The Royal Treatment (10 page)

From her perch on the stage, Celeste shot me a relieved look and mouthed a thank-you.

So maybe not wasted.

“Next up, McKenzie Lighthouse from Sampson County.”

This is great. All I had to do was repeat whatever I did for Celeste, except with a bad answer, and McKenzie would lose. All’s well that ends well.

“What are you doing?” A woman dressed in backstage-worker black with one of those headset microphone things pulled me away from the wing. “Are you a contestant?”

“No.”

“Then what are you doing back here?”

Danny Dakota read the question. “McKenzie, if you could be anyone else for a day, who would you be and why?”

Oh, sweet irony. But this question was perfect! I started to think of all the possibilities. Um…Britney Spears? No, too friendly. Attila the Hun? Too hairy.

“I would be—”

The woman gave me a not-so-gentle push toward the exit door. “I’m calling security if you don’t leave now.”

I didn’t hear the rest of McKenzie’s answer, and I couldn’t add anything to it now anyway. I felt absolutely no buzzing. No way could I communicate anything to her, especially when I wasn’t sure how I was able to communicate to Celeste in the first place.

Watcher fail! Of all the times I should have been there for McKenzie, this was it. A pageant win for Real McKenzie would be a total loss for Fake McKenzie. She wouldn’t get to be a sub.

I snuck back into the theater, hoping against all hope that McKenzie’s interview did not go well.

D
anny Dakota puffed out his chest. “Ladies and gentlemen, before you stand eight beautiful, talented, and intelligent young women. These poised princesses are the future!”

The crowd applauded.

“Now let’s find out who our finalists are. Will the following five contestants please step forward.

“Willow Callaway, Celeste Juniper, McKenzie Lighthouse, Claire Thuet, and Kimi Clow.”

The fourth runner-up, Claire, was announced first. Cripes. Whoever Fake McKenzie was, she should go into the pageant world. Her future in the subbing world looked dim.

“The third runner-up, and winner of a five hundred dollar scholarship, is…McKenzie Lighthouse.”

Fake McKenzie’s eyes watered as she took her roses. Her mother, or her fake mother, glanced around the stage, probably wondering when the pigs were going to start flying.

Yes! She didn’t place in the top three! Real McKenzie would have no duties to attend to. In fact, she’d come home with decent scholarship money and a happy mother. Sure, things would be changed and Fake McKenzie had gone too far, what with it being a trial gig, but MP is a very special commodity. Not only had Genevieve brought up MP’s rarity during lunch, but I remembered hearing about it during Level One training: the agency sometimes went months without picking up anything on their MP radar. So they couldn’t be too choosy, right? Fake McKenzie could straighten out during training. Façade had given me a second chance, after all.

“The second runner-up is…Celeste Juniper.”

Celeste accepted her flowers, her smile staying in the exact position the whole time, just as my mother had taught her. Admittedly, I was relieved. If Celeste had won the whole thing, we would have never heard the end of it.

“And your next Teen Dream Idaho is…Willow Callaway!”

Willow wiped at nonexistent tears and took her victory walk. After the music ended, the audience trickled onto the stage. Celeste spotted me and waved before turning to smile at someone else. I didn’t have time to think about what it meant—I had to find McKenzie.

Someone grabbed my arm when I stepped backstage. “Hurry. These girls scare me.”

“Too positive and poised for you, Meredith?”

Meredith braced herself against a beam. “Don’t start.”

“So is it over already? I didn’t get a text or phone call.”

“You probably didn’t hear it with all these girls crying. Ugh, all this…
emotion
makes me ill.”

“Let me say good-bye to our girl.”

“Come outside for a moment. We need to talk.”

The October air blasted my bare arms as soon as I cracked the back door. We sat down on the stairs, the one lightbulb illuminating the angles in Meredith’s expressionless face. “McKenzie is gone.”

“You mean Fake McKenzie?”

“Yes. The sub.”

“Oh.” The icy wind licked my skin. Meredith didn’t so much as shudder in her chic sleeveless turtleneck.

“Is she going to the agency now?”

“She’ll have a quick stop at the agency, yes.”

I sighed. “You don’t know how relieved that makes me. Watching is so hard, like you can’t
do
anything. It’s the opposite of subbing.”

“Well, the opposite of your subbing style, Miss Impact,” Meredith said.

“I’m glad she did enough to make it through. Are you going to do her Level One training, or is someone else on that?”

“Desi. She’s going to the agency to get sub sanitized.”

A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the weather. What I knew about sub sanitization wasn’t pretty—all memory of Façade was wiped away. If I hadn’t been cleared of charges by the Court of Royal Appeals, I would have faced the same fate. I couldn’t imagine knowing about Façade, about all of this, and then going back to regular life, unaware that this world even existed. “Why would they…why would they do that?”

“Because she didn’t
pass
. We don’t want her bringing home memories as a souvenir.” Meredith snapped open her clutch and popped a Tic Tac in her mouth. “You want one?”

I pushed away her outstretched hand. “Wait, so she’s just done? That’s it?”

“Yes. It’s a trial.” She closed her purse. “Some pass. Most don’t.”

“I can’t believe this.” I rubbed my hands up and down my arms. “I feel like a failure.”

“Hey, you did your job fine. You watched. You can’t
make
someone act a certain way. If you could, you and I wouldn’t have half the problems we do, would we?”

“You seriously aren’t hiring her? She was just excited; that would wear off soon. She had a caring heart. And throwing a girl into a beauty pageant? That’s ridiculous.”

“A lot of things you subs are asked to do are ridiculous. That’s the point of a trial. We put you into the situation to see if you are able to solve problems and think on your feet. You handled your trial fine. I passed mine. It happens, not very often, but that’s how we know we have the brightest and best.”

“So that’s it. She’s gone.”

“Adios. And let’s not dwell too long on this. I have enough going on back at Façade. Lilith is on a rampage, brownnosing anyone and everyone who might get her promoted. It’s all I can do to keep my hat in the ring. And they’re planning games for Genevieve’s birthday.
Games.
If Specter wins the trophy for the three-legged race this year, those meatheads will throw it in our face—”

“Stop it!” I threw my hands in the air. “You act like you don’t even care about Fake McKenzie.”

“Ah, I forget how sensitive you are. Do you know how many girls I’ve seen fail their trial? Dozens. And good riddance to them—if we took them into the agency, they would be a risk. She won’t even remember the pageant happened. Especially once her magic potential is gone.”

“What do you mean ‘her magic potential is gone’? Where does it go?”

Meredith stood and brushed off her gray slacks. “You’re being silly about this. It’s not your problem. You should get back, find your mom, and I’ll see you as soon as your training is—”

“You can’t…You don’t take MP
away
from her, do you?”

“We’re doing the sub—society—a favor.” Another gust of wind blew a plastic bag onto Meredith’s foot. She looked down and it floated away. Even inanimate objects were intimidated by her. “We used to only take away memory, not MP. Big mistake. Façade’s history is speckled with rejects who misused magic. There was one woman—Jericho—who was fired when we learned she’d stolen her clients’ jewels for years. Once home, Jericho became one of the most notorious thieves in the world—she could walk into a bank and convince them to give her whatever she wanted; no one knew how she did it. We suspect she remembered enough about Façade to channel her MP—which was still there. So don’t get self-righteous on me. Trust me, Fake McKenzie isn’t going to miss her MP. It’s a responsibility best left for those who know how to handle it.”

“Genevieve told me that all these weird feelings I’m having at home have nothing to do with magic, because magic only happens for a sub when she has on Rouge. So once this Jericho was home, her magical past shouldn’t have mattered. She must have been a sneaky thief. Her crimes and her magic weren’t related.”

“It matters. And I find it hard to believe that
you
believe otherwise.” Meredith pointed her phone at the ground, and her bubble quivered out. She didn’t look at me when she spoke again. “I’ve said enough. I’ll be in touch soon.”

“No! I want some answers.”

“Then figure out the right questions
,
darling. Ta-ta.”

I jerked the backstage door open and slammed it behind me. Contestants glanced up from their conversations, the area quiet.

“Sorry. Needed fresh air.”

I tried to get down the side stairs and out of the theater without being noticed, but my mom saw me and waved. “Desi! Where did you go?”

“I had a backstage pass.”

“Here. Take Gracie back to the room. Celeste has press photos.”

Gracie rested her head on my shoulder and yawned. I carried her to the elevator and pounded the button with my thumb. McKenzie and her mom hardly noticed when the doors dinged open and Gracie and I squeezed inside. Mrs. Lighthouse was analyzing her daughter’s hair, which was back to funky highlights.

“I still don’t understand how your highlights came back so quickly,” Mrs. Lighthouse said.

“I told you, they were temporary.”

“But you haven’t even washed your hair.”

“New formula. Who cares—let’s talk about something more important. How I was in the top five? I wasn’t supposed to be in the top five.” McKenzie scowled at her roses like they were weeds. “What a rip-off.”

“You were captivating tonight.” Mrs. Lighthouse fanned her hand in front of her face like she was about to cry. “I think you’re ready to hit the competitive circuit hard.”

“The only thing I’m hitting hard is that girl’s face.”

Mrs. Lighthouse went on like she hadn’t heard her daughter. “And I’m so proud that you didn’t do anything obscene. I didn’t hear one curse the entire time you were onstage.”

“I was saving those for later.” The elevator stopped on their floor. McKenzie chucked her roses on the ground and stomped out.

Gracie lifted her head and pointed at the roses. “Bad?”

I kissed her forehead. Smart baby.

When I got to my room, I tucked my sister into bed and noticed that Kylee had texted me: Did any of the beauty queens turn into werewolves?

I wished Kylee was at the pageant. I needed someone, or something, to distract me from my thoughts. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t push away Meredith’s always confusing answers.

There were clearly things I didn’t know about Façade and magic. I wanted to believe that everything was as clean and glamorous as the agency’s reception area, but now that Fake McKenzie hadn’t made it, I was starting to notice the spots.

If the story Meredith told me was true, then magic could be used anywhere. I didn’t need to be on Façade’s clock. I didn’t need the Rouge. Even before I’d started working with Façade, I’d had twinges of bigness, and now they’d escalated during play rehearsals. So magic was there, in me. Somehow.

By why would Façade lie? Was their reason really to stop me from stealing jewelry or taking over the world? Meredith said it was a protection, but Façade put subs in harm’s way all the time—volatile bubbles, sticky royal situations. I mean, royals can be
assassinated
. So if they trusted me enough to hire me, trusted me with the huge secret that Façade even existed, then why not explain the full capacity of magic?

It’s not like I thought Façade was evil or anything. And everyone besides Lilith had been gracious and kind. Even Meredith, underneath her Coat of Snarky Colors, was honest and caring. It was more like there was a piece to the puzzle that I was still missing.

Façade tried to control magic to the point that they took it away if they didn’t like how it was used…took it away without the poor girl’s consent. They didn’t own some magical monopoly—it was clear that magic existed beyond the Rouge and bubbles and royals. Suddenly, it dawned on me. Genevieve knew this, and that’s why she’d given me her card—so she could
monitor
me. Well, now I knew better. I would keep my experiences to myself.

And figure out how to have more magical moments.

I
spent a lot of time alone in my room over the next two weeks. My mom asked if the pageant had somehow upset me, if I needed to talk. I
did
need to talk, but there was no one to talk to. The people in my home life couldn’t know anything about Façade. And the people at Façade—well, I wasn’t sure who I could talk to there anymore.

There were two ways for me to find answers. The obvious one was to get back on another job. So I researched, researched, researched. Fashion spreads, yacht blueprints, basic sewing skills. And when I wasn’t doing that, I was preparing for the play. I’d felt the buzzing twice while rehearsing. To understand that magic, I had to figure out what sparked it.

We were only two weeks away from opening night, so by now everyone was comfortable with their lines and the scenes were blocked. Now it was more about our facial expressions and hand gestures. The
nuances,
as Mrs. Olman would say. She pulled me aside once and mentioned that I should try to “connect” like I did during auditions. The fact that she could sense my lack of magic only frustrated me more.

And, oh! I didn’t even need to worry about the kiss. Reed had to wear a DONKEY HEAD. Like a legitimate costume head. Mrs. Olman ordered it from a specialized Shakespeare costume company. Which sounds impressive, but the thing was hideously massive. The first rehearsal he had to wear it, I was so glad I was a fairy. Well, I was glad for that regardless—I’d helped the costume team with a few design ideas, hoping it would count toward my BEST. They did this cool beadwork thing that twisted all around the skirt of my costume so it caught the stage lights and sparkled.

But Reed? He looked ridiculous. Which was the point. It still made it hard to block the scene, since he wasn’t used to the costume’s weight.

“You need to overexaggerate your movements,” I whispered to him as Mrs. Olman showed the servant fairies how to flutter (including Celeste, who needed a little humility now that she’d told everyone she was
practically
Miss Teen Dream Idaho). “You don’t have your face to convey the meanings.”

Reed jerked his head to the side, so I assumed he was staring at me. “And what experience do
you
have wearing a donkey head?”

“I don’t. But I do have plenty of mascot experience from my old job at a pet store, and I know how heavy that thing can get. You don’t want the audience to know that. It’s supposed to be your real head now. Whatever magic changed you probably also gave you sturdy neck muscles.”

“And what do you know about magic?”

Ha. Hahahahahaha. HA.
“Hey, I took your advice. No need to bite my head off just because yours is so inflated now.”

The fairies swirled around us. Mrs. Olman clapped her hands in beat. “Counts of eight, girls! It’s a dance. And don’t chew gum, Celeste!”

“Sorry.” Reed pulled off his head. “I wasn’t trying to be a jerk. I usually feel a lot more natural when I’m trying to be someone else.”

“I think it’s funnier if you’re awkward.”

“Awkward. I got that down, then.” He rubbed his stat-icky hair. “Hey, so I saw your friend Kylee yesterday at the gas station.”

I knew this. Of course I knew this. Kylee had called to replay every moment of the two-minute interaction, down to the candy bar he was buying. She’d set a new record by saying ten words to him. At this rate, they would complete an entire conversation by college.

“Oh really? Cool.”

“I was thinking…we should all hang out sometime.”

I tried to ignore the teeny thrill I got when he said that. I liked Reed. Not
liked
liked, but I always looked forward to joking around with him at rehearsals. I didn’t know how I would have survived the play without him. It could be fun to spend more time with him. With Kylee, of course.

“Would you mind?” he asked. “I’m still new here and I’ve been so busy working that I haven’t gotten to know the real Sproutville.”

“You’ve seen the gas station. That’s a major highlight.”

Reed played with a donkey ear. “They do have good doughnuts there.”

“Sure. Kylee would love it.…” I paused. Oops. Didn’t want her to sound like she liked him
too
much. Even if she did. “And so would I. We both would. We’ll show you the cool, secret places.”

“Cooler than Mark Twain’s house?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Actors!” Mrs. Olman called out, her voice echoing in the theater. One of the girls in my fairy court looked near tears. “We are not
feeling
things today. We are not reaching out
or
in. I want everyone to sit down on the stage right now.”

Everyone shuffled in place. No one sat.

“Now!” Mrs. Olman bellowed.

The floor creaked as we did one obedient plop. “You.” Mrs. Olman pointed at me. “Desi. Come stand by me.”

I shot a look at Reed. He was trying to cover a smile with his hand.

“Make haste, please. You can make eyes with your donkey boy in a moment.”

I could feel my face flame as I stood and joined Mrs. Olman. Making eyes? With Reed? Whatever. Telepathically agreeing that this woman should be head counselor at Camp Crazy Sauce was
not
making eyes.

“Tell me, Desi, have you ever been in love?”

The rest of the cast snickered. “Um…I’m only thirteen. Almost fourteen.”

“Not quite fourteen. The same age as Juliet, one of the most tragic heroines in the theater.”

“Tragic because she was crazy,” I mumbled.

“What’s that? This is the theater. Speak up.”

“It’s just…Juliet killed herself because of some stupid boy that she’d only known for, like, a week. I wouldn’t count that as love.”

“You haven’t answered the question.”

I ducked my head. “Well, I’ve liked boys. Of course.” I thought of Karl. Of course I thought of Karl. But I could easily recognize that my twisted feelings for him were not a Shakespearean tragedy. I hardly knew the guy. I wouldn’t kill myself for him. And I was ONLY THIRTEEN. If Juliet was my age when all that Romeo stuff went down, then she was a moron. I was old enough to recognize that I was still too young to claim eternal love. Liking someone? Crushes? That’s more my speed. “But I’m no Juliet.”

“That’s the point. You need to
become
her. You all do. You need to take your own emotional experience, even if it’s not nearly as strong as your character’s, and pull it out to full strength. I doubt any of you have been jealous enough to kill, like Othello. But the root of that emotion is the same. Play it up in your head. Feel, feel, feel. Now, Reed, come over here, please. With the donkey head.”

Reed made a big show of placing his head back on, bumping into me like he couldn’t see. “Now. Miss Bascomb. Close your eyes. Think of a boy you like. Capture his image in your head. Got it?”

I closed my eyes, the image of Reed’s donkey head replaced by Karl in the garden. “Got it.”

“Now, keep your eyes closed. Tell that boy how you feel, but direct it to Reed.”

“I wish…” I pried open one eye. Reed’s donkey face looked down on me. I stifled a giggle. “I wish you liked me the same way I like you.”

“There is no emotion in that!” Mrs. Olman kicked the air. “Try again.”

I sighed. My one shot to talk to Karl again. What would I say?

The whole cast was watching me, waiting for me to deliver. Time for me to pull that magic out of my hat. Right now. Abracadabra. Any day.

Karl, I love you.
No.
Karl, I like you.
No. The words weren’t working with Karl. Probably because I knew I could never say those things to him. Not as me.

Karl’s face faded and all I saw was Reed. I pictured the face he was making underneath the donkey head—he had to be smiling. He was always smiling. And his eyes probably were crinkly on the side. And he might be licking his lip. He always did that right before he said something funny, like he wanted to taste the deliciousness of the words before he said them. And then I felt a faint spark, a sparkle really, right in my toes—

Wait. Where did
that
come from?

I blinked until the image was gone, losing any concentration I had going for me. There was no swelling or bigness or lovesick devotion. There was nothing. No magic. No feelings. No thinking about the lips of my best friend’s crush. That
so
did not just happen.

I realized I still had to deliver a line. I cleared my throat and said, “Er…I like you a lot.”

Mrs. Olman threw her hands in the air. “No! You need to work on that. Emote, emote, emote.”

I swallowed and nodded, worried if I said something, my voice would crack.

“Now, Reed. What about you? Have anyone in mind?”

“I’m not the one in love here, right? I mean, besides in love with myself.”

“Have you ever known someone like that, then?”

“I’ve known a million someones like that.”

“Well then, FEEL.”

Reed delivered his line. He sounded pompous, self-centered, and likeable. He was more Bottom than any actor had ever been. It was perfect.

“Bravo. Now, Desi, I want you to kiss Reed right on his donkey lips. Just like you would your love.”

“I said I’m not in lov—”

“Fine. Your schoolboy crush. Whatever. Kiss Reed like that. Ignore the fur.”

I leaned in and planted one right on his fake lips. The cast giggled. I stroked an ear. The cast laughed. Well, if I can’t get magical, at least I can be comical.

Mrs. Olman pointed at the fairies. “See that? That is acting. You two take a seat. Demetrius. You’re next.”

Reed tugged off his donkey head. “What’s up with you? You can do better than that.”

“I was fine.” I stared straight ahead.

“But you can do better than fine.”

I finally looked at him and frowned. “Who’s the director here?”

“I’m just saying what Mrs. Olman did at first.”

“Maybe I should listen to
Mrs. Olman.
”

“You’re getting upset because you know I’m right.” He wrinkled his forehead. “You aren’t trying hard enough.”

“Trying? Trying?” I stood up. The rest of the cast was watching me now, but I didn’t care. “All I do is
try
. Sorry we can’t all be perfect actor boy all the time. Some of us aren’t as good at lying as you are.”

“Acting isn’t lying. It’s showing the truth.”

“Fine. You’re good at it and I’m not.”

“That’s not what I said. Don’t go junior high on me.”

Ouch. I
was
being childish, but I didn’t care. Besides, being mad at Reed was a lot easier than being…whatever I was being before. And why did that little zing in my toes, the first bit of magic I’d felt since coming home, drain away so quickly? Where was my control? I needed someone to explain how the stupid power
worked.

“I
am
in junior high. Sorry if I’m not as mature as you.”

“Desi, I’m sorry. I was honestly trying to help.”

“Well, don’t. No, if you want to help, stop telling me what to do.” I turned on my heel and walked backstage. I stayed back there until rehearsal was over, then zipped out to my mom’s car before Reed got a chance to confuse me any more.