Teen Idol
Meg Cabot



Ask Annie

Ask Annie your most complex interpersonal relationship questions.
Go on, we dare you!
All letters to Annie are subject to publication in the Clayton High School Register.
Names and e-mail addresses of correspondents guaranteed confidential.
Dear Annie
My stepmom keeps telling me that everything I like is evil, and that I shouldn't like this or that because when I die I will go to hell. She thinks liking rock music, reading fantasy books and watching MTV is sinful. She goes on and on about how the music, books and people I like are all evil.
I respect what she likes, and I think she should respect what I like, too. What do you think, Annie
Going to Hell.
Going to Hell,
Tell your stepmom to cool it. You aren't going to hell, you're in it.
It's called High School.
Annie
ONE
I witnessed the kidnapping of Betty Ann Mulvaney.
Well, me and the twenty-three other people in first period Latin class at Clayton High School (student population 1,200).
Unlike everybody else, however, I actually did something to try to stop it. Well, sort of. I went, "Kurt. What are you doing?"
Kurt just rolled his eyes. He was all, "Relax, Jen. It's a joke, okay?"
But, see, there really isn't anything all that funny in the way Kurt Schraeder swiped Betty Ann from Mrs. Mulvaney's desk, then stuffed her into his Jan Sport. Some of her yellow yarn hair got caught in the teeth of his backpack's zipper and everything.
Kurt didn't care. He just went right on zipping.
I should have said something more. I should have said, Put her back, Kurt.
Only I didn't. I didn't because . . . well, I'll get back to that part later. Besides, I knew it was a lost cause. Kurt was already high-fiving all of his friends, the other jocks who hang in the back row and are only taking the class (for the second time, having already taken it their junior year and apparently not having done so well) in hopes of getting higher scores on the verbal part of the SATs, not out of any love for Latin culture or because they heard Mrs. Mulvaney is a good teacher or whatever.
Kurt and his buds had to hide their smirks behind their Paulus et Lucia workbooks when Mrs. Mulvaney came in after the second bell, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand.
As she does every morning, Mrs. Mulvaney sang, "Aurora interea miseris mortalibus almam extulerat lucem referens opera atque labores," to us (basically: "It's another sucky morning, now let's get to work"), then picked up a piece of chalk and commanded us to write out the present tense of gaudeo, -ere.
She didn't even notice Betty Ann was gone.
Not until third period, anyway, when my best friend Trina-short for Catrina: she says she doesn't think of herself as particularly feline, only, you know, I'm not so sure I agree-who has her for class then, says that Mrs. Mulvaney was in the middle of explaining the past participle when she noticed the empty spot on her desk.
According to Trina, Mrs. Mulvaney went, "Betty A...

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