into my mom and dad and Grandmère. Mom gave me a big hug—and Rocky beamed at me—and told me I’d done her proud.

But Dad had the really big news. He’d heard from the Royal Genovian Naval Scuba Squad, and the Aplysia depilans have actually started eating the killer algae! Really and truly! They’ve already polished off thirty-seven acres practically overnight, and will probably eradicate the entire crop by October, when the waters of the Mediterranean will become too cold to support them, and they’ll die.

“But that’s all right,” Dad said, smiling at me. “I’ve already introduced a bill to parliament that calls for another ten thousand snails to be transported to the bay next spring, if any of our neighboring countries’ algae creeps into our territory.”

I could barely believe my ears.

“So, does this mean we aren’t going to be voted out of the EU?” I asked.

My dad looked shocked.

“Mia,” he said. “That was never going to happen. Well, I mean, I know a few countries might have wanted us ejected from the EU. But I believe they’re the same ones who caused this ecodisaster in the first place. So, no one was actually giving their calls for our expulsion serious consideration.”

Now he tells me. Nice one, Dad. Like I wasn’t up all night, worrying about this. Well, among other things.

It was right about then that I noticed Ms. Martinez standing there, too, looking kind of…well, sheepish is the only way I can think of to describe it.

“Mia,” she said, when I’d finally stopped hugging my dad (in my joy at hearing that my snails had saved the bay). “I just want to say that that was a great speech. And that you’re right. Popular culture isn’t necessarily lacking in value or merit. It has its place, just like high culture. I’m very sorry if I made you feel that the things you enjoy writing about were less worthy than more serious subjects. They aren’t.”

Whoa!!!!

The fact that my dad was kind of giving Ms. Martinez the old eye as all this was going on kind of diminished my joy over my victory somewhat, however.

But whatever. I think it’s highly unlikely my dad’s going to start dating someone who actually knows what a gerund is. His last girlfriend thought gerunds were mean, foul-smelling rodents.

Speaking of which, Grandmère came up to me right after that and took me by the arm and led me a little bit away from everyone.

“You see, Amelia,” she said, in a raspy, Sidecar-scented whisper. “I told you that you could do it. That was inspired in there. Truly inspired. I almost felt as if the spirit of St. Amelie was among us.”

The freaky thing about this was—I’d kind of felt the same thing.

But I didn’t say so. Instead, I said, “So, uh, Grandmère? What’s this secret weapon you and Lilly came up with? And when are you going to launch it?”

But she just lifted my half-torn-off AEHS patch between her thumb and index finger and said, “What happened to your coat? Really, Amelia, can’t you take better care of your things? A princess really ought not to walk about looking like such a slattern.”

But anyway. The whole thing was still pretty cool. Especially the part where Grandmère said she had to cancel our princess lesson for the day so she could go have a facial. Apparently, all the stress of helping Lilly with the election has caused her pores to expand.

All in all, it was almost enough to make me think things—I don’t know—might actually go my way for a change.

But then I remembered Michael. Who, by the way, hasn’t once called or even text messaged me today, to say good luck on the debate, or ask how I’d done, or anything. In fact, I haven’t talked to him at all since the whole Doing It talk.

And I’ll admit, that talk didn’t actually go as well as I’d hoped it would.

But still. You’d think he’d call. Even if, you know, I’m the one who hasn’t returned HIS calls or e-mails.

Boris is playing “God Save the Queen” on his violin on my behalf. I told him it’s a little early for that. After all, the votes collected over lunch are still being tabulated. Principal Gupta’s going to make the announcement over the loudspeaker last period.

Lilly just went, all softly, to me, “Then, when you win, next week you can make an announcement of your own. You know, about your stepping down, and leaving the presidency to me.”

Huh. Isn’t it funny? But up until that moment, I had kind of forgotten about that part of our plan.Monday, September 14, U.S. Government

Mrs. Holland congratulated me on my speech today, and said it made her proud. PROUD! OF ME!!! A teacher is proud of me!!!




ME!!!!!!!Monday, September 14, Earth Science

Kenny just said the strangest thing to me. Just blurted it right out, as we were drawing our diagrams of the Van Allen radiation belts.

“Mia,” he said. “I want to tell you something. You know my girlfriend, Heather?”

“Yeeee-ah,” I said, reluctantly, because I thought he was getting ready to tell me another long boring story about Heather’s gymnastic prowess.

“Well.” Kenny’s face turned red as the radiation belt I was coloring. “I made her up.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, that is right. Kenny has spent the past five days telling me MADE-UP stories about his MADE-UP girlfriend, Heather. A girlfriend who, I will admit, I actually felt threatened by! Because she’s so perfect! I mean, blond and sporty AND she gets straight A’s????

Actually, now that I think about it, I should probably be grateful Heather turns out not to be real. She was making me feel pretty inadequate, to tell the truth.

But anyway. I just looked at him and was like, “Kenny. Why would you do that?”

And he said, all shamefaced, “I just couldn’t stand it, you know? You having this whole perfect princess life, with Michael, your perfect princely boyfriend. It…I don’t know. It just got to me.”

Yeah. Right. My perfect life. My perfect princess life, with Michael, my perfect princely boyfriend. Let me tell you something, Kenny. You want to know how NOT perfect my perfect princess life is? My perfect princely boyfriend is getting ready to dump me, because I don’t want to Do It. How’s that for perfect, Kenny?

Except, of course, I couldn’t say that. Because that’s none of Kenny’s business. Also, because I don’t much want the whole Michael-wants-to-Do-It thing getting around school. Thanks to the many movies based—however loosely—on my life that are floating around out there, enough people already think they know everything there is to know about me. I don’t need any MORE info leaking out.

But whatever. I just assured Kenny that my life isn’t as perfect as he might think. That, in fact, I have a LOT of problems, among them the fact that I am a baby-licker and very nearly got my own country kicked out of the EU.

Surprisingly, this information seemed to cheer him up excessively. So much so, in fact, that I’m feeling kind of annoyed.

Wha—

Oh, no. The classroom loudspeaker just crackled. Principal Gupta is coming on to announce the results of today’s votes.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

Here it is:

Lana Weinberger, three hundred fifty nine votes.

Mia Thermopolis, six hundred forty one votes.

Oh, my God.

OH, MY GOD.

I’M THE NEW STUDENT COUNCIL PRESIDENT OF ALBERT EINSTEIN HIGH.Monday, September 14, 5 p.m., Ray’s Pizza

Okay. That was…that was just totally surreal.

I don’t even know how else to describe it. I’m in a total and complete daze. Still. And it’s been two hours since Principal Gupta declared me the winner. And I’ve had half a plain cheese pizza and three Cokes since then.

And I’m STILL in shock.

Maybe it’s not so much winning the election as it is what happened after I found out I won the election. Which was…

…a LOT, actually.

First off, everyone in my Earth Science class, including Kenny, started jumping all over the place, congratulating me, then asking me if I could please ask the trustees to buy the bio lab electrophoresis kits, something for which they’d unsuccessfully lobbied the last president.