Princess for Hire (3 page)

I hiccupped and waited for her pity.

“First off, I want you to know that I think you’re a great, caring person. In fact, sometimes I think you care
too
much.”

Dear sweet Kylee.

“Second, I want a real answer, all right?”

“Um…what?”

“Okay, so I don’t want this to sound rude, and I hope we’re tight enough that I can say this without hurting you, but really—why do you even like Hayden? Is it just because he’s hot? I mean, yes, he’s very, very cute, but he’s not really a match for you, you know? He’s totally into sports and not really nice and, well, he seems kind of…stupid.”

Stupid? What happened to dear sweet Kylee? “Hayden’s not stupid! He’s a word person like me. He plays Boggle. Boggle players have…depth. And he
is
nice, just a quiet kind of nice. Like he lets his friends cut him in the lunch line. And today,
today
he said he liked my T-shirt designs.”

“But is that enough to keep a million-year crush going? To be honest, Des, this Hayden thing is a waste of my phone minutes, and it’s a waste of your life.”

“This isn’t a
thing
with Hayden. It’s an…an investment. And I really, really like him.”

I could almost hear Kylee roll her eyes over the phone.

“Get real. You need a new guy. A guy like Hayden Garrison will never stop admiring himself long enough to notice you. You’re sweet, smart, and hilarious. You deserve better.”

It was fine for
me
to say this, but way out of line for Kylee to dismiss my potential soul mate as a
thing
. “Sorry I said anything,” I said, clearly not sorry.

“I’m just trying to help you,” Kylee said.

“Just forget it, okay?”

“Hey, I am! And if you can’t see that, then I’m the one who’s sorry.”

I didn’t answer. The silence turned brutal. Months and months of delicate progress erased in two awkward minutes.

“I have to go,” Kylee said.

“Me too.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ll see you tomorr—”

“Bye.”
Click
.

Forget making an impact. Thanks to my big mouth, I was doomed to a solitary life of bottom-feeding dorkdom. I trudged to the bathroom, dumped half a bottle of bubble bath into the tub, and tried not to think about the day’s disasters. In a hot bath, surrounded by bubbles, I could almost picture myself at a spa with celebrity magazines—no, actual celebrities!—where my biggest problem would be picking a massage package, not strategizing ways to erase the Groundhog Debacle from my crush’s memory. Or wondering if I’d ever make a best friend again.

I let the tub fill while I wandered downstairs to get the newspaper. I needed to find a new job and fast.

In the kitchen, Mom held Gracie on her hip while she stirred a bowl of organic baby food. It freaked me out how much my mom and sister looked alike, especially because the only maternal physical trait I’d inherited was a double-jointed thumb. They both wore pink sundresses; Gracie’s auburn hair was pulled into pigtails and Mom’s was twisted up.

No one bought me a matching sundress, not that I’d wear it, especially a pink one. Not my style. But it would’ve been nice if Mom had, you know, offered.

The newspaper was on the kitchen counter, along with a letter from another pageant organization. Mom was Miss Idaho in college, and she also taught charm classes in our formal living room, a course I failed (“Watch the crumbs, dear. Pinkie up! Don’t frown, you’ll get wrinkles”) while whiz kid Celeste flew through to her first pageant win.

“They want you to MC another one?” I nodded toward the letter.

Mom smiled her perfect didn’t-even-need-braces-guessit-was-just-good-genes smile. “Yes, but I think I’ll have to decline. I need to strengthen my connection with Gracie, so we’re enrolling in a Mommy and Me sculpting class.”

“You know Gracie isn’t even two yet, right?”

“She’s a toddler. Much of who you become as a person is decided in those early years.”

“What was I like as a toddler?” I stuck my finger into the baby food. Bananas.

Mom slapped my hand. “Stubborn, but in a good way. When you were eight months, you decided you wanted to walk. It took you two months and lots of falling to get it, but you never quit. I always thought you’d change the world.”

I swallowed.
Thought
. Past tense.

“So what happened at work today?” Mom asked. “Dad said you were pretty upset.”

“Oh, nothing. My boss believes his fish tank has mystical powers, and Celeste…came by the store.”

“I hope you weren’t mean to her, honey. I feel so bad for everything she’s been through.”

I collapsed against the counter. Everything
she’d
been through? Yes, being a nasty HM can be quite exhausting. “Mom, you don’t know what she’s like.”

“Don’t slouch, honey.”

I automatically rolled my shoulders back.

She smoothed a hair out of my face. “Now, you’re not going to believe this, but I’ve been there too.”

“Uh, sure you have.”

My mom was voted best personality, had a boyfriend every year since she was twelve, and had probably never even gotten a zit. Her version of “there” wasn’t even in the same galaxy as mine.

“It’s true. I was very close friends with this girl until sixth grade. Then I developed sooner and she started spreading cruel rumors about me. It’s just jealousy.”

“This isn’t the same. You don’t see it. Like, there’s this boy—”

“Ba!” Gracie said.

“Oh my gosh!” Mom laughed.

“What?”

“Jeremy, get in here. Gracie stuck her hand in the baby food and called it ‘ba’! She knew it was a banana!”

Dad zipped in with the video camera just in time to catch Gracie flicking a glob onto Mom’s dry-clean-only dress, and he and Mom squealed their encouragement.

“She’s brilliant!” Dad kissed Gracie’s chubby cheek. “And the camera loves her already!”

“She does have
presence
,” Mom added with pride.

Gracie held out a pudgy, mush-covered hand to me.

I stroked her cheek, glad someone was including me. My parents didn’t even notice when I snatched the newspaper and left them to plan my little sister’s future.

When I got upstairs, the bathwater was close to overflowing. I turned off the faucet and stepped into the tub, making sure to keep my hands and newspaper dry.

Heaven.

Well, about ten seconds of heaven before I remembered why I needed to relax. I flipped to the personals first (hey, what did I have to lose at this point?), but all the self-titled Prince Charmings were divorced and fifty. Besides, I’d liked Hayden ever since he’d given up his swing for me in fourth grade. Saw my need and chivalrously left. Granted, he’d run over to the drinking fountain, then wanted the swing back, but that noble act had proven to me that he was Paul Newman and more. And, okay, his looks played a part. A tiny part.

I flipped to the classifieds page. Ads looking for everything from models to receptionists to library janitors. Maybe I’d find an advertisement for a ridiculously tall teenaged girl with mascot experience. Maybe I could pick apples or pull things off people’s shelves.

On the next page, one ad popped out instantly. Among the tiny black-and-white posts, this one was written in green loopy cursive and took up half a page. In fact, it was so blinding, I almost dropped the paper in the tub. What kind of ink had they used? For a second, I swore the words
shimmered
.

Princess for Hire

Do you have what it takes to be royalty?

Wanted: teenage girl to serve as substitute princess. Must be willing to travel.

Please call Meredith.

Perfect. The ad was far from specific, but I figured they wanted someone to dress up. Do some parties. Wave a wand and make little girls giggle. I could do that. A princess costume beats the heck out of rodent-wear. And a poofy dress would cover up my bird legs. Show off my waist. Ooh, maybe I’d get a tiara and a wig. A blond bob like Marilyn Monroe! Then I wouldn’t care if Hayden Garrison saw me at work. In fact, I’d be ecstatic for Hayden to see me in that getup.

Plus, I’d always secretly had this thing for princesses. Think of it. Ordinary girls, like Cinderella, who have all these great qualities no one notices except the mice. Or Sleeping Beauty, who is fair and pure and doesn’t even know she’s a princess! Snow White—well, Snow White kind of confuses me, actually—but even ol’ Snow is able to escape from laundry duty. Sure, the stories aren’t exactly feminist battle cries, but still it’s sweet how the prince just knows she’s the one. And after that,
everything
changes, everything is wonderful, and the girl goes from a nobody to the biggest somebody in the kingdom.

Who wouldn’t want that?

The fantasy was short-lived. The ad didn’t even have a contact number! All it said was “Please call Meredith.”

Why would they use such expensive ink and not even leave a number or last name?

Lame.

“Hey, Meredith! Take this!” The newspaper fluttered as it sailed across the room. I slid under the bubbles, holding my breath until I couldn’t take it anymore.

When I sat up, head swimming, the bubbles floated around me. One bubble rose out of the bath toward the ceiling. It hung in the air and began to grow. I rubbed my eyes, thinking the bath soap had blurred my vision.

It hadn’t. The bubble was now the size of a watermelon, and blooming by the second. I jumped out of the tub as the bubble neared the size of a yoga ball. Water sloshed onto the floor. My heart hammered.

Obviously, the groundhog costume fumes caused hallucinations. I wondered if my dad would count insanity as an excuse for me to quit. Probably not.

I wrapped myself in my towel and backed away from the soapy apparition. It grew until there wasn’t any room left. Then…

Pop!

The bubble burst. Soap splattered the walls, and foam covered my face. I fumbled for a hand towel, wiped off the suds, and screamed.

I was not alone in the bathroom.

Chapter
4

“C
alm down!” said a low, clipped voice. “Human eardrums were not meant for sounds that loud. And jaws were not meant to drop that low.” The woman standing in front of me shut my gaping mouth with one long finger. “If we’re going to work together, your manners will need serious help.”

The short woman, dressed in a black pinstriped business suit and open-toed heels, placed her hand on her hip. The only thing stronger than her citrusy perfume was her air of importance. Everything about her was sophisticated, from her creamy brown skin to her perfectly plucked eyebrows and sharp features. She looked like she’d arrived straight from a fashion runway, except for one thing. Her hair was a shocking shade of chartreuse green.

It took me a few moments to find my voice post-scream. “Why…why are you in my bathroom?” I clutched the towel even closer to my dripping skin. Who was this woman, and how had she floated in that bubble like Glinda from
The Wizard of Oz
? Most important, why was she here, with me? Had I drowned?

“Darling, there’s no need for modesty.” Still, she kicked my clothes across the room and turned around.

I took that as my cue to throw on my shirt and tug my jeans onto my still-wet legs. If I had drowned (or maybe I was in the process of drowning and this was an inbetween-being-alive-and-dead hallucination?), at least my parents wouldn’t have to fish me out of the tub naked. Although, if I was drowning, how was I standing up?

“How did you—”

“Are we playing the question game here?” She twisted back toward me, her heels clicking on the tile. “I don’t have time. Take note. Only ask what you really need to know. You’re not my only client. People to see, things to do. Although we might have time for an emergency makeover. What a hideous shirt. What does it say?”

I fingered the tiny red print running along the middle of my navy T-shirt.
FLOCCINAUCINIHILIPILIFICATION.

She eyed the bathroom warily. “The places they send me. Is that some Idaho thing?”

“It’s the longest real word in the English language. It means estimating something as worthless. So I made the letters small, like they don’t matter. It’s a great word, right? I design my own T-shirts on my computer, and try to make them ironic or funny. I do other kinds of graphic design too—pamphlets and Web site banners, but I just got this new T-shirt computer program, so I mostly focus on that. If you want, I have a Web site—”

“Well, aren’t you a little chatterbox?”

Her question cut into my fevered marketing pitch and snapped me back to reality—if having a strange woman pop out of a bubble can be considered reality. “I’m sorry, but, uh…who
are
you?”

“Fine.” The woman’s smile looked pained. “We’re on a tight schedule so I’d hoped to skip the formalities. But here they are. I’m Meredith Pouffinski. Princess agent extraordinaire, or so I’ve been told.”

I blinked. She blinked. I blinked again.

“Now would be the time for you to say your name. It’s a complicated practice, introductions. I hope you can make it through this.”

She was insulting me. In my bathroom! Wait, why in the world was she popping up in my
bathroom
?

“Uh, Desi.” I cleared my throat. “I’m Desi.”

“Desi. Hmm…” She tapped her dimpled chin. “That doesn’t work for me. What is Desi short for?”

“Nothing. Just Desi.”

“How about Despina? Greek for
young lady
. I like that better.”

Wow. This couldn’t be a dream because I’d have come up with someone a whole lot more bippity boppity booish than this lady. This was headed in the direction of a nightmare.

“Okay, wait.” I pushed on my temples. Everything in the room, Meredith’s annoyed expression in particular, was remarkably clear. Aren’t hallucinations supposed to be all fuzzy? “So why are you here exactly?”

She was taken aback. “Excuse me? Remember, I got a call from
you
.”

“What?”

“Right there in the ad: Call Meredith. And you did. Now I’m here. Only girls with some Magic Potential can see the ad.” She peered at my dripping hair. “Though mistakes have been known to happen.”