Princess in Training

The second whoop was followed by a third. And then there was a smattering of applause. And a voice that shouted, “Go, Mia!”

Whoa.

“Um, thank you, Mia.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Principal Gupta take a step toward me. “That was very enlightening.”

But I pretended like I hadn’t heard her.

That’s right. Principal Gupta was giving me the okay to sit down—to get out of the limelight—to shrink back down into my chair.

And I blew her off.

Because I had some more stuff to get off my unendowed chest.

“But that’s not all that’s wrong with this school,” I said into the microphone, enjoying the way it made my voice bounce around the gym.

“How about the fact that there are people working here—people who call themselves teachers—who seem to feel that theirs is the only legitimate form of expression? Are we really going to tolerate being told by instructors in a field as subjective as something like—oh, English, for example—that the subject matter of our essays is inappropriate because it might be considered—by some—not substantive enough in topical importance? If, for instance, I choose to write a paper about the historical significance of Japanese anime or manga, is my paper worth less than someone else’s essay on the caldera in Yellowstone Park that might one day explode, killing tens of thousands of people?

“Or,” I added, as everyone started buzzing because they didn’t know that Yellowstone Park is nothing more than a deadly magma reservoir and probably a lot of them have been unknowingly going there on family vacations and whatnot, “is my paper on Japanese anime or manga JUST AS IMPORTANT as the paper on the caldera at Yellowstone, because knowing as we do now, that such a caldera exists, we need something entertaining—such as Japanese anime or manga—to get our minds off it?”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then someone from somewhere in the middle of the bleachers yelled, “Final Fantasy!” Someone else yelled, “Dragonball!” Another person, from way at the top, shouted, “Pokémon!” and got a big laugh.

“Maybe things like the lottery and television were invented to sell products, bilk workers of their hard-earned cash, and lull us all into a false sense of complacency, and distract us from the true horrors of the world around us. But maybe we NEED those distractions, so that during our leisure time, we can enjoy ourselves,” I went on. “Is there something wrong with, after our work is done, hanging out and watching a little of The OC? Or singing karaoke? Or reading comic books? Does something have to be complicated and hard to understand to be culture? A hundred years from now, after we’re all dead from the Yellowstone caldera, or the ice caps melting, or no more petroleum, or killer algae taking over the planet, when whatever remains of human civilization looks back at early twenty-first century society, which do you think is going to better describe what our lives were really like—an essay on the ways in which the media exploits us, or a single episode of Sailor Moon? I’m sorry, but as far as I’m concerned, give me anime, or give me death.”

The gym exploded.

Not because the Computer Club had finally succeeded in building a killer robot and setting it loose among the cheerleaders.

But because of what I’d said. Really. Because of what I, Mia Thermopolis, had said.

The thing was, though, I wasn’t finished.

“So, today,” I said, having to shout to be heard over the applause, “when you’re casting your vote for student council president, ask yourself this question: What is meant by ‘the people’ in the phrase ‘governance of the people, by the people’? Does it mean the privileged few? Or the vast majority of us who were born without a silver pom-pom in our mouths? Then vote for the candidate who you feel most represents you, the people.”

And then, my heart slamming into my ribs, I turned, tossed Principal Gupta the microphone, and ran from the gym. To thunderous applause.

And into the safety of this bathroom stall.

The thing is, I feel so WEIRD. I mean, I have never in my life stood up and done anything like that. Well, except for the parking meter thing, but that was different. I wasn’t asking people to support ME. I was asking them to support less damage to the infrastructure and higher revenue. That was kind of a no-brainer.

This, though.

This was different. I was asking people to put their trust—their vote—in me. Not like in Genovia, where that support is kind of automatic because, um, there IS no other princess. It’s just me. What I say goes. Or will, you know, when I take over the throne.

Uh-oh. I hear voices in the hallway. The debate must be over. I wonder what Lana said in her rebuttal. I probably should have stuck around to rebut her rebuttal. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

Oh, no. I hear Lilly—

Monday, September 14, G&T

Well, that was fun. Lunch, I mean. Everybody kept stopping by our table to congratulate me, and tell me I had their vote. It was kind of cool. I mean, not just people from my clique—the Nerds—but the Sk8terbois, and the Punks, and the Drama kids and even a few of the Jocks. It was bizarre to be talking to all these people who normally look right past me in the hallway.

And all of a sudden, it was like they wanted to sit at MY lunch table, for a change.

Only they couldn’t, because now that Perin’s sitting there, in addition to the regular crowd, there’s no more room.

We were a particularly festive bunch today on account of a couple of pieces of good news—at least, I thought it was good news. And that’s that after I ran from the gym, and Lana attempted a rebuttal, she was booed down, and couldn’t even get a word in edgewise. Principal Gupta had to turn up the sound system until the feedback became so unbearable that people finally calmed down. And by then Lana had left the gym in tears (Serves her right. I don’t know how I’m going to get my school patch back on. My mom certainly doesn’t sew. Maybe I can ask Grandmère’s maid).