But I don't seem to have any control over who I fall in love with. Believe me, if I did I would NOT love Michael. I mean, for one thing he is my best friend's older brother, and if Lilly ever found out I liked him, she would NOT understand. Also, of course, he is a senior and is graduating soon.

And oh, yeah, he already has a girlfriend.

But what am I supposed to do? I can't make myself fall in love with Kenny, any more than I can make him stop liking me, you know, in that special way.

Although he still hasn't asked me to the dance. Or mentioned it at all. Lilly says I should just call him and be like, 'So are we going, or not?' After all, she keeps pointing out, I had the guts to smash up Lana's mobile. Why don't I have the guts to call

my own boyfriend and ask him whether or not he is taking me to the school dance?

But I smashed up Lana's phone in the heat of passion. I cannot summon up anything like passion where Kenny is concerned. There is a part of me that doesn't want to go to the dance with him at all, and that part of me is relieved he hasn't mentioned anything about it.

OK, it is a very small part of me, but it is still there. So actually, even though I was having fun sitting by Boris at the restaurant and all, it was also a little depressing, on account of the whole Kenny thing.

And then things got even more depressing. That's because some little Chinese-American girls came up to me as I was opening my fortune cookie and wanted to know if they could have my autograph. Then they handed me pens and the advertising supplement that had appeared in that day's Times for me to sign.

I seriously thought about killing myself, only I couldn't think how I'd do it, except for maybe stabbing myself through the heart with a chopstick.

Instead, I just signed the stupid thing for them and tried to smile. But inside, of course, I was FREAKING OUT, especially when I saw how happy the little girls were to have met me. And why? No, not because of my tireless work on behalf of the polar bears or the whales or starving kids. Which I haven't actually done yet, but I fully intend to do.

No, because I'd been in a magazine in a bunch of pretty dresses, and I'm tall and skinny like a model.

Which is no accomplishment at all!

After that, my headache came back and I said I had to go home.

Nobody protested very much - I think because everybody realized all of a sudden how much time we'd wasted and how

much studying we all had left to do. So we left, and now I am home again and my mom says that while I was gone Sebastiano called four times AND he had this dress delivered.

Not just any dress, either. It is a dress Sebastiano designed just for me. To wear to the Non-Denominational Winter Dance.

It isn't sexy at all. It is dark green velvet with long sleeves and a wide square-shaped neckline.

But when I put it on and looked at my reflection in the mirror in my room, something funny happened:

I looked good. Really good.

There was a note attached to the dress that said:

Please forgive me.

I promise this dress will not make him think of you as his little sister's best friend.

S.

Which is very sweet. Sad, but sweet. Sebastiano can't know, of course, that the Michael situation is completely hopeless and that no dress is going to make any difference, no matter how nice I look in it.

But, hey, at least Sebastiano apologized. That's a lot more, I've noticed, than Grandmere has done.

Of course I forgive Sebastiano. I mean, none of it his fault, really.

And I guess someday I'll probably forgive Grandmere since she's too old to know any better.

But the person I will never, ever forgive is myself for getting into this situation in the first place. I totally should have known better. I should have told Sebastiano 'No photos, please'.

Only I was so carried away, looking at myself in all those beautiful dresses, that I forgot being a princess is more than just wearing pretty dresses: it's being an example to a lot of people . . . people you don't even know and may not ever even meet.

Which is why if I don't pass this Algebra test, I am dead.

Monday, December 14, Homeroom

Here are the number of students at Albert Einstein High School who (so far) have felt compelled to make comments to me about my smashing Lana Weinberger's mobile phone last Friday:

37

Here are the number of students at Albert Einstein High School who (so far) have felt compelled to mention my suspension last Friday:

59

Here are the number of students at Albert Einstein High School who (so far) have felt compelled to make comments to me about my appearance in an advertising supplement to the New York Times over the weekend:

74

Total number of comments made to me so far today by students at Albert Einstein High School:

170

Oddly, after wading through all of this negativity, when I got to my locker I found something that seemed extremely out of place: a single yellow rose, sticking out of the door.

What can this mean? Can there be someone in this school who does not despise me?

Apparently so. But when I looked around, wondering who my one supporter could be, I saw only Justin Baxendale, being stalked (as usual) by a horde of worshipful girls.

I suppose my anonymous rose-leaver must be Kenny, trying to cheer me up. He will not admit it, but who else could it be?

It is Reading Day today, which means we are supposed to spend the whole day - except for lunch - sitting in Homeroom, studying for Finals, which begin tomorrow. This is fine by me, since at least this way there's no chance I'll run into Lana. Her homeroom is on a whole other floor.