Princesses, Inc.

by Mari Mancusi

  I frowned. “Kalani, were you even listening to anything we just said? We can’t take on any new jobs, remember?”

  “I know. I know. But”—Kalani did a little happy wriggle dance in her seat—“she wants all four of us. For one night. And she’s willing to pay . . . exactly . . .” She did a fake drumroll, by banging her hands against the table. “Six hundred dollars!”

  We all stared at her, then at one another, dumbfounded. Six hundred dollars? Exactly six hundred dollars—the amount of money we needed to reach our goal? Six hundred dollars for just one night?

  “When’s the wedding?” I asked.

  “Looks like in about two weeks. A Saturday night.”

  I nodded slowly. “I’ll be off grounding by then.”

  “And the playoffs will be over,” Madison added. “So I won’t have practice or any games.”

  “And it’s on a weekend,” Sarah chimed in. “So my parents won’t freak.”

  We fell silent for a moment, thinking it over. It almost sounded too good to be true. But there it was, right on Kalani’s phone.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go and cancel the jobs we can’t cover—the parents will just have to understand. And then we’ll make this our very last job. We’ll go to the wedding. Make the money. Then hang up our princess dresses for good.”

  My friends nodded slowly. Smiles spread across our faces.

  “You know, Kalani,” Madison said, “for once you may be right. This could very well be the best thing ever.”

  “And our very last chance,” I declared, “for us to make our Collin Prince dreams come true.”

  24

  TURNED OUT THERE WAS ONE upside to being grounded. It was really good for writing. Each evening, after I finished my homework and presented it to Nancy for approval, I would go back to my room and sit down at my computer and get to work.

  First I would work on my short story. Comicpalooza was fast looming, and I needed to give Brody’s dad time to read it and give his comments. This way, if he had any suggestions, I’d have time to work them in before Comicpalooza.

  Then, once I started getting bored of that and needed a little inspiration, I’d go back to Collin Prince. Sarah and I had been working on a brand-new story featuring Collin as a valiant knight in shining armor and my best friend as a kick-butt dragon hunter, sent back in time to save the world. There was action, adventure, and, of course, because Sarah was the coauthor, romance. Bonus—it was turning out even better than I expected, and I found myself looking forward to getting home from school each day to work on it.

  The other story was . . . less fun to work on. And certainly nothing I ever looked forward to writing. But I knew that real writing was not always fun and games—sometimes it was hard work. And serious writing had to be taken seriously. So I slogged away at it each day and forced myself not to delete every other sentence until I finally was able to type the very best sentence of all:

  The end.

  I stared at the words, a chill of pride winding up inside of me. It was finished—it was actually finished. A real story. Serious, literary, important with a capital I. My first real literature. Ready to take on the world.

  Well, it would be once I got Brody’s dad’s notes. Hopefully he wouldn’t have too many edits. After all, there wasn’t a ton of time between now and Comicpalooza.

  In any case, no time like the present to find out. And so, with hands shaking a bit from anticipation, I opened up my e-mail program and sent out two e-mails. One to Brody—with the short story attached. And the other to Sarah—with the next installment of the Collin Prince adventure.

  E-mails sent, I leaned back in my chair, a small smile spreading across my face. I had done it. I had actually done it.

  This definitely called for ice cream.

  * * *

  I had just finished eating the largest ice cream sundae known to mankind when my cell phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID, then grinned. It was Sarah. She must have gotten the chapter and read it already. I grabbed the phone, anticipating the excited screaming that was sure to be coming from the other end of the line. This was, after all, the best Collin Prince chapter yet. And the way I ended it? She’d probably already started the next part, just so she wouldn’t be kept in suspense.

  “So what did you think?” I asked, not bothering with saying hello. “Was it everything you ever dreamed of and more?”

  “Um . . .” She sounded a little hesitant, which made me frown. “I don’t get it.”

  “What?” I demanded, something uncomfortable stirring in my heart. Why wasn’t she completely freaking out? Why wasn’t she telling me I was the best friend ever? Did she not like the chapter? How could she possibly not like the chapter?

  “Did you not like the chapter?” I blurted out.

  “No. I did not, actually.”

  “What?” I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring down at it, confused as anything. “What are you talking about? How can you not like it? You love everything I write about Collin Prince.”

  “That’s true. But the thing you sent me? It was not about Collin Prince,” she snapped back.

  Wait . . . what? Sarah was still talking, but I could no longer process her words.

  “Hold on,” I managed to squeak out, running to my computer to pull up my e-mail program and click on the sent folder, all the while my heart thudding uncomfortably against my chest. “Did I send you the wrong story?”

  “What do you mean, wrong story?” Sarah’s voice was rising now. And it sounded angry. “There’s more than one story?”

  I couldn’t answer. All I could do was stare at the screen as my stomach twisted into painful knots. In fact, it was all I could do not to throw up on the keyboard. I blinked my eyes a few times, praying that they were playing tricks on me. But the screen remained the same.

  I had sent Sarah my Comicpalooza story.

  Which meant I must have sent Brody . . .

  “Oh no. No, no, no!” I cried.

  “Hailey Smith. What is going on here? Why are you writing other stories when you’re supposed to be working on one with me?”

  “I am working on one with you. And I have the Collin Prince chapter, all ready to go. I just sent you the wrong one.”

  But Sarah clearly wasn’t listening. “Is this the real reason you’ve been keeping me hanging every week?” she demanded. “You keep telling me you’re so busy. That you don’t have time to do the next chapter. Is that because you’ve been working on some other story instead?”

  I drew in a breath, trying to stay calm, even as my pulse raced ice water through my veins. “Look, I just needed something to enter in the young writers’ contest at Comicpalooza, that’s all.”

  “Uh, you have something. Our story. Why not just enter that?”

  “Come on, Sarah!” I ran a hand through my hair, exasperated. “That’s just stupid fan fiction. This is an important award!”

  Silence on the other end of the line. Uh-oh.

  “Sorry,” I amended. “I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean—”

  “That you think our story is stupid?” Sarah repeated back to me, her voice cold and quiet.

  “Sarah . . .”

  “I can’t believe it. You’ve been lying to me this whole time. Telling me you have no time to write, all the while secretly spending that ‘no time’ on some superior contest-winning story that I’m evidently not good enough to help you with.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again. “It wasn’t like that,” I protested. “I love writing with you. And I don’t think our story is stupid. This was just something I started on the side. No one but Brody even knows about it.”

  I heard her suck in breath. “Brody. Of course. Selling out your best friend for a boy. Real nice, Hailey.”

  “I was going to tell everyone,” I said weakly. “I was just waiting to see if I could really finish it first.”

  “Well, congratulations on finishing. I hope you win all the awards in the u
niverse for this stellar, superior, not-stupid work of art. Just think—you already have Worst Best Friend Ever in the bag.”

  “Sarah!” I protested. But she had already hung up the phone.

  I slumped back in my chair, my stomach churning. Why hadn’t I just told her about the other story to begin with? Maybe then she wouldn’t have been so mad. Of course she’d still want to enter the Collin Prince story in the contest. How could I explain to her how much that wouldn’t work? That the editors were looking for real literature. Like the kind we read in English class in school. Not Collin Prince fan fiction. The kind I had just accidentally sent to Brody for his father to read.

  Oh yeah. That.

  I bounced back into action, grabbed my phone, and texted Brody. Maybe there was still time.

  Sent wrong file—don’t read! I’ll send the real one now!

  Sucking in a breath, I forced myself to go back to my computer and e-mail him the correct story this time. I e-mailed Sarah her chapter, too, along with a pleading apology, not that I thought she would read it at this point.

  Tears stung my eyes as I picked up the phone to text Brody again. My fingers were shaking so hard I could barely type.

  OK. New file sent.

  Delete the old one.

  Don’t even open it. It’s nothing.

  It’s just a grocery list. No big deal.

  But delete anyway.

  A moment later I got a text back.

  Sorry. Already sent it to my dad. I’ll send him the other file now.

  I sank back in my chair. I was too late.

  Please! Tell your dad not to read that story!

  Uh, I thought you said it was a grocery list.

  Yes! The grocery list! Don’t let him read the grocery list!

  I realized, vaguely, that I sounded like a crazy person. But I was feeling like a crazy person, so I guess that made sense. With a groan I threw my phone down onto my desk, wandered over to my bed, and collapsed onto the mattress. My eyes immediately went to the Collin Prince poster on my wall.

  “Is it possible to die of humiliation?” I asked Collin. “Because I’m pretty sure I’ve got a critical case.”

  But Collin only smiled back at me without answering, the annoying way inanimate objects always do—outside cartoon films. I sighed, giving up and rolling over to grab my stuffed Charmander—who had always been my favorite Pokémon—and hugged it close, closing my eyes.

  “It’ll all be fine,” I told myself. “Sarah will read the right chapter and forgive me, and Brody’s dad will get the right story, and everything will be fine in the end.”

  Now if only I could make myself believe that to be true.

  25

  “SO TOMORROW’S THE BIG DAY!” I pronounced as I set my tray down at the lunch table Friday afternoon. “The masquerade wedding. Our very last job—ever! Is everyone excited? Have you memorized your scripts? Sarah, did you get the masks from the theater department? Madison, did Brody give you the glow cube treasure?”

  I stopped short as I realized Madison and Sarah were not looking at me. They were both staring down at their lunch trays, matching guilty expressions on their faces.

  Uh-oh.

  “What?” I demanded, my hands on my hips.

  “Um, you know how it was raining last week?” Madison asked, still not looking at me. “And they canceled that playoff game?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “Coach just told me they rescheduled it for tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Madison!”

  “I’m sorry!” she cried, looking up at me. “I thought I’d be done by now! I was totally supposed to be, if it wasn’t for that stupid rain.” She sighed. “But I can’t miss this, Hailey. The whole team is depending on me.”

  “I know. I know.” I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. “Okay. Fine. That stinks, but I’m sure we’ll be able to manage without you. We’ll still have three babysitters, after all.”

  “Um, actually, two babysitters,” Sarah said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear her.

  “What?” I cried, jerking around to face her. She’d barely spoken to me since the whole Collin Prince story thing—but I didn’t think she’d go as far as to let it affect the wedding gig and our trip to Comicpalooza.

  She shrugged her shoulders, still not looking up at me. “My aunt is in the hospital,” she muttered. “She’s really sick. My mom wants to drive out early tomorrow morning to see her.”

  My heart went out to her. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I hope she’s okay.”

  Sarah pushed back in her seat and stood up, then walked away without replying. I watched her go, sighing. While I was glad she wasn’t bailing because of me, she was still bailing. I turned to Madison.

  “I guess Kalani and I will have to handle it by ourselves, then.”

  “Handle what?” Kalani asked, dancing over to the table, late as per usual.

  “Your cousin’s wedding. Madison and Sarah can’t make it.” I bit my lower lip. “You’re still planning to be there, right?”

  “Duh!” Kalani declared. “I’m not going to miss my own cousin’s wedding.”

  I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Okay. That was good. We would be fine. Sure, it wouldn’t be easy—having only two of us to deal with the entire group of kids. But I had handled worse back at Bella’s house my first day on the job. And Kalani and I were both far more experienced now than we had been back then.

  “What about Brody?” Madison asked. “Couldn’t he pitch in?”

  Kalani shook her head. “My cousin specifically asked for girl babysitters. I guess ’cause the bride and bridesmaids will be getting ready there, so they’ve made the inside of the house girls only until after the wedding.”

  “Right,” I said. “Okay. We’ll make it work. Can you meet after school and rework the scripts with me? So they work with two princesses instead of four?”

  “Do you think the parents are going to be okay with that?” Kalani asked, looking a little worried. “I mean, what if they try to dock our pay because there’s only two of us instead of four like they asked for? Like, they’d give us three hundred instead of six hundred or something.”

  I frowned. That was a possibility, wasn’t it? And if we only made three hundred, well, we might as well not do the wedding at all. We needed six hundred minimum to make the Comicpalooza trip doable . . .

  Suddenly an idea hit me. “What if they didn’t know?”

  My friends cocked their heads in confusion. “How would they not know?” Madison asked. “Even Kalani can count to four.”

  “Yeah, but we’re not always going to be in the same place at the same time,” I reminded her, as Kalani punched Madison in the arm. “And remember, it’s a masquerade wedding. Meaning we’ll all be wearing masks. Kalani and I can take turns being ourselves, then changing into your costumes and being you.”

  Madison and Kalani gave me matching doubtful looks. “You really think they’re not going to notice?” Madison asked.

  “Yes. They’re at a wedding, remember? They’re going to be crazy distracted and busy. As long as the kids are being cared for and kept out of their hair, they’ll forget we’re even there.”

  “I don’t know . . . ,” Kalani hedged. “It seems kind of deceitful. What if we get caught? No one will ever hire us again.”

  “Which is no problem,” I reminded her, “since this is our last job anyway.” I gave them a pleading look. “Come on, you guys! I don’t know about you, but this Cinderella wants to go to the ball. And she doesn’t have a fairy godmother to hook her up, so she’s gotta take matters into her own hands. What was it you said, Madison? We princesses must save ourselves?”

  She laughed. “I think I did say something like that.”

  “Well, then, consider this Operation Go to the Ball,” I declared. “The final mission.”

  26

  AFTER SCHOOL, KALANI AND I met up at a nearby Tex-Mex place to rework our scripts and plot world domination. By the tim
e we headed home, we were both feeling pretty good about the whole thing. Sure, the costume changes would be a bit of a pain, but we’d make things easier on ourselves by wearing the smaller costumes under the bigger costumes and just ducking into the bathroom from time to time to put on them on—or take them off, as the case might be. And we could take turns doing it, so there would always be one person to watch the kids while the other was changing. It seemed like the perfect plan.

  That night I forced myself to bed early. And I woke up in the morning ready to take on the world. Our final mission before retiring our tiaras for good. In a way, it was kind of bittersweet. It had been a lot of fun, princess babysitting, before things got so out of control. Maybe over the summer we could revive our business for a few jobs here and there—just for fun. With no pressure to make a certain amount of money in a limited time. And no conflicts with school and homework.

  As I grabbed my dress and started to put it on, I heard a chime from my phone. It was a text from Brody.

  Hey! My dad finally got a chance to read your story last night!

  I swallowed hard, not sure how to respond, as my heart pounded in my chest. He’d read it. A real-life author had read my story. Now the question was, what did he think about it? Did he think it was worth entering in the contest?

  Before I could reply, another text followed.

  He said he really liked it and he had some thoughts to share with you. He’s under major deadline for the next week, but could meet you after he turns his book in.

  I squealed out loud, almost dropping the phone. He liked it! Oh my gosh, he’d actually read it and liked it! I could barely believe it! A real, live, published author had read my story and liked it! Now I could get his thoughts and edit the story and send it over to the Comicpalooza judges and . . .

  Win all the awards in the universe for this stellar, superior, not-stupid work of art.

  My happy smile faded as my mind flashed back to Sarah. To my stupidity on the phone with her almost two weeks ago now. As far as I knew she hadn’t written a word since. And while she never said anything about it at school, I couldn’t help but notice the hurt expression on her face, every time she looked at me. If she stopped writing altogether because of me . . . because I had made her feel like her work wasn’t good enough . . .