Now Principal Gupta is talking about student council, and how we should all be eager to join, and what a wonderful opportunity it is to show your school spirit, and how it also looks good on your transcript. She is almost making it seem as if anybody who wanted to could run for student council and win. Which is so bogus, because everyone knows only popular people ever win elections for student council. Lilly ran last year and didn’t win. The person who beat her wasn’t even smart. No, last year she got soundly defeated by Nancy di Blasi, captain of the varsity cheerleading squad (Lana Weinberger’s mentor in evil), a girl who spent way more time organizing bake sales so that the cheerleaders could get a well-deserved trip to Six Flags than she did lobbying for real student reforms.

“Do we have any nominations for student council president?” Principal Gupta wants to know. Lilly’s hand just shot up. Principal Gupta is ignoring it this time.

“Anyone?” Principal G keeps asking. “Anyone at all?”

Tina just said, to Boris, “Um, gee, let me see. Is there a Y?”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” I can no longer help myself. Maybe it’s the looming threat of defloration. Or maybe it’s just that I don’t get to play hangman during school hours with the love of my life anymore. In any event, I went, “It’s JOSHUA BELL, okay? JOSHUA BELL!”

Tina’s all, “Ooooooh! You’re right!”

Ramon Riveras is laughing at something Lana has whispered in his ear.

Lilly’s waving her arm around like a crazy person. Hers is the only hand in the air. Finally, Principal Gupta has no choice but to go, “Lilly. We discussed this last year. You can’t nominate yourself for student council president. Someone has to nominate you.”

Lilly stands up, and out of her mouth come the words, “I’m not nominating myself this year. I NOMINATE MIA THERMOPOLIS!!!”Tuesday, September 8, in the limo on the way to the Plaza Hotel

Seriously. Why am I even friends with her?Tuesday, September 8, the Plaza

First princess lesson of the new school year, and—thank God—Grandmère is tied up by a phone call. She just snapped her fingers at me and pointed at the coffee table in the middle of her suite. I went over there and found all these faxes all over it, letters of complaint from various members of the French scientific community and Monaco’s oceanographic institute.

Huh. I guess they’re kind of mad about the snails.

Whatever! Like I don’t have WAY bigger problems right now than a bunch of angry marine biologists. Hello, apparently, if I want to keep my boyfriend, I have to Do It. As if that’s not bad enough, I’ve been nominated for STUDENT COUNCIL PRESIDENT.

I honestly don’t know what Lilly was thinking. Could she REALLY have thought I’d just sit there and be all, “Student council president? Oh, okay. Sure. Because, you know, I’m the only heir to the throne of an entire foreign country. It’s not like I don’t have anything else to do.”

WHATEVER!!! I fully grabbed her arm and pulled it down and was all, “LILLY, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING????” under my breath, since, of course, every single head in the entire gym had swiveled in our direction and everyone was staring at us, including Perin and Ramon Riveras and the guy who hates it when they put corn in the chili who I thought had graduated. But I guess not.

“Don’t worry,” Lilly whispered back. “I’ve got a plan.”

Apparently, part of Lilly’s plan was to kick Ling Su in the shin very very hard until she squeaked, “Um, I do, Principal Gupta,” when Principal Gupta asked in a confused voice, “Does, uh, anyone second that nomination?”

I couldn’t believe this was even happening. It was like a nightmare, only worse, because that guy who hates corn in his chili is never in my nightmares.

“But I—” I started to protest, but then Lilly kicked ME really hard in the shin.

“Ms. Thermopolis accepts the nomination!” Lilly called down to Principal Gupta.

Who totally didn’t look as if she believed it. But who went, “Well. If you’re sure, Mia,” anyway, without waiting for any response from me.

Next thing I knew, Trisha Hayes had jumped to her feet and was screaming, “I nominate Lana Weinberger for student council president!”

“Well, isn’t that nice,” Principal Gupta said, when Ramon Riveras seconded Trisha’s nomination of Lana—but only after Lana elbowed him…pretty hard, it looked like, from where I was sitting. “Do any members of the junior or senior classes care to enter a nomination? No? Your apathy is duly noted. Fine then. Mia Thermopolis and Lana Weinberger are your nominees for student council president. Ladies, I trust you’ll run a good clean election. Voting will be next Monday.”

And that was that. I’m running for student council president. Against Lana Weinberger.

My life is over.

Lilly kept saying it’s not. Lilly kept saying she has a plan. Lana running against me wasn’t part of that plan—“I can’t believe she’s doing that,” Lilly said as we were filing out of school after Assembly. “I mean, she’s only doing it because she’s jealous.”—but Lilly says it doesn’t matter, because everyone hates Lana, so no one will vote for her.

Everyone does NOT hate Lana. Lana is one of the most popular girls in school. Everyone will vote for her.

“But, Mia, you’re pure and good of heart,” Boris pointed out to me. “People who are pure and good of heart always beat out evil.”

Um, yeah. In books like The Lord of the Rings, for crying out loud.

And the fact that I’m so pure? That’s probably why I’m about to lose my boyfriend.

And I think there are many historical examples of people who are very clearly NOT good of heart winning more elections than not.

“You’re not going to have to lift a finger,” Lilly said, as Lars helped me into the limo to Grandmère’s. “I’ll be your campaign manager. I’ll take care of everything. And don’t worry. I have a plan!”

I don’t know why Lilly thinks her constant assurances that she has a plan are in any way comforting to me. In fact, the opposite is true.

Grandmère just hung up the phone.

“Well,” she says. She’s already on her second Sidecar since I got here. “I hope you’re satisfied. The entire Mediterranean community is up in arms about that little stunt you pulled.”

“Not everybody.” I found two very supportive faxes in the pile and showed them to her.

“Pfuit!” was all Grandmère said. “Who cares what some fishermen have to say? They aren’t exactly experts on the matter.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but they happen to be Genovian fishermen. My countrymen. And isn’t my first obligation to protect the interests of my countrymen?”

“Not at the expense of straining diplomatic relations with your neighbors.” Grandmère’s lips are pressed so tightly together, they’re practically disappearing. “That was the prime minister of France, and he—”

Thank God the phone rang again. This is pretty awesome. I’d have dumped ten thousand snails into the Bay of Genovia a long time ago if I’d had any idea doing so would get me out of having princess lessons.

Although it kind of sucks that everyone is so mad.

Geez. I knew all about the French, of course. But who knew marine biologists were so TOUCHY?

But seriously, what was I supposed to do, sit around and LET killer algae destroy the livelihoods of families who for centuries made their living off the sea? Not to mention innocent creatures such as seals and porpoises whose very survival depends on ready access to the kelp beds the Caulerpa taxifolia are totally strangling? Could anyone really imagine that I would allow an environmental disaster of those proportions to occur under my very nose, in my own bay—me, Mia Thermopolis?—when I knew of a way (albeit only theoretical) to stop it?

“That was your father,” Grandmère said after slamming down the phone. “He is extremely distraught. He just heard from the Oceanographic Museum & Aquarium in Monaco. Apparently, some of your snails have drifted over to their bay.”

“Good.” I kind of like this environmentalist rebel thing. It keeps my mind off other stuff. Like that my boyfriend is going to dump me if I don’t put out. And that I am currently running against the most popular girl in school for student council president.

“Good?” Grandmère jumped up out of her seat so fast, she totally dumped Rommel, her toy poodle, off her lap. Fortunately Rommel is used to this kind of treatment and has trained himself to land on his feet, like a cat. “Good? Amelia, I don’t pretend to understand any of this—all of this fuss over a little plant and some snails. But I would think you of all people would know that”—she picked up one of the faxes and read aloud from it—“‘When you introduce a new species into a foreign environment, total devastation can occur.’”

“Tell that to Monaco,” I said. “They’re the ones who dumped South American algae into the Mediterranean in the first place. All I did was dump South American snails in after it to clean up THEIR mess.”

“Have you learned NOTHING from what I’ve tried to teach you this past year, Amelia?” Grandmère wants to know. “Nothing of tact, or diplomacy, or even SIMPLE COMMON SENSE?”

“I GUESS NOT!!!!”

Okay, I probably shouldn’t have screamed that quite as loudly as I did. But seriously, WHEN is she going to GET OFF MY BACK????? Can’t she see I have WAY BIGGER THINGS to worry about than what a bunch of stupid FRENCH MARINE BIOLOGISTS have to say????

Now she’s giving me the evil eye. “Well?”

That’s what she said. Just “Well?”

And even though I know I’m going to regret it—how can I not?—I go, “Well…what?”

“Well, are you going to tell me what’s got you so frazzled?” she wants to know. “Don’t try denying it, Amelia. You are as bad at hiding your true feelings as your father. What happened at school today that’s got you so upset?”