Emily's Tiara Trouble

by Samantha Turnbull

  It’s our first money-making day. It’s recess, and Chloe is armed with a container full of her edible gold.

  With Bella staying home with her suspected concussion, Chloe, Grace and I will have to work extra hard as salespeople.

  I cross my fingers and toes that the mission works.

  ‘Here’s the plan,’ I say. ‘Grace and I will take three pieces of baklava each and Chloe will take four. Then I’ll head to the soccer field, Grace, you take the basketball court and Chloe, you target the area outside the library. The baklava is seventy cents a piece. No less. If anyone tries to argue with the price, send them to the canteen where the cheapest snack is a whole dollar. They’ll soon figure out where to find the better deal.’

  The anti-princesses don’t seem to mind me taking over the mission. I’m not just the club founder, I’m also a mathematician. When it comes to money, you want someone like me in charge.

  Chloe divides up the baklava and puts it onto three paper plates. I hand out envelopes for the money with a few coins inside in case anyone needs change.

  ‘Any questions?’ I ask.

  Grace and Chloe shake their heads.

  ‘Good,’ I say. ‘Let’s get this mission going.’

  We take off to our separate parts of the playground.

  I call out, ‘Fresh baklava! Get your baklava here! Only seventy cents a piece!’

  A couple of boys from third grade run over. They scan the baklava with suspicion. One gives it a sniff.

  ‘What is bark lover?’ he asks. ‘It looks gross.’

  ‘It sounds like something tree huggers eat,’ the other one jokes.

  I didn’t expect this trouble. All the anti-princesses love Chloe’s baklava. Besides, it doesn’t look gross, just different. And that bark-lover-tree-hugger joke was lame.

  ‘It’s sticky pastry filled with nuts,’ I say. ‘I know it doesn’t look like a normal recess treat, like a lamington or a cupcake, but it’s really yummy. It’s from Greece. You should try it.’

  One of the boys hands over seventy cents and takes a slice. He turns it upside down to look at the bottom. Eventually he takes a bite and slowly begins to chew.

  ‘Not bad,’ he says. ‘Did you make it?’

  ‘My friend Chloe made it – her family owns the Greek restaurant in town,’ I say. ‘You can buy a second piece if you want.’

  The boy buys another piece. His friend hesitates, then also pulls seventy cents out of his pocket.

  ‘I just ate a pie so I’m not really hungry,’ he says. ‘But I guess I can take it home and try it later.’

  Before I can stash the money I’ve raised, a row of at least ten kids has lined up.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have any more,’ I say. ‘But my friends are selling some on the other side of the playground.’

  A sixth-grade boy at the back of the line calls out, ‘I just tried to buy some from that blonde girl, but she’s all out of it too.’

  I don’t want to disappoint the crowd. We’re going to need their money tomorrow and for another five days after that. I think fast.

  ‘If you come back tomorrow we’ll have double the amount of baklava,’ I blurt out. ‘That’s a promise.’

  The sixth-grader grunts. How rude. I poke my tongue out behind his back.

  I head back to the picnic tables. The other anti-princesses arrive at the same time.

  ‘I was mobbed,’ Grace says. ‘The plate was empty in seconds.’

  Chloe looks pooped. She wipes her forehead on her arm and looks at her watch. ‘You know, I’m glad to be helping Grace with all this baking,’ she says. ‘But I think it’s time to propose a mission for myself.’

  I take out my notepad in anticipation.

  ‘I want to win the science fair,’ Chloe says. ‘I want to show Mum and Dad that I belong in a lab coat, not an apron.’

  I think Chloe’s mission could be the most simple of all – she’s the best scientist in school by far.

  Mission Lab Coat: Help Chloe win science fair.

  ‘All in favour?’ I ask.

  Grace, Chloe and I raise our hands.

  Now that I’ve got Chloe in a good mood, I decide to break the news to her about my promise to the sixth-graders.

  ‘Sooooooooo,’ I say. ‘Do you think it would be possible to make double the amount of baklava this afternoon?’

  We arrive at Chloe’s apartment and immediately go into baking mode. Yiayia has already preheated the oven and placed the ingredients on the kitchen table.

  ‘Thank you, Yiayia, but we’re going to need more,’ Chloe says. ‘We’re making double.’

  I start counting cinnamon sticks and cloves while the rest of the anti-princesses tie their apron strings.

  ‘You know, this could work out for the best,’ I say. ‘I originally did my sums based on six days of sales. If we can sell double the amount of baklava we can halve the number of days we need to sell it.’

  Knock, knock, knock. Knock. Knock.

  Someone is knocking on the restaurant door downstairs.

  ‘Must be an impatient customer,’ Yiayia says. ‘The restaurant is not open for another two hours.’

  The knock gets louder. Knock, knock, knock. Knock. KNOCK.

  Chloe opens a window and peers out at the street below.

  ‘The restaurant is closed,’ she calls out. ‘Come back later.’

  She’s about to shut the window when we hear a man’s voice yell back.

  ‘I need to speak to the pastry chef!’

  I freeze. Something must have gone wrong. Maybe someone at school had an allergic reaction. Maybe someone was in trouble for spending all their lunch money. Maybe it was a teacher angry at us because we didn’t ask permission to sell the baklava in the playground.

  ‘What should I do?’ Chloe asks.

  Yiayia shakes her finger at Chloe. ‘You’re not going downstairs alone. Not to see a stranger.’

  Grace and I speak at once. ‘We’ll come too.’

  The three of us make our way downstairs and Chloe slowly peeks around the door to where the man is waiting.

  ‘I made the baklava,’ she says. ‘What do you want?’

  The man is holding a half-eaten piece.

  ‘I’ve never tasted anything like it,’ he says. ‘There’s something different about it. It’s not like the baklava I’ve had in this restaurant before.’

  ‘It’s my own secret recipe,’ Chloe says. ‘It’s not the same as the baklava Mum and Dad sell. Do you want to buy a piece? We sell it at school.’

  The man shoves the rest of the piece in his mouth and swallows it in almost one gulp. Like a python.

  ‘I know you’ve been selling it at school,’ he says. ‘My son brought it home. But I don’t want to buy just a piece. I want to buy the recipe.’

  The mention of money spurs me into action. I put my hands on my hips. ‘Oh, yeah? How much are you willing to pay?’

  The man takes a piece of paper and a fancy pen from his shirt pocket. He scribbles something and folds the paper in half. He hands it to me. It’s all very official.

  I take a look at the paper. It must be a mistake.

  The man reads my mind. ‘I’m not messing around. That’s what I’m willing to pay.’

  I start fanning myself with the paper. ‘We’ll have to discuss this with Chloe’s parents,’ I say. ‘They will be in touch at a later date.’

  I take the man’s business card with his phone number and quickly usher the anti-princesses back inside.

  ‘What does it say, Emily?’ asks Chloe.

  ‘Fifty dollars!’ I squeal. ‘He wants to pay you fifty dollars, Chloe. I’ve never even touched a fifty-dollar note!’

  Chloe snatches the paper from my hand. She stares at it for one, two, three, four seconds.

  ‘This can’t be right,’ she says.

  I nod excitedly. ‘I think it is, Chloe,’ I say. ‘It’s for real.’

  ‘Well, you’re correct,’ Chloe says. ‘I will definitely need to speak to
my parents about this.’

  She runs back upstairs, holding the paper above her head. Grace and I follow, busting to spill the news to Yiayia.

  ‘What happened, girls?’ Yiayia asks. ‘Who was that man?’

  I figure it’s Chloe’s story to tell. It could be the story of the decade, or the century, or the millennium.

  ‘The man wanted my baklava recipe,’ Chloe says. ‘His son took a piece home from school and the man tasted it. He liked it so much that he wants to know how I made it.’

  She’s forgetting the most important part. The number part.

  ‘He wants to buy the recipe, Yiayia,’ I say. ‘For fifty dollars. Chloe could be rich!’

  Yiayia drops a wooden spoon. ‘Who would spend that on a recipe?’ she asks. ‘It must be some kind of joke.’

  Chloe shows her the piece of paper. ‘This is what he’s offering, Yiayia. Maybe he wants my recipe so he can sell the baklava too.’

  I chime in, ‘Maybe he owns a business, like a factory where he could make masses of baklava.’

  Grace yelps and points at the doorway to the apartment.

  The man is standing inside with Chloe’s mum and dad.

  They’re all staring at us. Chloe’s parents look confused.

  ‘This man was outside the restaurant,’ Chloe’s mum says. ‘He tells us he wants to buy our baklava recipe.’

  Chloe’s dad’s face reddens. ‘But he says it’s not the same as the baklava from the restaurant.’

  Chloe swallows loudly. ‘It’s a…it’s a…it’s a secret recipe,’ she blurts out. ‘I did some experimenting. It’s not very different to yours, Dad. Just a few extra ingredients. That’s all.’

  Chloe’s dad looks at me for a moment. He looks at the other anti-princesses.

  ‘I think you girls need to leave,’ he says. ‘We must speak to our daughter privately.’

  Bella, Grace and I are sitting on the first floor of our new clubhouse.

  When Chloe’s dad turfed us out, Grace and I decided to go and check on the new headquarters. And Bella’s head, of course.

  So far, HQ is just a wooden platform. It does have a solid set of steps now, though.

  ‘What do you think, girls?’ Dr MacKenzie calls out from underneath the tree. ‘Bella and I have had a great time today on the tools.’

  Bella grins. She’s never built anything with her dad before.

  ‘It’s looking great, Dr MacKenzie,’ I say. ‘You’ll be finished in no time.’

  Bella’s dad climbs a few steps so he doesn’t have to yell. ‘I reckon we’ll be done by the end of the week. Mostly thanks to Bella, mind you. I don’t know where you get your impressive building skills from, princess.’

  Bella winces.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ her dad says. ‘I forgot about the princess thing. I won’t call you that anymore.’ He takes a few more steps up and ruffles Bella’s hair. ‘Thanks again for a wonderful day. It’ll be hard to go back to work tomorrow.’

  He heads inside to give us some privacy.

  ‘So are you okay, Bella?’ I ask.

  She runs her fingers over her forehead. ‘I can’t even feel the bump anymore. I’m totally fine. Better than fine. I’m awesome. So, where’s Chloe?’

  Grace lets out a long sigh. ‘She’s in trouble and it’s all because of me,’ she says. ‘No one would have ever found out about Chloe’s baklava if we weren’t selling it at school. The whole mission was for me.’

  Bella raises one eyebrow. I wish I could do that, but both seem to move at once. ‘Why exactly is Chloe in trouble?’

  I sum it up as best I can. ‘A stranger got a hold of Chloe’s baklava and loved it so much he wanted to buy the recipe for fifty whole dollars. But then Chloe’s parents found out she’d messed with the restaurant recipe and they weren’t happy.’

  Bella whistles. ‘Wow, that could pay for your carnival entry, Grace. No baklava baking.’

  Grace shakes her head. ‘No, I couldn’t take it. That wouldn’t be completing the mission. And what would Chloe’s parents say? We’ve still got time to fundraise for me.’

  I cross my legs and slump forward with my chin resting on my hands.

  ‘Do you think the club was a bad idea?’ I ask. ‘It’s barely been twenty-four hours and Chloe is in trouble with her parents. Grace, we haven’t raised all the money for your carnival, and Bella, you fell out of a tree.’

  Bella stands up in a huff. She starts marching around the platform. It’s exactly what I do when we’re at the picnic tables at school and I want to make a point.

  ‘Anti-princesses, you’re being silly,’ she says. ‘We don’t need rescuing, remember?’

  Grace and I both give her a half-smile.

  ‘The headquarters are already half-finished,’ Bella says. ‘Mission HQ will be complete soon enough, but it wouldn’t have happened so fast if it wasn’t for Dad’s help. And you know what? Dad wouldn’t have helped me if it wasn’t for you. He and Mum would still be coming home from the hospital late at night, not knowing anything about my building or art skills. Now they know the real me. It’s all because of the Anti-Princess Club.’

  Our half-smiles have turned into full-on beams. I stand up and give Bella a hug.

  ‘Great speech, Bella,’ I say. ‘You might have to help me with my big performance at the beauty pageant.’

  Bella laughs. ‘Oh, we’re all going to have to pitch in for that one,’ she says. ‘Getting you through a beauty pageant without wanting to spew is going to be one big mission.’

  It’s time to lie to my mum. I’m not a good liar and I don’t like lying. But an anti-princess does what an anti-princess must do.

  Luckily, there’s one part of this lie that makes it easier. It’s a lie that’s going to make Mum happy … at least for a while.

  I knock on her bedroom door.

  ‘Come in,’ she calls.

  Mum is sitting at her dressing table cleaning her face. She takes a white fluffy cottonwool ball and wipes it across her cheek. The ball ends up brown and sticky.

  ‘Mum, you look better without make-up,’ I say.

  She rolls her eyes. ‘Emily, do we really have to have this conversation again? I love makeup – it makes me feel beautiful.’

  The moment is here.

  ‘It’s funny you should mention beauty,’ I say. ‘I’ve been thinking about that pageant.’

  Mum begins to collect the brown cottonwool balls scattered around her dressing table. ‘I know, I know, Emily. You don’t want to do it.’

  I help her pick up the balls. They feel slimy. ‘That’s the thing,’ I say. ‘I … do … want … to … go … in … the … pageant.’

  There it is. The lie.

  Mum drops her handful of brown balls. Before I can protest, she lifts me up and spins me around until we can hardly stand. Then the kisses start coming. Kiss, kiss. Kiss. Kiss.

  ‘Enough, Mum, enough,’ I laugh. ‘It’s no big deal. I just want to try something new. That’s all.’

  Mum walks into her wardrobe and comes out with a big pink box.

  ‘I couldn’t resist buying this,’ she says. ‘Even though I thought you’d say no to the pageant. I figured Ava could have it later on if you didn’t want it.’

  I open the box and pull out the frilliest, sparkliest, pouffiest dress I’ve ever seen. It’s bright yellow. It’s so bright that it’s almost painful to look at – like when you try to look directly into a fire, or the sun.

  ‘You have to try it on,’ Mum says. ‘Please, Emily.’

  There’s nothing I want to do less. But if Mum’s going to believe I truly want to go in the pageant, I have to put that awful thing on. I step into the mass of frills.

  ‘Be careful,’ Mum says. ‘There are lots of beads and sequins on the fabric. Make sure you don’t pull anything off.’

  It must be so difficult for pageant contestants. They’d be constantly stressed about losing a bead. They wouldn’t be able to run or climb. It would even be difficult to sit.


  Mum pulls the dress up over my tummy and starts to fasten the zip, which pinches some skin between my shoulderblades.

  ‘Ouch!’ I cry.

  ‘Don’t be sooky, Emily,’ she says. ‘Beauty is painful.’

  That, I think to myself, is exactly what the anti-princesses are fighting against and why I have to pull off this mission. There are so many more important things in life than prettiness. And girls definitely shouldn’t have to hurt themselves to look good.

  There’s no answer when I knock on Chloe’s door the next morning to see if she wants to walk to school with me.

  So I walk alone, nervously counting in my head the whole way.

  We won’t have any baklava to sell today and I promised that sixth grader we would have double. I don’t know when, or even if, we’ll have any more baklava to sell for Grace’s carnival. I fear our mission is doomed.

  I arrive at the school gate and see Chloe waiting for me. Her smile is as big as a quarter of a watermelon. Weird – I thought she would be as worried as me.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I ask.

  Chloe pulls four large containers out of a canvas shopping bag. ‘Surprise!’

  I do a double-take. Then a triple-take. And a quadruple-take.

  ‘How is this possible?’ I ask. ‘Chloe, this must have taken forever.’

  Some boys see the baklava and start milling around us.

  ‘Don’t thank me,’ Chloe says. ‘Thank Yiayia. She stayed up late baking. She knew how important this fundraising was to the club.’

  I’m amazed. Yiayia is wicked. I hope I’m as cool as she is when I’m seventy-eight.

  ‘What happened when we left your place?’ I ask. ‘Are you in much trouble with your parents?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ Chloe says. ‘Mum and Dad sent me to my room so they could talk to the man about my recipe. They didn’t seem too excited, so I’m guessing they didn’t take the money. They said they were too busy in the restaurant to talk to me and that they’ll sit down with me after school today.’