Once Upon a Princess Page 8

  “You don’t have to tell him where we are,” I say. “I didn’t tell Sophia when I texted her.”

  Georgie sits up so suddenly I jump. “You texted Sophia?” The horror in her voice makes me think that maybe that wasn’t a good plan.

  “Yes?” I try to make myself small. It seemed like such a good idea at the time.

  “Why?” Georgie demands.

  “I thought we could work together to convince her father he’s wrong, and then everything could get back to normal.”

  “How could you be so foolish?”

  That’s not fair. I stand up.

  “Now, wait a minute. I was trying to help. No one else seems to be doing anything. Besides, we’re not supposed to be talking about me but about how you can fix things with Etienne.”

  Georgie doesn’t say anything right away, so I continue. “Besides, nothing horrible happened when I texted Sophia. I’m sure it’s fine to send Etienne a message.”

  She shakes her head and lies back down on the bed. “Just let me be, please.”

  It seems like the best course of action.

  I go down to the kitchen and get myself a soda. Mam is sitting on the sofa, a cup of coffee in front of her. The TV is off.

  “Nothing good on TV?” I ask.

  “It’s all the same. It gets tedious after a while.”

  It’s refreshing that she’s realized it. Maybe that means she’ll start being Mam again.

  “You’re used to being busy,” I say. “You need to find something to keep you busy.”

  “There is nothing,” Mam says. “We can only sit here, aimlessly, waiting.”

  I can’t. I can’t just sit here. “I’m going outside,” I say.

  “Take Henri with you,” Mam says.

  “I’m just going outside,” I say. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

  I take my soda out to the front steps, where I try to figure out the next part of my plan.

  13

  I need to make that video. One thing I learned from my research is that the way a coup is stopped is if the military is on the side of the king. I’m not sure how the military feels about the king right now, but the military is made up of people, of citizens. So, I need to convince the citizens to stick by the royal family.

  How do I do that?

  I take another sip of my soda and then look at the can with its readily recognizable design. I’ve been all over the world and am always able to find this brand of soda. How did they make people all over the world like them? What is their secret?

  I take out my phone and watch a few of their commercials from around the world. They are all short, upbeat, and happy, and they make you sure that the one thing that will make a good life even better is if you share their soda with someone.

  Maybe I can make that work for me.

  I would prefer to make this video in the privacy of my bedroom, but Georgie is up there, pouting. Mam and Henri are in the living room. There aren’t too many places to go in this townhouse for privacy. But no one is out and about on the street. Maybe the front step is private enough.

  Short. Sweet. Upbeat. I can do that.

  I put my camera on video and hold it out in front of me. Holding my can of soda in the other hand, I smile and start speaking in German.

  “Hallo! Prinzessin Fredericka here. Some say the royal family has abandoned Colsteinburg. That is not true.” Okay, maybe in the most literal sense, since most of us aren’t on her soil, it is true, but we didn’t abandon her in our hearts, and that’s what counts. “We are alive and well and as devoted to Colsteinburg and her people as always.” What else to say? I have to be quick about this. “Until we are together again, Prost!” I say, giving the German equivalent of “cheers,” and I take a sip.

  And cut. End of video. I watch it and decide it’s not too bad. I upload it to my social media accounts. Now I just have to wait and see if it makes a difference.

  At least I’m doing something to help.

  Hopefully it works.

  The door opens, and Henri stands there. For a second I think he’s already seen the video and is going to chastise me, but he seems surprised to find me sitting on the step.

  “Everything all right, Your Royal Highness?” he asks.

  “It’s fine, Henri. Thanks,” I say. Better than all right.

  “Your mother was wondering if you have homework you should be doing.”

  “Probably,” I answer.

  “I was wondering if you would like to go out for ice cream.”

  I grin. “Yes!” I jump up.

  At least Henri understands that I need to get out of that condo now and then.

  I almost tell Henri about the video as we sit and eat our sundaes, but something holds me back. He’ll probably tell me I should just wait things out and not get involved. Well, I’m tired of waiting, and it’s too late for that now.

  “You aren’t worried about our safety?” I say, as I look around at the handful of people in the ice cream place.

  “I am always worried about your safety,” he answers. “It’s my job. But I think no one knows you are here. It is safe.”

  “It’s only safe if no one knows we are here?” I ask. “But I’m going to school. People know I’m there.”

  “But people don’t know who you really are,” Henri says softly. “Right?”

  I nod, swallowing hard. “Right.”

  “And it’s going to stay that way, right?”

  As long as no one from school sees the videos. But why would any of them look at the Princess Fredericka account? I’m good, I’m sure I am.

  We go back to the townhouse, and Henri cooks dinner. Georgie even comes down, although she looks a lot paler than I like to see her. This exile is not good for her at all. Hopefully my video will have an impact quickly.

  I’m not expecting that impact to be at school.

  Jasmine stops by my desk in homeroom and puts her phone on top of my books. I see my video playing on her screen.

  “Prinzessin Fredericka?”

  Oh.

  “Ja,” I say. There’s no point in lying. It’s right there on her phone.

  “What’s that even mean?”

  “Take your seat, Jasmine, so I can take attendance,” the teacher says.

  I almost want to stand up in the front of the class and tell them that I’m a princess, for real, and be able to be myself again, but I don’t get that chance. As the morning continues, I notice looks and whispers, but most people keep their opinions to themselves. I wish they wouldn’t. I want to know what they are saying about me.

  “I thought you were just a normal kid,” Bethany says to me in Spanish class.

  “I’m not,” I say, and I’m not ashamed of it.

  Bethany turns back to her books without saying anything else. Perhaps she’s one of those people who gets shy around royalty. I’ve met people like that before. Usually, once I have a chance to talk to them and they get to know me, they relax again. But Bethany already knows me, and I don’t get a chance to say anything else before class begins.

  I don’t know if Señora Sanchez has heard the rumors that I’m a princess, but she seems surprised when I answer questions correctly in her class. She shouldn’t be. After all, I speak English, German, and French. Learning beginner Spanish isn’t really that hard.

  In math, I lose myself in equations, and suddenly I understand why Georgie finds peace in doing calculus: There is a problem; you can attack it logically, and there is an answer. It’s nice to have answers.

  In gym, Jasmine picks me for her basketball team. I feel a small surge of welcoming warmth when I go to stand behind her.

  “I only chose you because you’re good at this, not because you’re a princess or I like you or anything,” she mutters to me. The warmth cools a bit, but only a little.

  “Naturally,” I respond.

  We win the game easily, and although I don’t anticipate ever being best friends with Jasmine, since we won’t be here long enough to develop re
al friendships, I do think she may refrain from dumping her food on me from now on.

  At lunch, I head toward the table by the window. I sit and remove my sandwich—thankfully, not bologna—from my bag. When Jasmine and her friends arrive, they look resigned and sit without any complaint. Jasmine takes the seat right next to me.

  “You’re a princess?” one of her friends asks, and I realize I’ve sat with them several times already and don’t know their names.

  “I am,” I say.

  “Do you just mean that you’re totally spoiled or something like that?” another asks.

  “No,” I say. “It means my father is king of Colsteinburg.”

  “Colsteinburg? Where’s that?” the first girl asks.

  “It’s in the Alps,” Jasmine says, her face a mask. “And it’s been in the news a lot lately. The revolution. The missing royal family. The whole bit.” I’m impressed she is so up on current events. “So, what are you doing here? Slumming?”

  “Um, no,” I say. “I’m here to go to school. My parents wanted my sister and me out of the country for our safety. As you said. Revolution and all that.”

  “Did you ever meet Prince Harry?” one of the other girls asks.

  The question catches me a bit off guard; I was expecting something more about revolutions and social upheaval.

  “Actually I have met him.” I think of the picture that he signed “to my best girl,” which I left in my room at home.

  “So, are you rich? Do you live in a castle? Do you eat off of gold plates?”

  “Usually we use regular china,” I say. Though I have seen a set of gold plates, I don’t think I should mention that. “We live in a palace. I guess you could say we’re rich.”

  “Do you dress up in fancy clothes all the time?”

  I remember my beautiful silk gown from the ball, and my throat tightens a bit.

  “Sometimes,” I say. “When I’m at school, I wear a uniform.”

  “Ugh, uniforms!”

  “It’s not so bad.”

  “How come you dress like a slob now?” Jasmine asks.

  “We left in a hurry,” I say softly. I hate admitting to the fact that we ran away. “We didn’t get time to think about what we were packing.”

  “That must have been scary,” another girl says.

  “Ja.” I can feel tears building, and I don’t want to cry in front of them. I’m a princess. I can do this.

  “What’s it like being a princess?” A thin girl with huge earrings asks.

  What’s it like? It’s my life. “It’s great,” I say. “My family founded Colsteinburg eight hundred years ago, so my family history and the history of my country are completely intertwined. Everywhere Georgie—that’s my sister—and I go, people want to see us and talk to us and take our picture. We get to go to all kinds of special events and private showings.”

  “There’s no downside?” Jasmine asks.

  There was one time a website announced Georgie was pregnant. That rumor spread like wildfire, and it took a bit of doing for King Franz to get everything settled down. There was the time last year when someone made a threat against me, and I had to be under constant guard for a week until they found out who it was and made sure everything was safe. Things weren’t always perfect, but what is?

  “I suppose,” I say. “I mean, everything has its ups and downs, right?”

  “When are you going home?” Jasmine asks. I try to read her body language and tone. Is she asking out of concern or because she wants me out of here? Maybe a little of both.

  “As soon as we can manage it,” I answer.

  “Good,” Jasmine says, but the bite is missing from her words. I glance at her, and she shrugs. “I mean, it’s what you want, right?”

  “Right.”

  This talk of my real life is making me homesick. I’m very happy when the bell rings and we get to go to the next class.

  I sit in my usual seat next to Bethany. She glances at me and then looks away.

  “I can explain,” I say to her, though I’m not sure what I have to explain.

  “Explain what? That you lied to all of us? Made fools of us?”

  Maybe a case can be made for lies of omission, but how did I make fools of them?

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  “As if you didn’t know,” Bethany says. She stares straight ahead and doesn’t look my way again before class starts.

  Judging by the looks and whispers that follow me throughout the afternoon, everyone now knows I’m a princess. I expected things to get easier when people found out, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Most people don’t talk to me about it, though; they simply stare and whisper.

  I think I liked it better when I was just the new kid in school.

  My head is pounding by the time the final bell rings. When I leave the school, there are news vans parked up and down the street and a phalanx of reporters with cameras, all apparently waiting for me.

  This is not good. Not good at all.

  I stand just outside the doors, trying to take it all in. Lots of kids mill around, maybe hoping to get on camera, maybe waiting to see what this is all about. They goof around and wave at cameras that are clearly off. One of the reporters spots me, and as if some sort of telepathic message goes between them all, the cameras point at me, red lights blinking. Before I can even process this, or wonder where Henri is, microphones are shoved in my face.

  “Princess Fredericka, can you tell us what you are doing in Massachusetts?”

  “Why did you leave Colsteinburg?”

  “What is your opinion on what is happening in your country?”

  Questions come at me fast and furious from all sides, and for the first time in my life, there is no one here to buffer me from them. I try to stand tall and proud like Georgie would, and I use a tried and true tactic I learned from my father for dealing with the press. Don’t worry about answering the questions you are asked; answer the questions you wished they asked instead.

  “Naturally, I’m eager to get back home, once all this unpleasantness has died down,” I say.

  “So, you think it will all simply blow over?”

  Why anyone thinks asking a twelve-year-old political questions is a good idea, I can’t imagine.

  “Do you think it won’t?” I ask, turning the question back around. I am media savvy enough to know not to answer something that could come back and bite me. Princesses don’t just sit around learning how to embroider these days.

  Then, out of nowhere, Henri is by my side. He gently takes my elbow. “Come, Your Royal Highness. The car is over here.”

  I’ve never been so happy to see someone.

  We get in the car and lock the doors. I take a deep breath, but I know I’m still being watched and photographed, so I am careful about what my expression might give away.

  “We need to talk,” Henri says and holds up his phone so I can see my video playing.

  14

  I wish my hands would stop shaking. Outside the window, the reporters and cameras are closing in on us. In the car, Henri is practically quivering with rage. There’s no escape.

  “Would you care to explain this, Your Royal Highness?”

  “Shouldn’t we get out of here?” I ask, hoping to put off the moment of reckoning a little longer.

  “I’ll drive. You talk.” He pulls away from the school and artfully avoids the reporters and news vans and middle school kids standing with their mouths agape taking it all in. “Talk.”

  “I didn’t want people to think we were dead or had abandoned them.” That seems self-evident.

  “Wasn’t it made clear to you that you are in hiding? Does this look like hiding?”

  “It’s not like I told anyone where we are,” I say.

  “You didn’t have to. Your phone did that for you.”

  Wait. What? Suddenly I feel a little light-headed.

  “My phone did what?”

  “It geo-tagged your video.”
>
  “Oh. I didn’t know it could do that.”

  “It can do that.”

  I glance behind us at the trailing news vans. So, that’s where they came from. They saw my video.

  We get to the condo, and there are even more news vans there. Henri pulls up close to the door. “You don’t have to talk to them,” he says. “I will get you inside safely.”

  But wait, the news reporters have found us. There’s not much point in pretending they haven’t. And reporters can be our friends. I wanted to get the word out with my video that the royal family has not abandoned Colsteinburg and that there is a reason to fight for our familiar way of life. Well, a feature with a major news organization is even better than a fifteen-second video.

  “I’m going to talk to them,” I say.

  “You are not,” Henri responds, putting the car in park.

  “I am.” I hop out of the car, and immediately a woman with a microphone sticks it in front of my face. A man with a TV camera stands a little behind her, the red light on the camera plainly showing that he is recording. Georgie and I aren’t exactly novices when it comes to dealing with the media. After all, we are the princesses of Colsteinburg. We are on TV at least once a month, though usually in a more controlled environment. I’m somewhat reassured that Henri is here.

  “Princess Fredericka?”

  “Yes,” I say, hoping she can’t see my shaking hands.

  The door to the condo opens, and I half expect Henri to bodily pick me up and drag me inside. Instead, I find that Georgie is standing next to me.

  “Princess Georgiana?” The woman asks, thrusting the microphone in Georgie’s face.

  Georgie puts on her practiced public smile. She is unflappable.

  “Yes?” She answers, as sweetly as if an old woman had asked her to help pick up her dropped groceries or something.

  “It really is you?” The woman seems surprised that she has it right.

  “Of course,” Georgie says, the smile not leaving her face. I notice it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “Why aren’t you in Colsteinburg?” the reporter asks.

  Georgie and I exchange a quick look.