Maggie Malone Gets the Royal Treatment

by Jenna McCarthy

  “Go on,” I tell her. “What is it?” The last of the guests are gathering their things as the service staff bustles around clearing glasses and plates.

  Penelope is fiddling with the small evening bag in her lap. She can’t even look me in the eye.

  “For heaven’s sake, Penelope, we’re not getting any younger here,” I say. “Spit it out already!”

  She pops open the clasp on her bag, reaches into it, and pulls out something sparkly.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, handing it to me. Tears begin spilling down her face.

  “What is it?” I ask. “Why are you sorry? I’m so confused!” It’s just a pin, sort of like something Granny Flannery always wears on her jacket to church, only this one is ginormous. It has one blue stone the size of a golf ball in the middle and clear sparkly stones—those are only the size of grapes—all around it. They can’t be diamonds, surely, or this thing would cost about sixteen trillion dollars.

  “Of course you know what it is,” Penelope insists. “It’s the Berisford-Boyle Brooch, the most important jewel in the entire royal collection! It originally belonged to Queen Millicent’s great-great-grandfather, King Winston the Wise. It lives on the Crown Cape, of course.” Penelope starts really crying now. “King Winston once had a man’s fingers chopped off for touching it. And I didn’t just touch it; I took it off the Crown Cape and stole it.”

  “But why?” I ask.

  “I was going to put it back,” Penelope wails. “But later, secretly, after you’d been blamed for losing it.”

  My chin hits the floor.

  “Seriously?” I ask, because somebody has to. “Did you graduate from the Ultimate Mean Girl Academy or something? How do you come up with this stuff?”

  “I know,” Penelope says. “I’m a horrible, horrible person, and I don’t blame you if you hate me.”

  I take Penelope’s hands in mine. “I don’t hate you,” I tell her. “You acted like a jerk and I might hate what you did, but I don’t hate you. We’re cousins, for crying out loud. But if you keep saying that you’re a horrible person, pretty soon you’re going to start believing it and turn into a horrible person, and that would be a serious shame.”

  Penelope smiles. I give her a big hug and she hugs me back tightly so I know she means it and I’m glad. I can’t stand those pat-pat-pat fake hugs some people give. I say if you don’t act like you’re trying to squeeze the breath out of the other person, you’re doing it wrong.

  Just then I see Amelia making her way toward us.

  “Hurry,” I tell Penelope. “Help me get this thing back onto the Crown Cape!”

  Penelope slips the pin into position just as Amelia reaches our table.

  “Good evening, ladies,” she says. “I trust you had an enjoyable time?”

  Penelope and I nod and squeeze hands.

  “It certainly looked like it,” Amelia adds. “Quite lovely to see the two of you looking like…friends. But it is time to go.”

  “Good night, Princess Mimi,” Penelope says, giving me another of those award-winning hugs. “Thank you…for everything.”

  “’Night, Penelope,” I say, squeezing with all of my might. Don’t mess this up, I add silently.

  “That was quite a lovely thing you did back there, Princess,” Amelia says as we cross the lawn together. “You may have actually put an end to years of bitterness between your families with your generosity of spirit.”

  “It was nothing. Really, I just…” I begin, but Amelia keeps talking.

  “Ever since that horrible newspaper printed those photographs of you two leaving the hospital the very same week with your families,” Amelia says, shaking her head, “naming you the most beautiful princess in all Christendom and Penelope the ugliest. It’s been really hard for her.”

  “But she is beautiful!” I protest.

  “Yes, she is, but she never thought so, and she became what had been said of her,” Amelia says as we arrive at my door. “That may have all changed tonight. You did a good thing tonight, Princess, a very good thing indeed.” Amelia kisses me on the forehead and tells me good night.

  Huh, I think to myself. So that’s what happened. You don’t know what you don’t know until you do.

  I’m so sleepy as I step out of my big fat baby dress and lay it across the chair in my room. I brush my teeth, at least a little, and it takes all the strength I have left to climb up into that crazy tall princess bed.

  • • •

  Ugh! Who is rubbing my face with sandpaper? I wake up eyeball to eyeball with my cat Charlotte, who is licking my cheeks like it’s her job or something.

  I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes and giving Charlotte a squeeze around the middle, which sends her leaping for the door. There’s my polka-dot chair in the corner, and my zebra-striped rug and the purple vanity table that I helped my mom paint. The dusty old MMBs are propped up next to the vanity. I’m back at home, back to being Maggie Malone, just like that.

  The phone rings. It’s Stella.

  “What are you doing right now?” she booms into my ear.

  “Uh… waking up… I think,” I say.

  “Well, I’m on my way over,” Stella pants. It sounds like she’s jogging. “Celebrity Times just posted pictures from the royal wedding and there’s this big deal about the Crown Cloak—I’ll explain when I get to your house!”

  “It’s the Crown Cape,” I mutter, but she’s already hung up the phone.

  I jump out of bed, throw on some shorts and a T-shirt, and pull up the Celebrity Times home page. Smack in the middle is the most elegant photograph of Princess Penelope smiling as she’s being swung around by Prince Henry. The Crown Cape is swirling behind her beneath the headline, “The Swan of Wincastle: Say Hello to Princess Penelope!”

  “Forget Princess Mimi!” Stella announces, shutting my door behind her. “It’s all about Princess Penelope now. Apparently, Princess Mimi has been hogging the spotlight all these years, trying to keep poor Penelope from getting any attention because look how gorgeous she is!” Stella says, pointing to the image of Princess Penelope on my computer.

  “Really? How do you know that’s what happened?” I ask, trying my best to seem clueless.

  “That’s what all the royal websites are saying. Anyway, Princess Penelope is pretty much the chosen princess now, and she’s probably going to marry Prince Henry when they’re old enough,” Stella moans. “Just look at them in this picture—they’re so crushing on each other!”

  “You think?” I ask, pretending to inspect the picture closely. “Well, maybe…”

  I change the subject. “Hey, I’m starving! Want to go get some doughnuts?”

  “Does a one-legged duck swim in a circle?” Stella answers, slinging one arm around my shoulders as we head for the door.

  “Dippin’ Donuts here we come! I hope we’re not too late for double doozie chocolate doughnuts!” I say, popping the kickstand on my bike and hopping on. Stella and I can’t figure out why they don’t just make more of those, since they always run out.

  Stella swings the big glass door open for me.

  “I’m desperate for the loo!” I say without thinking.

  “You’re desperate for who?” Stella asks, confused. “Who the heck is Lou? Is he some hottie at Pinkerton?”

  “Uh…no! I mean, what?” I say. “I just meant I’ve got to go to the bathroom before I order!”

  “Yeah? So why are you talking about some dude if you’ve got to hit the stall?”

  Did I mention Stella doesn’t let things go as well as I do?

  “Oh! Loo is British slang for bathroom,” I explain. “I was watching this…”

  “Yeah, yeah, just hurry, Malone,” Stella says. “It looks like there are only four double-doozies left.”

  What I meant was that Stella doesn’t let things go until she’s bor
ed of them.

  Chapter 21

  When the Handmaidens Start to Break Down

  Before I know it, it’s Monday morning. When I was at Sacred Heart, we always started the first hour of the week with a school sing-along. It might sound corny, but it was actually really fun, and it made everyone excited to come back to school, even if you’d had the best weekend ever. There’s no Monday love at Pinkerton, even on a good week. And this is definitely not a good week, especially if you’re a handmaiden. So you can see why I’m taking my sweet time getting to school today.

  I pull up to the bike rack at the same time as Elizabeth.

  “What’s up, buttercup?” I ask Elizabeth, unsnapping my bike helmet and hanging it on the handlebar of my bike.

  Elizabeth mutters something I can’t really make out. She’s fishing around in her backpack and looking like she’s about to panic.

  “What’s wrong, Elizabeth?” I ask, but now she looks like she’s having a full-on, freak-out attack.

  “I can’t FIND it!” Elizabeth screams. Now that I heard.

  “Whoa. Way to turn up the volume there, Lizzie! Whatcha looking for? Can I help?” I ask.

  “Uh-uh…I thought I put it in here last night, but maybe I…oh no…” she trails off.

  “And what was it, again?” I ask, thinking it must be a live hamster she’s afraid she crushed with her math book. Poor little guy.

  “Lucy asked me to reserve a bike rack space for her on the end and so my mom took me to the Pet Palace and I had a silver, diamond-bedazzled tag engraved with her name on it with a chain that I could hang across the space and now it’s GONE!” Elizabeth’s face is the color of a fire engine, and I think she’s about to actually start wailing. In fact, I think I can hear the sirens warming up.

  “Wow,” I say, “That’s really…wow! Well, I’m sure she’ll understand.” I don’t point out to her that Lucy might take offense at the dog suggestion.

  “No!” Elizabeth screams, again with plenty of volume and this time with crazy eyes. “You go on to homeroom—it’s all my fault—I’ll stay here and guard her spot till the bell rings in case Lucy decided to ride her bike today. I’m fine—really!”

  But I can tell Elizabeth is not even close to fine. I think the stress of being somebody’s handmaiden is starting to wear on her. I get it, I guess. Lucy can be seriously mean when things don’t go her way. The other day, she asked Alicia to bring her jean skirt to school so she could wear it—the one with the hot pink ruffle around the bottom. Alicia misunderstood and brought her jean skirt with the star-shaped, leopard pockets instead. Lucy was furious and made Alicia wear the thing backwards all day. Alicia acted like it was an inside “handmaiden joke” and pretended not to care, but I know she did. How could she not care? It looked ridiculous—all pouchy in the front—plus all day long, kids kept pointing it out. “Hey, Alicia, you’ve got your skirt on backwards!” Mr. Mooney almost gave her a detention for inappropriate dress, until Lucy swooped in at the last possible second and saved her. What a great friend.

  “Okay, I’ll see you in homeroom,” I tell Elizabeth, because I can tell she’s fully committed to taking a late slip over a bike rack slot that Lucy may or may not need. She’s probably afraid Lucy will make her wear that dog collar around her neck if she doesn’t follow through on her orders.

  Chimichanga! How did things get so out of control? I wonder, shaking my head. Back in Wincastle, I probably could have figured a way out of this ridiculous mess, but I don’t have a clue how to stop the madness in my own life.

  “Where’s Elizabeth?” Alicia asks just as I take my seat.

  “Um, I think she’s guarding Lucy’s possible parking spot in the bike rack outside,” I say, lifting my eyebrows just a little so she knows I think that’s pretty nutty.

  “Well, she better get in here, and fast,” Alicia whispers. “Lucy has an announcement.”

  Uh-oh, I think to myself. I’m no psychic, but I’m pretty sure this can’t be good.

  Chapter 22

  When I Start to Put the Pieces Together

  Mrs. Richter is a good five minutes into morning announcements when Elizabeth slinks in with her late slip.

  “Please take your seat, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Richter says. Right then Lucy raises her hand.

  “Yes, Lucy?” Mrs. Richter asks.

  “I’d like to make an announcement, if that’s okay,” Lucy says sweetly. Mrs. Richter doesn’t look so sure about this, but like everybody else, she’s terrified of Mr. Mooney when it comes to anything involving the royal court.

  “Please be quick, Lucy,” Mrs. Richter sighs, taking a seat behind her big, beat-up desk.

  Lucy flounces to the front of the room.

  “Good morning, everyone,” she says, adjusting her princess apprentice sash. She hasn’t been seen without that thing since the day she was appointed. I’ll bet she wears it to bed. “As you know, there are only a few weeks left before the Pinkerton Royal Ball and the crowning of the actual Pinkerton Prince and Princess.” Lucy claps her hands frantically, glancing around, encouraging the applause. A few people halfheartedly join in, probably out of fear. “Anyway, I’ve been speaking to Mr. Mooney about some, well, problems the apprentices have been having with some of our handmaidens.” She looks right at Elizabeth here, and poor Elizabeth slumps down in her seat. Her face starts to get that splotchy-red look that means she’s probably going to cry. Lucy smiles—one of those mean smiles that send shivers up your neck—and continues. “And Mr. Mooney agreed that the apprentices should be allowed to replace their handmaidens at any time, you know, so that we can maintain the integrity of the Royal Court. So I just wanted to let everyone know that I will most likely be appointing at least one new handmaiden this week,” and here she looks at me and then Alicia. “Possibly two or even three. So, good luck everyone! And remember, I’m watching you.”

  Lucy gives the class this exaggerated wink and then prances back to her seat, looking pretty pleased with herself. I can’t even look at Elizabeth. I just can’t.

  “Well, thank you, Lucy, for that very interesting announcement,” Mrs. Richter says. I am almost positive I see her roll her eyes just a tiny bit.

  Mrs. Richter starts going on and on about state testing and some visit by the Distinguished Schools Committee, but I am so angry that I can’t even take in a word she’s saying. Lucy St. Claire, you’ve gone too far this time, I think to myself, wondering if there is actual steam coming out of my ears. You must have gone through the line five times the day they were handing out nerve. For the love of black licorice bits, Elizabeth bought you a bedazzled, personalized bike-spot holder! And Alicia brought you fresh, gluten-free blueberry muffins every single day last week, and I’ve lost track of how many Cokes I’ve bought you from that vending machine. Maybe Elizabeth and Alicia are willing to keep putting up with your demanding, backstabbing ways but I, Maggie Malone, have had enough.

  I raise my hand and ask to be excused. Mrs. Richter hands me the giant yellow paddle you have to carry when you’re in the halls during class, to show that you’ve gotten permission to be wandering around and aren’t planning to skip across the street to Burger Barn for a vanilla shake. I take the paddle and head out the door, making a beeline for the nearest bathroom.

  “Frank!” I whisper, after I’ve checked under all of the stalls and made sure there are no feet.

  This time he appears immediately. He’s sitting at a big metal desk with several stacks of papers in front of him and a pencil tucked behind his ear.

  “Malone,” he says. “I figured I’d be hearing from you again today. Pardon the mess. It’s bookkeeping day.”

  I’m about to ask him why genies have to do paperwork—I mean, what good is magic if you can’t wiggle your ears and have boring stuff like that just taken care of?—but then I remember that I’m in the middle of a major crisis here.

  “Frank, this
whole handmaiden thing has to stop,” I tell him. “I mean, seriously. It’s out of control. And please don’t tell me that ‘I’ve got this’ again, because I don’t even know what that means.”

  “How did you handle Princess Penelope?” Frank sighs, shuffling through one of the piles of papers as if he’s looking for something specific.

  “I was just nice to her!” I practically shout. “I don’t really think that’s going to work with Lucifer here.”

  “It wasn’t just that you were nice to her, Malone,” Frank tells me, slamming a stapler into a thick stack of papers. The sharp bang makes me jump. “You gave her something that she needed all along. What do you think this Lucifer—uh, Lucy—really needs?”

  “A personality transplant?” I say, only half joking.

  “Remember, Malone, you can’t change anybody else but you can change how you react to them,” Frank says. Just when I’m about to ask him for the seventy-seven-hundredth time what in the spinning universe that means, an eighth grade girl strolls into the bathroom and into one of the stalls. The whole room echoes when she slams the door.

  “You’ve got this,” Frank mouths silently, fading out.

  I’ve got this, I repeat, not because I believe it, but because I don’t.

  Chapter 23

  When I Accidentally Inspire a Handmaiden Uprising

  I go back to class and try to settle in and listen to what Mrs. Richter is saying, but I’m so mad all my ears can hear is “Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah…” above the blood boiling in my brain. Seriously. What in the world could make Lucy want to be that nasty? She’s planning on firing us? I don’t think so. Not if I can shake some sense into my fellow handmaidens first.

  It’s all I can do to sit through three more classes before lunch. At the end of Spanish class, I slip Elizabeth and Alicia notes asking them to meet me in the MPR by the stage. I give them the option to check the yes or no box and they both check yes.