Princess for Hire (13 page)

Easy for her to say. Mom telling me looks don’t matter was like a millionaire telling a homeless guy that money isn’t everything. No way she really believed it.

“I’d better get changed,” I said.

Mom paused, like she wanted to say more, but smoothed over the tension with her usual sunshine. “All right, then. See you in five minutes?”

You know how when you’ve been on a boat or an airplane and get back on solid ground and still feel that rocking sensation? That’s what being home felt like. I had magic in me, I’d used it, and I could still feel tingles of it. And the reminder hurt, knowing what I had the capacity to do and not being sure if I’d ever get another chance.

I rummaged absently through my closet, settling on a vin-tage, brown, knee-length skirt. I’d already designed my shirt for the event—aqua blue with the state of Idaho on it, and
IDAHO DAZE
spelled out in cursive letters. I’d printed my Web site on the back in the hopes of scoring a few Internet hits.

We made it to State Street just in time for Mom to slip into a 1964 yellow Mustang. She stretched her arms and cracked her neck, prepping for the next hour of elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist waving. Mom was one of the parade highlights every year—winning Miss Idaho and placing fourth in Miss America was the closest to stardom anyone in this town had ever gotten.

Unless you counted Jasper Gomez, who made national news when he tried to steal every set of Mickey Mouse ears from Disneyland but ended up getting knocked out by Daisy Duck. Jasper didn’t get to ride in a car, which would actually be hard, being as he’s in prison.

So, yeah, Mom is the star, and then there’s me.

The pooper-scooper.

Drake was lounging by the lemonade stand, eating some brownies he’d brought from home. “Want one?” he asked when I tapped him on the back.

“Uh, I’ll pass.”

“Your loss.” He pointed to a wagon stenciled with the Pets Charming logo. “You gonna be Gladys today?”

I motioned to my skirt and turquoise ballet flats. “No, I don’t want to get sweaty. And my mom did my makeup.”

Drake snorted, spraying some brownie crumbs into his goatee, and reached for the shovel leaning against the wagon. “Then here’s your shovel, my lady. Hopefully you won’t get any manure on your shoes.”

My stomach tightened at the “my lady” line. If only he knew where I’d been and what I’d lost.

“Desi!” Kylee waved from the grass outside of 7Eleven.

So we were still talking, at least. “I’ll see ya, Drake.”

Drake bit into another brownie. “Cool. You’re at the end, by the way, after some big fancy truck. Oh, and after the parade, do you mind working at our booth?”

“Do I get overtime?”

Drake laughed, coughing up more brownie. Guess that was a no. Ah, well. Money is money, whether it’s a melio or minimum wage.

I dodged a rodeo clown and made my way to the band. Instruments squeaked as a few kids began tuning. The French horn player made me wince.

Kylee sat crossed-legged, sucking on her clarinet reed, her black hair arranged in its usual messy bun. She looked cute in khaki shorts and the REAL MUSICIANS SPIT shirt I’d made her for Christmas. I plopped down in the grass and grabbed a chocolate doughnut from the open box next to her. “So.”

Kylee slid her reed out. “So.”

I bit into my doughnut. I so wished I could tell Kylee about my princess adventures. She’d totally be on my side on the whole Ama situation. Plus, holding in a secret like that felt like I’d been underwater for minutes, and the only way to get air was to tell the truth.

But she’d never believe it. I mean, the girl fact-checked our history textbook, not to mention what she would say about the whole contract—

Stop. Get over it, Desi. No more thinking about subbing.

“I was drama yesterday,” I said.

“Yeah, you were.” She sighed. “But I guess I was too. And we don’t even have time to fight anyway. Not when there is
that
development to discuss.”

She pointed at the concession stand, where a tall dark-haired boy stood talking animatedly with the high school principal, Mrs. Davies. It was easy to see she was totally charmed. For one, the guy had her in tears with some funny story, and I’d never even seen her smile before. His tan skin, curly dark hair, and athletic build only added to his charm. He noticed Kylee and me watching him and broke into a devastatingly cute smile. A little zing went off inside me, like the manual jolt that came with princess mail. I ducked my head.

“He just smiled at you,” Kylee said.

“And you too. Wait, is that—?”

“The new kid. His name is Reed Pearson. Kyrsti Devon talked to him at the post office yesterday and said his accent is adorable AND he’s nice, which would officially make him a celestial being and a Sproutville, I don’t know,
endangered species
.”

“Hey, Hayden’s nice!”

“When?”

I shook my head. No amount of convincing would change her mind about Hayden. Besides, there was no denying it. This Reed guy was cute. Cute enough that he might pique Celeste’s interest and leave Hayden to me. Not that I wanted Celeste to snag Reed, but still. I’d take any window I could when it came to Hayden. “Let’s file Hayden under the topics-we-don’t-discuss category, okay?”

“Fine by me. But Reed should be fair game—Hey, he’s looking over here again. At you. Desi, he’s totally staring at you. You’ve never talked to him, have you? Ran into him at the mall or something?”

I didn’t look up. “Of course not. I’ve never even seen him before.”

A bullhorn sounded, meaning we had five minutes to get into place.

Kylee screwed her clarinet together and blew a pitch-perfect note. “Well, I hope Celeste isn’t on the do-notdiscuss list, because I really need to point out how wrong that dress is.”

She nodded at a ridiculously souped-up truck covered in fake pink and purple flowers. Celeste stood in the middle of it, her Miss Sproutville Spud Princess sash on her chest, a Vaselined smile already in place. Her underwear lines glared inside her red spandexy dress.

“Do you think guys notice how tacky she is? Seriously, I don’t get it,” Kylee said.

I groaned. “Well, I get to watch her the whole way.”

“Why? Trucks don’t poo.”

“No, but the horses behind them do. This is so humiliating.”

As if on cue, a set of Clydesdales clopped into line. And wouldn’t you know it, Hayden Garrison, in a blue vintage cowboy shirt and boot-cut jeans, was already saddled on to one of them.

Just like our version of a mall, “parade” is a very big word to describe a very small-town event. It started with kids in pioneer costumes riding their bikes while throwing candy at the crowd. I don’t know where this tradition began—I doubted the Mormon pioneers, starved and fatigued, had had much of anything to offer when they’d arrived in Idaho, let alone candy. But that was just the start. Next up were the marching bands—from junior high to the Elks lodge. The floats, all six of them, rolled out next. The first three were homemade oddities, chicken wire wrapped around old trailers and stuffed with napkins, some of which fell off. The county made the only one worthy of being called a “float,” and it carried every important county official, including my dad, dressed up as different Idaho heroes—from cowboys to Olympians. A rainbow arched over the float congregation, symbolizing a better tomorrow or yesterday or some garbage like that. Next came the convertibles and trucks, with the horses rounding out the fun.

I don’t know any of this firsthand because I didn’t actually SEE any of the parade. I’m constructing it from past memories. My parade view was Hayden, which would have been a lovely forty-five-minute diversion if I hadn’t been scooping the nastiness that came out of his horse’s backside. But Hayden did turn around once and wave at me. I would have scooped all the poop in the world for a moment like that.

When the parade of poo was over, I beelined to the Pets Charming truck and chucked my shovel into the back. I wiped my hands on my skirt and looked up to see Hayden five feet away at the horse trailer. He nodded at me as he handed his uncle the horse’s reins. “Hey, Daisy,” he said.

“Desi. Hey. Um…hay!” I pointed to the bale of hay inside the trailer. “Hay-den.”

Hayden’s expression went blank.

Note to self: avoid using awful puns as icebreakers. “So, that parade was fun.”

“Uh-huh. How’d you get stuck with the shovel?”

“I’ve been asking myself that same question all day.”

Hayden laughed a little. “Dirty job, but someone’s got to do it, right?”

“Yep.”

He squinted at my shirt. “You spelled
days
wrong on your shirt.”

“I didn’t, well, yeah I did, but I meant to. It’s a play on words.” Why was it so hard for me to talk to him? Connect, Desi, connect. This is your chance. “Don’t you like a good play on words? Or playing? With…words?”

Hayden’s blank look was back, tinged with skepticism. “You mean, like games?”

I breathed out. “Yeah. Like word games.”

“Dude, I love word games.” He listed on his fingers. “Scrabble or word searches or…”

“Boggle?” I didn’t say the word, more like singsonged it.

“Yeah. Hey, remember when we used to play it online when we were kids? Boggle.”

“I still play sometimes, if you ever want to.”

“That’d be cool. It’s been a while since…you know. I did things like that.”

We stood there for a moment, neither one saying anything. Maybe we were destined to have one of those agonizing romances like in the Audrey Hepburn movie
Sabrina
—girl is right there, guy doesn’t see, but after she comes back from Paris, she’s all he wants. I mean, he’d remembered our past, now he just needed to see through my vapor, see the girl—

“Hey.” Celeste walked up to Hayden and pressed her spandex dress into him. She spoke to him like I wasn’t there. Like I didn’t even exist. “We’re all over at the pie tent. You coming?”

“Uh-huh,” he said. Celeste looped her arm around his waist and veered him toward the festivities.

I glared at the open sky, so much bluer than the fake one at The Venetian, wishing it could swallow me whole. First my job, now my crush. Tears stung my eyes, but I choked them back.

“Hey.” Hayden had stopped walking. He was looking right at me. So was Celeste. She couldn’t ignore me now. “You wanna come too?”

“Sure!” I said. “I’ll, uh, meet you there in a bit. I have to go… talk to someone first.”

“Cool.” Hayden turned back, his arm hanging over Celeste’s bare shoulder. She looked furious, which only made me giddier.

I had to go pretend I had something important to do for the next five minutes and then, THEN I was going to eat blue-ribbon pie with Hayden Garrison.

And, well, his girlfriend—my ex–best friend.

Chapter
15

I
raced through the parking lot for the next seven minutes, trying to blow off some of the adrenaline pumping through me. It had happened. That moment. With Hayden. I was different now, surely he had noticed it. So he still messed up my name. And he’d walked away with Celeste. But I was so close, closer than ever.

I checked my reflection in the side-view mirror of a minivan. Makeup still on. Forehead still covered. I smoothed my already sweating hands on my skirt and tried my best not to skip into the fair.

Celeste and the HMs were circled around the pie sample table. There were seven girls total, looking like a jar of jellybeans in their different colored camisoles. I’d never been friends with four of them—they were seventh graders Celeste had recruited and would probably dump next year—but Annie (blue) and Nikki (orange) had been my friends before the big split. We hadn’t talked since then, but they still smiled at me sometimes in the halls, when Celeste wasn’t there.

“Where’s Hayden?” Nikki lifted her curly brunette mane off her shoulders and fanned her neck.

“His mom said he had to take his brother on a ride first.” Celeste twirled her hair around her finger. “I’m so glad I don’t have to hang out with my family.”

I scooted closer to their table. You know, just the day before I’d have sold my T-shirt collection to be in their camisole club. Which seemed silly now that I’d danced the Pony for blow-dart enthusiasts and hung out at a charity dinner with Queen Raelena, not to mention my little stint as a celebrity, even if it was an insect one.

Still, there was history with these girls. Secrets and inside jokes and laughter that I hadn’t been a part of since the split. Part of me, a big part of me, wanted it back, Celeste and all.

I lingered by the raspberry pie, waiting for a chance to break into the circle. My nerves crackled. Stupid! Why couldn’t I say two words to a group of girls who used to be my friends?

I was NOT vapor. I focused all my energy, all my insecurities and hope and courage into my pointer finger and tapped Nikki on the back.

She almost gasped when she whirled around. “Desi!” Her eyes darted to Celeste, then back to me. “How are you?”

“Great! You?”

“Really good.” She paused, perhaps to see if Celeste would interrupt. “Your hair looks cute like that.”

Celeste crossed her arms, her lips forming a tight line, but said nothing.

Nikki’s smile grew. “I saw your mom. Her dress is so hot. My mom never wears anything but mom jeans.”

“Thanks.” The compliment brought me strength. I had to remind them how things had been before they’d decided I was invisible. “Hey, remember in fourth grade when we snuck into my mom’s closet and dressed up in her gowns?”

Annie giggled like she’d been holding it in for two years. “Oh. My. Gosh! I totally remember that! That was so much fun! Remember when Nikki got stuck in a spaghetti strap?”

Nikki elbowed Annie. “Well, you put your dress on backwards.”

“I still have pictures of that!” I laughed.

Nikki covered her mouth. “You don’t!”

The other HMs broke the circle, forming a straight line in front of the table. They gave me the once-over, shoes to hair, in silence.

“I loved beauty shop days.” Annie pushed her wispy bangs out of her face. “Remember those? We should do that now, a makeover night with your mom’s dresses.”