The Princess & the Pauper Page 4

  I whirled away from her and grabbed the pen out of the guy's hand. "Nonsense, Fröken," I said through my teeth. "My father, the king, has told me to always make time for the international visitors to our great nation."

  Killroy narrowed her eyes at me. She knew the game I was playing, pulling out the king card, but it worked anyway. She stepped back while I signed the autograph.

  "Arrivederci!" I called after the traveler after he thanked me a couple dozen times. Then I turned around and dropped my stack of magazines on the counter.

  "Oh no," Killroy said, grabbing the People. "This rag is not fit reading for a princess. What if someone were to see you?"

  "You can't tell me what to read," I said weakly. There wasn't much fight left in me after the autograph incident. Killroy had a way of wearing me down. Maybe it was the pinched quality of her voice. The high-wave frequency was zapping away my energy stores.

  "Carina, your parents left you in my care," she said for the

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  billionth time that day. "And I am going to take care of you."

  She was about to slap the People down on the rack again, but Ingrid intercepted it.

  "Well, you can't tell me what to read," she said snottily. We both grinned at Killroy in triumph. Sometimes it was so good to have a friend like Ingrid.

  "Fine," Killroy said huffily. "I want you two back at the gate in one minute." Then she turned and marched off, her brand-new silk traveling suit swishing as she went.

  Ingrid placed the People down on the counter along with a copy of Us Weekly and Inside, Vineland's very own gossip magazine--the one that was constantly printing unauthorized photos of me and always seemed to get me on days when my hair wouldn't defrizz or my skin was rebelling. They'd even managed to get a shot of me when I still had the metal plate taped to my face after my nose job. Of course, that one had never been printed. My mother and father had been tipped off about it and had somehow prevented the photo from hitting the stands. I always thought they were making a big deal out of nothing. After all, it wasn't like people weren't going to notice the fact that the monster bump had somehow disappeared from my nose. But that was my parents for you-- more concerned with appearances than anything else. They had been too busy to pick me up from the hospital after the operation, but they hadn't been too busy to bribe some journalist into early retirement.

  "What are we going to do about Killjoy?" I asked as the lady at the register punched at the keys.

  "That woman needs a boyfriend," Ingrid said, whipping

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  out some cash and paying for her magazines.

  "Ew! Ingrid!" I said, sticking out my tongue as I fished in my bag for my wallet. "Thanks. Now I have a mental picture of Killroy kissing some guy burned into my memory forever."

  "Well, I don't know how we're going to shake her when we get to L.A., but I'm going to get you to that concert, Carina, I promise."

  I smiled my thanks but didn't get a chance to answer. The woman behind the counter was dry heaving as she gaped at me, and it was more than a little distracting.

  "Carina? Carina! You are Princess Carina!" she cried. "Please, take the magazines. You must not pay!"

  I took a deep breath. Guess my wallet was staying right where it was. "Thank you," I said to the woman as I slid the magazines off the counter. I knew better than to protest. I'd stopped doing that somewhere around age thirteen when a man at the Burberry shop had gotten so indignant at my insistence to pay, he had walked off the job.

  Soon you will be in L.A., where there's a movie star on every corner, I told myself as Ingrid and I took our sweet time walking back to the gate. In L.A. you'll be just another famous face.

  In L.A. my fondest dream would come true. I'd be just like everyone else.

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  ***

  Chapter 4

  "There's nothing," I said, rustling the newspaper in front of me as I walked. The page was covered with red circles and X's over jobs I'd considered applying for and then decided against. They either demanded too much time, paid too little money, or required experience. Unless I could somehow fake working knowledge of a meat slicer, a jackhammer, or a boom mike, I was out of luck. "In the entire city of Los Angeles, there is not one job I can do."

  "That's not true," my friend Elizabeth protested, folding her half of the want ads over her hand. She pulled her lollipop out of her mouth and held up the newspaper for me to see. "Look! There are like fifty ads for nude models."

  I rolled my eyes and hip-checked Liz as we walked along the path on the beach, heading for the Santa Monica pier. Elizabeth was a photographer (an artist, unlike paparazzi-bound Gwendolyn Jones), and for the past couple of weeks she'd been working on a project for her art class called "Wacky L.A." She'd been hitting all the big tourist spots, taking secret photos of unsuspecting day-trippers and

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  vacationers. Today she wanted to catch people on the Tilt-A-Whirl with their about-to-barf faces on.

  "You'll find something. Don't worry," Elizabeth told me as we climbed the stairs to the pier.

  I sighed, wishing I could be as optimistic. I knew Elizabeth was just trying to help, but the fact that she was joking around only proved that she didn't get the direness of the situation. Her dad was some big movie mogul guy, constantly making deals on his cell phone and buying cars for his kids whenever some romantic comedy opened well. Elizabeth was a good friend, and one of very few unshallow people at school, but until she knew what it was like to deflect angry phone calls from the landlord so that her mom could get some extra sleep ... well, there was no way she could really understand.

  "Ooh! What about a dog walker?" Elizabeth suggested, tucking her long red bangs behind her ear. She had the short-in-back, long-in-front Kelly Osborne haircut and the goth-punk wardrobe to go with it. Her many silver rings glittered in the sunlight, and I noticed her purple nail polish was severely chipping. It also pretty much matched the color her tongue and lips were stained from the lollipop. "You'd be outside ... getting exercise...."

  "Please. All dogs hate me. You know this," I told her. "It's like they can sense I'm a cat person."

  I folded up the newspaper and stuffed it into my backpack. I'd look the ads over again later. There had to be something in there--some way I could earn some money to help my mother out with the back rent. But for now, it was time for Elizabeth to pay up. She'd bribed me into

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  coming along with her by promising to buy us a ride on the Ferris wheel.

  "You ready for this?" I asked, rubbing my hands together as I looked up at the ride looming over the Pacific.

  Elizabeth gulped. "Did I mention I was afraid of heights?"

  "Come on! I bet you can get some killer shots from up there. It'll be the next M.F.!" I said, imitating Bridget's affected voice.

  "I'll go if you promise never to use that abbreviation again," Elizabeth said, leveling me with a glare.

  "Deal."

  As I was walking toward the Ferris wheel, I tripped over a warped board and Elizabeth reached up to grab my arm. It was like a reflex for her. Let's just say it wasn't the first time I'd tripped myself in Elizabeth's presence. It wasn't the first time I'd tripped myself that day.

  We climbed onto the Ferris wheel, and as we ascended toward the perfect blue sky, Elizabeth's knuckles turned white, her hands clutching the safety rail.

  "Deep breaths," I told her. "You'll be fine."

  We stopped at the very top and I followed my own advice, breathing slowly and telling myself to chill. Everything was going to be fine. If I could just win the lottery.

  "Wow. It really is beautiful up here," Elizabeth said. She pulled out her camera and snapped a few shots.

  "What's wrong?" she asked, turning to me suddenly.

  "What do you mean?"

  "You keep sighing," Elizabeth said.

  I hadn't even realized it. I looked down at my hands

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  and bit my lip. "Liz, you ever wish you could ... like
... I don't know, be someone else for a while?"

  "All the time," Elizabeth said, with a "duh" face. "Gwen Stefani. Hands down. The day she married Gavin Rossdale. Although I don't know if I would have gone with the pink on the gown."

  I laughed and settled back, looking off across the water. "I would just like to know what it's like to not have to worry about money. Even if it was just for a day. I'm so sick of stressing."

  Elizabeth leaned back and wrapped her arm around my shoulders, resting her head against mine. "You'll figure it out, Jules. You always do."

  That's exactly the problem, I thought. I'm sixteen years old. I shouldn't have to figure it out.

  My heart felt heavy enough to drop into the water below. I couldn't believe I was thinking this way. Since when was I such a whiner? But the self-pity train was off and running and, for the moment, there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  I bet Princess Carina never has to worry about money, I thought. I bet whatever she wears to school tomorrow could pay our rent for the rest of the year. Maybe I could just steal her clothes. She'll probably have a servant standing by with an extra set anyway.

  I took a deep breath as the Ferris wheel cart slowly descended to earth. Maybe I would skip school the next day. Because suddenly I wasn't sure I was going to be able to sit through the little royal assembly without jumping up and strangling Princess I Have Everything.

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  ***

  Chapter 5

  The morning that Princess Carina was expected to grace us with her royal presence, it was like everyone I knew had turned into a giggling ball of mush. Every class I went to, people were whispering, passing around pictures of Carina they'd downloaded from the Internet, and giggling over a clipping of some guy she was apparently dating. By the time we got to the auditorium that afternoon, I was definitely over it.

  Well, actually, I had never been under it, whatever "it" was. This girl knew nothing about us, cared nothing about us, and was basically going to waste thirty minutes of our time just so everyone could drool all over her.

  "You are sooo gonna love me," Elizabeth said as she approached the aisle seat I'd saved for her. She raised her eyebrows and pulled two grande cups of Starbucks coffee out from behind her back. "Energy boost for your interview this afternoon."

  "You are a goddess," I told her, reaching out for my cup carefully as Elizabeth sat down next to me.

  I clasped the paper cup with both hands, holding it

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  away from me and my responsible-looking outfit. I had never had a cup of coffee without getting at least one drop on myself, but I definitely needed the caffeine. I had barely slept at all last night, stressing about the job interview I'd lined up for this afternoon.

  Yesterday after leaving the pier I'd finally found one job I could potentially do--filing at a nearby lighting supply company called Take Five Lighting--and when I'd called, they'd asked me to come in today. Now I was wearing my only good black skirt and an old but still workable silk blouse of my mom's, and if I got anything on it, I was done for. There were no other options in my closet.

  "So where the heck is this princess chick anyway?" Elizabeth asked, slurping on her coffee. A few drops fell onto the front of her denim jacket and I winced, but Liz didn't even notice. "I mean, shouldn't arriving on time be, like, part of her royal programming?"

  "Nah. She probably figures she's so important we can all just wait for her," I replied, taking a quick sip.

  The auditorium seemed even louder than it did before our usual assemblies as everyone anticipated what the princess would be wearing and whether or not she'd show us her tiara. Gwendolyn Jones was running around the room, pausing every few feet to aim her camera at the stage, looking for the perfect angle. Darcy, who sat a few rows up, kept whipping her head around every two seconds to see whether the girl had arrived yet. Just watching her was giving me whiplash.

  Finally Headmistress Weathers took the stage, her low heels click-clacking as she walked over to the

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  podium. An instant hush fell over the room and the air actually sizzled. This was so pathetic. Rosewood was a pretty exclusive school, and important people were always coming in to speak. But when Maya Angelou had visited last year to read some of her Pulitzer Prize-winning poetry, half the girls in school had sat back and done their nails.

  "Ladies of Rosewood Academy, may I have your undivided attention, please?" Weathers said, gripping both sides of the podium with her bony fingers. Elizabeth mouthed the headmistress's opening perfectly. She always said the exact same thing whenever she stood up in front of the school, whether she was introducing a guest or announcing a change in the lunch menu.

  "As you all know, we have a very important visitor with us this afternoon," Weathers said, her dull brown eyes actually displaying a little spark of something. Maybe pride at having landed us such an illustrious speaker as the born-into-greatness princess of Vineland.

  A little wave of excited whispers crossed the room and Weathers waited for complete silence before continuing.

  "I'm sure, thanks to our intrepid reporter, Gwendolyn Jones, you all are aware that Princess Carina's grandmother attended this very school back in the 1940s."

  Weathers shot an appreciative little glance in Gwendolyn's direction and Gwendolyn, of course, flushed with pride.

  "Suck-up," Liz and I both said under our breath.

  "Now, not only has Princess Carina of Vineland done us the honor of including our academy as one of her stops on her goodwill tour, but Rosewood is, in fact, her

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  first official stop here in the United States," Ms. Weathers announced, lifting her chin triumphantly. Everyone burst into applause. Elizabeth and I exchanged a look.

  "Yeah, cuz she wanted to get it over with," Elizabeth said, shifting in her seat.

  "It is incumbent upon us to make sure that Princess Carina receives a welcome to our country that is worthy of a royal figure such as herself," Ms. Weathers continued. "And a welcome worthy of the granddaughter of one of our most accomplished graduates."

  As Weathers started to instruct us on the proper welcome (it seemed a standing ovation was in order), Gwendolyn began to strut around the room again, snapping photos of the headmistress from every conceivable angle. I had a feeling that the next issue of the Rosewood Reporter was going to be a fat one.

  "And now, without further ado, I present to you Her Royal Highness, Princess Carina of Vineland!"

  Every girl in the room jumped to her feet, and the applause was deafening. I sighed, looked at Elizabeth, and dragged myself up slowly so as not to spill my coffee. I could sort of see the figure of a girl walking across the stage, but I couldn't get a good look at her because the freshmen in front of me were climbing up on the seats of their chairs for a better view. The standing ovation continued for at least five minutes, and I could see the flash of Gwendolyn's camera going off over and over again. Liz and I were the first to sit back down.

  "Thank you, thank you so much," the princess said into the microphone when everyone finally calmed down.

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  The girls in front of me stifled their squeals and settled into their seats, and I got my first look at fabulousness.

  It wasn't exactly a life-altering moment. Princess Carina was pretty, yeah, but not any prettier than anyone else who went to this school. She was wearing a plain, slim, sleeveless dress, and her long blond hair hung straight over her shoulders. About the only thing that set her apart from the students in the audience was her presence. I had to admit she was more relaxed and poised up there than I would have been if faced with hundreds of people. But then, she probably did this every day. I wondered how she would react if she were faced with one of the dead mice I had to scoop up every other morning.

  "I want to thank Headmistress Weathers for that incredible welcome," she said, turning her head to smile at the faculty section to the left of the stage. When she did, one of the spotlights caught her earring and there wa
s a sharp flash of light.

  "Holy crap. You see the size of those things?" Elizabeth said under her breath, earning a scowl from one of the frosh in front of us.

  Okay, so that was something else that set her apart. Forget her clothes--one earring could pay my rent for a year and probably send me to college for four.

  I looked down at my responsible hire-me outfit and told myself not to compare apples and oranges, but faced with a spectacle like this one, it was nearly impossible. Here I was stressing over an interview for a seven-dollar-an-hour job, and there was a person in this room who

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  could probably bail my mom out of all her money issues without even missing the cash. Sometimes life seriously sucked.

  "Growing up in Vineland, my grandmother would always tell me amazing stories about her time here in Los Angeles and at Rosewood Academy," Carina began, somehow seeming to make eye contact with every last person in the room. She didn't even blink or stutter when Gwen got right in her face with her blinding flashbulb. "You may not believe that a girl who spent her childhood in a castle would dream of being anywhere else, but I did. My grandmother loved her time here so much, cherished her friends and her education so deeply, that I couldn't help dreaming of one day coming to Rosewood and seeing it for myself. And now that I have, I can tell you it is everything I dreamed it would be."

  I rolled my eyes at Liz.

  "Looking out at all of you, I can see what my grandmother loved so much--the sisterhood, the excitement of learning, the promise of the future," Carina continued with a sickeningly sweet smile. "Never forget that you are the future, we are the future. And I look forward to forming that future along with all of you."

  "I'm definitely gonna hurl," I said.

  "Thank you and God bless!" Carina finished, raising a hand in a wave.

  The auditorium exploded with noise all over again and the girl sitting next to me jumped up, her elbow lifting my arm practically over my head ... and dumping every last ounce of my grande coffee all over my shirt.