The Princess & the Pauper Page 7

  "Okay, we're ready!" Ingrid said, clapping and striking a pose disturbingly similar to an evil scientist's. "I'll be in charge of the tweezing, waxing, exfoliating, toning, and moisturizing while Carina helps you study."

  Ingrid got out a huge clip and started pinning my hair back from my face.

  "Urn," I said.

  "Trust me," she said.

  I bit my lower lip. "Okay," I said.

  Ingrid grinned, her eyes practically glowing with mischief. "Let's get to work."

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  ***

  Chapter 9

  From: princessgirl@vineland.org

  To: rockmyworld@aol.com

  I can't believe it's really happening! Only five more days until we actually meet! I'm counting the hours. Meanwhile, I'm really loving L.A. It has all the sand I imagined and twice the number of palm trees. It's like all my dreams are really coming true.

  From: rockmyworld@aol.com

  To: princessgirl@vineland.org

  cant wait to meet you either.... have to go to rehersil now.... we have a few new songs i know youll luv.... maybe i'll dedicate one to ya!!!!! later babe!!!!!

  The phone in my hotel room rang, jarring me out of a vivid daydream of Ribbit bringing me up onto the stage during the concert, pulling me to his sweaty chest, and telling everyone, "This is the girl who inspired my new

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  song. And I love her." In the dream Markus sat in the front row looking up at us all devastated, realizing what he could have had if he wasn't such a boring little snob. I grabbed the receiver and barked a "hello."

  "Is that any way for a princess to answer the telephone?" my mother said. But she sounded teasing, not annoyed.

  For a split second I almost wished she were there with me. I knew how much she would enjoy eating all the good food and walking around in the sun, being surrounded by people who looked like they'd fallen straight out of the movies we loved watching together. But of course if she were there, she wouldn't be so fond of some of my other activities--like, oh, say, prepping Julia so that she could take my place at some important gatherings while I ran off to a concert and met up with a rock star who I'd met on the Internet. I quickly came back down to earth.

  "Hello, Mother," I said, leaning back in my chair.

  "How is everything going on your trip, Carina?" my mother asked. "It's been so long since I've heard from you."

  "We're having a great time," I answered, ready to share the things I could. "Today we toured Universal Studios and the head of the studio gave us tickets to a premiere tomorrow night at Mann's Chinese Theater--you know, the one where they always hold premieres? I think Ben Affleck is going to be there! Oh, and it's so beautiful, the palm trees and the ocean and the mountains! And Mom, today I had the best smoothie I have ever tasted in my life. I got the recipe so we could give it to the new cook. You're gonna love it."

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  I paused for breath, figuring my mother would comment on something I had just said. After all, she was the one who had predicted that Ben Affleck would be a huge star after we'd rented Good Will Hunting, although she had not approved of the language in that film. But there was total silence.

  "What's the matter?" I asked.

  "Have you gone to the naked beach?" my mother asked, sounding far more serious than she had before.

  "There is no naked beach, Mother!" I grabbed a pencil and made a note on the hotel stationery: Check on the naked beach!

  "Just remember where you came from," she said. "Remember who you are."

  My insides went all hot and queasy when she said that to me. Did she think I was still five years old?

  "It's kind of hard to forget," I said.

  "Carina." She sounded very tired. "I don't understand you. Don't you realize how lucky you are? How many people would give their lives to be in your shoes? Don't you realize all the good you can do with your life?"

  Guilt. Guiltguiltguilt. Guilt.

  "Mom, I'm kind of tired," I said, pulling my knees up under my chin and resting my face on the silky fabric of my pajamas. I wanted to get off the phone and get back to my Ribbit daydream

  There was a long pause.

  "Are you going to even ask about her?" my mother said finally.

  My stomach turned. "How is Grandmama?" I asked. "She's taken a turn for the worse," my mother replied.

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  "I'm going to have to go to the hospital and stay with her."

  "Oh." I didn't know what else to say. "You could call her, at least," my mother said. More guilt.

  "I will," I said impatiently. She was making my stomach hurt.

  "When?"

  Guiltguiltguilt. I was too young and too ... far away to deal with this. "Soon," I lied.

  After a few more warnings about my behavior, my mother and I hung up. I stood up and walked over to the window, drawing the shade aside. The view of the beach was breathtaking. The palm trees swayed in the breeze as the waves crashed and rolled and hissed. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a glittering shadow on the ripples far out against the horizon.

  Somewhere out there Ribbit was rehearsing his new songs and thinking of me. A tingle of excitement raced down my spine, and I pulled the pink silk of my robe closer to me. I wished I could just freeze time right then and there. Then I could keep feeling this euphoric anticipation of meeting Ribbit and how perfect it would be. Then I could stay in California forever and live just like a normal girl. (If I could get rid of Killjoy, of course.)

  If I could freeze time, my grandmother would never die and my mother wouldn't have to be sad all the time. There would be no more guilt to throw around.

  The door to the suite opened and Ingrid walked in and flopped down onto my bed. "How's Frog Man?" she asked.

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  I smiled. Just hearing his name, or Ingrid's approximation of it, was enough to snap me out of my deep thoughts. I was not going to dwell on my parental issues right now.

  "Ingrid," I said. "I think I'm in love."

  The moment I said it, a warm, fuzzy feeling over came me and I knew it was true. I grinned and hopped onto the bed next to her.

  "I'm in love with a guy I've never even met!" I said, giggling-

  "Oh my God, I've never seen you like this," Ingrid said. She sat up and leveled me with a pretend-serious stare. "What would Markus think?"

  "Who cares about Markus," I said, grinning. "Markus the Great has nothing on Ribbit the Greater." I pulled one of the feather pillows onto my lap and sighed. "How cool would it be if some reporter took a picture of me and Ribbit together? Can you just imagine Markus's face? You know it would make the cover of Inside."

  "Forget Markus, your parents would kill you," Ingrid said. "And they'd probably bring back public hangings for Ribbit."

  "I know," I said. "I just ... sometimes I just wish I could, I don't know, just say ... forget about them!" At that moment, I felt like I could do something rebellious and crazy, just to show my parents I was capable of being my own person. But in the back of my mind, I knew it would never happen. I was too afraid of disappointing them. And I hated it.

  "I wish you could go with me to the concert," I told Ingrid. "It would be so much more fun."

  "Trust me, I'd rather go with you than baby-sit Julia all

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  night," Ingrid said, rolling over onto her stomach and propping her chin up on a pillow. "But someone has to be there to make sure the new princess uses the right fork."

  "I really appreciate this, Ingrid," I told her. "You have no idea how much."

  "Don't worry about it," she said, looking up at me. "I'll make the sacrifice. It's worth it to get you away from Markus."

  I couldn't argue with that. Poor Julia was going to be stuck doing the long-arm waltz with Markus all night while I got up close and personal with Ribbit.

  "Carina, I think Julia and her mom are going to lose their home," Ingrid said suddenly.

  "What?" I asked, my forehead wrinkling. "Why?"

  "Yesterday in her room I
saw these notes that said the rent was past due. There was something about taking ... serious measures," Ingrid said.

  "What does that mean?" I asked.

  "I don't know, but it does not sound good," Ingrid replied. "They must be, like, really poor. I feel like we should do something."

  I reached forward and felt Ingrid's forehead. "Are you feeling okay?" I asked. "You've never felt like you should do something before in your entire life."

  Ingrid laughed it off and shook her head. "You're right. I don't know what's wrong with me. It's like being in L.A. has made me all philanthropic or whatever."

  I sighed. Julia's apartment was small and it had an odd, moldy sort of smell, like the canals in Venice--Italy, not L.A. But it was clean, and she went to a good school. She couldn't be that poor.

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  "Well, at least the money we're giving her will help," I said, picking at the lace on the pillowcase. I couldn't even imagine what it would feel like to need ten thousand dollars. It had cost more than twice that to renovate my bathroom last year. "Do you think she's going to do a good job being me?" I asked.

  "Julia? Too early to tell."

  "Well, she is a fast study," I said, recalling how quickly Julia had picked up all the little facts about my family and my country. "I can just imagine how psyched Heinrich the Lisper would be to get her as a student. He might even be spurred into completing a whole thought."

  Ingrid laughed.

  I felt a twinge of something unpleasant in my stomach at the memory of Julia rattling off Vineland trivia as if she'd lived there her entire life, but I squelched it. What was wrong with me? I should have been happy that we'd found such a capable girl for the job. So long as we tamed that rat's nest she called hair, everything would be perfect.

  "What's on the agenda for tomorrow night?" I asked.

  "Table manners. Waltzing. Other forms of etiquette," Ingrid said, counting the items off on her fingers.

  "Sounds like fun," I said, rolling my eyes. "I'll be impressed if we can even get her to sit up straight."

  Just then Fröken Killjoy came busting through the door without knocking, sniffing the air as though trying to detect a wisp of smoke. Her face was covered in a blue exfoliating night mask and her hair was up in curlers.

  "Lights out, girls," she said.

  "Fröken Killroy!" Ingrid said, standing up right next to

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  the woman and inspecting her face. "What's with the products? Are you ... primping for someone?"

  I stifled a smile and tried to look innocently interested in a reply. Ingrid and I had seen Killjoy talking with the American ambassador to Vineland earlier that afternoon and had almost convulsed with laughter. The ambassador was an older, distinguished man with salt-and-pepper hair and twinkling eyes--not bad for a near geriatric. Fröken had spent the entire conversation tossing her hair and giggling like ... well... like us.

  "Nonsense, girls," Fröken Killroy said, stuffing her hands under her arms. "I just want to look my best. We are here representing our country."

  "Of course," I said. "And I'm sure Ambassador Rivers appreciates the effort."

  "Well ... uh ... I ... excuse me, girls," Killjoy said. Then she pulled the collar of her robe up around her chin and rushed from the room.

  Ingrid and I cracked up laughing the moment the door was closed.

  "I think Fröken Killroy is smitten," Ingrid said. "I told you she just needed a guy to smooch."

  "Ugh! Oh! Oh nooo! Now I have a mental picture of Killroy kissing Rivers]" I picked up a pillow and threw it at Ingrid's head.

  "Oh no, you did not!" Ingrid cried, grabbing another pillow.

  She whacked me across the face with it, and soon we were engaged in a laughing, shrieking, full-out war. By the time we were done, panting and disheveled, I was exhausted.

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  Ingrid decided to stay over in my room and we crawled under the covers, ready for a nice, long, sleep.

  As I drifted off to sleep, I went back to my Ribbit fantasies, hoping that if I thought about him enough, I'd dream about him as well. And I did. In the dream I was at his concert with curlers in my hair and holding Julia's big smelly hat, but none of it mattered because Ribbit was singing up onstage. A love song.

  And there was no one in the audience but me.

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  ***

  Chapter 10

  Thursday afternoon I sat in the library at school, chewing on my fingernails and studying yet another book about Vineland. I'd never been much of a nail biter and it was really kind of gross, but Carina's nails were bitten down to her fingertips, so now mine had to be, too. Some princess. You'd think she'd have had an official manicurist following her around, smacking her hand every time it went near her mouth. But Ingrid assured me that everyone in Vineland expected Carina not to have nails. Apparently it was one of her most beloved quirks. There was a top ten list of them in Vineland Today last year. Also on the list was the way she refused to eat carrots or any food that had touched a carrot.

  Freaky.

  At least the book I had brought to school was interesting enough to distract me from the ickiness of what I was doing to my hands. It described every last room of the Vineland palace in detail and was crammed with about a million pictures.

  I turned the page and my breath caught in my throat.

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  There, covering two whole pages, was a huge, glossy picture of the most beautiful library I had ever seen. The walls were as high as a cathedral and they were lined with books all the way up to the ceiling. There were winding staircases leading up to walkways that ran along the shelves, where a few men in tuxedos and sashes gazed up at the millions of tomes. The wooden railings and bookshelves gleamed and the tile floor shone under the light of a huge chandelier.

  I could only imagine how incredible the books must be there and how perfect and hushed and still a library like that would be.

  I turned the page again and was faced with a photo of Carina waltzing with a guy about our age in the center of a gilded ballroom. Hundreds of people looked on from the edges of the dance floor. Carina wore a flowing gown of soft pinks and corals and her hair was gathered up behind a sparkling diamond tiara. She looked ... well, like a princess. But as she gazed at the guy who was holding her, she also looked ... bored.

  I glanced at the guy and immediately I could tell why. He was tall and had dark hair and that kind of chiseled face you expect a prince to have. His mouth was twisted into a cocky smirk, and his head was held at this slight angle that just screamed, "My goodness, I'm really quite good looking, aren't I? Oh yes, I just love myself."

  Men. He probably thought he was just so special because he was dancing with a princess. I was about to slap the book shut on his smirky little face when the caption caught my eye.

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  Princess Carina dances with the son of the duke of Vasta, Markus Ingvaldsson, her boyfriend. Her ... her ... her ...

  "What?" I shouted, throwing the book down.

  Carina had a boyfriend? She hadn't told me that! Was this Markus jerk going to be at the ball? Was he going to expect me to dance with him in front of everyone like that? Was he going to expect me to ... kiss him?

  Suddenly I felt an intense need for some fresh air. I packed up my stuff and headed for my bike.

  Okay, stay calm, I told myself as I rode toward home. Maybe Carina hadn't mentioned Markus for a reason. Maybe he wasn't even going to be at the ball. Or maybe he wasn't really her boyfriend--people always exaggerated that stuff when it came to celebrities, right? What was it my mother always said? "Don't stress about something until you know there's something to stress about."

  Of course, that had backfired on her big time when I'd hidden all those warning notices from her. I felt the guilt start to seep over me again but tried to soothe it with the thought that soon I was going to have ten thousand dollars. And my mother would have nothing to worry about.

  I should probably start thinking about how I'm going to exp
lain that, I realized.

  I turned down Abbot Kinney, as I often did on my way home, just to check the window at Sasha's and see if my mother's hats were displayed. The sun beat down and I wondered if I should start carrying sunscreen around with me. I didn't think Carina would appreciate it if I showed up for the ball with a sunburn.

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  I jumped the curb and rode on the sidewalk until I got to Sasha's. A bunch of my mother's creations were displayed in the window, and I smiled when I saw a salesgirl lift one of them up to show a customer. The hats were all so beautiful and all priced too low. Feathered hats, felt hats, hats made of mesh. White hats, purple hats, hats in all the colors of the rainbow.

  When I got my ten thousand dollars, I was going to buy every last one of my mother's hats and pay triple for them. It was so wrong that my mother wasn't a famous designer. Just because some jerk swept her off her feet and made her forget what she really wanted to do with her life and then left her broke and brokenhearted. Some jerk called my father.

  Moral of the story? Never let a guy interfere with your dreams.

  I rode home at double speed and took the steps two at a time, resolving to call Carina and find out exactly what the deal was with this Markus guy. I wasn't sure what I was going to say, exactly, if she did tell me I had to kiss him and whisper sweet nothings to him or call him "Pookie" or "Darling Pie" or whatever else people with boyfriends did. But the very thought of kissing someone I didn't know--of kissing some egotistical snob I didn't know--made me wonder if ten thousand dollars was enough money.

  Guys. Were they ever not causing trouble?

  I opened the door to our apartment and stepped on yet another envelope. My heart dropped down to my toes. What was this? A we-just-wanted-to-rub-your-eviction-in-your-face notice?

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  I picked the envelope up with shaking hands, and when I opened it, I almost dropped it on the floor. I couldn't even believe my own eyes. Inside was a stack of money! I reached in and pulled out the bills--so crisp and new they were sticking to each other. A little piece of paper fell out and fluttered to the floor. I grabbed it up and read it quickly.