Amelie accused her uncle of only caring about whether or not the olive oil got delivered. To Uncle Francesco, it was always about the olive oil. And the crown, of course.
But no! He thought burning books (and executive orders) was the answer to all their problems!
I really wanted to keep reading because things were finally getting good with poor Amelie (or bad, as the case might be).
But Kenny yelled at me that if I wasn’t going to help with the experiment, I could just accept the zero I deserved.
So I’m stirring. Which would explain why my handwriting looks so bad.
Monday, September 20, the loft
Even though I am still in the depths of despair and all, I was actually kind of excited after school today because
No princess lessonsEven though I have no TV, I have something totally excellent to read.
I fully intended to take off my school uniform, put on my sweats, curl up in bed, and read about my ancestress.
But my (admittedly mild) excitement was short-lived, due to walking into the loft and finding Mr. G at the dining room table with all of the assignments that I missed last week.
“Sit,” he said, holding out a chair.
So I sat.
And now we’re tackling all my make-up work. One class at a time.
This is so unfair.
Monday, September 20, 11 p.m., the loft
Oh my God, I am so tired. And we’re not even halfway caught up with everything.
What is the POINT of piling so much work on us? Don’t they know that all they are doing is breaking our already fragile spirits? Is this really what the powers-that-be want? A generation of wounded, broken souls?
No wonder so many teens turn to drugs. I would, too, if I weren’t so tired. And I could find some.
So, it turns out Uncle Francesco didn’t appreciate Amelie saying he didn’t care about the people of Genovia. He told her that if she really cared about the people of Genovia, she’d step down and let him rule. Because she’s just a girl who doesn’t have any idea what she’s doing.
!!!!!!!!!!!!
But I guess Amelie had more of an idea about what she was doing than she let on, because she drew up ANOTHER executive order—this one was to close all Genovian roads and ports. No one was allowed in or out of the country. She did this because she thought it might do a little more to reduce the spread of the plague than burning all the books in the country.
Ha! Take that, Francesco, you loser!
Also, she had the best mousers in the city brought to the palace. Because she couldn’t help noticing that there’d been no outbreaks of the disease in places where there were cats—like back at the convent, where she’d left Agnès-Claire.
For a girl who’d lived in the 1600s back when they didn’t know what germs were, Princess Amelie was pretty smart.
Oh, and she had her uncle thrown out of the castle.
Man. And I thought MY family was dysfunctional.
Tuesday, September 21, Intro to Creative Writing
My relatives turn out not to be the only ones conspiring against me. The minute I walked into school today, Principal Gupta was waiting for me. She crooked her finger at me to follow her into her office. Lars and I exchanged panicky looks, like—Uh-oh! I couldn’t figure out what we’d done now.
Or what I’d done, anyway. I was sure Principal Gupta must have found out about the time I pulled the fire alarm when there wasn’t really a fire. True, that was a year ago, but maybe that’s how long it had taken them to go through all the video surveillance of the hallways or something….
But it turned out to have nothing to do with that. Instead, she confiscated my journal.
I am writing this in my Chemistry notebook right now.
Principal Gupta said, “Mia, I understand you’re going through a rough time right now. But your grades are slipping. You’re a junior in high school. Soon colleges will be looking at your transcripts.”
I wanted to point out to her what she and everyone else knows perfectly well: that I am going to get into every college I apply to. Because I’m a princess. I wish it weren’t true. But it is. I mean, even Trisha knows it.
“I understand from Mrs. Potts,” Principal Gupta went on, “that you were even writing in your journal during physical education class the other day. This can’t go on. You can’t expect to be able to slide by just because you’re a minor celebrity, Mia.”
Talk about unfair! I have never tried to slide by on my celebrity, however minor!
“Consider writing in your journal during class verboten from this moment on,” Principal Gupta said. “I am holding on to your journal—don’t worry, I will NOT read it—until classes let out for the day. You may have it back then. And kindly do NOT bring it to school again tomorrow. Is that understood?”
What could I say? I mean…she’s not wrong.
She’s instructed all of my teachers to take away any paper they catch me writing on, unless it’s class-related. I am only getting away with writing this because Ms. Martinez thinks it’s the creative writing assignment she just gave us, to describe a moment that touched us deeply.
You know what moment touched me deeply?
When Principal Gupta locked my journal in the school safe. It was like being gutted with a Bic disposable pen.
Tuesday, September 21, English
Mia—Where’s your journal????
I don’t want to talk about it.
Oh. Okay. I’m sorry!
No, I’m sorry. That was rude. It’s just—Principal Gupta took it away. Because my grades are slipping.