by Kirsten Boie
“What do you mean, ‘whining sans cesse’? And I don’t need a translation!” Jenna replied. She flung herself down on Bea’s bed. “I only just got here yesterday!”
“Yes, but ever since you arrived it’s complain, complain, complain!” said Bea, opening the window. “Whoa. It. Is. Hot! Look, I was superpsyched when you texted that you were coming to visit, but now all I get is … Let’s just say it rhymes with itch, ’kay? So c’mon, let us blow this proverbial Popsicle stand, shall we? Climb out the window, sneak off through the backyard — we’ll be over the fence in under a minute and your designated goons will be none the wiser. Are you ready to make your own rules, Your Royal Highness? Or do you want to be a good girl? In which case, here’s my ruling: No more moaning!”
Jenna sat up and smiled. She was already warm enough on the outside in the early summer heat wave, and now she was starting to get a warm feeling on the inside, too.
“Oh, how you’ve changed — not!” she said, and for a moment it seemed as if maybe her old life was still ready and waiting for her, or at least some small part of it. “Remember how you used to nag me? ‘Your mom’s a nervous wreck. You just have to train her right. She’s practically packed you in bubble wrap.’ Remember, Bea? You were so on my case!”
“Hello, back then I didn’t know why your mom was always so freaked out,” said Bea. “Now I do. Anyway, stop wallowing in the past. We can stroll down memory lane in our orthopedic platforms when we’re blue-haired and eighty. But today”— she leaned so far out the window that Jenna jumped up in fright —“carpe diem, girl! As predicted, the coast is clear. Let’s outie!”
Jenna laughed. Bea’s still Bea, she thought, and, more important, we’re still besties; nothing’s changed between us. It had taken Jenna a long time to persuade her mom to let her come and stay with Bea once they’d finished their tour of Scandia.
“All right,” Jenna answered, looking up at her friend, “let’s!”
Bea hoisted herself onto the windowsill and dangled her feet toward the drainpipe. “Good thing I got an A in PE!” she said. “This jump will be beyond easy. You know, I always wanted to do this. Climb out a window and into the world! Just like in that old movie — what was it called? Or one of those storybooks I used to love when I was ten … ack!”
Jenna rushed to the window and looked down into the flower bed, aghast.
“Oww-M-G!” Bea exclaimed, grimacing as she rubbed her arm. “It’s not that far a fall, just make sure you don’t land in the roses!” Even from up above, Jenna could see the thin red scratches on her skin. “I’ll be scarred for life!” Bea declared dramatically as she plucked a thorn out of the palm of her hand.
Jenna knelt on the windowsill and reached for the drainpipe. No, it’s not very high at all, she thought. Not like the balcony at Osterlin that I jumped from last summer, with rabid dogs at my heels. This, by comparison, is a piece of cake. She launched herself from the window and landed on her feet.
“Ta-da!” Jenna said, bowing to Bea. “Yikes — you are a mess!”
Bea tapped her forehead (she always tapped her forehead, even back in the day) and made straight for the hedge that ran all around the little garden, concealing the wire-mesh fence behind it. “You all right?” she asked over her shoulder.
“But of course!” Jenna whispered, following close behind.
Once she was standing in the narrow road on the other side of the fence, brushing the leaves out of her hair with her fingers, she was suddenly overcome with a feeling of lightness and joy that she hadn’t experienced for weeks on end. Now it really is like it was before, she thought. At least for one afternoon — no hat, no sunglasses, no disguise, no alias, no gorillas watching every move I make.
She’d been majorly looking forward to these two days. For weeks she’d thought of nothing else — and her countdown kept her going, every morning when she’d wake up to face disdainful looks from Ylva, and every school period when she’d enter a classroom to the sound of stone-cold silence. As she fell asleep each night, Jenna would picture Bea’s house, Bea’s room, dinner with Bea’s parents. Everything, she imagined, would be exactly as it had always been.
But of course it wasn’t. Instead of having dinner in Bea’s cozy, cluttered kitchen, Jenna had to go to a banquet that her old school held in her honor. They’d even invited the press, and suddenly everyone had become either remarkably shy or unnaturally chummy: Hi there, Jenna, back to see how the other half lives? Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. No matter where she went, they pushed and jostled around her, and she pretended not to notice that every single one of them made sure they got a photo with her: Philippa and Jenna; Britt and Jenna; Eva and Jenna …
No, nothing, absolutely nothing, was the same as before, when shy, boring little Jenna could disappear into the crowd and drop the fixed smile. I’m definitely not dull and conventional anymore, she thought. Those days are so over. So why wasn’t she happy that everything had changed? Why wasn’t she proud?
At least Bea remained the same.
“Where shall we go?”
“Pizza?” Bea suggested. “Bet you don’t get much deep dish up there on your ‘lonely island.’”
“Seriously!” said Jenna.
The little six-seater glided across the blue summer sky, heading north; no clouds above, and a clear view of the open sea below.
“I shouldn’t have let her go by herself, Peter!” fretted Jenna’s mother, her face still turned to the window. Her blonde hair was elegantly coiffed and her deceptively simple dress was, in fact, expensive enough to feed a North Island family for several months. “It’s not safe! And it’s not suitable. She’s got to learn —”
“Margareta!” Peter Petterson interjected, taking off his jacket. Jenna’s mother’s new boyfriend, a wealthy South Scandian lord, was growing exasperated. He tossed the jacket over the two seats behind him, then loosened his silk ascot and undid the top three buttons of his shirt. “Our people are with her twenty-four hours a day. You’ve yet to get over your fears for Jenna, and I can understand that — you spent so many, too many, years in hiding — but what could possibly happen to her now?”
Margareta didn’t answer, just looked down over the sea. Ahead she could see the shore of South Island, just a black line at the moment. The flight to Scandia was short — even in this little plane, the journey took barely two hours. In a few minutes they would be descending over the lakes and forests. Margareta felt a warm glow in her heart: She had yearned for so long to return to Scandia that even now, almost a year since she’d come out of exile, she still felt a surge of pleasure every time she approached her country from the south. She was back. She was home.
“Jenna’s got to learn that her life is different now,” she said at last, turning to look at her companion for the first time. “Yes, Bea was important to her while we were living there, and I’m not saying she should just cut herself off from her completely, but a close friendship with someone like … like that … just isn’t appropriate anymore. There are plenty of other girls at her boarding school for her to make friends with, aren’t there? She’s not making enough of an effort to adapt to her new position, Peter. You have to keep in mind —”
“Margareta.” Petterson leaned over to give her a quick peck on the cheek. “Give the girl some time. You’ve got to remember that she grew up there — it’s home to her just as Scandia is home to you. You longed for years to be back in Scandia, but for her it’s the other way around. And just as you couldn’t forget your earlier life, she can’t forget hers.”
Margareta leaned back, angry. “There’s no comparison!” she snapped. “I gave up my comfortable life in the palace for one of poverty and insecurity! But Jenna has a privileged life now. Sometimes I get the feeling that she doesn’t understand the responsibilities that go with it.”
“Now, now,” said Peter, placing his hand on her knee. “That’s all fine and well, but you can easily feel like a stranger in a new place, however luxurious your way of life. You d
idn’t have many close friends back there, did you? Because your heart was always here in Scandia. Unfamiliar situations make people long for the world they know, and why should Jenna be any different?” He smiled. “Anyway, I’m glad I decided to fly back with you, Greta. You obviously need some cheering up. Business can wait.”
“Oh, Peter!” Margareta sighed. “I’m not just afraid for Jenna — it’s not simply because something might happen to her. I’m worried that she might do something that would be bad for her — and for us.”
“Us?” he asked, furrowing his brow. “What sort of something would that be?”
The sound of the engines suddenly changed, and Jenna’s mother looked out the window again at the forests of Scandia, the dense, dark forests, broken here and there by the glint of sunlit lakes. Soon they would be landing.
“Particularly now,” she muttered, “when things are getting difficult again. With the press already turning against us … We’ve talked about it often enough.”
Petterson laughed. “Do you really think that whatever Jenna does or doesn’t do will make any difference? That the escapades of a teenager, still scarcely more than a child, are going to affect world history? Methinks you might be imagining things!”
“They’ve already done it once,” Margareta murmured. “If it hadn’t been for Jenna, Norlin would now be on the throne, and the north would not be free. I’ve learned not to underestimate children, Peter.”
Petterson said nothing. They heard the wheels release and click into position; the runway lights were almost directly below. Not long now and he’d be able to have a cigarette.
“She’ll be back tonight, anyway,” he said. “For goodness’ sake, Greta, as if there isn’t enough to worry about in this country of ours, all you can think of is your daughter!”
The wheels hit the concrete as the plane touched down.
“Whereas you …” Margareta paused. “As far as I’m concerned, you don’t talk enough about your son.” She was sitting very upright now.
Lord Petterson sighed. “We’re home” was all he said.
The pizza place was just off the main road, at a spot that trucks had to pass on their way to the nearest highway entrance ramp.
“Seriously?” Jenna said again. “Here?”
“It’s not as bad as it looks. Let’s go in and sit down,” Bea answered. “It just reopened and the food’s good. You’re thinking of the dump that was here before. The Health Department shut them down for violations — ugh, now that be nasty!”
Large square awnings with the logo of the pizza chain threw shadows over little wooden tables; the cushions on the seats looked clean; and terra-cotta pots with shiny green plants separated the entrance from the dining area, almost giving it the atmosphere of a bistro.
“Well, if you say so,” said Jenna. “Where’s the menu?”
A man came out from behind the counter and headed toward them — he was probably in his midthirties and had dark olive skin. I used to wonder about my own ethnic background, Jenna thought, because of my darker skin tone and Mom’s refusal to tell me who my father was. The truth ended up being way more complicated than I ever could have imagined …
“The menu,” the waiter said with a friendly smile, and handed one to each of the girls. “Have you decided what you would like to drink?”
“Can you give us a few minutes?” Bea asked.
The man smiled again and left. At a neighboring table, a heavyset customer waved his hand to indicate that he wanted to pay. Truck driver, thought Jenna. She looked back at the menu.
“Um, yay? And yum! They’ve got four-cheese pizza,” she said. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had one of those?”
“Frankly, darling, there’s not much I do know about you since you started moving up in the world!” said Bea. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve yet to actually download much info.”
“There’s always so much to do!” Jenna began. “For real, you cannot imagine …”
The waiter returned, holding a small notepad. “Ready to order?” he asked.
“The four-cheese pizza,” said Jenna, “with a Diet Coke, please.”
“The Cobb salad,” said Bea, “and a chai iced tea.” Then she looked disapprovingly across the table at Jenna. “Your skinny Coke won’t make up for the other ten thousand calories, you know. Four-cheese pizza! The only person I know who eats that is my dad!”
“Don’t even, because I’ll be fat no matter what I eat,” said Jenna, and pressed the flat of her hand against her stomach. “As you can see.”
“You are not fat now, you were not fat then, you are not fat, period!” Bea said with exasperation. “I thought that by now you might be over all your neuroses, Jenna. Or have you forgotten that it was you they cast in the movie?”
“Oh, please,” Jenna said. “That whole thing was just a scam, and you know it.”
Bea shrugged. “Fine, whatevs! Anyway, come on, spill. I’m dying of curiosity. Life as a princess? Tell me already! Then, afterward, I’ll treat you to dessert — an ice-cream cone.”
Jenna giggled. “An ice-cream cone? My hero! Thank you so much for riding to my rescue in the battle against the bulge!”
Al Patel, manager and currently sole waiter of Pizza Heaven, looked out through the spotlessly clean window. Only two of the tables were occupied, one by a man on his own, the other by two girls. Business is slow, he thought. Maybe I’ll give the girls dessert on the house. If they’re happy and they tell their friends about the place, sales might pick up. The school isn’t far away.
He went out and put the drinks on the table.
“The food will be ready in a moment,” he said. “The chef always makes the salads fresh, so it might take a little longer.”
“That’s cool, no worries,” said Bea. Al smiled at the girl. She was slim and blonde and could have got herself hired by any lucky modeling agency. The other girl was curvier, and looked familiar somehow. She stopped talking to her friend and simply smiled at him. Where had he seen her before?
Al went back into the kitchen, where the chef was cutting up tomatoes and cucumbers for the salad, and adding a few olives. The pizza was baking in the oven.
“Take a look through the door for a second, will you?” Al asked him. “Has the shorter one been here before?” He pointed outside. “The dark-haired girl? Her face looks familiar. Think we’ve got our first regulars?” His heart beat a little faster at the thought.
The chef at Pizza Heaven had stopped chopping the salad and was standing motionless, staring at the two girls through the window, his knife in midair.
“I’ve definitely seen her before!” he said. “And just recently. But it wasn’t here …” He put down his knife and, with trembling fingers, leafed through the daily paper. “Look! If I’m not mistaken, we have a princess sitting in our restaurant!”
Al looked at the newspaper photo of the dark-haired girl. Then he left the kitchen, carrying the salad, and put it down on the table with the pizza in front of the girl, smiling straight at her. Once again she stopped in midsentence. It seemed as if she was the one doing all the talking. Her friend was just listening, apart from asking the occasional question.
It is her, he thought as he went back to the kitchen. He glanced again at the photo. But was it really possible? Could a princess just wander in off the street and eat pizza at one of his tables? Princesses didn’t eat pizza. At least not in public. And a princess wouldn’t be caught dead in an average little place like his.
“Al!” The chef beckoned him excitedly. He had just opened the latest issue of People magazine, bought for customers.
“Look, she’s in here, too! It’s got to be her! ‘Princess Jenna of Scandia.’ And it says she was actually here yesterday, visiting her old school …”
“But why doesn’t she have any bodyguards?” said Al. “Surely a princess wouldn’t just go off on her own?”
The chef shrugged. “I’m not saying I know why she’s here,” he said. “I
’m just saying that she’s here.”
The customer at the other table was waving his wallet impatiently. “I’ll go and get his check,” said Al, “and then I’ll talk to her. I can at least say hello, right? Maybe she’ll let us take a photo of her in the restaurant — and then one of her with the two of us.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” whispered the chef, turning to the telephone mounted on the wall in the kitchen. He flicked quickly to the masthead of the paper. “Here. Call the news desk.”
“Hey!” shouted the man at the table. “You having a party or what? I’ve got to get going!”
Al hurried outside. They couldn’t afford to offend a customer. By the time he reached the table, his face was wearing a smile once more. “I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t realize you were waiting,” he said.
The man flapped his hand in annoyance. “Typical!” he said, pulling a bill out of his wallet.
The girls at the neighboring table were in animated conversation. The pizza lay untouched on the plate, and must have gone cold by now. It is her, Al thought again. The man didn’t tip him. It’s definitely her. If Chef is right, it’ll be such good publicity …
As he passed, he smiled at the girls. What a lucky break!
“I mean, most people would think being a princess was totally cool,” Jenna was saying wearily, sipping her Coke. “I thought so, too, at the beginning. Princess Jenna of Scandia. And I’d helped uncover the plot and free the king …”
“Just like in a movie!” said Bea. “My dad said no one would believe something like that could happen in real life. There you were, pigging out at our place year after year …”
“Thanks!” said Jenna, giggling. But it was pretty much true. Some of the best times she’d had in her life were dinners at Bea’s.
“… and you were always so shy that we could hardly get a word out of you, while your mom was the snootiest, craziest mother ever …”
