“What about an explosion at the Indian Point nuclear power plant?” Perin wanted to know. “Could the radiation plume really move south toward us and taint the city’s water supply, killing thousands and making the city uninhabitable for decades?”

I glared at Lilly. “Look what you’ve done!” I cried. “You’ve freaked everybody out about stuff that could never happen!”

“What do you mean, stuff that could never happen?” Lilly demanded. “What about that blackout? For years people were saying there could never be another blackout, but there WAS one. We were just lucky they got the power turned back on so quickly, or people would have started looting and killing one another for diapers.”

“Do you really know what to do in the event of a smallpox attack?” Ling Su asked me. “Because the United States only has three hundred million doses stockpiled, and if you aren’t one of the first people in line to get one, you’ll probably die of it while you’re waiting to get vaccinated. Do you have access to some secret stockpile because you’re a princess, or something? Can’t you just get us the vaccinations now so that if a terrorist releases some smallpox into the air tomorrow, or whatever, we’ll be all right?”

“Lilly!” I was so disgusted I could hardly stand it. “You’ve got to stop! See what you’re doing? You’re making people think I have access to a secret stockpile of smallpox vaccine, and that if they vote for me, I’ll give them some! And it’s not true!”

Ling Su and Perin looked disappointed to hear I didn’t have smallpox vaccines at my beck and call. Boris, meanwhile, was laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I demanded.

“Just—” He noticed Tina giving him the evil eye, so he stopped laughing. “Nothing.”

“Look, POG,” Lilly said. “I realize we’re going for the lowest common denominator here, but take a look around.”

I looked around the caf. Everywhere I glanced, people were picking up the table-toppers and talking about them—and darting nervous glances at me.

“See?” Lilly shrugged. “It’s working. People are falling for it. They’re going to vote for you, because they think you’ve got all the answers. And, seriously, if Indian Point DID explode, what WOULD you do?”

“Make sure everyone had potassium iodide tablets to take within a few hours of exposure to help protect them from absorbing radiation. Ensure that everyone had at least a few weeks’ supply of clear water, canned food, and prescription drugs so that they could stay inside with the ventilation off until the all clear,” I replied automatically.

“And in the event of an earthquake?”

“Take cover in a doorway or under a sturdy piece of furniture. After the initial shock, turn off all water, electricity, and gas.”

“And if there’s an avian flu outbreak?”

“Well, obviously, everyone would need to start taking Tamiflu immediately, plus washing their hands and wearing disposable surgical masks, while also staying away from pay phones, handrails, and large crowds, such as at Macy’s white sales and the Six Train at rush hour.”

Lilly looked triumphant. “See? I wasn’t making it up. You DO know what to do in the event of just about any potential crisis or disaster. I know this because you, Mia, are a worrier, and are therefore perhaps the single most disaster-prepared person in Manhattan. Don’t try to deny it. We’ve all just witnessed the proof.”

I was pretty much speechless after that. While everything Lilly had just said was undeniably true, it still seemed wrong to me somehow. I mean, scaring the freshmen like that. Before lunch was over, three of them had come over to ask what I would do in the event of a dirty bomb attack (instruct everyone to stay inside, then, once allowed to leave the area, make them remove, bag, and dispose of their clothing before entering their homes, then wash up immediately with soap and water), or a hurricane (duh: evacuate. With your cat.).

Maybe Lilly really IS right, though. In these uncertain times, it’s possible that what people are really looking for is a leader who has already worried about and planned for these things, so they themselves don’t have to worry, and can be free to have fun.

Maybe that is why I was put on this planet—not to be Princess of Genovia, but so that I can worry about everything so nobody else has to bother.

Thursday, September 9, G & T

Lilly just showed me the going-away present she got for her brother—a Magic: The Gathering carrying case, so he can take his cards with him to Japan without getting them all messed up.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that

a) Michael doesn’t play Magic anymore, and

b) he won’t be going to Japan, because I am planning on giving him a very, very good reason to stay right here in Manhattan.

Well, it wasn’t that I didn’t have the heart to tell her. I didn’t tell her because I don’t want her to kick my ass. She’s been working out (which has also contributed to her weight loss) at Crunch, doing spin classes and also ayurveda with her mom. Anyone who is willing to let a total stranger rub their nude body with oil and attars is someone whose bad side I do NOT want to get on.

Speaking of which, I have to remember to exfoliate before tonight.

It’s sort of strange that I’m not more nervous, and all. But I guess that just means I feel good about this decision. It just seems…right.

On a restaurant menu, there are four appetizers, five main courses, and three desserts. How many different dinners can be ordered if each dinner consists of one appetizer, one main course, and one dessert?

What about drinks? Did anyone think about THAT? What, are the diners supposed to die of dehydration? Who WROTE this book, anyway?

The price of jeans went up by 30 percent since last year. If last year’s price was x, what is this year’s price in terms of x?

Oh my God, who CARES?

The average height (arithmetic mean) of 4 members of a 6-member cheerleading squad is 175 cm. What does the average height in centimeters of the other 2 cheerleaders have to be if the average height of the entire squad equals 180 cm?

CHEERLEADERS???? ON THE SATS?????

Oh my God, who am I fooling? I can’t do this. I CANNOT DO THIS!!! I can’t have SEX. I’m a PRINCESS, for crying out loud.

Oh my God, I think I’m having a heart attack.

Thursday, September 9, nurse’s office

Okay. Well, this isn’t embarrassing, or anything. I mean, that I hyperventilated during our PE class’s run around the reservoir.

I am supposed to be breathing into a paper bag with my head between my knees. But I did that already and it didn’t help. Well, obviously, I can breathe now. But I’m still FREAKING OUT. I can’t believe I’m really going to DO IT.

What if something goes wrong, and my mom and dad find out, somehow? Like, what if it turns out I still have my hymen, or whatever (even though in Health and Safety last year they said that most girls lose theirs through ordinary physical activity, such as biking and horseback riding)? And I start bleeding out, and Michael has to rush me to Cabrini and some Dr. Kovac-type has to put in a central line and then I slip into a coma like onER ?

EVERYONE WILL KNOW I GAVE AWAY MY PRECIOUS GIFT.

And okay, I have never actually heard of this happening to a girl, but in Tina’s historical romance novels sometimes the girl does bleed—although she never seems to mind and goes on to have a massive earth-shattering orgasm anyway.

I just don’t think I’m good enough at orgasms yet to have one under those particular circumstances. Particularly with someone else in the same room. Someone besides James Franco dressed in a suit of armor, I mean.

Oh, no, here comes the nurse….

Okay, well, Nurse Lloyd just said it’s highly unlikely anyone would bleed so much from the breaking of a hymen that they would have to be hospitalized, unless they are a hemophiliac. She also said that most women’s hymens are already perforated. If they weren’t, we wouldn’t be able to menstruate.

So that whole Precious Gift thing is kind of bull.

She also said romance novels aren’t necessarily the most reliable health guides, and gave me a pamphlet that saysSo You Think You’re Ready for Sex. The pamphlet has a confused-looking couple on the front and talks about the need for protection. It didn’t say anything about your virginity being your Precious Gift that you should save for the person you marry. But it did say how you should wait to have sex until you have really gotten to know the person and are sure you really love them—which I already knew from the oxytocin thing.

And then there was some stuff about the age of consent (Whatever. Like my dad would really press charges. Would he want the whole world to know his daughter had had premarital sex? Not so much.), and not feeling pressured.

Then there was this section on abstinence and how it’s okay not to Do It. Like this is supposed to be news to me. I fully know it’s okay not to Do It. It’s fine for other girls not to Do It.

But other girls’ boyfriends have not invented robotic arms to use in heart surgery and are not moving to Japan tomorrow for a year.

I didn’t say any of this stuff to Nurse Lloyd. Well, not the sex stuff. I told her about Michael, though, and how he’s moving and how I’m freaking out about it, and am pretty sure I won’t be able to survive if he actually leaves.

To which Nurse Lloyd replied, “My brother had a triple bypass after a heart attack last year. They had to crack his chest open. He said he’s never felt pain like that in his life, and that for six weeks afterward he just wished he was dead.”

Which is very sad for Nurse Lloyd’s brother, but in no way helps me out with MY problem.