Copyright © 2014 by Jenna McCarthy and Carolyn Evans
Cover and internal design © 2014 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover design by Demeter Designs
Cover illustration © Brigette Barrager
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Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Maggie Malone’s Totally Fab Vocab
Take a sneak peek at the next Maggie Malone adventure!
About the Authors
Back Cover
We dedicate this book to Maggie Malone fans everywhere who have been patiently awaiting her next adventure. This one’s for you.
Dear Maggie,
I know you’re wondering why I sent you some dirty old cowboy boots for your birthday. Your dad will tell you it’s because I’m crazy, but the truth is they were mine when I was your age. I’ve carried them around the world with me twice, just waiting for your 12th birthday. They might look like a boring pair of boots to you, but trust me when I tell you things aren’t always what they seem. These boots will change your life, Maggie. If you let them, that is...
Love,
Auntie Fi
Chapter 1
When I Find Out Princess Apprentices Are an Actual Thing
“So what’s the deal with this dance thingy coming up?” I ask Alicia as I slide into my seat in homeroom. I’d noticed a flyer taped to the wall by my locker this morning, something about a Pinkerton Ball and Royal Court Assembly. I have no idea what that even is, but everyone was crowding around that poster like it was a treasure map or something.
“DANCE THINGY?” Alicia shouts, grabbing my hand and squeezing it good and hard. “The Pinkerton Ball and Royal Court Assembly is only THE BIGGEST DEAL of the whole entire school year!”
“A dance is the biggest deal of the school year?” I ask. We never had dances at my old school, Sacred Heart. Instead, the boys got to go on “wilderness retreats” while the girls had these supersized sleepovers in the lunchroom where we wore fuzzy slippers, got mini facials, and slept on air mattresses. I have to say, it was a little bit of heaven—especially the year Beatrice Ballard’s mom bought all the fourth grade girls matching pink satin pj’s. It was all good times until around 4 a.m. when even the nicest girls went all cuckoo-ca-choo on you from lack of sleep, and the chaperone moms—the same ones who had happily painted flowers on your toes a few hours before—would start to lose it too, going all bushy-haired and bug-eyed just as the sun came up. My mom always thought the whole thing was a really bad idea, and now that I think about it, she may have had a point. Maybe this dance idea is a better one.
“Oh, it’s way more than a dance,” Alicia insists, nodding like one of those bobblehead dolls you see in the back of people’s cars.
“Tell us more,” Elizabeth whispers, leaning in for the scoop.
Elizabeth showed up at Pinkerton the same week I did and we bonded right away. She’s super sweet, but she barely ever speaks above a whisper, so I only get about every third word. I can see her mouth moving really fast and I know she’s got a lot to say, but bits and pieces are all we hear. Since Elizabeth’s mom talks the same way, we don’t expect the volume to get turned up anytime soon. But that’s okay. Everybody’s got their little thing, right? I mean, I chew the inside of my cheek whenever I talk to a cute boy. The other day when Jake Ritchie said hi to me in the courtyard, I tasted blood for two hours.
“Well, every year, the sixth and seventh grades each elect three princess apprentices,” Alicia explains, tucking a stray blond strand behind her ear. “They’re going to announce them this Friday during morning assembly!”
“Wait, wait. What the heck is a princess apprentice?” I ask.
“Oh! Well, it’s a really big deal to be a princess apprentice because for the whole next year, you get to serve the actual Pinkerton Princess—the eighth grade girl chosen by the school to reign,” Alicia explains. “A princess apprentice gets to carry the Pinkerton Princess’s book bag, take her lunch order, and bring her towels after PE. It’s a huge honor.”
“You’re serious?” I ask. Alicia nods enthusiastically. I cut my eyes over to Elizabeth to see if she understands the glory of securing a spot on the Pinkerton Royal Court. She smiles, and I get the feeling she might just think the idea is as flat-out wacky as I do. But since we’re both pretty new to this school, I figure it’s probably best not to poop on the royal parade.
Elizabeth’s family moved to town to be closer to her grandparents the same week I had to switch from Sacred Heart to Pinkerton when my dad lost his job. You’d better believe I was not happy about it, especially since I turned twelve about five minutes after I got to Randolph J. Pinkerton Middle School. Twelve was looking pretty lame there for a while, between getting separated from my BFF Stella, getting clobbered with a history book on my very first day of class, and basically finding out I was next to invisible at Pinkerton. But then my crazy Aunt Fiona sent me the Mostly Magical Boots and Frank-the-genie showed up and everything changed.
I know what you’re thinking: Magical boots? A genie named Frank? Yeah, right, Malone. You’ve been mixing Pop Rocks and Coke again, haven’t you? Trust me, I was right there with you. Especially when Frank-the-genie told me the part about how the boots are mostly magical. And then I was all, if these boots can’t make me fly or turn my brother Mickey into a hamster, what good are they? But it turns out, whenever I put on the Mostly Magical Boots (MMBs for short) and say the magic words—something I did by accident the first time, before Frank had a chance to tell me how th
e MMBs work—I get to be somebody else for a whole day. Anybody I want.
Awesome, right?
So now I’m living proof that magical boots and genies are real, because I already spent a day as Becca Starr, the most famous rock star in the universe. I got to ride on her tour bus and get my hair and makeup done and sing onstage for twenty thousand screaming fans. Oh, and I got to meet Justin Crowe, the second most famous rock star in the universe and, it turns out, a super-nice, totally normal guy. The only part about the MMBs that stinks is that I can’t tell anyone about the boots—not even Stella—or the magic will disappear right off them. Poof! Just like that.
Rats, right? I know.
“Why is the Royal Court such a big deal?” I ask Alicia now, trying to wrap my brain around the whole idea.
“Well,” Alicia gushes, “everyone knows that you can’t be a Pinkerton Princess or Prince someday if you never served as a princess apprentice or a duke. Plus…”
“Plus what?” Elizabeth and I ask at the exact same time when she drags out the word for a year and a half.
“Plus, every single year except one, the Marshmallow Queen—which I’m sure you guys know is the highest title at the biggest festival in town—was a former Pinkerton Princess! So the royal court is really a launching pad for all sorts of great things.”
“If you say so,” I tell Alicia. After all, Alicia is practically the mayor of Pinkerton. She knows everyone and is nice to everybody—including the new girl in the ridiculous reindeer sweater. (That was me.) She’s been great about showing me the ropes around here, so I guess I’m going to have to believe her when she says this Pinkerton Ball business is all kinds of awesome. Even though, if I’m being honest, it sounds like the silliest thing since canned string.
Chapter 2
When the Meanest Girl at School Gets a Sparkly Pink Tiara
All week long, it’s like the only thing anybody can talk or even think about is the Friday assembly. I even heard clumsy Carl Lumberton—he’s the guy who dropped the giant textbook on my head that first day—talking about wanting to be a duke. I’m just not seeing that. The day after Carl accidentally knocked me out, he taped this note to my locker:
Dear new girl,
I’m sorry that I crushed your skull with my history book. That must have really hurt. I hope you don’t get a Harry Potter scar from it. There was a lot of blood.
From: Carl
I appreciated knowing that nobody was using my “new kid” head for target practice on purpose, but Carl Lumberton, duke material? Not so much. You see, Carl is kind of a spaz. In my two whole weeks at this school, I’ve seen him send sporks flying in the lunchroom and school dance flyers sailing down the hall. The poor guy can’t seem to hold on to anything for very long—except a football, I hear, so at least that’s something.
Finally it’s Friday. I love Fridays almost as much as I love my neighbor Mrs. G’s cinnamon sticky buns. Everyone is always in a good mood, and the teachers even seem to relax a little. As I cruise up to the bike rack, though, my hopeful good mood starts to sink. Something is going on in front of the school—it looks like a mob or a riot or something. Hundreds—maybe thousands—of students are swarming around outside the multipurpose room, or MPR as it’s called here. I lock up my bike and take a deep breath before I start moving toward the crowd. I hope nobody’s gotten hurt, I think to myself. That’s when I hear the chanting.
“All hail our Pinkerton Dukes and Princess Apprentices! All hail our Pinkerton Dukes and Princess Apprentices!”
This cannot be for real.
“Hey,” whispers Elizabeth, who has snuck up beside me. “What is all of this? Is that a red carpet going into the MPR?”
The chanting is getting even louder, and Elizabeth and I look at each other and shrug. Just then, an actual trumpet blares—a trumpet!—and the double doors to the MPR fly open. The crowd gets so quiet you could hear a beetle sneeze. My mouth drops to the ground.
Standing in the doorway is Mr. Mooney, the principal of Pinkerton. Normally he wears some version of the same depressing gray suit and brown knit tie. But not today. Today Mr. Mooney is wearing a long crushed velvet robe the color of a ripe raspberry. It’s got this thick white fur trim all along the opening in the front and around the cuffs. As if that weren’t enough, he’s got a huge gold crown studded with different colored jewels on his head and he’s carrying one of those fancy wands that kings carry. I’m pretty sure it’s called a scepter. Also, I am not positive, but from where I’m standing it looks like he’s wearing makeup! I try not to laugh, even though I saw that exact outfit in the Halloween Spooktacular catalog last year.
“Here ye, hear ye,” Mr. Mooney bellows. “I welcome you all to this morning’s assembly, where we will be officially announcing this year’s Pinkerton Royal Court Assembly! Please enter and take your seats so we can get started.” Elizabeth and I exchange stares. He’s talking in a British accent! Mr. Mooney makes this great sweeping motion with his arms and nearly thwacks the office secretary, Mrs. Dunst, in the head with his scepter. (Some kids call her Mrs. Dunce, but I’m thinking that’s only since it rhymes, because she seems smart enough.) With his arms spread out like an overdressed scarecrow, Mr. Mooney drops his chin to his chest and steps backward slowly into the MPR.
“As you all are very aware,” Mr. Mooney says when everyone finally gets settled, “the Pinkerton Ball and Royal Court Assembly is an esteemed and long-standing tradition here at Randolph J. Pinkerton Middle School. Aside from the actual crowning of the Pinkerton Prince and Princess at the ball next month, the appointing of the royal court—the honored dukes and princess apprentices—is perhaps one of the most significant events of our school year.”
I’m practically knocked into next week by the sound of the entire student body clapping, whistling, and woo-hooing their heads off.
“Without further ado,” Mr. Mooney continues, slipping in and out of his terrible fake accent, “let us start with the sixth grade!”
Mrs. Dunst walks onto the stage and hands Mr. Mooney a giant scroll. Man, they think of everything here.
“The first sixth grade princess apprentice will be…drumroll please…”
Mrs. Dunce punches her little CD player and a recorded drumroll plays.
“The one, the only, the lovely…Lucy St. Claire!”
Lucy St. Claire. Of course. Lucy—secretly known around Pinkerton as Lucifer—is pretty much the meanest girl I have ever met. (You’d have to be pretty awful for people to call you another name for the devil, right?) My very first day at Pinkerton, she made me move out of her seat. Apparently, she thinks she owns the place since her grandfather donated some bleachers a hundred years ago. Her family owns a big company that makes the metal part that goes on the top of your pencil to keep your eraser from falling out or something like that. Alicia says the whole school looks forward to her birthday because every year her dad arranges for this amazing carnival to be set up on the football field. Two years ago, Justin Crowe—yes, the super-famous rock star—popped out of her big birthday cake at the end. Alicia said that for some reason Lucy’s parents skipped it this year, but nobody knows why. I’ve tried smiling at Lucy in the hallways, but she usually just glares at me and looks away. Now I mostly try to stay away from her.
I can’t see Lucy at first when her name is called, but then I spot her making her way onto the stage as a group of eighth graders tosses rose petals at her feet. I’m thinking she must have been pretty confident about landing an apprentice spot today—she’s wearing a strapless black dress and gold high heels. To school! (I’m not allowed to wear anything strapless until I’m fourteen, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to walk in high heels.) When Lucy reaches Mr. Mooney, he nods at Mrs. Dunst, who fiddles with her CD player again until the famous song from the Miss Galaxy Contest starts to play.
And then—I promise I am not making this up—this beautiful girl I’ve n
ever seen before steps out of the shadows of the stage wearing a royal blue gown and a sash that says “Marshmallow Queen.” She walks up behind Lucy and places a sparkly pink tiara on her head. When she does, Lucy hunches over, looking like she’s going to puke or something. Then she stands back up—clutching tight to that crown—and I can see that she is not in fact going to puke but is sobbing her head off. She’s shaking and heaving and gasping like she’s one of those guests in the studio of the Helen Show the day they are giving out brand-new cars to everyone in the audience. She throws her arms around the marshmallow girl, who for some reason is crying too.
“Who’s the marshmallow girl?” I whisper to the girl on my other side.
She looks at me like I have worms crawling out of my ears. “Emily Littleton?” she says with that duh sound in her voice. “She’s only last year’s Pinkerton Princess who went on to become the reigning queen of the Marshmallow Festival. She’s, like, legendary at Franklin High.”
“Oh,” I say, nodding because I get the feeling I’m supposed to be impressed.
“Can you even imagine being her?” the girl sighs.
“Not really,” I admit. Because I really, honestly can’t.
Chapter 3
When Stella Gives Me a Royally Good Idea
“So how are things over at Stink—at Pinkerton?” Stella asks.
See, before I went to Pinkerton, Stella and I—and everyone at Sacred Heart and pretty much all over the rest of the world as far as I can tell—called my new school Stinkerton. But I decided if I was going to be stuck at this place, I was going to have to give it a chance. And as soon as I made that decision, things really did seem to get better, so I’m trying to stick with that plan.
Anyway, Stella and I like to say we’ve been friends since “before we were born” because our moms have been best friends since they were our age. Back at Sacred Heart we were inseparable, so much so that most people thought of us as one person named Maggieandstella. If they did use our separate names, half the time they’d get them mixed up—which is funny because Stella and I are polar opposites in the looks department. I have green eyes, pale skin (my mom calls it “peaches and cream,” but it’s way more cream than peaches), this crazy mess of gold ringlets that look a tiny bit reddish in the sunlight, and freckles across my nose. Stella has chocolate-colored eyes, stick-straight hair so black it’s almost blue, and skin the color of caramel candy.
Maggie Malone Gets the Royal Treatment Page 1
