The Princess & the Pauper Read online

  J--

  My dad always says that if you pay half up front, the job will be done to your satisfaction. Don't spend it all in one place.

  --I. (& C.)

  Half? Up front? Was I really holding five thousand dollars in my hand right now?

  There was a knock at the door and I shoved the money into the back pocket of my jeans. I opened the door to find Dominic, the super, sucking his teeth on my doorstep.

  "Just wanted to make sure you're packin' up," he said, clicking his tongue. "Mr. Frontz, you know, the new landlord, wanted me to check."

  "Do you have any idea what a jerk you are?" I blurted before I could stop myself.

  He blinked, taken aback for a split second, then drew himself up to his full, semi-intimidating height. "Call me when they start carting out your stuff. I wanna watch," he said.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "Can you just wait there for one second?" I asked. Then I turned and ducked into the kitchen.

  My hands shaking, I pulled the money out of my back

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  pocket and quickly counted out a bunch of hundreds. I shoved the rest back where it came from and paused. Should I do this? But then, why not? It was my money, right? And this was why I had earned it. Or was going to earn it.

  Before I could think it through a couple hundred times, I came back to the door and held up the money. Dominic's eyes widened and he froze, so I grabbed his grimy hand, pulled it toward me, and slapped the money into his palm.

  "There's enough there for August, September, and October," I told him. "You can bring me a receipt in the morning."

  He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. I slammed the door right in his face.

  The second I was alone, I started to laugh. Had I really just done that? Huh. Maybe there was a little Carina in me after all.

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  ***

  Chapter 11

  "Repeat after me," Carina ordered. "I am pleased to meet you and I speak for all of Vineland when I say that we appreciate your country's support."

  "I am pleased to meet you," I repeated, trying to match her Frenchish/Swedishish accent. "And I speak--"

  "No, no, no," Ingrid interrupted. "Be a little more affected. Think Madonna."

  "I am pleased to--"

  "No!" Carina snapped. "I don't sound like that! And Julia, you have to sit up straight."

  I sighed and straightened my back, trying not to let my blood get over the boiling point. Just think about the look on Dominic's face when you handed him that money, I told myself. You would never have been able to do that without these people.

  "Maybe we should take a break," Ingrid said, picking up the phone by the bed. "Room service, anyone?"

  I shook my head. "Listen, you guys, I just wanted to thank you for leaving me that money," I said, furrowing my brow when I saw Ingrid gesturing wildly with the phone behind Carina's back. "It was really--"

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  "What money?" Carina asked.

  She turned around to look at Ingrid, who immediately slammed down the phone, her cheeks flushed.

  "What money?" Carina repeated.

  "I kind of ... went over there the other day when you were doing that press conference and left Julia half the money," Ingrid said in a rush.

  "You did what?"

  "You didn't know?" I asked.

  "What's the big deal?" Ingrid said, lifting her shoulders. "It was just... good business. My father always says--"

  "The big deal is you told me you were going to Fred Segal," Carina said. "The big deal is you lied to me. Nobody lies to me."

  "Carina, people lie to you all the time," Ingrid said flatly.

  "Urn ... maybe I should--"

  "How much did you give her?" Carina demanded, ignoring me. "She hasn't even done anything yet."

  Suddenly I felt like I had been slapped in the face. "Hold on a sec, I haven't done anything? I've been hanging out with you guys every single day after school when I should be studying for my classes, but instead I've been learning all about your stupid little country. I've been plucked, I've been tweezed, I've been biting off my nails!" I flung up my hand to show them the raw skin and the jagged cuticles. "How can you say I haven't done anything?"

  Carina took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of her bed. "Repeat after me," she said, clearly struggling to control her temper. "I am pleased to meet you and I speak for all of Vineland when I say--"

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  "I am pleased to meet you and I speak for all of Los Angeles when I say you are a total bitch," I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest.

  Ingrid let out a loud guffaw, then slapped her hand over her mouth.

  There were a few long moments of silence and then, to my total shock, Carina started laughing. Seconds later Ingrid joined her, and before long, I felt a laugh welling up inside my throat as well. It was a complete tension reliever. Carina bent over at the waist, holding her stomach.

  "I... I can't believe you just said that," she said, catching her breath. She wiped a tear away from her eye with her fingertip and looked at Ingrid. "You know, I think she might actually do okay."

  A few hours later we were kicking back poolside at the hotel, with Carina's security people stationed along the perimeter of the patio. The pool closed at eight but apparently stayed open for the princess after that. We were sipping virgin piña coladas and enjoying the warm night air. The last thing I wanted to do was get on my bike and ride home, but I was going to have to leave pretty soon if I didn't want to be exhausted at school the next day.

  I placed my glass down on the table next to me and sat up. There was something I needed to know before I spent another entire night stressing.

  "Carina? Who's Markus?" I asked. I'd wanted to bring him up earlier, but with all the fighting and then the nonstop etiquette lessons, there had never been a good time.

  Carina took a deep breath. "Markus is a guy my parents

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  want me to marry," she said, looking out at the glimmering water of the pool.

  "What's he like?" I asked.

  "Well, he's ... nice," Carina said with a shrug. "Handsome, polite ... all the mothers love him."

  "And he's a polo god," Ingrid put in sarcastically. She and Carina shared a personal joke-type laugh.

  "He sounds great," I said, raising my eyebrows. Oh God. I was going to have to kiss this guy, wasn't I?

  "If you like bland cookie-cutter guys who don't know how to carry on a decent conversation and will never do a single thing that wasn't mapped out for them at birth, then yes--he's great," Carina said.

  I hadn't heard so many words come out of her mouth at one time. She basically seemed so ... reserved. But then, maybe she was just better at thinking before she spoke than I was.

  "So are you going to?" I asked. "Marry him, I mean."

  "Not if I can help it," she answered.

  She sounded determined and resigned at the same time--as if she knew she didn't want the guy but was sure she was going to end up with him anyway.

  "So is he going to be at the ball?" I asked.

  "So they tell me," Carina replied.

  "Don't worry about it," Ingrid said. "Just avoid him as much as possible. That's what Carina always does."

  "Really?" I asked.

  "I'll put it this way," Carina said, sitting up and gracefully swinging her legs to the side of the chair so she could face me. She leaned her elbows on her knees and looked

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  me right in the eye. "The more you can do to make Markus less interested in me, the better off we'll all be."

  "I'll second that," Ingrid said smiling to herself behind Carina's back.

  "So I don't have to dance with him or kiss him or flirt with him or anything?" I asked, just to be sure.

  "Julia, you don't even have to talk to him," Carina said. "It's not like my parents are going to be around to make you."

  I smiled. This ball thing was sounding better already.

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  Julia's list
of things to remember when attending an embassy ball

  It is a princess's job to look happy even if she's not.

  A princess never has lipstick on her teeth. It should never leave the lip line, and if it does, it will be punished.

  A princess never uses swearwords, at least not in public.

  A princess never shows more skin than absolutely necessary, at least not in public.

  A princess never pulls out her own chair.

  A princess always waves with her right hand, held up parallel to the shoulder, moving the hand back and forth at a thirty-eight-degree angle.

  A princess always looks surprised when someone asks for her autograph.

  A princess always cuts her food into very small pieces. This prevents choking and therefore ending up on the cover of Inside with your gagging face on.

  A princess glides. She never lumbers.

  A princess must look fascinated at all times, even when the conversation is about polo or oil prices.

  A princess's tiara is her umbrella.

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  ***

  Chapter 12

  That night I gave up on trying to sleep and went to the kitchen to get myself some milk. Not only did I have a million Vineland facts running through my head, but I kept daydreaming about all the different ways I could blow off Carina's Prince Not-So-Charming. Should I dance with every other guy in the room right in front of him? (Nah. That would require dancing.) Should I tell him off in some grand public spectacle? (Nah. I had a feeling that would put me on the cover of Inside faster than choking would.)

  Maybe I would just be aloof and ignore him right to his handsome, smug, bland little face. Yeah. That was the ticket.

  As I sat down with my glass of milk at the kitchen table, I heard the lock to the front door slide free and my mother come in. She trudged into the kitchen and didn't even register surprise to find me there.

  "Hey, hon," she said wearily.

  The front of her waitress outfit was covered with buffalo wing sauce, and she looked like she had run thirty

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  miles. Her hair was plastered to her forehead in various places and her makeup was all but gone.

  "Bad night," she said. "Looks like the Dodgers have decided not to make the play-offs."

  She dumped her tips out on the table and I felt a lump in my throat. My mother was working her tail off to try to save our apartment, oblivious to the fact that it was already saved. I had a receipt under my pillow proving that I had paid the rent through October, along with the rest of the cash Ingrid had left me. Crisp, clean hundred-dollar bills very unlike the crumpled ones and fives lying in front of me on the table.

  "How was your day?" my mother asked, sweeping her palm over the top of my head as she walked to the sink. She placed a glass under the tap and turned on the water.

  I had to tell her. I had to tell her about the money so that she could stop killing herself like this. But what was I going to say? I hadn't the smallest hint of an idea how to explain it. And even if I told her the truth, she would never let me go through with it. Running around pretending to be someone else with a bunch of random strangers was not a protective mother's idea of an acceptable night out for her daughter.

  "It was fine," I said, reaching for a few of the bills and flattening them on the table. They smelled like beer. "We had a pop quiz in French, but I believe I did quite well."

  The water cut off abruptly. "Why are you talking like that?" she asked.

  "Like what?" I replied, my pulse suddenly pounding. The words were still hanging in the air--" I believe I did quite

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  well" --tinged with a Vinelandish accent. "How am I talking, Mom?" I added, struggling to sound like myself.

  She came around the table and looked at me, confused. "I don't know, I swear you had a funny accent for a minute there."

  I didn't answer. I didn't even move.

  She smirked and shook her head. "I must just be really tired," she said, wiping her forehead. "I'm gonna go to bed, sweetie." She leaned over and planted a kiss on top of my head, then clomped off toward her room.

  I'm just going to have to wait until it's over, I thought. It's only two more days. Then I'll have all the money, and I'll tell her what I did, and she'll ground me for life, but at least she won't be able to keep me from finishing what I started.

  I gathered up the rest of my mother's tips and counted them carefully. Eighty-two dollars. If the So-Cal teams kept running themselves into the ground, we were really going to need the rest of the princess money.

  And I'd heard the Lakers were going to suck this year, too.

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  ***

  Chapter 13

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  Ribbit,

  Thanks so much for offering to have one of your roadies pick me up behind the embassy on Saturday. I'm counting the hours!

  I went to Tower Records on Sunset today and bought all your CDs so that I would know every single song by heart for the concert. I just have to say, you are a musical genius! And your lyrics are just so ... inspiring. Especially on your romantic songs, like "Your Love Is a Trojan Horse" and "Bad Love Gone Worse." You must be the most sensitive man in the world. Please forgive me for going on like this; I just feel like something magical is happening, and I can't wait for the concert, when our eyes first meet.

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  im drunk.

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  I leaned back in the rickety chair in Julia's kitchen, staring at Ribbit's response on my laptop. My heart felt like it had been pierced. Here I had gone and poured my guts out to him and he had, well, not.

  But he's a rock star, I told myself. Of course he parties while he's on tour.

  People probably thought the same thing about me-- that when I came to L.A., I would go to all the hottest clubs and chill in the VIP rooms drinking Cristal. Imagine what the breathless public would think if they knew I was sitting in a hovel with a mangy cat rubbing her matted fur against my ankle. Not only that, but Ben Affleck hadn't even shown up for that movie premiere that afternoon. The biggest star I had seen was the kid from Malcolm in the Middle. Totally lame. Although I had really liked him in that movie My Dog Skip.

  "Are you ready yet?" I called out, causing the cat to jump.

  "Just give us one more minute!" Ingrid called from the bedroom, where she was putting the finishing touches on her "greatest masterpiece," Julia. "Carina, she looks just like you!"

  I rolled my eyes even as my face flushed. Ingrid had been showing off all day about the transformation she was going to orchestrate and I had been telling her all day that she was utterly loco. As much as I wanted this to work, I knew deep down that no one was ever going to believe that Julia Johnson was me. It was completely impossible.

  Only I can be me. Right?

  I closed the e-mail window on my computer and

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  rested my chin in my hand--a posture that Killjoy and my mother would not approve of. Who would be at the embassy ball tomorrow night? Most likely a lot of people whom I'd only met once or twice. They would be fooled by Julia's disguise as long as she didn't lose the accent or slurp her soup. Then there was Markus. But he'd probably be too busy kissing old-lady and dignitary butt to notice. I could probably dye my hair purple and he would still say, "Carina, you look beautiful this evening. Would you do me the honor of a dance?"

  Seriously. He actually talked like that. So irritating.

  At least my parents wouldn't be there. Because my mom would definitely know Julia was not me. My dad, of course, was another story. I hadn't seen him in so long that I wasn't sure he'd recognize me if I walked right up to him and stepped on his foot.

  Huh. So maybe Julia could be me. For a night, anyway. I swallowed hard at the thought, trying to calm the nauseous feeling in my stomach. How was it that I could think of only two people--Ingrid and my mother--who
would actually be able to tell the difference between the real me and an imposter?

  I heard the door to the bedroom open, and Ingrid walked out into the living room, which opened up onto the kitchen. She was practically beaming. For some reason, when I stood up, my knees were shaking. I composed myself and walked around the kitchen table to stand at the edge of the living room.

  "Princess Carina," Ingrid said dramatically. "I'd like you to meet... Princess Carina."

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  Then she stepped aside with a flourish of her hand and out walked ... a mirror. I swear all the oxygen whooshed right out of me the moment I saw Julia. She glided into the center of the room, walking with perfect grace and dignity in low heels and one of my favorite ball gowns. Her hair, though still brown, was swept up in a bun, with wisps hanging around her face. Her makeup was done just as I preferred mine--light on the eyes with dark, dramatic lips.

  My throat went dry and I struggled for something to say. They were both looking at me so expectantly. But this was all just a little too bizarre. I opened my mouth and then--

  "I speak for all of Vineland when I say it is truly an honor to be here."

  I hadn't spoken. Julia had. But it might as well have been me. She had my voice down perfectly.

  "Freaky, isn't it?" Ingrid said, stepping up next to me to view Julia from my perspective. "Good thing you got that nose job, C. Otherwise we never could have pulled this off."

  I reached out and grasped the back of the overstuffed chair next to me. Suddenly I started to sweat in a very undignified manner. It was like Julia had been me before I had been me. She was even born with the nose I had asked for.

  I'm replaceable, I thought suddenly, my stomach turning. Not only has my life been dictated since the day I was born, but I'm also completely and totally ... replaceable.

  "Aren't you going to say anything?" Ingrid prodded. Julia bit her lip and looked at me nervously.

  "Oh! I know! You need the tiara for full effect," Ingrid said, reaching for my crown, which sat in the center of the table in front of the couch.

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  Just before her fingertips touched the diamonds, I heard myself shout at her. "No!" I said. She froze and the word just hung in the air. "Don't touch it!"