Royal Crown

by Meg Cabot

  “Oh, thanks,” I said, trying to sound cool. Why was I trying to sound cool? I don’t know. All of a sudden I felt kind of nervous talking to him, which isn’t like me, because why should I be nervous talking to my friend-who-is-a-boy? “Yeah, we’re really happy about it.”

  “You should be,” he said. “How crazy was that cousin of yours for digging up your ancestor’s grave?”

  “Ha,” I said. I had to stand under an ornately carved gargoyle of a prancing lion coming out of the palace wall to keep from getting wet. It had been raining all day, and there was a jet of water shooting out of the lion’s mouth, but none of it was hitting me. “I know, right? Pretty gross.”

  “So I guess there’s going to be a coronation ceremony tomorrow after all,” he said.

  “I guess so,” I said.

  “So I’ll see you there?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I mean, I have to be there. I’m carrying the train of the Robe of State for my sister.”

  “Right,” he said. Now his voice didn’t sound so friendly anymore. “Olivia, are you mad at me, or something?”

  “Me?” I was surprised. “No. Why would I be mad at you? I thought you were mad at me.”

  “Why would I be mad at you?” he asked. “You’re the one who had a bunch of people over today and didn’t invite me.”

  A bad feeling crept over me. It felt as if the stream of rain from the lion gargoyle’s mouth was shooting down my back, even though I was standing well away from it. My shoulders hunched up as I pressed my phone to my ear.

  “How did you know about that?” I asked.

  “Because Gunther posted all these photos on his social media,” Prince Khalil said, “of him hanging out at the palace today with you and Nishi and that Prince Morgan kid. You guys were watching movies or something. It looked like you were having fun.”

  My shoulders hunched even more. I felt terrible. At school they were always warning us not to post photos of ourselves on social media having fun with one another, because someone somewhere who hadn’t been invited was going to see the photo and feel sad or left out.

  Only that lesson had never sunk in for Prince Gunther. It wasn’t his fault, necessarily. He just got carried away sometimes, like Purple Iris with the brushing.

  “I didn’t ask you because Luisa told me you wanted to break up,” I said, feeling lame as the words were coming out of my mouth. I realized now that following Nishi’s relationship advice had been a terrible idea. Prince Gunther was right: there shouldn’t be girl talk or boy talk. It was important to be honest.

  “Break up with you?” Prince Khalil’s voice cracked. “Why would I break up with you?”

  “Because you were mad about how I squealed on Luisa and the duke for being in my sister’s bedroom,” I said, blushing. I couldn’t believe I’d said “break up with me.” Prince Khalil and I weren’t exactly going out, because we’d never even been on a date. So how could we break up?

  Why oh why had I believed for one second anything Luisa had said, let alone allowed Nishi to keep me from calling Prince Khalil all day?

  “I wasn’t mad about that at all,” Prince Khalil said. “I thought you did the right thing. How could you have thought something so awful about me? And why would you listen to anything your cousin said, anyway?”

  “I don’t know.” I wanted to go stand under the jet of water coming from the gargoyle’s mouth and let its cool stillness put out the fire in my cheeks. But my cell phone wasn’t waterproof. “It’s just that Luisa said you and the duke were playing Warhunt, and that you—”

  “Warhunt? I haven’t seen Roger since I was at your house! I’ve been home all day, helping my auntie set up her new computer.”

  Now I felt even worse. “Oh. Well, I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, you would have,” Prince Khalil said, “if you’d called.”

  That pricked at my pride. “Well,” I said. “You could have called me, too.”

  “How could I? I thought you were mad at me, since you were having a party and didn’t invite me.”

  What was happening? Were we having our first fight?

  “It wasn’t a party,” I assured him, grasping at anything to keep what I was pretty sure was happening from happening. “It was just more babysitting. Prince Morgan asked for Prince Gunther to be there.”

  “And not me?”

  Oh no. Now I’d hurt his feelings!

  “He asked for you, too,” I lied smoothly. Grandmère says it’s okay to lie if it makes someone feel better. “But I really did think you were mad at me, so I said you were busy.”

  “Well,” Prince Khalil said, sounding only slightly less wounded. “I guess Luisa got what she wanted.”

  I was confused. “And what was that?”

  “Drama. It’s her favorite thing.”

  I couldn’t help feeling even more terrible. It was true. Once again, my awful cousin had won.

  “But at least we realized what she was up to before any permanent damage occurred,” I said, more hopefully than I felt. “Right?”

  “Sure,” he said, but he didn’t sound as convinced as I’d have liked. “Look, I have to go. My mom is calling me.”

  He wasn’t lying, either. I did hear a woman’s voice in the background calling his name. Maybe. It was hard to be sure with all the rain.

  “Okay,” I said. “But I’ll see you tomorrow, right? At the coronation?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Bye.”

  And then he hung up. He actually hung up!

  This was a wholly unsatisfactory conversation, and not just because I had it standing in the rain (well, practically standing in the rain). I think Prince Khalil and I just had our first fight.

  Only it wasn’t a fight, really. Because we both agreed I’d made a terrible decision, believing anything Luisa said.

  It left a terrible weight between my already hunched-up shoulders. Nishi noticed as soon as I walked back into the dining room.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, her smile fading. She thought I’d come in bubbling over with happiness, like any girl whose crush had finally called. “Is everything okay?”

  “Sure,” I said. I didn’t want to tell Nishi what was wrong, especially since I didn’t even know what was wrong. Maybe nothing. “Everything’s fine.”

  Except that unlike my sister, Mia, my nostrils didn’t flare when I said it. Everyone thinks I really am okay.

  And I am. Mostly.

  I’m just not looking forward to tomorrow as much as I was before.

  And it’s all Luisa’s fault.

  And maybe a little bit mine, as well.

  Thursday, December 31

  10:30 A.M.

  Royal Bedroom

  I can’t believe I’m writing this. Or that I’m about to write what I’m going to write …

  I mean, I knew the moment I woke up that it wasn’t going to be a good day. It was still raining, for one thing, and you know what they say (or at least what Grandmère says): “Rain on coronation day means marauders can’t be far away.”

  Except that I highly doubt marauders are on their way to steal the throne from Mia. Cousin René already tried that, and all he got for his pains was a one-way ticket back home to Italy (although Prince Morgan left me the sweetest thank-you note, saying how much he hoped we could hang out again sometime. I guess he doesn’t realize what the word “babysit” means—that his parents were paying us to hang out with him the whole time. Cousin René sure doesn’t: he left without paying his share of our babysitting money).

  Anyway, what happened after I woke up was even worse—in some ways—than marauders invading the palace, or people not paying you the money they owe you.

  Which is that this morning when Francesca, my wardrobe consultant, came in with my gown to start getting ready for the coronation and I went into the bathroom to bathe, I discovered I’d finally gotten my period.

  At first I thought I’d fallen asleep eating raspberry macarons in bed again (yes … this has act
ually happened before).

  But then I remembered that Nishi and I had finished all the macarons downstairs, before we’d gone to bed.

  For a minute I swear I thought I was dying, even though I’m already very well-read on the biological mechanics of the female mammalian reproductive system.

  It’s just a bit of a shock when it happens to you … especially when you’ve been waiting so long.

  And it’s happened to everyone around you.

  And your own cousin keeps harping at you about it.

  And your best friend keeps calling it “shells.”

  And then when it finally happens to you, it happens ON YOUR SISTER’S CORONATION DAY.

  You hardly expect it then.

  But of course that’s always when things happen: when you least expect—or want—them.

  Obviously I was completely unprepared and had no idea what to do (even though everyone in the entire household—except my dad—has discussed it with me multiple times, especially Mia, because they are so anxious to make sure I don’t freak out when it does happen).

  But there I was, freaking out (well, only a little). This was the big moment, and I couldn’t remember what I was supposed to do.

  Of course all I had to do was poke my head out of the bathroom and ask Nishi or even Francesca if I could borrow a tampon.

  But for some reason I didn’t want them to know. Not yet. I knew they’d make a huge fuss and congratulate me and probably kiss me and in Nishi’s case demand a selfie, and I just couldn’t handle it.

  So instead I stuffed a wad of toilet paper in my pants and told Francesca I’d be right back, that I needed to see Grandmère about something, then went down the hall to see her.

  I found her in her room sitting at her vanity table, putting on her lipstick and eyebrows for the day. Because the coronation was such a huge event, she was making her face look extra fancy.

  “Hi, Grandmère,” I said, sitting on a poofy chair beside her.

  “Well, good morning, darling,” she said, lowering her eyebrow pencil so she could get a good look at my reflection in her enormous vanity mirror. “Why are you still dressed in your pajamas? Are you ill? You look a bit peaked.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m not ill. It’s just that … well…”

  “If it’s something concerning that boy,” Grandmère said, “I wouldn’t worry. He’s quite smitten with you.”

  I was really surprised that she knew anything was amiss between Khalil and me. I’d been careful to pretend everything was fine, just fine.

  “Okay,” I said, not believing for a second that she was right. “Thanks, Grandmère. But I just thought I should tell someone, and I’m sure Mia and Helen are pretty busy … I had my period this morning.”

  Grandmère had gone back to drawing on her eyebrows, and when I said the thing about my period, she accidentally jerked her hand so the black line went running all the way up the middle of her forehead. This startled Rommel, who’d been watching both of us from Grandmère’s bed, and he let out a little yelp.

  “Darling!” Grandmère cried, reaching for a tissue to wipe off the line. “That’s wonderful! Is it your first time?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  I wasn’t surprised Grandmère had forgotten. She forgets a lot of stuff, like how old she is, what year it is, where she put her scepter, and who is the president of the United States (which to her doesn’t matter, since she doesn’t live there).

  I know menstruation is a natural process, but I still wasn’t all that comfortable discussing it with my grandmother, even though of course I really love her.

  “Of course, I could talk to Mia or Nishi or Helen about it,” I said, “but they’ll make too big a fuss. And I really don’t want to mess up my white gown for the coronation today—”

  “Oh darling, don’t worry,” Grandmère said, waving a hand. “They have pills for it now, you know, to make it go away.”

  “Really?” How, with my extensive reading on the subject, had I missed this?

  “Yes, of course, darling. You don’t think lady astronauts and professional tennis players and these actresses who do all those stunts in bikinis mess about with their periods, do you?”

  “Uh … I don’t know.”

  “Well, they don’t. You might have to wait until you’re a bit older, though, before they’ll give them to you. But I’m sure if you discuss it with Helen Thermopolis”—Grandmère always says my stepmom’s name as if it tastes a bit like spinach—“she’ll be more than happy to talk about your options.”

  This was heartening news. I wondered why Luisa didn’t know about the pills. She always knew everything that was on the cutting edge. Or maybe she did know, and preferred all the attention she got from asking to borrow tampons every two to three days.

  “In the meantime, go over to my bathroom,” Grandmère said, gesturing toward her enormous en suite, which featured a tub so large five people could fit in it. “I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for in there. It’s been ages for me, but I know Maxine”—her maid—“keeps it fully stocked for her own little emergencies. You know what to do, don’t you? Or do you need a demonstration?”

  I shook my head. In school they’d separated the girls from the boys, then shown us a film. It had been hilariously bad. Nadia had said afterward that in her former country, where she’d worked as a child actress, she’d starred as the girl character in the educational film they’d shown her class.

  “When my character got her period,” Nadia told us, laughing at the memory, “the director had me stand at the side of the lake and look sad while all my character’s friends splashed around in the water and had fun. It was so dumb!”

  I’d laughed along with everyone else at the story, but now that it’s happened to me, I sort of know how Nadia’s character felt. I understand how to use the pads, but tampons are a little too much for me right now. Maybe tomorrow.

  “How are you feeling?” Grandmère asked as I came out of her bathroom.

  “Okay, I guess.” I sat back down on her poofy chair. “It’s complicated.”

  “Oh yes.” Grandmère had successfully drawn on both eyebrows and also put on lipstick and looked less scary than before. “Womanhood is complicated indeed.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean,” I said. “I mean I thought I’d feel different after getting my—you know. Because of being a woman now, and all. But I don’t.”

  Grandmère nodded and reached for her lipstick. “No. Because that’s not what makes someone into a woman.”

  “It isn’t?” I watched as she applied the bright red rouge to her cheeks. “Then what does?”

  “Life, my dear,” she said, and regarded her reflection. “Life. Now, you’d better hurry along to your room and get ready. You’ll want to eat a good breakfast this morning. You will need all your strength to carry the ends of that wretched robe down the aisle this afternoon. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Rocky, but the truth is, despite the cleaning, it really does smell a bit like farts.”

  “Yes,” I said. “You’re right.”

  So I did exactly as she suggested. After all, she’s had a lot more experience at this royal thing than anyone else I know.

  Thursday, December 31

  12:45 P.M.

  Grand Staircase

  Well, it’s about to happen—the day I was beginning to think would never come.

  We’re all here (by “we” I mean me, Mia, the prime minister, my dad, all the television cameras—from thirty-nine different countries—and all the guests, but they’re still being seated inside the throne room).

  Of course Michael and Dad and Helen and Rocky and Grandmère are here, too, since they’re taking part in the procession. Nishi was disappointed that she’s not participating in the ceremony (she had been a junior bridesmaid in Mia’s wedding), and so had to sit in the audience with Prince Gunther and everyone else, but I’m a little relieved, actually: she found out about my “shells” when I had to change my pad a
nd has talked of (almost) NOTHING ELSE since.

  “Oh my God, Olivia!” she kept whispering all through breakfast. “Maybe we’ll both get it at the same time!”

  “Please,” I whispered back. “Stop talking about it.”

  “And your sister paid me,” she hissed. “She just slipped me the cash this morning. Ten euros per hour per kid … including Prince Morgan, since his dad skipped out on the bill! She said she felt bad about it.”

  “I know,” I said. She’d paid me, too.

  “I can get my cell phone!” Nishi said. “And call Prince Gunther whenever I want!”

  This confused me. “Prince Gunther? What about Dyl—?”

  “I’m seeing Prince Gunther later, at the after-party! And you’ll be seeing Prince Khalil later, too!”

  “Yes I will. But—”

  “It’s so exciting!”

  Nishi can hardly contain herself. I keep telling her it’s a post-coronation luncheon, not an after-party, but she doesn’t care.

  “Maybe he’ll give you his gift then,” Nishi keeps going on. “Maybe his gift really is a kiss!”

  I already know Khalil’s gift isn’t a kiss, since he said it was something that could be “ruined” if he didn’t give it to me sooner rather than later.

  And I also know from our last conversation that the chance of us kissing is about zero, since we’re barely even friends anymore, thanks to Luisa and her evil games.

  But I don’t want to mention this to Nishi, since she’s having such a good time.

  “Oh my God,” Nishi breathed excitedly over her Belgian waffles. “What if you get your first kiss and your first shells on the same day? And then Prince Gunther kisses me? That would be so romantic!”

  I love Nishi, but it was all I could do to keep from flinging myself away from the table, going back to bed, and pulling the covers up over my head.

  But it’s okay, because she’s gone now. She has my cell phone, with which she’s sworn she’ll record the ceremony for me, so I can watch how it looks from the audience (even though of course it’s going to be on every major news network later).