Meg Cabot - Ready or Not

Or wave big signs in your face that say KEEP YOUR NOSE OUT OF MY PANTYHOSE.

Or accuse you of betraying your generation when you try to get out of the car, shielded by Secret Service agents and police officers in riot gear.

Or try to hit you with an old turkey sandwich as you’re rushing into your school, which, for the evening, has been turned into a battle zone—them versus you.

But since that’s how it’s always been at Adams Prep—them versus me—I wasn’t all that fazed.

Except for the fact that I’m pretty sure that within that horde of screaming protesters I spotted a girl with Midnight Ebony and Pink Flamingo hair.

Top ten things that suck about going on television:

10. If you are a guest on a talk show or newscast, the person interviewing you will have cue cards or a TelePrompTer telling him or her what to say. You will not. You are just out there on your own. And if they ask you a question you don’t know the answer to, too bad for you.

9. Seeing yourself on the monitor. Yes, that really is how big your head looks to everyone else.

8. The five minutes before you actually go live. You’re sitting there, so nervous you want to puke, while everyone else runs around, having a good time. Because they aren’t the ones going on TV. So what do they care?

7. The makeup and hair person. No matter what you say, he/she will come up with a look for you that in no way resembles how you actually look in real life, and that will cause your grandmother to call you afterward and ask if you meant to look like Paris Hilton.

6. The host and/or reporter will ignore you, except when the camera is on, and then he/she will try to make it look as if you are best friends. That is just the way it is. Move on.

5. No matter what you might have heard to the contrary, the food from Craft Services in the green room will mostly be composed of whatever you hate most…in my case, this always means tomatoes.

4. You will never get your own dressing room, but will instead have to share the ladies’ room with two quilting bee finalists from Pennsylvania who will keep going on about how nervous they are until you want to scream.

3. Inevitably, someone at the studio will call his or her niece or nephew on his or her cell phone and make you say hello to him or her, because you are the girl who saved the president, and the niece or nephew is a big fan of yours.

2. Then, when you get on the phone, the niece or nephew won’t have the slightest idea who you are.

And the number-one worst thing about going on television:

1. Right after the camera turns off, and you remember everything that just came out of your mouth.

And you want to die.

11

“I’m so excited,” Kris kept saying.

She didn’t have to keep telling me. I could tell she was excited by the way she kept jumping up and down and squeezing my arm.

I guess I should have been excited, too. I mean, the president of the United States was going to be addressing the youth of America from my very own school.

But since I pretty much hate my school, it was hard to summon up any kind of enthusiasm over the fact that Adams Prep was about to get its fifteen minutes of fame…well, forty minutes, actually, if you factored in commercials.

Plus there was the small fact that outside the school were about a thousand people who really weren’t all that jazzed about what we were going to say.

But Kris’s conviction that her beloved alma mater was about to get its well-deserved due wasn’t what had Kris so excited. And the protesters weren’t even within her radar. No, she was practically delirious with joy over the fact that she was going to get to meet the president…

…not to mention Random Alvarez, the hottest VJ around.

“There he is,” she kept saying, bouncing around beside me. “Look at him! He’s so smart!”

Occasionally, she would say, “He’s so hot.” That was the only way I could tell who she was talking about. Smart meant the president. Hot meant Random Alvarez. Both men were in hair and makeup, getting ready for the show.

“It’s too big,” Random kept saying to the stylist who was trying to get him ready to go on. “It’s sticking up too much!”

“That’s how it’s supposed to look,” the stylist kept assuring him, as they both gazed at his reflection in a large hand mirror. “It’s how all the kids are wearing it.”

Random looked at me and went, “She’s not.”

The stylist glanced my way. I saw her jump as if a bee had stung her or something. Then she said, to Random, “Yeah, well, she’s, um, doing her own thing.”

Very nice! I mean, my hair doesn’t look that bad.

Or does it?

The president certainly didn’t seem too thrilled when he first noticed it. He took one look at my head, gave a kind of shudder, then went, in a sort of strangled voice, “Is that permanent?”

“Semi,” I said.

“I see,” he said. “And you’re supposed to be…”

Do not ask if I’m supposed to be Ashlee Simpson, I whispered fiercely. Only I did it inside my head.

“…punk?” The president finished.

“No,” I said, surprised. I mean, how could he think I looked punk? I was wearing jeans, it’s true. But also my form-fitting Nike shirt. Punk rockers don’t wear Nike products. “I’m just supposed to be me.”

“But—”

But David’s dad evidently thought better of asking whatever it was he’d been about to ask, because he just looked heavenward, then turned back to the makeup artist who was blotting his nose. He didn’t glance my way again.

Which just goes to show that you can’t please all the people all the time.

Although you can please some of the people some of the time.

“I can’t believe I get to meet you,” the stylist I had been assigned was saying, as she tried to wipe the shine from my forehead. It is very hard to keep from sweating when you know you are about to go on TV. “You are, like, one of my idols. I loved the way you saved the president. That was so awesome!”

“Thanks,” I said.

“It is such an honor to be able to work with you.” The stylist’s grin revealed perfectly straight teeth, the work of a really skilled orthodontist, or the product of pretty decent DNA…it was hard to tell which. “You are such a role model to girls everywhere. You know?”

“Gee,” I said to her. “Thanks.”

Some role model. I was seriously considering having sex with my boyfriend on a national holiday. Oh, and someone had just tried to hit me with a turkey sandwich.

“It’s just too bad,” the makeup lady said. I glanced at her sharply. Oh my God, had she read my mind? Did she know, somehow? About David and me? I’d heard about barbers who could read the minds of their clients just by touching their hair….

“About this dye job, I mean,” the makeup lady went on, fingering a loose curl of my hair. “You really should have let a professional handle it.”

When she was done with me and my forehead shine, I went and sat in my assigned seat while everyone else ran around, going on about how nervous they were. Well, everyone else but Random Alvarez and the president.

“Oh, God,” Kris said, coming up to me and squeezing my arm again. “Do you think he’d give me an autograph?”

“Which one?” I asked her.

“Either,” she said. “Both. I don’t care.”

“The president will,” I said, because I knew he would. “I don’t know about Random. I never met him before.”

“I’m going to go introduce myself,” Kris said. “Before the show starts. Don’t you think I should? I mean, I’m on the panel. It would only be polite to introduce myself. Don’t you think? Just say hi, and welcome them to our school. It’s the right thing to do. Isn’t it?”