“Never going to happen,” Kyan said. “I remember what I said. But it’s like believing in alien insects. It might be impossible, but I still don’t want to hear they don’t exist.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said drily. “Now I don’t feel any pressure at all.”
“Anytime.” Kyan laughed. “Meet us at your locker after school?”
I nodded and headed nervously down the hall. When I walked into the pressroom, I smiled at the familiar storm of keyboards clicking manically to deadlines. Instantly, my pulse began hammering in time to their clatter. The surge of excitement I felt at the idea of working on a paper again was so intense, that I almost forgot the other reason I was here. Almost, but not quite.
I took a step farther into the room and a blonde girl with a no-nonsense look glanced up from her computer screen.
I gave her my winningest smile. “Hi, I’m Lise. I’m here for a job interview.”
The girl rolled her eyes, then headed for the back of the room, giving me an abrupt, “Wait here.”
“Okay,” I said cheerily, unfazed by her don’t-waste-my-time demeanor.
I watched as the girl tapped the shoulder of a boy bent over a lightboard. He was probably the editor-in-chief, checking photo proofs. I remembered doing that back at my old school.
“What?” the guy grumbled.
“You’ve got another victim,” the girl quipped, jerking her head in my direction.
The boy shoved the photo loop across the lightboard, making the kids hovering around him start.
“They’re no good,” he said flatly. “Dump them and start over. You can do better.”
The hover-kids exchanged disgruntled glances. “But the deadline—” one glasses-wearing girl started.
“Just … do it!”
The boy straightened and turned around, black curls framing his frowning face.
I gasped.
There were the angular features and those swoon-worthy green eyes. It was him! My Romeo.
My heart skittered as our eyes met. I lost my breath, hoping to see a flicker of recognition on his face. But there wasn’t anything except the blank look of a stranger. Hopes … crash-landed.
He extended his hand, and heat zinged through my fingertips as they touched his. But he only gave me a firm, businesslike handshake.
“Hi. I’m Rajeev Batik, the editor-in-chief. You can call me Raj.”
“Raj on a good day,” snorted the blonde who’d first met me at the door. “Bossy McBoss-A-Lot on a bad.”
Raj glared at her. “Chrissy, don’t you have an Op-Ed to write?”
Chrissy walked away mumbling under her breath while Raj turned his focus back to me. “So, you’re here about the reporting job?”
“Um, I … I …” I’m your princess, my heart screamed.
Raj blew out an exasperated breath. “Look, we’re really busy here, and I’ve only got a few minutes.”
I looked into his eyes, my head spinning with confusion and disappointment. I’d been daydreaming about this moment for so long, but now everything about it was wrong. Raj was brisk, unsmiling, and cold—not anything like the witty, sweet artist boy from Swoonful.
My mouth opened and closed like a suffocating fish’s before it finally urped out, “Yes, I’m here for the job. I emailed my application last week. I’ve had a lot of experience with reporting.”
Raj waved his hand impatiently. “Forget the application. That’s school policy. What I’m interested in is your writing.”
I nodded. “I sent in some samples—”
“Your writing under pressure,” he snapped, motioning for me to sit down at an empty computer station. “Lots of people can write well when they have time to prepare. But you won’t have that luxury on deadline.” He handed me some scribbled, cryptic notes, and a typed article titled, “Whitman Residents Debate Plan for Outlet Mall.”
“This article was too awful to run,” he said. “Rewrite it. You have twenty minutes.”
I nodded. As I felt the weight of the paper against my palms, my bumbling nervousness vanished, replaced by an energizing swell of enthusiasm. My confusion over Raj changed into a fierce determination to prove to him how good I could be. Here was the sort of article I’d loved to write back in Boston—something with bite. I turned to the computer and started typing. My fingers flew, cozily at home on the keys as the cursor raced swiftly across the screen.
It seemed like only a minute later that Raj tapped my shoulder, saying, “Time’s up.”
I blinked, coming out of my writing daze to see my three-page masterpiece spitting out of the printer. Raj snapped it up before I had time to re-read the first sentence, and I held my breath as his eyes scanned the pages. Finally, he looked up, his expression stony.
“Clunky in spots, but not bad.”
“Clunky?” I repeated, not believing my ears. “I barely had any time—”
“We’ll give you a try,” he said with resignation, as if he wished there were a better option available. “Articles are due every Monday morning by seven a.m. You’re on the food beat.”
“The food beat?” I was pretty sure steam was pouring out of my ears now. “But I used to be a features reporter. I was an editor-in-chief at my old school!”
Raj raised an eyebrow. “Not anymore. Take it or leave it.”
He turned, already walking away, while my mouth hung open in shock. How could I have misread him so completely that night at Swoonful? I hadn’t fallen for a kind, introspective artist. I’d fallen for a completely obnoxious jerk. Unless he had an evil twin or something, this made no sense.
I spun toward the door, ready to march out without ever seeing him again. But then I froze, remembering his disarming smile at Swoonful, how the green flecks in his eyes had danced in the candlelight. How his lips had been so close to mine.
A shivery thrill ran up my spine. What if that Raj was still in there? I straightened, lifting my head as I made my decision.
“I’ll take the job,” I said firmly.
Raj nodded. “Good. A new restaurant just opened up on Cobblestone Alley. It’s called Thai Me to the Moon. Give it a try and write up a review. Due next Monday.”
“There’s one more thing,” I blurted before he could turn away again. My heart drummed louder than a printing press. “It’s about the ad for the missing princess.”
Suddenly, his fierce demeanor cracked. “Do you know who she is?” he asked urgently, stepping closer. So … maybe he wasn’t as tough as he seemed after all.
“I do.” It’s me! It’s me! The truth was right there on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t say it. Not yet. Not until I found out who the real Raj was. I thought quickly. “But the thing is she’s … shy. If you give me your email address, I might be able to convince her to talk to you.” A plan was beginning to form in my mind, a plan for how I might find out more about him without revealing who I was.
“Sure, sure.” Raj hurriedly wrote down his email on a piece of paper and handed it to me. “But why doesn’t she want to see me again?” He sighed in frustration, running his hand through his curly hair. “Can’t you tell me anything else about her?”
“I can tell you one thing. She’s looking forward to getting to know the real you.” I smiled at his perplexed face before I turned to walk away.
I finished my homework on the bus ride home, then inhaled my dinner so that I could have first dibs on the family computer to put my plan into action.
Please be online, I chanted in my head as I logged in using my brand-new email, [email protected].
After filling Kyan and Viv in on what had happened with Raj, the three of us brainstormed, coming up with the idea of using my Frog Princess alias to talk to him. That way, I had time to solve the mystery of his Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde routine without things getting too awkward. And, if the jerk side of him was permanent, I could end things without him ever knowing that the girl he’d just hired for the paper was also his missing princess.
I waited for m
y inbox to pop up, and when it did, my heart jumped gleefully at the sight of the green “online” bubble next to [email protected]. I held my breath and sent an invite for a live chat.
FrogPrincess:
Frog Princess seeking Pauper Painter. Are you there?
Within seconds, a reply came shooting back:
RajBat:
Hi! I can’t believe it’s you! I’ve been scouring the kingdom in search of you. After you left that night, I was worried I’d never find you again.
I smiled at the screen.
FrogPrincess:
Me too. If I’d known you worked on the school paper, you wouldn’t have had to scour.
RajBat:
Sorry. I guess I forgot to mention it. It’s not the best part of who I am.
FrogPrincess:
Yeah, I heard you were sort of … obnoxious today.
RajBat:
Obnoxious?!?
FrogPrincess:
Don’t worry. I didn’t believe it.
Nothing came back for a minute, and I started to worry that he’d left. But then:
RajBat:
I’m just trying to print the best paper possible. Your friend Lise needs to grow a thicker skin, or she won’t be able to hack it.
I sat back in the chair, bristling. A thicker skin, huh? Well, we’d just see about that.
FrogPrincess:
Don’t worry about her. She can take whatever you dish out. So … what are you up to? Painted any new masterpieces lately?
RajBat:
I wish. I haven’t drawn anything new since Valentine’s Day.
FrogPrincess:
Oh … lost your muse?
RajBat:
Yes, I’m always inspired by frogs.
FrogPrincess:
As anyone would be. Ever wonder why Monet painted so many lily pads?
RajBat:
Quit making me laugh. I just dropped my charcoals all over my keyboard.
FrogPrincess:
Charcoals? I thought you hadn’t drawn lately.
RajBat:
I was trying tonight. But it wasn’t working.
FrogPrincess:
Maybe the problem is your subject. What were you trying to draw?
RajBat:
You.
My heart jolted, and I smiled at the screen.
FrogPrincess:
It’s my webbed feet, right? They’re tough to capture.
RajBat:
I want to draw the real you. But all I have to go on is the mask.
FrogPrincess:
Maybe it’s better that way. Maybe I’m not what you hope I am under the mask.
RajBat:
I already know who’s under there … the real you. But I’d like to see her too!
FrogPrincess:
You have seen her …
I typed the words, then deleted them before they got sent. I had to be careful not to give too much away.
I jumped as a hand tapped my arm, and I swiveled in my chair to see Destry peering over my shoulder.
“I have to get on there for a homework assignment,” she said. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the screen. “Who’s RajBat?”
“Just a new friend from school,” I said. “Can I have five more minutes?”
Destry crinkled her nose. The telltale sign of an oncoming temper tantrum. “I really need to … now. It’s important.”
“Fine,” I mumbled, then typed a quick good-bye:
FrogPrincess:
Sorry, I have to go. Let’s talk more later.
I hit SEND and was waiting for a response when Destry clicked the mouse, logging me out.
“Thank you,” she sang happily, claiming the computer with a haughty smile. “I’ll be done in ten.”
Brush … it …off, I thought as I gritted my teeth.
And I did. For ten … twenty … thirty minutes, watching the time on the clock tick by as Destry giggled and blushed over whatever “homework” she was doing. Finally, an hour was up, and so was my patience. I walked over to the computer, and, as gently as I could, said, “Um, are you almost done?”
“Not quite,” Destry said.
I peeked at the screen, and my frustration rapidly turned to fuming. “Hey!” I cried. “You’ve been on Twitter this whole time? You said you were doing homework!”
Destry shrugged. “Whatever.” She locked eyes with me, as if daring me to say something else.
I glared at her. “You can’t just monopolize the computer for socializing!” My voice was echoing through the family room now.
“Neither can you!” she said, her voice rising to match mine.
“Girls!” Gail came in from the kitchen, arching her back in a classic pregnancy waddle. She looked tired and uncomfortable, and I felt a momentary pang of guilt that she was being dragged into this. “What’s the problem?”
“Lise was chatting with some guy, but I had homework to do.” Destry molded her face into a practiced pout. “You always say schoolwork over social time, right, Mom?”
“That is the rule in this house, Lise,” Gail said with a sigh.
“Sure!” I threw up my hands. “You expect me to follow it but not her!” I jabbed a finger toward Destry. “She was tweeting the entire time, but I get blamed while she gets away with everything! It’s so unfair!”
“Basta! Enough!” Dad’s voice was gruff. Still in his coat from work, he walked into the family room and slipped an arm protectively around Gail. “Lise. Destry. What’s this all about?”
I started ranting the second Destry did, and our voices rose to an indecipherable yell. We were startled silent when Dad gave a deafening whistle, making a time-out signal with his hands.
“You know what?” He heaved a disgruntled breath. “It doesn’t even matter what you were fighting about. It’s obvious you two have gotten off on the wrong foot, and it’s upsetting … for everyone.” He gave Gail’s belly a tender pat. “So. I’m giving you a job. You’ll be painting the nursery. Together.”
“But, Dad—” There was no way I was spending that much time with Destry. Nuh-uh.
Destry started to protest, too. “What? But I have ballet after school—”
Dad held up his hand. “You’ll get started this weekend.”
I swallowed down the rest of my arguments and nodded, willing to take the punishment if it meant erasing the disappointment I saw in Dad’s face.
I hurried back to the computer, hoping to reconnect with Raj one more time before bed. He was offline, but my heart leapt when I saw an email from him:
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Hi again,
That’s the second time you ran away without saying good-bye. Are you sure you’re a Frog Princess and not Cinderella? (Just kidding.) But I am getting a little bit of a complex. (Not kidding.) How about going ice skating with me? This Saturday at Revere Pond at noon. Please say yes.
I couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across my face. He was asking me out! He wanted to see me again!
Blushing, I immediately typed a “See you there” reply, but the second I hit SEND, my happiness screeched to a halt.
Wait a second. I’d just agreed to meet him in person! Or, er, the princess had!
And Raj had already met me, Lise, at the pressroom that day, and things hadn’t gone so well between us.
How was I going to pull that off without revealing who I was? Ugh.
How, how, how? I put my forehead in my hands to think. Then I jumped up in a eureka! moment. I had the perfect answer. I would be there on Saturday, and so would the princess. And I knew exactly who she would be …
“Me?” Viv said, gawking at me from under her ludicrously long lashes. “You want me to pretend to be you?”
“Not exactly. I’ll be me. You be the Frog Princess.” I smiled as she and Kyan shook their heads skeptically. We were eating lunch in the cafeteria while I shared last night’s brainstorm with them. “We’ll all go skating together.
But you’re going to pretend that you’re the girl Raj met at Swoonful of Sugar. Just until I can get a legitimate read on him. You know, figure out who the real Raj is, and if I actually like him.”
“But, Lise, we don’t look anything alike,” Viv said. “Don’t you think he’ll know right away that I’m not the girl he met that night?”
I shook my head. “It was dark in the patisserie, and I had on a mask. Besides, you and I both have brown eyes. And”—I shrugged—“you can tell him you were wearing a wig or something.”
“He’s not my type,” Viv said.
“That’s okay,” I said. “You’re supposed to find out if he’s mine.”
We giggled, but Kyan frowned. “I don’t like it,” he said. “You’re messing with his heart and his head.” It was the first contribution he’d made to the discussion. I got the distinct impression that he didn’t like the notion of me involving Viv in this at all.
“It’s only for a little while,” I said. “If I decide that I like him, then we’ll tell him the truth. If I don’t like him, we’ll end it with him.”
“What about Holden?” Kyan asked Viv flatly. “Won’t he be mad? I mean, you’ve been dating him practically a whole week now. For you, that’s serious.”
“Hey, that sounded kind of harsh,” Viv said. She leaned her head against his shoulder playfully. “Why so grumpy today? Are you jealous?”
I knew Viv meant it as an innocent joke, since she was completely oblivious to Kyan’s undying devotion to her. But I cringed, watching Kyan flounder in embarrassment. “No! Of course not! It’s just … not really fair to him, right?”
Viv sighed. “I don’t really care what Holden thinks. I’m so over him. He told me last night that I should lay off chocolate or I’d have to quit modeling. As if I don’t hear that enough from my mom.” She shrugged, then grinned slyly, opening her lunch satchel to reveal a mound of Hershey’s Kisses. “Holden and Trent must have gotten their jerk diplomas together.”
“Why do you go for guys like that?” I asked her.
“I don’t know,” Viv said, popping a chocolate into her mouth. “I guess because they keep asking me out, and they tell me I’m pretty. Every girl wants to get asked out and told she’s pretty, right?”
Macarons at Midnight Page 5
