Princesses, Inc.

by Mari Mancusi

And when I finally did? Triplet #3 had left the building.

  Argh!

  “Gotta go,” I said, running out of the room. I could hear Kalani’s aunt calling out to me, wanting to know how school was and if I was doing my homework, but I ignored her, trying desperately to locate my three missing charges. I checked the bathroom first, then headed back to the kitchen, to see if they’d attacked the cake again. As I ran around the corner, I almost dove headfirst into Mrs. Wilding herself.

  “Oh! Hello!” she said. “You must be one of the other babysitters. I met your friend—Hailey, was it?—earlier.”

  “Yes. I’m . . . um, Madison,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “Um, have you seen the girls around? I think they’re with Sarah. Or Madison—I mean, Hailey!” I barked out a laugh. “ ’Cause obviously I’m Madison. So I would know if they were with me. . . .”

  Mrs. Wilding frowned at me. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “Oh no!” I cried in my most cheerful of course nothing’s wrong voice. “We were just playing . . . hide-and-seek to pass the time.”

  Mrs. Wilding glanced at her watch. “Okay. Well, now might be the time to start rounding them up and calming them down. We’ve got thirty minutes to showtime, and I really need them to keep their dresses clean.”

  “Not a problem,” I assured her.

  This was a problem.

  I raced to the kitchen, then into the living room. No triplets to be seen. My breath was now coming in ragged gasps, and my heart was pretty much in my throat. Where were they? How could all three of them just disappear? It wasn’t that big a house.

  I found a set of stairs and dashed up them, discovering a game room and media room at the top. A few women were hanging out inside, chatting with one another. I tried to slip into the room, unnoticed, peering around for any sight of something triplet shaped.

  “Look!” cried one of the women on the couch. “It’s one of the princess babysitters!”

  Everyone turned to look at me. Uh oh.

  “Um, hi?” I said, my eyes darting around the room, but coming up empty. Where were they? Did they have some kind of cloak of invisibility or something?

  “Isn’t she adorable?” cried another woman. “What’s your name, honey?”

  “Um. Sarah. My name is Sarah. It’s nice to meet you. Now I really have to—”

  “You must tell us all about your little babysitting business. Such a great idea. I have two children myself, you see. And I’m always looking for good, reliable babysitters.”

  “Well, then you’re not looking for us,” I muttered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry. Nothing. I’m . . . I’ll have to give you our flyer later. Right now I have to . . .”

  I trailed off, my ears catching what sounded like a small giggle.

  “Excuse me,” I said, dashing out of the room. As I did, I caught a flash of red just around the corner. I ran after it. If I could at least get one of them . . .

  Suddenly I was flying through the air, then slamming down hard onto the floor. My ankle jammed, and I yelped in pain. When I glanced behind me, I realized I’d been tripped by a tricycle. (Who kept a tricycle inside, anyway?)

  The good news: Two of the triplets were standing above me.

  The bad news: I could no longer stand at all.

  “Where’s your sister?” I asked, trying to get up. My ankle protested with another sharp pain.

  “We’ll go get her!” they cried, running in the other direction.

  “No! Wait!” I begged. But they were already gone. And this time I couldn’t run after them.

  Somehow I managed to get to my feet. As I limped past the media room, I heard a voice from inside. “Hey! Can you come back here? I want to hear about the princess babysitting.”

  “Trust me, you really don’t,” I mumbled under my breath.

  Tears pricked my eyes as I tried to make my way down the stairs and back toward the playroom, praying that the triplets had all returned there on their own. But of course I wasn’t that lucky. And when I entered the room, there was no sign of them.

  I collapsed onto the rocking chair, my head in my hands. What was I going to do? There was no way I could round up all three of them, not with my ankle. And the wedding was fast approaching. Why had I thought I could do this by myself? And now what was I supposed to do? Mrs. Wildling would realize I’d lied. She’d flip out. Maybe she’d even call the police! Could I get arrested for lying? Child endangerment, maybe?

  As if on cue, Mrs. Wilding poked her head into the room. “Where are the children?” she demanded. “My daughter wants to see them before the ceremony begins.” She looked around the room, a frown etched across her face. “And where are the other babysitters? Are there only two of you? I’ve only seen two of you. . . .”

  “It’s fine,” I said, giving one last, hopefully confident-looking smile. “Everything’s fine. I’ll go get the girls. And we’ll head over to see the bride.”

  She nodded, still looking a little suspicious, but thankfully, she didn’t try to press me—and instead headed back out the door. As her footsteps faded into the distance, I sucked in a breath, my heart beating out of control. Sweat poured down my face. My ankle throbbed in protest. What was I going to do? I was officially out of options.

  Except . . . I lifted my head. Maybe one . . .

  29

  “OKAY. WE’RE HERE. HOW CAN we help?”

  I had to admit, Ginny and Jordan looked a little like fairy godmothers as they swept into the playroom, dressed in their mothers’ bridesmaids’ gowns, complete with lots of costume jewelry and tiaras on their heads. It was actually impressive costuming—especially on such short notice. I let out a sigh of relief, feeling the tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I wanted to hug them both—but decided that might end up being a bit awkward.

  Instead I rose to my feet. My ankle was feeling a little better, but it still hurt to put my full weight on it. “The wedding starts in ten minutes,” I told them. “And the triplets are running wild around the house somewhere. We need to wrangle all three of them together and drag them out onto the back lawn, where the ceremony is taking place.”

  “Okay. We’re on it.” Ginny gave Jordan a brisk nod. “Divide and conquer.”

  I watched them exit the playroom, feeling weak with relief. Thank goodness my stepsister had answered the phone and had been willing to help. I had been completely out of other options.

  Of course I’d had to promise her half my take-home pay—meaning the dream of going to Comicpalooza was over forever. But at that moment I would have gladly handed over my entire life’s savings for an extra pair of hands and legs.

  I limped though the house, searching everywhere for the triplets. In closets, under the stairs, around corners. I was almost ready to give up, in fact, when I finally found Triplet #1 in the shower stall of her mother’s bathroom. But just as I was about to sigh in relief, I caught a glimpse of her face and gasped.

  “Do I look pretty?” she asked brightly.

  I staggered backward, horror washing over me. My eyes darted around the trashed bathroom—and then back to her white dress. Which was not very white anymore. In fact, it was covered in glitter. She must have dumped an entire bowl of the stuff on her head. She’d also attacked her mother’s makeup, from the looks of it. Smudged red lipstick, slashed across her entire face. Garish blue eyeshadow—repurposed as blush.

  I moaned, dropping to my knees in front of her, trying to brush it off. But it was no use. She’d gotten wet in the shower, and the glitter was stuck fast. It would take washing the entire dress to get it out. And we didn’t have time for that.

  “Come on,” I said, dragging her out of the bathroom and back down the stairs. To my relief I found Ginny and Jordan at the bottom, each with a triplet by the scruff of the neck. Their eyes widened as they saw my charge.

  “Holy pixie dust!” Ginny said with a low whistle.

  “I look pretty!” protested the triplet. “Don’t I loo
k pretty?”

  I groaned. “I was supposed to keep them clean,” I confessed to my stepsister and her friend. “That was my one job! To keep them looking pristine until after the ceremony. What am I going to do? The wedding starts in, like, five minutes.”

  Ginny and Jordan exchanged looks. “Well . . . she doesn’t look bad,” Jordan said. “The glitter is kind of pretty, actually. If you wiped all that makeup off her face.”

  “Yeah, but they don’t match . . . ,” I started to say. Then I stopped, looking at my stepsister. She grinned, telling me she was thinking the exact same thing I was.

  “I don’t know,” I hedged. “What if they don’t like it? They could be really annoyed.”

  “Or they could be really impressed—if we do it right,” Ginny replied. She turned to Jordan. “Go find that glitter and meet me in the playroom. I’ve got an idea.”

  Jordan ran up the stairs. Ginny beckoned for me to follow. “Okay, kids, let’s go.” She turned to the little girls. “And no more running off,” she scolded. “Or you’ll go to time-out and miss your mommy’s wedding.”

  The girls stared at her, horrified. Then, to my surprise, they fell into line behind her, the little devils, suddenly walking like angels on their way to church.

  “How did you do that?” I whispered to Ginny as we headed down the hall.

  She shrugged. “It becomes easy after a while. The basic rule? You have to earn their respect. Remember, you’re not here on a play date. Your number one job is to keep them safe—not entertained. You may look like a princess. But you have to act like the queen. And the queen’s word is law.”

  I nodded, considering this. That was actually pretty wise. Ginny and Jordan might be boring babysitters, but that didn’t mean they weren’t good.

  We arrived back at the playroom and Ginny proceeded to rummage through a large chest of costumes I hadn’t noticed before until she found and pulled out three sets of fairy wings. She turned to the triplets, holding them up in her hands.

  “If you’re going to be covered in pixie dust,” she said, “you might as well look like actual pixies.”

  The girls’ eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. Without hesitation they dove for the wings. Laughing, I helped Ginny affix a set on each girl, though deep down I still wondered if we were overstepping our bounds. After all, if the bride had wanted wings, wouldn’t she have asked for wings? But then, she hadn’t asked for them to be covered in glitter, either. Desperate times and all that.

  A moment later, Jordan returned. “There isn’t a ton left,” she said. “But I think we can make it work.” She put her fingers to her mouth and blew loudly, getting the triplets’ attention. “Line up!” she commanded. “And let’s do this.”

  One by one Jordan glittered up Triplet #2 and #3 until they all matched, while Ginny worked to wipe the makeup off Triplet #1’s face. When they were finished, they lined up for inspection. I had to admit, as a trio, they looked pretty cute. And, more important, they looked intentionally sparkly, instead of like the I escaped my babysitter and raided my mother’s makeup variety.

  “Okay,” I said, my heart still pumping madly in my chest. I glanced at my watch. “I think it’s time to go outside. Come on, girls. Let’s do this.”

  As we stepped outside, as if on cue the music started to play. We led the girls down to the back of the aisle, where an usher handed each of them a basket of flowers. They giggled and, when prompted, pranced down the aisle, tossing the flowers around, as if they were born to do the job, while everyone clapped and cooed about how cute they looked and how the wings and glitter were such a special touch.

  I glanced over at Ginny and Jordan. They grinned at me, and Ginny gave me a discreet thumbs-up before turning back to the ceremony.

  I let out a sigh of relief, a small smile creeping across my face. I couldn’t believe it. We had pulled it off. And by doing so, I had learned a very valuable lesson: that while a princess should always try to save herself, it could never hurt to have a few friends on call.

  And maybe evil stepsisters weren’t always evil after all.

  30

  “THANK YOU GIRLS SO MUCH!” cried Mrs. Wilding much later, after the triplets had gone to bed and the wedding was winding down. “You did a fabulous job. And the fairy thing! Well, I can’t even tell you how many people came up to me to tell me how cute they were. Who would have ever thought to add glitter and wings?” She grinned. “In fact, the photographer told me he was going to upload a few of the photos to Pinterest to show off the idea to other brides.”

  I grinned. “That’s great!” I said. “I’m so glad it worked out. And, um, I’m sorry Kalani had to leave early before you got to say hi. She just wasn’t feeling a hundred percent and didn’t want to get anyone infected.” (Which wasn’t technically a lie, right?)

  “Oh, that’s okay.” Mrs. Wilding waved a hand. “Her great-aunt told me she saw her earlier and that she seemed a little off. Poor thing.” She shook her head. “In any case, I suppose I should pay you now so you can get on your way.” She rummaged in her bag, then pulled out a wad of bills. “I know I promised you six hundred, right? But here’s seven hundred—you more than earned your keep. After all, I know how those girls can be. They look angelic, but . . .”

  “They were angelic,” I assured her. “But thank you. We had a lot of fun with them.” I took the money and put it in my pocket. Then I turned to Ginny and Jordan. “I guess we should head out,” I said.

  “Do you need a ride?” Mrs. Wilding asked.

  “Nah. I have a car,” Ginny assured her. “But thank you anyway.”

  I had a fleeting worry, as we walked outside, that Ginny would revert back to evil-stepsister mode and refuse to drive me home, but she opened the car door and gestured for me to get in. Once we were all inside the car, I reached into my pocket and counted out the money.

  “Thank you, guys,” I said. “You saved my life.”

  “We were happy to make the money,” Ginny assured me. “Let’s just say business hasn’t exactly been booming lately, if you know what I mean.”

  I groaned, handing over her share. “Well, it should pick up soon,” I assured her. “This was it for us. We’re hanging up our tiaras for good.” Then I reached back into my pocket. “And here. I’m going to give each of you three hundred. You more than deserve it.”

  Ginny frowned. “Are you sure, Hailey? Don’t you need the money?”

  I waved her off. “If it weren’t for you saving my butt, I wouldn’t have gotten paid at all.”

  “Actually, I think we made a pretty good team,” Jordan declared, plucking the bills from my hand and stuffing them into her pocket. “Now. How about we go spend some of this windfall on pancakes? I know a twenty-four-hour diner. . . .”

  * * *

  We stuffed ourselves with pancakes until we could barely move, then dropped Jordan off at her house before heading home for the night. When we walked in together, laughing and reminiscing about the glitter, my stepmother raised her eyebrows.

  “Why are you two acting so chummy?” she asked suspiciously. “Did pigs learn to fly while I was at my book club?”

  “Nah,” I said, blushing a little. “Just turns out my wicked stepsister is actually pretty cool.”

  Ginny made a mock protest. “Hang on! I thought you were the wicked one!”

  I laughed, then turned serious. “Well, maybe I have been a bit wicked,” I admitted. I turned to my stepmother. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk lately,” I said. “To both of you.”

  My stepmother’s eyes softened. “Come here,” she beckoned. I took a step forward, and she drew me into her arms, giving me a warm hug. Then she pulled away, meeting my eyes with her own. “I know it’s not easy for you,” she said. “Having your dad so far away. It’s not easy for me, either.”

  “Yeah. I know. You didn’t ask to be stuck with me.”

  She chuckled. “For the record? I happen to like being stuck with you,” she told me. “And you may not be
lieve this, but I actually don’t like being the wicked stepmother all the time. If it were up to me, we’d just be friends. But . . .” She trailed off, sighing.

  I looked at her. My mind suddenly flashed back to the triplets running wild through the house. How Ginny and Jordan had effortlessly brought them back into line.

  You may look like a princess. But you have to act like a queen.

  “You’re not a wicked stepmother,” I assured her. “In fact, as far as stepmothers go? You’re pretty great.”

  “Well, you’re a pretty great stepdaughter yourself,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. She pulled me back into her arms, practically crushing me in another hug.

  “Hey, don’t forget me!” Ginny cried, throwing herself into the hug with such enthusiasm we lost our balance and fell onto the couch, laughing.

  After untangling herself, my stepmother gazed at us with fond, watery eyes. “My girls,” she said. Then she headed upstairs.

  Once she was gone, I turned to my stepsister. “Thanks again for helping me tonight,” I said. “I know I didn’t deserve you to.”

  “No big deal. Plus, I was glad to make the money.”

  “What do you need the money for, anyway?” I asked, curious. “I’m guessing now it isn’t for a new pair of patterned leggings.”

  She smiled. “While I am always up for a new pair of leggings,” she assured me, “I’m actually trying to save for college.”

  “Wait. I thought your dad was paying for that.”

  The smile fell from her face. She kicked the floor with the toe of her shoe. “Yeah. Me too,” she said quietly. “But he lost his job a couple months ago. And he had to empty the college account to pay his rent or whatever.” She made a face. “So I guess it’s now up to me. I’ve got two years to save all I can.”

  I swallowed hard, not sure what to say. All this time I’d been gleefully stealing her babysitting jobs just so I could meet some YouTube star, while she was actually trying to save for her future. My stomach lurched, and suddenly I felt a little sick.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? If I had known . . .”