Mary Anne and the Little Princess

by Ann M. Martin

  “Great!” I replied.

  What good news. Things were really falling in place. Thanksgiving was going to be great fun, and our plan for Victoria was about to begin.

  * * *

  When I arrived home, I found a note attached to the refrigerator by a magnet:

  I thought for a moment. I checked the bathroom and the living room. I finally discovered a loaf of seven-grain bread behind a throw pillow in the den.

  Oh, well. Maybe we could eat extra sandwiches while we were watching Peter, Paul, and Mary.

  As I made myself a toast-and-honey snack, the phone rang.

  My heart clenched. I just knew it was Dad. Telling us he’d be gone until the new year. Or that he’d be transferring my school records to Milwaukee.

  I picked up the receiver. “Hello, Spier residence.”

  “Hi, Ms. Residence, it’s your sister.”

  “DAAAAWWN!” I screamed. I couldn’t help it. “Boy, am I happy to hear your voice. How are you?”

  “It’s eighty-seven degrees out, we were released early from school because of teacher conferences, and I’m calling from a cell phone from the poolside at Maggie Blume’s house. That’s how I am.”

  “Beam me over, Scotty!” I said.

  We cracked up. Then we both started yakking at once. She filled me in about her latest adventures with the We Kids Club. I told her all about Victoria and my plan to make her feel welcome.

  Dawn stopped me when I mentioned Thanksgiving. “You mean, you invited her to your house?”

  “Yes,” I said, “plus her nanny and chauffeur.”

  “And you’re serving the traditional brutally massacred, decapitated, and scorched bird carcass?”

  “Uh, yeah.” (Dawn, as you can see, has strong views about meat-eating, although occasionally she eats non-red meat — but apparently not Thanksgiving turkeys.) “But your mom is making some non-meat dishes.”

  “Good. I hope she doubles the ingredients.”

  “Well, I’m sure she expects some of us to — wait, what are you saying? You’re not —”

  “I am.”

  “You — you are?”

  “Yup.”

  “Coming here? For Thanksgiving?” I was screaming again.

  “Dad already bought me the ticket! Oh, Mary Anne, I miss you and Mom so much. Dad said I could do this, as long as I promised to spend Christmas with him.”

  “That’s great! I mean, not that you’re not coming for Christmas, but that your dad said — oh, you know what I mean! When are you coming in?”

  “Thanksgiving morning. I’m taking the red eye, so I won’t be there until five after nine in the morning.”

  “Great. We’ll all pick you up.”

  “No!” Dawn shot back. “Mary Anne, I want this to be a surprise to Mom. Maybe Richard can sneak out by himself and pick me up.”

  “He’s in Milwaukee on business, but he’s coming back that day.”

  “Well, maybe we can come home together in a cab.”

  “Great.”

  “But whatever you do, no spoiling the secret, okay? Except for BSC members. Maybe they can come over!”

  “Can I write Dad and tell him?”

  “Well, I guess, because we’ll meet at the airport — but swear him to secrecy, too!”

  “Okay!”

  Dawn let out a loud giggle. “I can’t wait! ’Bye!”

  “’Bye!”

  When I hung up, I was flying. I didn’t care what kind of video Sharon brought back. I could watch a tape of a golf tournament or a broccoli quiche bakeoff.

  My sister and my dad were coming home for Thanksgiving. That was all that mattered.

  Well, almost. It would be nice if SMS won the championship football game. Might as well have a happy Logan at the party, too.

  “My subjects, I am ready for my toasted waffle!” commanded Becca Ramsey as she swept into the kitchen, a plastic tiara on her head and a cotton blanket wrapped regally around her shoulders.

  The edge of the blanket clipped Jessi’s bowl of Rice Krispies, dragging it toward the edge of the table. “Hey!” Jessi shouted.

  “Waffo!” squeaked Squirt, her baby brother. He banged on the tray of his high chair, toppling over his plastic milk bottle.

  Jessi dived for her bowl. The bottle clattered to the floor.

  Jessi’s aunt Cecelia turned from the kitchen counter, where she was buttering toast. “I don’t believe I heard a ‘please’ anywhere in that question.”

  Princess Rebeccazzar sat calmly at the head of the table. “Fetch my waffle or I shall summon the Lord High Executioner!”

  “Did someone call me?” Mr. Ramsey thumped downstairs, still dressed in his robe and pajamas.

  “Off with Lady Cecelia’s head!” Becca cried.

  Mr. Ramsey recoiled in horror. “But it might fall in the toast!”

  Jessi’s dad is pretty funny. He also has a beautiful, deep voice. Jessi keeps telling him he should quit his job and become an actor. (He laughs at the idea, but he has done two voiceovers for the advertising company Mrs. Ramsey works for.)

  Aunt Cecelia is Mr. Ramsey’s sister. She does not have a beautiful voice. Nor much of a sense of humor. According to Jessi, she can be a pain. She lives with the family and helps take care of Squirt.

  “Everybody eat up,” said Mrs. Ramsey as she walked into the kitchen. “The fuller you are, the warmer you’ll be at that football game.”

  Squirt held out his bottle. “Baba!”

  “The Prince Regent would like his royal milk,” Becca informed everyone.

  “Prince Regent?” Jessi said. “What does that mean?”

  Becca thought about that a moment. “I don’t know … prince of the whole regent?”

  The Lord High Executioner laughed. So did Lady Cecelia. That made the Prince Regent clap hands and spill a bowl of rice cereal.

  Princess Rebeccazzar suffered the indignity of having to get her own waffles.

  Becca is eight years old. She’s actually a pretty shy girl, but she has a rich imagination. On the day Becca heard about Victoria, her little princess routine began.

  Now that Becca was about to meet Victoria, the routine was going overboard.

  Jessi and Becca wolfed down breakfast, then ran off to get dressed and washed up. They left the house at 10:10. Arm in arm, they hurried down Kimball Street toward the school.

  “I cahn’t wait to meet my royal frrrriend,” Rebeccazzar said.

  “Becca, she’ll like you just the way you are,” Jessi reassured her.

  “What if she doesn’t?” Becca asked.

  Jessi shrugged. “It’ll be her loss.”

  They arrived at the field the same time Claudia and I did, around 10:20. (The game was to begin at 11:00.) “Hi!” I called out.

  “Greetings, my subjects!” Becca said.

  We all met up with Stacey, who was with Charlotte Johanssen near the refreshment stands. Charlotte was bundled up in a thick woolen coat, her red hair tucked into a beret. Stacey looked very … well, Stacey. She was wearing a black baseball cap, black sunglasses, and a sleek, black, ankle-length coat with sharply padded shoulders.

  Mallory arrived next, with her ten-year-old triplet brothers, Adam, Byron, and Jordan. “Where’s the princess?” asked Adam.

  “Here I am!” replied Rebeccazzar of Ramseyland. “No flash photos, please.”

  “Boring,” Adam replied.

  Jessi took Becca aside. “Now, when Victoria arrives, promise me you’ll be yourself again.”

  “Jessiiiii —”

  “I mean it, Becca. She’ll think you’re making fun of her if you play Rebeccazzar.”

  “I know!”

  At that moment, the limo pulled up to the curb. Everyone — I mean everyone — turned to look. The few people already in the bleachers were peeking through the slats.

  The rear door opened. Kristy stepped out first, waving to the crowd like a celebrity (what a ham). Next came David Michael, then Karen, Druscilla, Abby, and Victoria.
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br />   George had agreed to take the whole neighborhood to the game.

  Last out was Miss Rutherford. She did not look as if she’d had a happy ride.

  “Heyyyyy, everybody!” Kristy said. “Victoria, come meet my best friends.”

  She introduced everyone. Behind her, Miss Rutherford was looking around, wary and uncomfortable, as if she’d just wandered into the Stoneybrook Zoo by mistake. Victoria calmly smiled, shook hands, and said things like “Pleased to meet you,” and “Charmed.”

  “Doesn’t she talk cool?” David Michael said with a proud grin, as if he’d taught her the accent himself.

  “What does ‘chommed’ mean?” Becca whispered to Jessi.

  “C-H-A-R-M-E-D,” Jessi spelled out.

  “Testing … testing one … two …” a voice blared over the P.A. system.

  “Let’s go, before the good seats are taken!” Kristy sprinted into the stands, signaling us to follow.

  Of course, practically no one was there yet. We sat near the fifty-yard line, halfway up the bleachers.

  It was gray and chilly. Miss Rutherford was clutching her scarf as I helped her up the bleacher steps. She wiped a spot with a handkerchief, then sat. “Are we permitted to leave after the first team scores?”

  “Uh, no. Here’s how it works …” As I patiently tried to describe the game to Miss Rutherford, Kristy chipped in with the finer points of downs and penalties and strategies.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Logan. He was sprinting along the track around the field with a group of teammates. When he spotted me, he gave a little wave. One of the other guys, Clarence King, saw this and made a kissy face. (So mature.)

  As for Jessi, she was busy eavesdropping on her little sister. Becca was in the middle of an entourage around Victoria — including Druscilla, Charlotte, David Michael, Karen, Adam, Jordan, and Byron.

  “Well, in our public school in England, we board,” Victoria was saying.

  “We’re pretty bored in ours, too,” Byron said solemnly.

  “Don’t you go to a private school there?” Charlotte asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Victoria informed her. “We call private schools public schools, though.”

  “You have it backward,” Adam said flatly.

  “Where do you boys go to school?” Victoria asked.

  “Stoneybrook Smellementary,” Jordan spoke up.

  “P.U.!” Byron cried out.

  “It’s free,” David Michael said.

  “Free?” Victoria looked baffled. “Are you wards of the state, like Oliver Twist?”

  “Oh, dear, not we!” slipped the voice of Princess Rebeccazzar from the mouth of Jessi’s sister.

  “Beccaaaa!” Jessi warned her, then quickly added, “Our parents pay taxes, and that covers the schools.”

  “Well, then, they are paying!” Victoria said. “So you do go to a public school. There. You see?”

  The kids fell silent at that.

  I quickly changed the subject. “Victoria says she played football in England.”

  “Who-o-oa!” Byron’s eyes were wide. “A football-playing princess?”

  “Pretty cool, Your Hike-ness!” Adam blurted out. “Get it? Because in football, when you say, ‘Hike’ —”

  “My favorite position is goalie,” Victoria barrelled on.

  “Goalie?” Jordan burst out laughing. “Uh, wro-o-ong, Vickerooni!”

  I thought Mallory was going to throttle him.

  But Victoria didn’t seem to notice the insult. She was looking out onto the field. “Those boys have awfully broad shoulders. Their uniforms make them look like robots. And who on earth has the ball?”

  “You can’t see the ball?” Adam repeated. “Maybe you can borrow my sister’s glasses.”

  “Their ball is the brown oblong thing, dear,” Miss Rutherford explained. “You see, Americans are very literal. They devised a football that resembles an actual foot.”

  “But I see them throwing it,” Victoria remarked. “In football, you must kick it, unless you’re the goalie —”

  “You’re thinking of soccer,” Karen said.

  “Europeans call soccer football,” Abby explained.

  “Really?” Byron asked.

  “Cool,” Druscilla said.

  “Chomming,” added David Michael.

  “Well, then, if the players are permitted to throw the ball, it should be called a handball, and that’s all there is to it!” Victoria announced. “Now, I’m awfully hungry. I thought I saw bangers when we came in. Please fetch some for me, would you, Miss Rutherford?”

  “Bangers?” Charlotte said. “What are they?”

  “Bang! Bang! Bang!” David Michael pretended to smash the triplets over the head with a sledgehammer.

  “You call them hot dogs,” Miss Rutherford said. “And I refuse to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous indigestion —”

  “I simply adore bonkers!” Rebeccazzar piped up.

  “You are what you eat,” Jordan murmured.

  The triplets started whooping and giving each other high fives. (Rebeccazzar was not pleased.)

  “I’ll start a food run,” Claudia volunteered.

  “Yaaaaaay!” The kids all stampeded to the concession stands with Claudia. I closed my eyes and hoped that Victoria would begin making friends while in line.

  They returned a few moments later, armed with cardboard trays full of hot dogs, cotton candy, nuts, and soda.

  Victoria made quick work of two hot dogs, pronouncing them “exquisite.”

  Becca sat next to Victoria. As the game started, Becca tried to explain all the rules (which basically meant asking Kristy and repeating Kristy’s answers).

  Whenever Victoria convinced one of us to go back down to the concessions (which was often), Becca tagged along. Whatever Victoria bought — which included food, a couple of Stoneybrook pennants, a bumper sticker that said I SMS, a bullhorn, a noisemaker, and an SMS cap — Becca would carry back.

  At one point, I leaned over to Jessi and whispered, “They’re becoming best buddies.”

  “Maybe …” Jessi looked skeptical.

  Together we watched. Becca wasn’t the only one trying to gain Victoria’s attention. Charlotte tried to start modest little conversations about school. Karen told a couple of funny stories. The triplets made dumb jokes.

  Victoria was slowly warming up. She was smiling shyly and trying to answer everyone’s questions.

  At halftime, I heard David Michael ask, “Isn’t football great, Vic?”

  That was when Victoria lit up. “Vic! You know, that is a wonderful nickname. It’s so American. Not boring old Vic … toe … ree … ahhh. Mary Anne, will you promise to call me only Vic when we’re in New York City?”

  “Are you going to New York City?” Stacey asked. “I grew up there.”

  “Splendid — I mean, grrrreat! You can be our guide.”

  “Whoa, wait a minute,” I said. “When is this trip?”

  “Wednesday,” Victoria said.

  “Victoria discussed this with the mater and pater this morning,” Miss Rutherford spoke up. “She has neglected to inform you that her parents returned to the States last night.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they read the papers,” Victoria said. “Anyway, we’ll have room for one more, too, my mother told me.”

  “Me! Me!” screamed Charlotte, David Michael, Druscilla, Karen, and the triplets.

  “Not a child, though,” Victoria replied. “Kristy, you come. There, it’s settled. Mary Anne, Stacey, Kristy. And Miss Rutherford, if her feet permit her. What a fabulous time!”

  Victoria let out a cheer and rattled a noisemaker.

  “I want to go home,” David Michael said glumly.

  “Me, too,” grumbled Druscilla.

  I could see Victoria’s friendships floating away like an out-of-bounds football.

  * * *

  How was the game? Well, Stoneybrook won. And Logan scored a touchdown, which was so fantastic. I was p
roud of him. The crowd went absolutely crazy, too.

  I think David Michael had a good time. And Karen had brought along a book, which seemed to absorb her during the second half.

  Druscilla didn’t say much during the game. She seemed distracted. Charlotte complained of being too cold, so Stacey left early with her. The triplets had decided to stay as far away as possible from Victoria, and Mallory spent most of the game trying to force them to behave.

  Miss Rutherford, of course, complained politely about the seats, the weather, and the complicated rules of the game.

  Because Stoneybrook had won the championship, we left the stands surrounded by screaming, dancing fans.

  Some of that spirit rubbed off. But mostly, the kids were itching to go home.

  Jessi said her sister seemed down and out when they arrived home. So she managed to convince her mom and dad to take the family out to an early dinner.

  You know how kids are. Becca’s dreams of a sleepover at Buckingham Palace had been dashed, but she cheered up just fine.

  From that day on, though, Princess Rebeccazzar was never again seen in the Ramsey house.

  “Absolutely not!” Kristy said, folding her arms.

  The second order of business in our Monday meeting had been whether Kristy, Stacey, and I could go to New York City on Wednesday. (The first order had been telling everyone about Dawn’s visit and organizing a late Thanksgiving Day get-together. Everyone had said yes.)

  Convincing Kristy about this one, however, was not going to be easy.

  “Kristy, be reasonable,” Stacey pleaded. “We have a half day Wednesday. George has said he’ll pick us up from school at noon. We’ll have practically the whole day in New York City” (this was something of an exaggeration) “during the holiday season! It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  “Can he drive us home in time for the meeting?” Kristy asked.

  Claudia rolled her eyes. “Kristy, lighten up. It’s the day before a family holiday. Parents aren’t going to be calling for sitters. The rest of us will be here. We’ll run a Meeting Lite.”

  “The skeleton crew,” Abby said, “that’s us.”

  “Look,” Kristy retorted, “we just finished our probation. If we all just skip out of a meeting for any old excuse —”