Disclaimer: Michael, Mia, Boris, Maya, and Lilly do not belong to me. (Although Michael sounds super hot). Everything belongs to Meg Cabot (especially the second paragraph which dictates what Michael needs to write—look familiar?) If everything belonged to me, I would SO be publishing this.

Because my AP English assignment corresponds with today's events, I'll just copy and paste it into here:

Assignment (Due December 8): Here at Albert Einstein High School, we have a very diverse student population. Over one hundred and seventy different nations, religions, and ethnic groups are represented by our student body. In the space below, describe the manner in which your family celebrates the uniquely American holiday, Thanksgiving. Please utilize appropriate margins.

Because god forbid if we have inappropriate margins.

6:37 a.m.—Wake up by the sound of my annoying sister Lilly, yelling throughout the entire household to see if anyone has seen her Thanksgiving shirt that she got specially made. The shirt says "Thanksgiving: The Start of a Mass Genocide Caused By the Pilgrims: Friends, Not Foe." Why can't she just wear a "Got Milk?" shirt like the rest of us?

7:18 a.m.—Said sister barges through my room, with me still under the sheets, and says (well, talking normally is yelling in Lilly's case) if I have seen her shirt. I tell her to go away, because I would never want her idiotic shirt in the first place and why is she being such a vacuous moron about Thanksgiving?

"Since when have I not been particularly vocal when it came to Thanksgiving?"

Then I realized how stupid that question I asked was. Since when has Lily not been particuarly vocal about any holiday?

I groan at this and go back to sleep.

8:42 a.m.—parental units wake me up. "Why?" I groan. "We aren't doing anything productive today." At least I'm not. There isn't school today, and if there was, I'd at least have Computer Club… and in G&T I'd get to stare at—never mind.

Parental Unit Numero Uno, AKA my mother, says, "What do you consider productive, Michael?" This is what happens when I have psychoanalysts as parents.

I just groan in reply. "Why do I need to get up?" I try again.

"We're going to the Macy's Day parade," Parental Unit Numero Dos, AKA my father, replies.

"We are?" I sit up in bed immediately. "But… we've never gone before."

"What's wrong with new traditions?" Mom questions. Then she frowns, "Are you afraid of change, Michael?"

I flop down on my bed again. Parents.

9:34 a.m.—In the car, scowling because I missed out on breakfast because Maya got today off.

"Will you quit being a brooding moron and stop writing in that stupid laptop?" Lilly sneers.

I glare at her. "It's all your fault I'm here anyway," I snap back. "So why don't you be quiet?"

She doesn't, of course. Instead she bugs and bugs me about having a positive attitude and blah-blah-blah.

I hope Pavlov pees in her bed later on.

11:22 a.m.—Finally at the parade. Lilly is waving her stupid camera around, trying to get footage of the parade for her show Lilly Tells it Like it is. It would be an okay show if it wasn't Lilly who was on it. And that weird thing she does with her feet every time? Don't even want to go there.

I manage to sneak off and I am now in a Starbucks, imitating a native Washingtonian, due to the excessive amount of coffee I've had so far.

This is the worst Thanksgiving I have ever had.

2:13 p.m.—At home, at last. I am so hungry, it isn't even funny. I'm a growing boy, you know. If I was at school lunch would already be over and I'd be in my favorite class, G&T. (Not only do I get to work on anything I want, including my website Crackhead, but I get to sit right next to/stare at—Never mind). Luckily, Maya didn't get the day off but she was merely at the store when I woke up, getting things for our traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Then, she will share dinner with us, as usual.

6:02 p.m.—Done with dinner. Delicious, as Maya's a superb cook. As usual, Lilly refused to eat. "It's a tragedy," she says as she yells out her traditional Thanksgiving rant, "that everyone in this household has been sucked into celebrating this vulgar ritual that started the genocide against the Native Americans!"

"And how do you feel about that," Dad asked.

I mentally groaned. Isn't it a bit obvious as her feelings on Thanksgiving?

Sometimes I wonder if I'm living in an insane asylum. No, really.

8:22 p.m.—Overhear conversation Lilly has with her geeky musician boyfriend, Boris Pelkowski. (I can't help it—she talks so darn loud).

Lilly: What? I can't come over, Boris. My insane, pro-pilgrim parents say that today is a 'family day' and if I won't even eat Thanksgiving dinner with them I at least have to stay home.

(Pause)

Lilly: What Mia's doing? Gosh, I don't know Boris.

How can she not know what her own best friend is doing? Come on, Lilly, what kind of a best friend are you?

(Short pause)

Lilly: I think she's at her Mr. G's parent's place. And then I think she's going to another genocide gathering thanks to her satanic grandmother.

Ah, so Mia's having two Thanksgiving dinner is she? Lucky.

Lilly: Why do you care?

(Pause)

Lilly: Kenny's over? Why?

(Another pause—this time a long one)

Lilly: Uh-huh. Hmmm. I think Kenny has some issues.

Kenny? Kenny has some issues? Well, aren't we Miss Hypocrite. And why would Kenny have any issues? He's a nice guy, in the computer club, and he's got the most gorgeous, caring, sweet girlfr—never mind.

He's a lucky bastard, that's all I can say.

9:28 p.m.—Go and start first Star Wars movie. Star Wars movies are the best, except the current ones with that pretty-boy Hayden Christensen and Ewan McGregor, who disgraces anything Star Wars by doing stupid romantic comedies with Renee Zellweger. Although, Natalie Portman is hot.

11:53 p.m.—Finally am going to bed after watching 3/4 of the first Star Wars movie. Would've watched more but parental units told me that I had to go to bed, as I had a very early dentist appointment the next day before my parents would be going to their convention downtown: The Survivors of the Vietnam War's Bisexual and Autistic Children Convention.

First however, I check website, Crackhead, and look at any feedback that I have gotten since two days ago. Have gotten four messages, which include:

Sweet website, Michael. Especially love the music. System of a Down is so cool.

-Felix

OH MY GOD! You are SUCH the best! We seem to like ALL THE SAME THINGS and have the same opinons on EVERYTHING! Let's get married, hun!

-Your sweetie

(Good god, what kind of people come to my site?)

After hearing my son rant on and on about your site, as a parent I decided that it was my duty to see what he wasspending so much time on. After visiting you site, I believe that it would be in everyone's best interest if you deleted this site immediately. It is vulgar, repulsive, and implies you are a democrat. Good day.

-Concerned Parent

(I believe that it would be in this person's best interest if they just shut up immediately. They sound ignorant, rascist, and implies that they are a republican. Lord almighty, people are narrow-minded.)

And lastly, my favorite:

Hey, Michael. Cool website. Just thought I'd come check it out. Anyway, thanks for being such a great guy and all, especially with tutoring me in algebra. See you tomorrow.

-Mia

Maybe this Thanksgiving hasn't been so bad after all.

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A/N: And thus concludes the first chapter of From Michael's Computer to Yours. I was tired of reading journals from Michael that make him sound girly. Hopefully, I sound like I think Michael would, which would always include masculine. Anyway,I chose to do Michael's POV from the third book because he seemed to be in it the most, and I can't really remember the fourth and fifth books, as I don't own them.

Anyway, I'd really like your feedback! Thanks!