Princess' Diaries

I am so sure. I met some kids who went to school in Genovia and they didn’t even know what a number line was. And they measure everything by kilos and centimeters. As if metric wasn’t so totally over!

But just in case, I’m not taking any chances. I wrote out the quadratic formula on the white rubber sole of my Converse high-top, right where it curves in between my heel and my toes. I’ll wear them tomorrow and cross my legs and take a peek if I get stuck.

 

 

 

Monday, October 6, 3 a.m.

I’ve been up all night, worrying about getting caught cheating. What will happen if someone sees I have the quadratic formula written on my shoe? Will I be expelled? I don’t want to be expelled! I mean, even though everybody at Albert Einstein High School thinks I’m a freak, I’m sort of getting used to it. I don’t want to have to start over at a whole new school. I’ll have to wear the scarlet mark of being a cheater for the rest of my high school career!

And what about college? I might not get into college if it goes down on my permanent record that I’m a cheater.

Not that I want to go to college. But what about Greenpeace? I’m sure Greenpeace doesn’t want cheaters. Oh my God, what am I going to do???

 

 

 

Monday, October 6, 4 a.m.

I tried washing the quadratic formula off my shoe, but it won’t come off! I must have used indelible ink or something! What if my dad finds out? Do they still behead people in Genovia?

 

 

 

Monday, October 6, 7 a.m.

Decided to wear my Docs and throw my high-tops away on the way to school—but then I broke one of the bootlaces! I can’t wear any of my other shoes because they’re all size nine and a half, and my foot grew a whole half inch last month! I can barely walk in my loafers, and my heels hang out over the backs of my clogs. I have no choice but to wear my high-tops!

I’m going to get caught for sure, I just know it.

 

 

 

Monday, October 6, 9 a.m.

Realized in the car on the way to school that I could have taken the laces out of my high-tops and strung them through my Doc Martens. I am so stupid.

Lilly wants to know how much longer my dad is going to be in town. She doesn’t like being driven to school. She likes to ride the subway, because then she can brush up on her Spanish, by reading all the health awareness posters. I told her I didn’t know how long my dad was going to be in town, but that I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be allowed to ride the subway anymore, anywhere.