Allie Finkle's Rules for Girls: Stage Fright

by Meg Cabot

  We’d tried to support her as best we could, telling her that maybe Mrs. Hunter would change her mind.

  But of course I for one didn’t really believe that. I suspected Sophie had been rehearsing the part of Princess Penelope so much she had actually temporarily turned into a princess herself and thought she could start telling other people what to do (like me with my shoes for my evil queen costume) and had failed to remember the number one rule—Treat people the way you yourself would like to be treated (like the way she’d told me that she hated me).

  Especially since Sophie refused even to consider apologizing to me. She kept saying she thought Mrs. Hunter should apologize to her for taking her out of the play.

  She never even mentioned apologizing to me.

  Oh, yes. The part of Princess Penelope was going to be mine, all right.

  Erica was really worried about Sophie—especially when we were walking back to school after lunch, and Caroline appeared all alone at the stop sign where we usually met to walk to Pine Heights together.

  “Sophie’s mom says she made herself too sick from crying to come back to school,” Caroline explained worriedly. “So she has a stomachache and is going to stay home for the rest of the day.”

  “Oh, no!” Erica cried. “That’s terrible.”

  “Well,” I said philosophically, “Sophie brought it on herself. She should have apologized to all of us for being so bossy.” I didn’t mention that she should have apologized to me for saying she hated me. That seemed like it should have been a given.

  “Yes,” Caroline said. “But don’t you think the whole thing was only nerves about tonight?”

  “Or maybe she thinks she really is a princess,” I said.

  “Come on,” Caroline said. “Sophie doesn’t think she really is a princess.”

  “Then why was she telling me what to do with my own costume?” I asked. “And why did she say she hated me?”

  “Well,” Caroline said, “maybe taking the afternoon off will give her a chance to cool down.”

  Maybe it would. But maybe it would also be too late for her to get the part of Princess Penelope back.

  Because maybe it was mine now.

  What if Mom invited Lynn Martinez from Good News! to the show tonight to see me? They were such good friends now, on account of sharing that tip about false eyelashes, she probably would.

  And if Lynn saw me as Princess Penelope, she would probably ask me to come on her show so she could interview me. And then a talent scout from Hollywood would see me and ask me to star in my own reality show about a fourth-grade animal lover with two pesky little brothers whose mother is also a TV star.

  The only problem with this plan was, when we got back to school, Cheyenne was going around saying Mrs. Hunter planned to ask her to play Princess Penelope.

  “Naturally,” Cheyenne said, loud enough for all of us to hear her over by the swings, where we were standing. “I mean, who else would she ask at the last minute, but the one semiprofessional actress she has in her class?”

  “But what about your fairy queen costume?” Dominique asked her. “You said your mom spent over two hundred dollars on it.”

  “It can easily be converted to a princess costume,” Cheyenne said. “Simply by removing the wings.”

  “Oh!” Erica said when she overheard all this. “Do you believe them? Talking about taking over Sophie’s part like she’s dead or something. You know, Mrs. Hunter would probably still give the part back to Sophie if she’d just apologize to Allie.”

  I didn’t want to tell Erica she was wrong straight to her face. First of all, I for one didn’t plan on forgiving Sophie that easily. And second of all, I didn’t want to get her hopes up, either.

  “Well, it’s good to make alternative plans,” I said. “I mean, just in case Sophie doesn’t come back.”

  “But you don’t really think Mrs. Hunter would give the part of Princess Penelope to Cheyenne, do you?” Erica looked worried.

  “Probably not,” I said. “I think Mrs. Hunter would probably give the part to the next-best person who auditioned for it.”

  Erica thought about that. “Well, Marianne and Dominique weren’t very good. And I can’t imagine her giving it to Elizabeth or one of the other elves…and Caroline, you wouldn’t want it, would you?”

  “No way. I love being a unicorn. But who else…” Then I caught Caroline looking at me. “Allie. Would you want it?”

  Erica’s eyes widened. “Allie? Really? Do you know all of Sophie’s lines?”

  “Sure,” I said, shrugging modestly. “Memorizing lines is easy.”

  “But then…” Erica looked stunned. “Who would play the evil queen?”

  “Mrs. Hunter, I guess,” I said with another shrug.

  “But you’re so good as the evil queen,” Erica cried. “We love you as the evil queen. You make us laugh!”

  I stared at her. “Really?” I knew I made Mrs. Hunter laugh. And my little brother. And the boys. But not the rest of the class.

  “Really,” Erica said. “Oh, you can’t not play the evil queen. You’re so good at playing her! The play won’t be as good without you!”

  I had never considered this before—that I was so good at playing the evil queen, the play might not be as good if I played Princess Penelope instead. I had wanted to play Princess Penelope so badly, that was all I had ever really thought about.

  “It really would be a shame,” Caroline said. “I don’t think Mrs. Hunter would be as good as you are at playing the evil queen.”

  “Well,” I said. I looked down at my feet. I was still wearing my red high-tops. It had been too much trouble to take them off after rehearsal…although it had occurred to me if I was going to be playing Princess Penelope that night, I’d have to take them off, anyway. Unless I decided Princess Penelope was the type of character who would wear high-tops. You never knew. As I portrayed her, she might be. “I guess we’ll see how it goes.”

  When we got into Room 209 after lunch break, the mood of the class was somber. You could tell everyone had noticed Sophie hadn’t come back from lunch.

  “Well, class,” Mrs. Hunter said, coming to the front of the room. “It appears that Sophie Abramowitz won’t be able to perform tonight as Princess Penelope, and we’re going to need to replace her part. Is there anyone here who thinks she knows her lines well enough to—”

  Even before the words were all the way out of Mrs. Hunter’s mouth, Cheyenne’s hand shot up into the air. Not to let her have the advantage, I put my hand in the air, too. Mrs. Hunter looked at both of us.

  “Cheyenne and Allie, you both think you know all of Princess Penelope’s lines?”

  Cheyenne put her hand down and turned in her chair to look at me. I would not be exaggerating if I said she was giving me the stare of death.

  “I know Princess Penelope’s part cold, Mrs. Hunter,” Cheyenne said. “And furthermore, Dominique knows my part, the part of the compact fluorescent bulb fairy queen, cold, and can easily step into my place. Her part, as you know, has few spoken lines, and the lines she does have can easily be given to Marianne. Whereas I don’t imagine anyone here knows all of Allie’s lines.” Cheyenne’s tone implied that no one would want to bother memorizing the evil queen’s lines.

  And basically, she was right.

  I glanced desperately at Mrs. Hunter. Surely she would say, “Actually, Cheyenne, I know Allie’s part, and I’ll be happy to play the evil queen so that Allie can play Princess Penelope, because she is such a better and more talented actress than you, and we all want her and not you to play the part of the princess. So just pipe down.”

  Only Mrs. Hunter didn’t say that. She looked over at me and asked, “Well, Allie? Is there anyone you can think of who would be willing to take the part of the evil queen?”

  In the last row, where I sat, both Stuart Maxwell and Rosemary swiveled in their chairs to face me, their faces masks of astonished betrayal.

  “You can’t quit playing the evil que
en to play the stupid princess,” Rosemary hissed down the row at me. “That part is so dumb! You’re so funny as the evil queen!”

  “Yeah,” Stuart whispered. “And besides, princesses stink!”

  And Patrick, down at the very end of our row, leaned forward to whisper, “Who’ll help me with my lines if you’re not around as the queen? Huh? Who?”

  Beside me, Joey made growling noises, a clear indication he was just upset in general.

  Blinking, I put my hand down. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, Cheyenne was right. The evil queen did have a lot of lines…and of course, there wasn’t anyone who knew them all and could—or wanted to—take over my part. It didn’t look like Mrs. Hunter wanted to.

  And so it seemed as if I was stuck playing Queen Melissa the Maleficent, whether I wanted to or not. Story of my life.

  “That’s okay,” I said to Mrs. Hunter, even as I saw all my Hollywood dreams slipping down the drain. “Cheyenne can have the part. I’ll just go on playing Queen Mel—I mean, the evil queen.”

  “Well,” Mrs. Hunter said, “that’s settled, then. Why don’t we turn our attention to social studies.”

  So. It was over. I was just going to be plain old Allie Finkle—not Allie Finkle, Superstar, or Allie Finkle, Best Actress in a Starring Glamorous Role—forever. Would no one ever recognize that there was princess potential in me? Or was I going to be stuck being the evil queen—what Uncle Jay called a character role—for all time?

  And okay, it was nice that I was able to make kindergartners and my friends and the boys in the last row of Room 209 laugh.

  But it would have been nice to have had my princess power recognized for once.

  And now Cheyenne—bratty, horrible Cheyenne—was going to get what she wanted. Again.

  And the worst part was, I could see her sitting over there looking all pleased with herself, passing notes with M and D. She really was going to turn into an evil queen—an actual one, who went around murdering anyone prettier than her—if this kept up. Cheyenne always got what she wanted…high-heeled zip-up boots, pierced ears, hundred-dollar amethyst earrings, the most expensive costume, and now the lead in the play…

  But wait.

  Wait a minute.

  She didn’t have to get this. Not if I had any say in it.

  Because even though no one wanted me to play a princess, that didn’t mean I couldn’t act like one.

  Or rather, like a queen.

  I knew how to do the queenly thing and save the day. I guess I’d known it all along.

  And when you know the right thing to do, you have to do it. That’s a rule.

  Yes. It really was all up to me.

  I guess I’d always known, in the end, that it would be.

  Which was how, after school, instead of going straight at the stop sign, I convinced Erica to turn down Caroline’s street. And we all three of us walked to Sophie’s house and knocked.

  “Oh, hello, girls,” Sophie’s mom said when she came to open the door. Sophie’s mom was working on her PhD, so as usual, she was dressed in sweats and had a pencil stuck haphazardly into her hair. “Did you come to check on Sophie? Isn’t that sweet of you. She’s feeling a bit better. She’s up in her room. Why don’t you go up to see her?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Abramowitz,” we said, and ran up the stairs to Sophie’s room.

  Sophie was in her nightgown in her canopy bed, rereading a Little House on the Prairie book, one of her favorite comfort books. When we barged into her room without knocking, her cheeks got a little pink, but all she said was, “Oh, hey, you guys,” in a weak voice. She was still pretending to be sick. I knew she was pretending because nobody gets sick as much as Sophie.

  “Sophie,” I said, getting right down to business. Because that’s how queens do it. “We need you to come back to the play. It’s an emergency. Cheyenne got the part of Princess Penelope in your place.”

  Sophie’s dark eyes flashed a little at that. But then she controlled herself and looked back down at her book.

  “Well,” she said softly, “there’s nothing I can do about that. Mrs. Hunter kicked me out of the play.”

  “Only because you wouldn’t apologize to Allie,” Erica cried. “Just apologize, and she’ll let you back in. I’m sure of it!”

  “Yes,” Caroline said. “I’m sure Mrs. Hunter doesn’t want Cheyenne to play Princess Penelope. She wants you to play her. That’s why she picked you and not Cheyenne in the first place. All you have to do is apologize. Just say you’re sorry.”

  When Sophie looked back up at us again, her eyes were filled with tears.

  “Oh, but how can I?” she wailed. “I want to. You have no idea how much! I feel terrible for the way I acted. I let being the star of the play go to my head. I know I did. I was horrible to you, Allie. You don’t know how sorry I am. But it’s too late now! I know it is.”

  “It’s never too late, Sophie,” I said, going over to the bed and sitting beside her. “Have your mother call the school. I’m sure Mrs. Hunter is still there, getting ready for the open house. You can talk to her, and then when we go to school for the play tonight, you can apologize to me in front of her, I’ll forgive you, and everything will be all right.”

  “You don’t think Cheyenne will be upset?” Sophie asked worriedly. “I mean, about getting my part and then me showing up and taking it away again?”

  “Of course she’ll be upset,” I said. “But who cares? Cheyenne is always upset about something.”

  Sophie bit her lip. Then she closed her book and threw back her comforter.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll do it. Because it’s true. I really am so, so sorry for the way I acted toward you, Allie.”

  “That’s all right,” I said. “I forgive you. That’s what friends are for.”

  And we all hugged Sophie…

  …even though, if you ask me, she didn’t totally deserve our forgiveness. But, being a queen, I forgave her, anyway, because it was the queenly thing to do.

  Besides, it was for the good of the play, so that’s all that mattered.

  Demo version limitation

  Allie Finkle’s Rules

  Never eat anything red.

  Don’t chew with your mouth open.

  Swallow what’s in your mouth before speaking.

  It’s important to try to make your friends feel good about themselves as often as possible. Then they’ll like you better.

  Popularity isn’t important. Being a kind and thoughtful person is.

  Cheyenne is officially boring.

  There’s no kissing in fourth grade.

  You should always tell people they look nice, even when they don’t. This makes people feel good, so they’ll like you better.

  It’s rude to tell someone they’re only going to get something because no one else wants it, not because they earned it.

  Don’t play tackle football in the hallway.

  Don’t slam doors in people’s faces.

  Whenever possible, try to be born into a family with no little brothers.

  May the best man—or woman—win.

  It’s wrong to hate people.

  Practice makes perfect.

  It’s always better to have things out in the open than to let them fester.

  The best way to keep a person from getting mad at you is to compliment them. Even if you don’t think it’s true.

  If you want to get anywhere, you can’t play by the rules.

  Always answer the phone at home, saying, “This is (your name) speaking” to be polite.

  Friends try to make friends feel better.

  Friends don’t try to make friends feel bad on purpose.

  No one likes a sore loser.

  No one likes a sore winner, either.

  It’s important to accept victory modestly. (Then you can celebrate all you want in private, where the losers can’t see you.)

  There are no small parts, only small actors.

  It’s rude to interrupt peop
le.

  If you whine about it, you’ll get sent to your room and also have your TV privileges suspended and maybe also no dessert and possibly also your Nintendo DS taken away for a week.

  Best friends rescue each other when someone’s evil sister has them trapped.

  You can’t make someone with a bad attitude about something change her mind and have a good one.

  It’s okay to lie if the lie makes someone else feel better.

  Make the best of it.

  Treat people the way you yourself would like to be treated.

  When you know the right thing to do, you have to do it.

  No one would ever say shut up to Mrs. Hunter. Not if they wanted to live to see tomorrow.

  Don’t take anything that doesn’t belong to you without asking first.

  Nothing is impossible, if you put your mind to it. Nothing at all.

  Teaser Chapter

  Allie Finkle’s Rules for Girls Book Five: Glitter Girls and the Great Fake Out

  Here’s a sneak peek at

  RULE #8

  You Can’t Do Something to Make the Birthday Girl Unhappy on Purpose on Her Birthday

  Glitterati was just the way it had looked in all the pictures I’d seen. It was huge and sparkly and filled with loud, up-tempo music that seemed to fill my whole body and drum against the inside of my chest in a happy, boppy beat.

  It was exactly what I’d hoped it would be, and more.

  I was so excited I thought I was going to explode.

  And not just from all the Coke and M&Ms I’d had in the limo.

  “Hi, I’m Summer,” yelled the pretty girl with the spiky hair who met us at the door (she had to yell to be heard over the music). “I’ll be your Glitterati guide for the day. I’m here to make sure your Glitterati experience is everything that it can be. I want to get you pumped!”

  Summer didn’t need to worry. I was already pumped. So was everybody else. Except maybe Mrs. Hauser. She looked like her head hurt a little from all the music.