There’s more. A lot more, actually. It’s too excruciating to go into. Basically, I just babbled like an idiot for about another ten minutes, while Beverly Bellerieve frantically attempted to steer me back toward something resembling the actual question she’d asked me.

But it was completely beyond even her impressive journalistic abilities. I was gone. A combination of nerves and, I’m afraid to say, codeine cough syrup, put me over the edge.

Ms. Bellerieve tried, though. I have to give her that.

The interview ended with this:

Ext. Thompson Street , SoHo .

BB: She’s not a jock, nor is she a cheerleader. What Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo is, ladies and gentlemen, defies the societal stereotypes that exist in today’s modern educational institutions. She’s a princess. An American princess.

Yet she faces the same problems and pressures that teenagers all over this country face every day . . .with a twist: One day, she’ll grow up to govern a nation.

And come spring, she’ll be a big sister. Yes, TwentyFour/Seven has discovered that Helen Thermopolis and Mia’s Algebra teacher, Frank Gianini—who are unmarried—are expecting their first child in May. When we come back, an exclusive interview with Mia’s father, the prince of Genovia . . .next on TwentyFour/Seven.

What it all boiled down to is that, basically, I’m moving to Genovia.

My mom, who finally came out toward the end of the tape, and Mr. G tried to convince me that it wasn’t that bad.

But it was. Oh, believe me, it was.

And I knew I was in for it the minute the phone started ringing, right after the segment aired.

“Oh God,” my mother said, suddenly remembering something. “Don’t pick it up! It’s my mother! Frank, I forgot to tell my mother about us!”

Actually, I was kind of hoping it was Grandma Thermopolis. Grandma Thermopolis was infinitely preferable, in my opinion, to who it actually turned out to be: Lilly.

And boy, was she mad.

“What do you mean, calling us a bunch of freaks?” she screamed into the phone.

I said, “Lilly, what are you talking about? I didn’t call you a freak.”

“You basically informed the entire nation that the population of Albert Einstein High School is divided into various socioeconomic cliques, and that you and your friends are too uncool to be in any of them!”

“Well,” I said. “We are.”

“Speak for yourself! And what about G and T?”

“What about G and T?”

“You just told the entire country that we sit in there and goof off because Mrs. Hill is always in the teachers’ lounge! What are you, stupid? You’ve probably gotten her into trouble!”

I felt something inside of me clench, as if someone was squeezing my intestines very, very tightly.

“Oh, no,” I breathed. “Do you really think so?”

Lilly just let out a frustrated scream, then snarled, “My parents say to tell your mother mazel tov.”

Then she slammed the phone down.

I felt worse than ever. Poor Mrs. Hill!

Then the phone rang again. It was Shameeka.

“Mia,” she said. “Remember how I invited you to my Halloween party this Friday?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, my dad won’t let me have it now.”

“What? Why?”

“Because thanks to you he is under the impression that Albert Einstein High School is filled with sex addicts and alcoholics.”

“But I didn’t say that!” Not in those exact words, anyway.

“Well, that’s what he heard. He is currently in the next room surfing the Internet for a girls’ school in New Hampshire he can send me to next semester. And he says he’s not letting me go out with a boy again until I’m thirty.”

“Oh, Shameeka,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

Shameeka didn’t say anything. In fact, she had to hang up, because she was sobbing too hard to speak.

The phone rang again. I didn’t want to answer it, but I had no choice: Mr. Gianini was holding my mom’s hair back while she threw up some more.

“Hello?”

It was Tina Hakim Baba.

“Oh, my gosh!” she shouted.

“I’m sorry, Tina,” I said, figuring I better just start apologizing to every single person who called, right off the bat.

“Sorry? What are you sorry for?” Tina was practically hyperventilating. “You said my name on TV!”

“Um . . .I know.” I had also called her a freak.

“I can’t believe it!” Tina yelled. “That was so cool!”

“You aren’t . . .you aren’t mad at me?”

“Why should I be mad at you? This is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me. I’ve never had my name said on television before!”

I was filled with love and appreciation for Tina Hakim Baba.

“Um,” I asked, carefully, “did your parents see it?”

“Yes! They’re excited, too. My mom said to tell you that the blue eyeshadow was a stroke of genius. Not too much, just enough to catch the light. She was very impressed. Also she said to tell your mother she has some excellent stretch mark cream that she got in Sweden. You know, for when she starts getting big. I’ll bring it to school tomorrow, and you can give it to your mother.”

“What about your dad?” I asked, carefully. “He’s not planning on sending you to girls’ school or anything?”