Truly Madly Royally

by Debbie Rigaud

  As everyone gets settled at the table, I glance over my shoulder at the rest of the seated crowd. I spot Owen at a far-off table near the stage, and he shoots me a wink that makes my stomach flip. Then I spot Kelsey next to him, telling him something, and I turn away.

  “Looks like we’re finally getting started,” Daddy addresses his new fan club at our table.

  An hour into the program, after we have been served our main dish and are eating dessert, the Gala president takes the stage to spotlight the high school student nominees.

  I feel a burst of nervousness and I stop eating the fancy chocolate pudding cup. I twist my hands in my lap.

  “Best of luck to all of the honorees,” Daddy says to the two other families at our table. With his next breath, he turns to me and whispers, “But we all know the winner tonight will be my daughter.”

  I shake my head at him, then try to listen as the president drones about the award and the prize and all the good we’ve done as students. She introduces each nominee with a short description of our programs. Then, she finally announces, “The Goodie award with a fifteen-thousand-dollar grant is being awarded tonight to Appleton High School rising senior Zora Emerson.”

  I instantly seek my mom’s hand, and there it is, already reaching for mine. “Amen, amen, amen,” she leans over and whispers in my ear.

  Daddy is already on his feet clapping, but I tug him back to his seat because the Gala president’s presentation is not yet over. She begins reading my bio and about why the committee chose to award the grant to me. It feels totally surreal. Ma holds my hand, and Daddy records the presentation on his phone, the sensor on his earpiece flashing green every few seconds like he’s my personal documentarian.

  “Zora’s proposal for expanding her Walk Me Home program and providing affordable aftercare for her community moved the committee,” the president says, and I feel like I only can take in half of her words. “Her incredible grasp of the community’s needs was reflected in her excellent proposal’s detailed budget, projected growth, and five-point plan. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s welcome Zora to the stage.”

  I hug my parents and then walk on wobbly legs to the stage podium.

  From that height, I can appreciate how large the crowd is. It doesn’t take me long to spot Owen. I can’t make out the expression on his face, but I see Kelsey watching me with mingled admiration and skepticism. I look back at my parents, who are now seated next to each other. Daddy is in my seat, and they’re both leaning toward me, their elbows on the table, their faces glistening with emotion.

  “Thank you to the committee, the sponsors, the teachers, and the Gala president for this tremendous honor,” I start, one shaky hand on the edge of the podium. I take a deep breath. “Our program’s purpose is more than providing a babysitting solution to parents in Appleton, New Jersey. It’s about joining hands with the families to safeguard children from one of society’s greatest ills: apathy. This program models the idea that in the absence of your parents or guardian, your community is your family. You never walk alone. Thank you.”

  It’s not until I am seated again that I realize my speech that I went bananas looking for is still folded up in my pocket, untouched. It’s an amazing feeling of accomplishment that I want to last forever.

  THERE’S NO sign of Owen or Kelsey when I’m asked to stay behind for official pictures and a word with the Gala committee chair. Sounds like a big deal. When she introduces herself to me and Ma, she comes off less grandiose than her title. She’s kind enough to pull us aside somewhere quiet in the service staff room.

  Fortunately, Daddy is talking sports with his new bartender friend, so we’re able to chat uninterrupted for a few minutes.

  “I’m sorry to keep you so late, but this is an emergency,” she says. “After a careful review, the committee and I have decided to rescind your grant honor.”

  “Wait, what? Why?” asks Ma.

  I feel queasy. Am I hearing this right?

  “It’s nothing you have done, Zora. You are a stellar student and an exciting community leader. We were just concerned about—well, there’s a conflict of interest.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say.

  “It’s about your previous connections with the prince of Landerel,” she says.

  Owen? My confused silence speaks volumes.

  “The award’s biggest sponsor is the royal family of Landerel.”

  “I—I didn’t know,” I say.

  One time, I smacked into the fancy glass door of a coffeehouse, and the crowd inside witnessed it. I didn’t have the option of just not entering that coffeehouse, because it was my first day at work there. Multiply that humiliating feeling by one hundred, and you get this moment.

  I think of the kids who I made promises to. I think about Ms. Nelson and all the people gathered at the center for the livestreaming of this event.

  “Here they are.” It’s Daddy’s bartender friend leading him to us.

  “Thanks, brother.” Daddy gives him dap before the bartender leaves.

  His casual expression changes when he reads the room.

  “What’s going on?”

  “They’re rescinding our baby’s award,” says Ma. Hearing the heartbreak in her voice snaps me back to crisis resolution mode. I don’t want her worrying about me.

  “No, someone’s going to have to explain to me why this is happening.” Daddy’s voice rises as his anger brews.

  “We realize that chances are Zora didn’t know about the prince’s affiliations,” the chairwoman is saying, “but because of the optics, our co-chairperson and attorney have advised us to step away from our decision and offer it to our runner-up.”

  Dad looks at me and walks away a few paces for some breathing room. I know this move, because it’s something I do when the pressure’s on. The fact that he’s got a lot of catching up to do makes things worse. When he met “my friend Owen,” he didn’t realize Owen was this prince who’s being referred to here.

  Ma silently rubs my back. I try to swallow the lump in my throat.

  “Zora, I know you worked hard for this,” the chairwoman is saying earnestly. “We respect your privacy and that of the prince, so we will report that the committee miscalculated our point system. But we have good news for you. Independent of our organization, a New Jersey–based corporate sponsor in attendance tonight was inspired by your story and wants to donate five thousand dollars to your endeavor. They will get in touch with you soon.”

  She apologizes again and assures us they will not speak to the press, but will release an official statement explaining the error in calculation and announcing the new winner.

  The only person with links to the award ceremony and to school besides Owen is Kelsey. But I brush aside any temptation to make her the villain. That would be too easy and too cliché.

  Daddy walks back over once the official has left.

  “You mean that that boy you introduced me to out there who could barely look me in my eye or give me a straight answer? That’s your prince?”

  “Kenney, this isn’t the time,” Ma interrupts him.

  “Owen and I have been hanging out as friends,” I say.

  “Oh, so while he’s sitting on his crown jewels, he’s also blocking you from your dream opportunity? How is that right?”

  “Kenney, this isn’t helping.”

  “According to you, Yvette, the way I do things never helps matters, huh?”

  “Can we not do this now? Here?” I ask, exhausted.

  “Fine, it’s over and done with.” Daddy holds up his hands. “But I’ll just say this: I don’t care how much this prince is worth, he’s not worth the trouble he’s causing you.”

  Now it’s my turn to walk away and get some air.

  IN ONE moment, I’m sweetly slumbering in that space between realms, enveloped in stillness, suspended in time. In the next, I’m yanked awake as if by a squirt of nasal spray, smelling-salt edition. My eyes snap open and search my bedroom ceiling. My fr
ozen body has yet to catch up to the frantic thought loop in my brain. I’m no forest ranger, but dang if there isn’t a late-morning brightness to the sun poking through the blinds. Oh no. Have I overslept? Did I miss my class? My arm frees itself from my bedsheet cocoon and swats at the side table before pulling back my phone. Whew. It’s only 7:05 a.m. And it’s Saturday.

  Relief.

  No, DREAD!

  The sight of my phone brings it all miserably back to me. My lock screen is lit with text notifications.

  Congratulations, Zora! You do Appleton proud. That’s from Ms. Nelson.

  So much better than the speech you wrote. Except for the part where you forgot to thank me! That’s from Skye.

  I’m impressed. You accomplished the impossible—getting Ma & Dad to sit together. From Zach.

  The only person I text back is Skye.

  They rescinded the prize money because of my link to Owen. His family is a major sponsor. I hit send.

  It’s still early, but she’ll see the message when she gets up.

  No crisis can make me cry, sis. No crisis can make me cry, sis. With my eyes sealed tight, I repeat the goofy catchphrase Skye and I made up until I feel the bounce-back courage rise up my spine.

  I take a deep breath, get on my feet, grab a notepad and pen from my backpack, and pace the room while I crunch the numbers.

  I figure at minimum I need $10,000, which is at least six months of teachers’ pay and provisions for a two-hour aftercare program. That just covers the bare necessities, but it’s doable.

  Let’s see, I’ve raised $1,000 in donations and personal savings. If this corporate sponsor really comes through with $5,000, we have enough to stay the course. That should give parents around three and a half months of aftercare. That’s long enough of a heads-up for them to make alternate plans.

  My Grant Writing class professor thinks I’m a shoo-in for at least another $3,000 in federal grants. But I won’t know for sure until the very end of the summer. If I get that, we’ll cover close to five months of aftercare.

  Time to crack open my plan B. It’s simple … kinda. I just need a lot more participants at the fundraising events I’ve already got planned for the Appleton Fam Fest in one week. The main one is the scavenger hunt. It’s the five-year anniversary of place-based learning at Appleton schools, so I’m hoping an Appleton-centric scavenger hunt will be popular. More participants equals more pledge money from businesses. Most of the game stops are at local shops, and they’re happy about all the social media shout-outs they’ll be getting from each hunter.

  I don’t brush my teeth, shower, or answer any texts until I’ve hammered out the details. I post the Fam Fest announcement online and invite people to sign up for the scavenger hunt, silent auction for local artwork, kid-choreographed parent dance-off, double Dutch contest, and—hoping for the next moneymaking idea—I add “plus more fun surprises.” Maybe I could do something unexpected and rent a dunk tank. I don’t care if I’m the one who has to be the dunkee, I’ll do it. I’m desperate. Working on the details helps keep my mind off of the disappointment.

  My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Owen.

  Good morning. How are you feeling??

  My heart races. What? Is he trying to be ironic? Why would he ask me that after such a huge roller coaster of a night?

  He texts again.

  I know we already have plans for tonight, but are you free to meet up this morning? Ingrum’s Books?

  I think about everything Daddy said about Owen and wonder if Owen has been playing me. Game recognize game. If he is, I have no one to blame but myself. I was warned from day one.

  But it still doesn’t mean I shouldn’t walk right up to Owen when I see him and say my piece. Just like the other ideas sparking up this morning, that idea feels right. I think I’ll do just that.

  Give me about two hours, I text Owen.

  “WE KISSED.”

  I’m totally distracted, because I can’t get the right lipstick blend going. I’ve got to head out if I want to meet up with Owen on time. It isn’t until I’m wiping a tissue across my bottom lip that Skye’s words play back in my mind. I look from the colorful tissue to the phone that’s resting on my bathroom sink.

  “For the hundredth time, Skye, Owen and I never kissed.”

  “Girl, please, I’ve got no time to wait on y’all.” Skye sounds like she’s given up on the idea of a royal lip lock. “I’m talking about me … and Zach.”

  I pick up my phone to gape at the video chat screen. Skye’s hand is on her mouth and her eyes are squeezed shut. “Can’t believe I just said that!” she shrieks more to herself than to me.

  “Can’t believe I’ve just heard that!”

  She drops her hand. “Um, that came out mad salty. Aren’t you happy for me?”

  “It’s not that exactly.” I sit on the edge of my tub and try to soften the edge in my voice. “Are you sure about this?”

  Zach? With Skye? It’s like the feeling you get running into someone out of context. My worlds are colliding and it’s surprisingly uncomfortable.

  “Actually? I guess. I still can’t make sense of it myself,” she says breathlessly. Skye lies back, sinking into a furry couch pillow. “The moment we saw each other at Piedmont Park, there was this connection. It’s hard to explain. It was almost like, why ignore something that feels so easy?”

  Listening to the emotion in Skye’s words, imagining the feelings she and my brother are experiencing … I can’t believe it. Is this really Zach she’s talking about? It’s all too much.

  Skye’s face settles, and I wonder if she’s frozen. This bathroom doesn’t get the best reception.

  “Are—are you okay?” she asks me with concern. I missed my window for reacting like a supportive friend, so anything I say beyond this point may sound forced. I might as well go for honesty.

  “I just don’t think Zach deserves you.” There, I said it.

  “What do you mean?” Skye sits up.

  Um, where do I begin? Zach is the same kid who for years cared nothing about school, or about keeping peace in our house. He would rage out at home at me or my mom, steal if he had to—sometimes right out of Ma’s purse. And the lying. Ugh. That was the worst. He would sometimes lie when it wouldn’t even make sense to lie. But Skye knows a lot of this. I jog her memory.

  “He spent most of my life causing my mom all types of grief,” I say. “He’s been disrespectful to her, and I just can’t forget all the hurt he put her through.”

  Skye frowns. “He’s turned his life around since those days. Can’t you see that?”

  “I do see it, and I’m proud of him for it. But I just don’t think he’s earned a prize like you.”

  “Zora, nobody’s perfect.” Skye’s voice softens. “And everything he’s doing now to make better decisions is a daily apology to your mom.”

  “I don’t see it that way. Everything he’s doing now seems to be just benefiting him.”

  She shakes her head. “Your mom has forgiven Zach. Why can’t you?”

  “I’m working on it.” I look away from the screen to avoid Skye’s piercing eye contact.

  “Are you? Is that why you’re heading out now to tell off Owen? It looks like you’re on a one-person mission to punish people who maybe take the messier way and don’t have their life mapped and figured out like you do.”

  “I have every right to be mad at Owen. He’s the reason Walk Me Home is going to be scrambling.”

  “Sure, you do. And Zach, too. But when you stay angry for this long, I have to wonder if it’s really Zach and Owen that you’re mad at.”

  “I’m not mad at myself, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

  “That’s not who I meant. I’m talking about your dad.”

  My throat tightens. “You know what? I’m running late. I gotta go.”

  Owen and I arrive at the same time. I see him outside of Ingrum’s, and we take a seat at the fountain wall across the plaza.

 
Owen’s wearing a striped rugby shirt that’s making him look good enough to tackle. I shake off those thoughts, immediately.

  “I just heard,” he says, his voice low and concerned.

  “Oh, so you didn’t have any idea this was going to be a conflict?” I ask stonily.

  “What I said was true—I didn’t even know you were one of the honorees until I saw the evening’s program,” he says, turning to me. “Zora, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what a terrible blow this must be. Everything you had planned for Walk Me Home …” He reaches his hand out, but I don’t take it.

  “It’ll be fine,” I sigh. I know it’s not really his fault I lost the money. But this wouldn’t have happened if we didn’t have this connection. “I’m working on finding another way. But for now, I just think it’s better we cool things off.” I start talking as quickly as I can, to get it all out. “I don’t want to come over for dinner tonight. It’s too upsetting otherwise.” This summer could’ve gone as I’d planned had I just walked away from Owen to begin with.

  Owen is silent for a moment. Then when he speaks again, his voice is even lower. He sounds more upset than I would have expected.

  “Zora, can we take a moment and just calmly talk things out?” he asks me.

  I shake my head, avoiding looking at him. “Are you trying to say I’m not being calm about this? You know, I was warned to stay away from you,” I say. “I should’ve listened.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “I picked up a call when I had your phone, thinking it was you. It was a girl who was pissed off to hear me on the other end.”

  Owen sighs and rests his elbows on his knees.

  “Was it from a New York number?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a girl my mother arranged as my date for my brother’s wedding. She’s a socialite, so of course she’s someone my mother approves of.”

  “And I’m someone you know your mom won’t approve of. Is that why you’ve been spending so much time with me?”