Wednesday, April 28, 9 p.m., AlbertEinsteinHigh School Gymnasium

"So Lana's dad rented the sultan of Brunei's ten- million-dollar yacht for the night, and had Lana and her friends driven out into international waters so they could drink without getting in trouble." "Lilly," I whispered. "You know you aren't supposed to call me on my cell phone. It is for emergency use only.

"You don't think this is an emergency? Mia, Lana's dad renting the sultan of Brunei's yacht like that? That is a throw-down. He is basically telling your grandmother to bring it."

"I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about." Because I don't. "And I have to go. I'm at a PTA meeting, for crying out loud."

"Oh, God." I can hear the soundtrack for Altar Boyz in the background. Ever since Lilly started going out with J. P. Reynolds-Abernathy the Fourth, she has gotten way into soundtracks from musicals, because J. P.'s dad is a theater producer, and J. P. can get free tickets to any Broadway show he wants, and all of the off-Broadway ones, too. And even the off-off-Broadway ones. This is what Lilly just called to tell me.

"I forgot you had to go to that stupid thing. Sorry I'm not there with you. But . . . well, you know."

I did know. Lilly was serving the last week of a grounding her parents instituted after she was brought home by the NYPD for attacking Andy Milonakis—this kid from downtown whose cable access television show was picked up by MTV—with a Dojo's side salad. Lilly believes Andy's getting a basic cable deal instead of her is a travesty of justice, because her own local show, Lilly Tells It Like It Is, is so much better (in her opinion), as it isn't simply entertaining, but also highlights facts she feels her viewers ought to be aware of. Such as the fact that the U.S.'s decision to withhold $34 million from the United Nations Population Fund will lead to two million unwanted pregnancies, 800,000 induced abortions, 4,700 maternal deaths, and 77,000 infant and child deaths worldwide.

Whereas a typical episode of Andy's show features him holding a jar of peanut butter in one hand, a jar of salsa in the other, then making the jars dance with each other.

Lilly is also peeved that Andy is deceiving the American public by allowing them to think he is just a kid, when we both saw him coming out of d.b.a., which is a bar in the EastVillage that cards. So how did he get in there if he isn't at least twenty-one?

This is what she asked him when she saw him eating a falafel at Dojo's Health Restaurant on St. Marks Place, and why she claims she was forced to hurl her side salad at him, drenching him in tahini dressing, and causing him to call the cops on her. Thankfully the Drs. Moscovitz talked Andy's legal team out of pressing charges, explaining that Lilly has been experiencing some anger issues since their recent separation.

But that didn't stop them from grounding her.

"So how's the meeting going?" Lilly asked. "Have they gotten to the you-know-what part yet?"

"I wouldn't know, because I'm too distracted, talking to YOU," I whispered. I had to whisper, because I was sitting in a folding chair in the middle of a row of very uptight-looking parents. Being New Yorkers, they were all, of course, very well dressed, with Prada accessories. But being New Yorkers, they were also all angry about the fact that someone was using a cell phone while someone else—namely, Principal Gupta—was up at the podium, speaking.

Also, of course, that Principal Gupta was basically saying she couldn't guarantee that their kids would get into Yale or Harvard, which was making them madder than anything. At $25,000 a year—which is how much tuition at AEHS costs—New York parents expect some return for their investment.

"Well, I'll let you go now, so you can get back to work," Lilly said. "But just FYI: Lana's dad had her flown in to the yacht on the sultan's helicopter, so she could make a spectacular entrance."

"I hope one of the blades cut her head off as she was getting out of it because she forgot to duck," I whispered, avoiding the glare of the lady in front of me, who had turned in her seat to give me a dirty look for talking while Principal Gupta was giving everyone some very important information about the percentage of AEHS graduates who get into Ivy League colleges.

"Well," Lilly said. "No, that didn't happen. But I heard her Azzedine Alafa skirt flew up over her head and everyone saw that she was wearing a thong."

"Good-bye, Lilly," I said.

"I'm just telling you. Turning sixteen is a big deal. You only do it once. Don't blow it by having one of your stupid loft parties with the Cheetos and Mr. Gasa DJ."

"Good-bye, Lilly."

I hung up just as the lady in the seat in front of me turned around to hiss, "Would you please put away that-"

But she never got to finish, because Lars, who was sitting next to me, casually opened his suit jacket, revealing his sidearm. He was only reaching for a Listerine PocketPak, but the sight of his Glock 9 caused the lady's eyes to widen. She closed her mouth and turned back around in her seat very quickly.

Having an armed bodyguard follow you around everywhere you go can be a total pain in the butt, particularly when it comes to finding private time with your boyfriend.

But there are moments, like that one, when it can actually rock.

Then Principal Gupta asked if there was any out- standing business, and I threw my arm into the air.

Principal Gupta saw me raise my hand.

 I know she did.

But she totally ignored me, and called on some freshman's mother who wanted to know why the school wasn't doing more to prepare students for the SATs.

She went on to ignore me until she'd answered everyone else's questions. I can't really say that this shows the kind of commitment to youth-oriented issues I'd like to see in my educators, but who am I to complain? Just the president of the student council, is all.

Which is why, after Principal Gupta finally called on me, I saw a lot of parents gathering their Gucci briefcases and Zabar's shopping bags and getting ready to leave. Because who wants to listen to the president of the student council?

"Urn, hi," I said, uncomfortably aware of the number of gazes—even if they were only half listening—on me. I may be a princess, and all, but I'm still not used to the whole public-speaking thing, despite Grandmère's best efforts. “

I've been asked by a number of AEHS students to address the Parent Teacher Association on the issue of our current physical education curriculum, specifically its emphasis on competitive sports. We feel that spending six weeks learning the finer points of volleyball is a waste of our time and our parents' money. We would prefer our physical education funds be spent on physical education that is just that: education about our physical well-being.

We'd like the gymnasium to be converted to an actual fitness center, with weight-training equipment and stationary bikes for spin classes, as well as space for Pilâtes and tai chi. And for our physical education instructor to act as both a personal trainer and health specialist, who will work with each student individually to create a personal workout and health program targeted to their specific health needs, whether they be weight loss, increase in muscle tone, stress reduction, or simply improved overall health. As you can see"—I pulled out a pile of paper I'd been keeping in my backpack, and began passing the sheets around— "we've assessed the overall costs involved in implementing this kind of health program, and found that it is much more cost-efficient than our current physical education curriculum, if you take into account the staggering amount of money you'll be paying to your child's physicians for treatment of juvenile onset diabetes, asthma, high blood pressure, and the many other dangerous health conditions caused by obesity."

This information was not met with the kind of enthusiastic response we—meaning my fellow student council members, Lilly, Tina, Ling Su, and I— had been hoping for. Parents, I noted, tended to look heavenward, and Principal Gupta glanced at her watch.

"Thank you for this, Mia," she said, holding up the copy of the cost breakdown I'd given her. "But I'm afraid what you're proposing would be far too cost-prohibitive for us at this time—"

"But as you can see by our projections," I said desperately, "if you were to just take a small amount of money away from, say, the Intramural Athletics Fund-"

At this, suddenly everyone was paying attention.

"Not the lacrosse team!" one father in a Bur- berry raincoat bellowed. "Not soccer," cried another, looking up from his BlackBerry with a panicked expression on his face.

"Not cheerleading! " Mr. Taylor, Shameeka's dad, gave me a dirty look that could have rivaled one of Grandmère's.

"You see the problem, Mia?" Principal Gupta shook her head.

"But if each team just gave up a little—"

"I'm sorry, Mia," Principal Gupta said. "I'm sure you worked very hard on this. But your track record where financial matters are concerned hasn't exactly been the most stellar—" I couldn't believe she'd be so heartless as to bring up the slight miscalculation that had caused me to bankrupt the student government several weeks earlier. Especially considering the fact that, with the help of my grandmother and her tireless work on behalf of the Genovian olive growers, I had more than replenished the empty coffers. "And I haven't heard any other complaints about our current P.E. curriculum. I move that we conclude this meeting—"

"I second the motion," cried Mrs. Hill, my Gifted and Talented teacher, in an obvious ploy to get home in time for Dancing with the Stars.

"This meeting of the Albert Einstein High School Parent Teacher Association is adjourned," Principal Gupta said.

Then she and everybody else booked out of there like winged monkeys were on their tails. I looked down at Lars, the only person left in the room besides me.

“'The first resistance to social change is to say it's not necessary,'" he said, obviously quoting some- body.

"Sun Tzu?" I asked, since The Art of War is Lars's favorite book.

"Gloria Steinem," he confessed. "I was reading one of your mother's magazines in the bathroom the other day." Lars has apparently never heard of the phrase Too Much Information. "Let's go home, Princess."

And so we did.

Wednesday, April 28, 10 p.m., limo ride home

How am I ever going to rule an entire country some- day when I can't even get my high school to install a row of stationary bikes in the gym?

Wednesday, April 28, 10:30 p.m., the loft

At least I have the comforting words of my boyfriend to soothe my frazzled nerves when I get home after a long day of fighting for the rights of the unathletically inclined students of Albert Einstein High. Even if I hardly ever get to talk to him—except via Instant Messaging—because he's so busy with his college courses, and I'm so busy with Geometry, princess les- sons, student council, and keeping my baby brother from sticking his tongue in a light socket.

SKINNERBX: DO you realize it's only three days till the big day?

FTLOUIE: What day would that be?

SKINNERBX: Your sweet sixteen!

FTLOUIE: Oh, right. I forgot. Sorry. Stupid school stuff is bumming me out.

SKINNERBX: Poor baby. So what do you want for your birthday?

FTLOUIE: Just you.

SKINNERBX: Are you serious???? Because that can totally be arranged. Doo Pak is going to be gone for the weekend on a Korean Student Association camp- out in the CatskilIs

Yikes! All I meant was that I wanted a little time alone with him—something that seems to happen more and more rarely, now that he's opted for accelerated graduation, doing all of his course work in three years instead of four, and his parents splitting up, and all, so that he has to have dinner every Friday night with either his mom or dad, so that each of them feels like they're getting their fair share of Michael time.

And, being the supportive girlfriend that I am, I totally understand about his being there for his parents during this stressful time in their lives. Mr. Dr. Moscovitz doesn't seem to really like his new rental apartment on the Upper West Side very much, even though he lives just a New York Times-throw from Michael's dorm, and can drop by to visit him there anytime he wants (and frequently does so—thank God he has to buzz Michael's room to be let up and can't just come strolling in, or there might have been some awkward moments), and there are plenty of other psychotherapists in the neighborhood for him to hang out with.