Meg Cabot - Mia Goes Fourth

as anybody else.'

Lilly said, 'While this is unarguably true, I feel I must warn you, Shameeka, if you try out for cheerleading, you might actually

get on the squad. Are you prepared to subject yourself to the humiliation of cheering for Josh Richter as he chases after a

little ball?'

'Cheerleading has, for many years, suffered from the stigma of being inherently sexist,' Shameeka said. 'But I think the cheerleading community in general is making strides at asserting itself as a fast-growing sport for both men and women. It is

a good way to keep fit and active, it combines two things I love dearly, dance and gymnastics, and will look excellent on my college applications. That is, of course, the only reason my father is allowing me to try out. That and the fact that I won't be allowed to attend any post-game parties.'

I didn't doubt this last part. Mr Taylor, Shameeka's dad, is way strict.

But as for the rest of it, well, I wasn't sure.

'Does that mean that if you get on the squad,' I wanted to know, 'you'll stop eating lunch with us and go sit over there?'

I pointed at the long table across the cafeteria from ours, at which Lana and Josh and all of their school-spirit minded, incredibly well-coiffed cronies sat. The thought of losing Shameeka, who was always so elegant and yet at the same

time sensible, to the Dark Side made my heart ache.

'Of course not,' Shameeka said, disparagingly. 'Getting on to the Albert Einstein High School cheerleading squad is not

going to change my friendships with all of you one iota. I will still be the camera person for your television show . . .' she nodded to Lilly, '. . . and your Bio. partner . . .' to me, '. . . and your lipstick consultant. . .' to Tina, '. . . and your portrait model,' to Ling Su. 'I just may not be around as much, if I get on to the squad.'

We all sat there, reflecting upon this great change that might befall us. If Shameeka made the squad it would, of course,

strike a blow for geeky girls everywhere. But it would also necessarily rob of us Shameeka, who would be forced to

spend all of her free time practising doing the splits and taking the bus to Mount Kisco for away games with Phillips Prep.

The silence at the table was palpable . . . well, except for the bing-bing-bing of Michael's electronic game. Boys -apparently even perfect boys, like Michael - are immune to things like mood.

But I can tell you, the mood of this year so far has been pretty bad. In fact, if things don't start looking up soon, I may have

to write this entire year off as a do-over.

Still no clue as to what my secret talent might be. One thing I'm pretty sure it's not is psychology. It was hard work talking

Tina out of giving up her books! And we didn't manage to convince Shameeka not to try out for cheerleading. I guess I can

see why she'd want to do it -I mean, it might be a little fun.

Though why anyone would willingly want to spend that much time with Lana Weinberger is beyond me.

Thursday, January 21

French

Mademoiselle Klein is NOT happy with Tina and me for skipping yesterday.

Of course I told her we didn't skip, that we had a medical emergency that necessitated a trip to Ho's (for Tampax), but

I am not sure Mademoiselle Klein believes me. You would think she would show some feminine solidarity with the whole surfing-the-crimson-wave thing, but apparently not. At least she didn't write us up. She let us off with a warning and

assigned us a five-hundred-word essay each (in French, of course) about snails.

But that isn't even what I want to write about. What I want to write about is this:

MY DAD RULES!!!!!

And not just a country, either. He totally got me out of the contessa's black-and-white ball!!!!

What happened was - at least according to Mr G, who just caught me outside in the hall and filled me in - the filibuster

over the parking fees was finally broken (after thirty-six hours) and my mom was finally able to get through to my dad

(those in favour of charging for parking won. It is a victory for the environment as well as the Genovian Historical Society,

who felt that many of our narrower streets would not be able to withstand the rumble of recreational vehicles that would

ensue if we allowed free parking).

Anyway, my dad fully said that I did not have to go to the contessa's party. Not only that, but he said he had never heard anything so ridiculous in his life, that the only feud going on between our family and the royal family of Monaco is Grandmere's. Apparently she and the contessa have been in competition since finishing school, and Grandmere had just wanted to show off her granddaughter, about whom books and movies have been made. Apparently the contessa's only granddaughter is in rehab in Fresno, so you can sort of see where Grandmere was coming from, although, of course, what she'd been trying to do isn't very nice.

So I am free! Free to spend tomorrow night with my only love! I cat-on-the-roofed Michael for nothing! Everything is going

to be all right, despite my lack of lucky underwear, I can feel it in my bones.

I am so happy, I feel like writing a poem. I will shield it from Tina, however, because it is unseemly to gloat over one's own fortunes when the fortunes of another are so exceedingly wretched (Tina found out who Jasmine is: a girl who goes to Trinity, with Dave. Her father is an oil sheikh, too. Jasmine has aquamarine braces and her screenname is Iluvjustin2345).

Poem for Michael

Oh, Michael,

soon we'll be parkin'

in front of Grand Moff Tarkin

Enjoying veggie moo shu

to the beeps of R2D2

And maybe even holding hands

while gazing upon the Tatooine sands

And knowing that our love by far

has more fire power than the Death Star

And though they may blow up our planet

and kill every creature living on it

Like Leia and Han, in the stars above,

they can never destroy our love—

Like the Millennium Falcon in hyperdrive

our love will continue to thrive and thrive.

Homework:

Algebra: probs at end of Chapt. 11

English: in journal, describe feelings pertaining to reading John Donne's The Bait

Biology: Don't know, Shameeka is doing it for me

Health and Safety: Chapter 2: Environmental Hazards and You

G & T: figure out secret talent

French: Chapitre Onze, ecrivez une narratif, 300 words, double space, plus 500 wds on snails

World Civ.: 500 wds, describe origins of Armenian conflict

Thursday, January 21,

Limo on Way Home from Grandmere's

It takes a big person to admit she's wrong - Grandmere is the one who taught me that.

And if it's true, then I must be even bigger than my five feet nine inches. Because I've been wrong. I've been wrong about Grandmere. All this time, when I thought she was inhuman and perhaps even sent down from an alien moth-ership to

observe life on this planet and then report back to her superiors. Yeah, it turns out Grandmere really is human, just like me.

How did I find this out? How did I discover that the Dowager Princess of Genovia did not, after all, sell her soul to the

Prince of Darkness as I have often surmised?

I learned it today when I walked into Grandmere 's suite at the Plaza, fully prepared to do battle with her over the whole Contessa Trevanni thing. I was going to be all, 'Grandmere, Dad says I don't have to go, and guess what, I'm not going to.'

That's what I was going to say, anyway.

Except that when I walked in and saw her, the words practically died on my lips. Because Grandmere looked as if someone had run over her with a truck! Seriously. She was sitting there in the dark - she had had these purple scarves thrown over the lampshades because she said the light was hurting her eyes - and she wasn't even dressed properly. She had on a velvet lounging robe, a cashmere throw over her knees and some slippers and that was it, and her hair was all in curlers and if her eyeliner hadn't been tattooed on, I swear it would have been all smeared. She wasn't even enjoying a Sidecar, her favourite refreshment, or anything.