Meg Cabot - Princess in Training

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then someone from somewhere in the middle of the bleachers yelled, “Final Fantasy!” Someone else yelled, “Dragonball!” Another person, from way at the top, shouted, “Pokémon!” and got a big laugh.

“Maybe things like the lottery and television were invented to sell products, bilk workers of their hard-earned cash, and lull us all into a false sense of complacency, and distract us from the true horrors of the world around us. But maybe we NEED those distractions, so that during our leisure time, we can enjoy ourselves,” I went on. “Is there something wrong with, after our work is done, hanging out and watching a little of The OC? Or singing karaoke? Or reading comic books? Does something have to be complicated and hard to understand to be culture? A hundred years from now, after we’re all dead from the Yellowstone caldera, or the ice caps melting, or no more petroleum, or killer algae taking over the planet, when whatever remains of human civilization looks back at early twenty-first century society, which do you think is going to better describe what our lives were really like—an essay on the ways in which the media exploits us, or a single episode of Sailor Moon? I’m sorry, but as far as I’m concerned, give me anime, or give me death.”

The gym exploded.

Not because the Computer Club had finally succeeded in building a killer robot and setting it loose among the cheerleaders.

But because of what I’d said. Really. Because of what I, Mia Thermopolis, had said.

The thing was, though, I wasn’t finished.

“So, today,” I said, having to shout to be heard over the applause, “when you’re casting your vote for student council president, ask yourself this question: What is meant by ‘the people’ in the phrase ‘governance of the people, by the people’? Does it mean the privileged few? Or the vast majority of us who were born without a silver pom-pom in our mouths? Then vote for the candidate who you feel most represents you, the people.”

And then, my heart slamming into my ribs, I turned, tossed Principal Gupta the microphone, and ran from the gym. To thunderous applause.

And into the safety of this bathroom stall.

The thing is, I feel so WEIRD. I mean, I have never in my life stood up and done anything like that. Well, except for the parking meter thing, but that was different. I wasn’t asking people to support ME. I was asking them to support less damage to the infrastructure and higher revenue. That was kind of a no-brainer.

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.