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As if it wasn’t enough to be suspended. Now I am going to be sneered at by my peers, too.
I’m home now, trying to pretend none of it ever happened. This is difficult, of course, because when I walked back into the loft, I saw that my mom had already pulled
the supplement out of our paper and drawn little devil horns coming out of my head in every picture, then stuck the whole thing onto the refrigerator.
While I appreciate this bit of whimsy, it does not make the fact that I will have to show my face—now plastered all over advertising supplements throughout the tristate area—in school on Monday any easier.
Surprisingly, there is one good thing that’s come out of all of this: I know for sure I look best in the white taffeta number with the blue sash. My dad says over his dead body am I going to wear it, or any other Sebastiano creation, again. But there isn’t another designer in Genovia who could do as good a job, let alone finish the dress in time. So it looks like the dress by Sebastiano, which got delivered to the loft this morning, is it.
Which is one thing off my mind, anyway.
I guess.
Saturday, December 13, 8 p.m., the loft
I’ve already gotten seventeen e-mails, six phone calls, and one visitor (Lilly) about the fashion thing. Lilly says it’s not as bad as I think, and that most people throw the supplements away without even looking at them.
If that’s true, I said, why are all these people calling and e-mailing me?
She tried to make out like it was all members of the Students Against the Corporatization of Albert Einstein High School, calling to show their solidarity with my suspension, but I think we both know better:
It’s all people who want to know what I was thinking, selling out like that.
How am I ever going to explain that I had nothing to do with it, that I didn’t even know about it? Nobody is going to believe that. I mean, the proof is right there: I’m wearing the proof. There’s photographic evidence of it.
My reputation is going down the drain, even as I sit here. Tomorrow morning, millions of subscribers to The New York Times are going to open their papers and be like, “Oh, look, Princess Mia. Sold out already. Wonder how much she got paid? You wouldn’t think she’d need the money, what with being royal, and all.”
Finally I had to ask Lilly to please go home, because I’d developed a bad headache. She tried to cure it with some shiatsu, which her parents frequently employ on their patients, but it didn’t work. All that ended up happening was that I think she burst a blood vessel or something between my thumb and index finger, since it really hurts.
Now I am determined to start studying, even though it’s Saturday night, and everyone else my age is out having fun.
But haven’t you heard? Princesses never get to have any fun.
HERE IS WHAT I HAVE TO DO
Algebra: review Chapters 1–10
English: term paper, 10 pages, double spaced; utilize appropriate margins; also, review Chapters 1–7
World Civ: review Chapters 1–12
G & T: none
French: revue Chapitres Un–Neuf
Biology: review Chapters 1–12
Write out instructions on how to care for Fat Louie
Christmas/Hannukah shopping:
Mom–Bon Jovi maternity T
Dad—Book on anger management
Mr. G—Swiss Army knife
Lilly—blank videotapes
