for your term paper.  A for creativity, as usual, however.        Mrs. Spears


Can you believe that? Talk about unfair! Lilly's been censored! By rights, her proposal ought to have brought the school's administration to its knees. Lilly says she is appalled by the fact that, considering how much our tuition costs, this is the kind of support we can expect from our teachers. Then I reminded her that this isn't true of Mr. Gianini, who really goes beyond the

call of duty by staying after school every day to conduct help sessions for people like me who aren't doing so well in Algebra.

Lilly says Mr. Gianini probably only started pulling that staying-after-school thing so that he could ingratiate himself with my mother, and now he can't stop because then she'll realize it was all just a set-up and divorce him.

I don't believe that, however. I think Mr. G would have stayed after school to help me whether he was dating my mom or not. He's that kind of guy.

Anyway, the upshot of it all is that now Lilly is launching another one of her famous campaigns. This is actually a good thing,

as it will keep her mind off me and where I am putting (or not putting) my lips. Here's how it started:

Lilly. The real problem with this school isn't the teachers. It's the apathy of the student body. For instance, let's say

we wanted to stage a walkout.

Me: A walkout?

Lilly. You know. We all get up and walk out of the school at the same time.

Me: Just because Mrs. Spears turned down your term paper proposal?

Lilly: No, Mia. Because she's trying to usurp our individuality by forcing us to bend to corporate feudalism. Again.

Me: Oh. And how is she doing that?

Lilly: By censoring us when we are at our most creatively fertile.

Boris: (Leaning out of the supply closet, where Lilly made him go when he started practising his latest sonata): Fertile? Did someone say fertile?

Lilly: Get back in the closet, Boris. Michael, can you send a mass e-mail tonight to the entire student body, declaring a walkout tomorrow at ten?

Michael: (Who was working on the booth he and Judith Gershner and the rest of the Computer Club are going to have up at the Winter Carnival) I can, but I won't.

Lilly: WHY NOT?

Michael: Because it was your turn to empty the dishwasher last night, but you weren't home so I had to do it.

Lilly: But I TOLD Mom I had to go down to the studio to edit the last few finishing touches on this week's show!



Lilly's TV programme, Lilly Tells It Like It Is, is now one of the highest-ranking shows on Manhattan cable. Of course, it's public access so it's not like she's making any money off it, but a bunch of the major networks picked up this interview she did of me one night when I was half asleep and played it. I thought it was stupid, but I guess a lot of other people thought it was good because now Lilly gets tons of viewer mail, whereas before the only mail she got was from her stalker, Norman.

Michael: Look, if you're having time management issues, don't take it out on me. Just don't expect me to meekly do your bidding, especially when you already owe me one.

Me: Lilly, no offence, but I don't think this week's a good time for a walkout, anyway. I mean, after all, it's almost Finals.

Lilly: SO???

Me: So some of us really need to stay in class. I can't afford to miss any review sessions. I'm getting bad enough grades as it is.

Michael: Really? I thought you were doing better in Algebra.

Me: If you call a D plus better.

Michael: Aw, come on. You have to be making better than a D plus. Your mom is married to your Algebra teacher!

Me: So? That doesn't mean anything. You know Mr.G doesn't play favourites.

Michael: I would think he'd cut his own stepdaughter a little slack, is all.

Lilly: WOULD YOU TWO PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE SITUATION AT HAND, WHICH IS THE FACT THAT THIS SCHOOL IS IN VITAL NEED OF SERIOUS REFORM?


Fortunately, at that moment the bell rang, so no walkout tomorrow as far as I know. Which is a good thing, because I really need the extra study time.

You know, it's funny about Mrs Spears not liking Lilly's term paper proposal, because she was very enthusiastic about my proposal, A Case Against Christmas Trees: Why We Must Curtail the Pagan Ritual of Chopping Down Pine Trees Every December if We Are Going to Repair the Ozone Layer.

And my IQ, isn't anywhere near as high as Lilly's.





Monday, December 7, Bio.


Kenny just passed me the following note:

Mia - I hope what 1 said to you last night didn't make you feet uncomfortable.

I just wanted you to know how I felt.


         Sincerely,

           Kenny



Oh, God. Now what am I supposed to do? He's sitting here next to me, waiting for an answer. In fact, that's what he thinks

I'm writing right now. An answer.

What do I say?

Maybe this is my perfect opportunity to break up with him. I'm sorry, Kenny, but I don't feel the same way — let's just

be friends. Is that what I should say?

It's just that I don't want to hurt his feelings, you know? And he is my Bio partner. I mean, whatever happens, I am going to have to sit by him for the next two weeks. And I would much rather have a Bio. partner who likes me than one who hates me.

And what about the dance? I mean, if I break up with him, who am I going to go to the Non-Denominational Winter Dance with? I know it is horrible to think things like this, but this is the first dance in the history of my life to which I already have a date.

Well, I mean, if he'd ever get around to asking me, anyway.

And how about that Final, huh? Our Bio. Final, I mean. No way am I going to be able to pass without Kenny's notes.

NO WAY.

But what else can I do? I mean, considering what happened today at the salad bar.

This is it. Goodbye, date for the Non-Denominational Winter Dance. Hello, Saturday night television.

Dear Kenny, It isn't that I don't think of you as a very dear friend. It's just that—





Monday, December 7, 3 p.m., Mr Gianni's Algebra Review



OK, so the bell rang before I had time to finish my note.

That doesn't mean I'm not going to tell Kenny exactly how I feel. I totally am. Tonight, as a matter of fact. I don't care if it's cruel to do something like that over the phone. I just can't take it any more.



Homework:

Algebra: review questions at the end of Chapters 1-3

English: term paper

World Civ.: review questions at the end of Chapters 1—4

G & T: none

French: review questions at the end of Chapters 1—3

Biology: review questions at the end of Chapters 1-5








Tuesday; December 8, Homeroom


All right. So I didn't break up with him.

I totally meant to.

And it wasn't even because I didn't have the heart to do it over the phone, either.

It was something GRANDMERE, of all people, said.

Not that I feel right about it. Not breaking up with him, I mean, It's just that after Algebra review I had to go to the showroom where Sebastiano is flogging his latest creations, so that he could have his flunkies take my measurements for my dress. Grandmere was going on about how from now on, I should really only wear clothes by Genovian designers, to show my patriotism or whatever. Which is going to be hard, because, uh, there's only one Genovian clothing designer that I know of

and that's Sebastiano. And let's just say he doesn't make very much out of denim.

But whatever. I so had more important things to worry about than my spring wardrobe.

Which I guess Grandmere must have caught on to, because midway through Sebastiano's description of the beading he was going to have sewn on to my gown's bodice, Grandmere slammed down her Sidecar and shouted, 'Amelia, what is the matter with you?'

I must have jumped about a foot in the air. 'What?' 'Sebastiano asked if you prefer a sweetheart or square-cut neckline.'

I stared at her blankly. 'Neckline for what?' Grandmere gave me the Evil Eye. She does this quite frequently. That's why my father, even though he has the neighbouring hotel suite, never stops by during my princess lessons.

'Sebastiano,' my grandmother said. 'You will please leave the princess and myself for a moment.'

And Sebastiano - who was wearing a new pair of leather trousers, these in a tangerine colour (the new grey, he told me.

And white, you might be surprised to know, is the new black.) - bowed and left the room, followed by the slinky ladies

who'd been taking my measurements.

'Now,' Grandmere said, imperiously. 'Something is clearly troubling you, Amelia. What is it?'

'It's nothing,' I said, turning all red. I knew I was turning all red because a) I could feel it, and b) I could see my reflection in

the three full-length mirrors in front of me.

'It is not nothing.' Grandmere took in a healthy drag from her Gitanes, even diough I have asked her repeatedly not to smoke

in my presence since breathing second-hand smoke can cause just as much lung damage as actually smoking. 'What is it? Trouble at home? Your mother and the maths teacher fighting already, I suppose. Well, I never expected that marriage to last. Your mother is much too flighty.'