by Alex Flinn
Boyfriend? What is a boyfriend? Perhaps it is something like a beau. “Is he engaged to you, then?” I hope not.
“What? No. Of course not.”
“Oh, what a relief. He is my true love, and you do not sound very nice.”
“What? Listen, you…”
And then, strangely enough, she calls me a female dog.
She continues talking. She is vile and coarse. And then I realize that Jack told me not to speak with anyone else, and here I am, speaking.
“I beg your pardon, what did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t. It’s Amber.”
“Amber, I cannot go on being insulted by you. Jack may be trying to call.”
“Why would he do that?”
“We have run away together. I must go.”
I close the phone as Jack taught me.
A moment later, it begins to vibrate again. This time, however, I see the name Amber and know not to answer it. I am quite proud of myself for having learned this.
It is close to noon now. I cannot go back to sleep, and the sun is blazing. Why do we wear so many clothes?
Jack has not called.
Perhaps he has abandoned me to be eaten by wolves or whatever is making that noise.
Perhaps I should leave.
Perhaps I should go into the city and find a bus—whatever that may be—and sell my jewels myself and live on my own.
Perhaps I—
“Hey.”
It is him.
“Oh, thank goodness! I thought you had left me to die!”
“I wouldn’t do that.” He hands me a small sack of some sort, made of a smooth blue material. It has writing on it which I do not understand. GAP.
“What is this?”
“Your clothes.”
“They fit in there?”
It is more horrible than I imagined.
Jack laughs. “Girls don’t wear ball gowns anymore, Princess—not even to balls.”
I open the sack. The horror continues. Men’s trousers, a green piece of fabric, and two objects which might be some sort of tools. How am I to make Jack fall in love with me when I shall be dressed in such ugly clothing?
“I will be disguised as a man, then?” I ask, holding up the trousers. Jack glances at my bosom and shakes his head.
“They’re women’s clothes. Try them on. You’ll look hot.”
“With so little fabric, I shall more likely be cold.” But I hate to hurt his feelings, so I say, “Very well. Where is my dressing room?”
He gestures toward the trees. “I’ll turn around.”
“See that you do.”
It is very difficult to dress without a lady’s maid. There are so many buttons to unbutton, stays to unlace, and of course I cannot ask Jack for assistance. When I am finally done, I am quite winded. I put on the little shirt (at least it is green), then the trousers. Finally, I add the tools, which are apparently meant as shoes.
I stand a moment, allowing the breeze to touch my naked arms. I would be quite comfortable, were I not worried that Jack has dressed me up as a hedge whore.
“Are you quite certain this is all?” I ask.
“Can I see?”
I sigh. “I suppose.”
He turns. “Wow, you look great. Most girls would wear a—ah—bra with that, but they didn’t have them at the Gap.”
“What is a bra?”
“It’s for your…ah…” He blushes red and gestures toward his chest. “Um…”
“Never mind. I understand.” I remember my manners. I need to be nice to this boy, so he might fall in love with me. “I…I thank you for the clothes.”
He nods. “We should get going.” He starts to walk, not looking at me again.
The shoes are even worse than my old slippers. They slap against my foot with each step and pinch my toes. I am still carrying my jewelry box and now my old clothes, too, as Jack did not wish anyone to find them abandoned. But soon we reach a clearing.
“Princess Talia, welcome to the world.”
“The world” proves to be a rather loud and very foul-smelling conveyance called a bus. We are in what was known as the Spanish Netherlands in my time, but Jack tells me it is now called Belgium. There are many people on the bus—peasants, no doubt, on their way to market. They are all dressed as I am or worse. No waistcoats! No dresses! Not a single corset! I see four women whose bosoms are revealed to a degree more suited to the ballroom than to daylight.
Although my own attire is modest by comparison, everyone stares at me.
“Why are they looking at me?” I whisper to Jack.
“Duh. Because you’re so beautiful,” he whispers back.
At least he noticed that I am beautiful.
There are no seats available on the bus, and no gentleman (and I use the term loosely) offers to surrender his. One man does, however, pat his lap and say, “Sit with me, angel.”
I look at Jack to ascertain if this is now an established custom. I am relieved when he shakes his head and says, “No, thanks. We’ll just stand.”
Once started, the bus is faster than the fastest carriage, wilder than the wildest horse. I resist the urge to shriek, but it is difficult. I try to see the streets and houses and people, but it all goes by much faster than I can take it in. There is writing everywhere. Most of the peasantry in Euphrasia cannot even write their names. Can all the people in Jack’s time read?
I ask Jack.
“Sure,” he says.
“But how can they all be taught? And why would they all need to read, if they are just going to be field workers and such?”
“Well, that’s why you have to learn to read—so you won’t get stuck being a field worker.”
“But what if they wish to be field workers?”
“Why would anyone want backbreaking labor and low pay?”
“But the peasants in Euphrasia always seemed so merry.”
“Did you spend much time with the peasants, then?”
“No, but I saw them at festivals and such.” I stop. Of course they were happy at festivals. For then, they were not working in the fields. Why would they wish to be field workers? I was led to believe that the workers in Euphrasia were happy, but in all probability, the field workers in Euphrasia were born to be field workers and sentenced to their lot in life, just as I was born to be a princess and sentenced to mine.
Put into this perspective, being a princess does not seem bad at all.
“Amazing,” I say to Jack. I look around the bus with new respect. It is quite impressive to think that each and every one of the peasants here can read.
The bus makes many stops and people get on and off. Finally, it is our turn to get out in a gray sort of place, gray streets, gray buildings, gray people.
“Where is the grass?” I ask Jack.
“Someplace else,” he says, laughing. He nudges the sack that says GAP, into which he has placed my jewel case. “What’s the smallest thing you have in there?”
“None of my jewels are small.”
“A ring, maybe?”
I start to take out the box, but Jack stops me. “Not here.” He rushes me behind a pillar and blocks me from sight as I extract the smallest bauble, a tanzanite ring given to me for my twelfth birthday.
“That’s the smallest? The stone’s as big as my eyeball.”
A slight exaggeration. I am no more thrilled to part with it than Jack is to have to sell it. Still, I hand it to him, and he leads me into a store with all manner of things—guns, jewelry (nothing near as lovely as my ring), and other objects I cannot identify, although I do see something which resembles Jack’s music maker.
Jack approaches the shopkeeper, a hairy and rather frightening sort of person, and holds up my ring. “We need to sell this. Her mother’s, um, sick and needs medicine.”
The bear-turned-man stares at us rather strangely, then asks, “Parlez-vous Français?” Jack does not respond. Ah! He thinks he is so smart, but the fool speaks no French!
“Oui. Je parle Français,” I say. I turn to Jack. “Tell me what I am to say.”
“Okay, but don’t agree to his first offer.”
I nod, then turn to the man and say in French, “We need to sell this.”
“Fifty Euros,” he says before I can even get out the part about my mother needing medication. This I add.
“I don’t care if you need it to buy drugs,” the man snarls. “Fifty.”
I repeat this to Jack. “Are you kidding?” he says. “This is worth thousands.”
The man must understand because he tells me, “I can’t sell fancy stuff like that. This isn’t an antique store.”
I am about to tell him that my ring is no antique. Then, I realize it is. Indeed, I am an antique.
“Ask him if he can do any better,” Jack says.
I do, and he says, “Two hundred. That’s it.”
I give him my sweetest look, the one that almost always persuaded Father to do my bidding, and I say, “Please, sir. If you could make it four hundred Euros for my poor, dear mother.” And when I think of Mother, Mother whom I may never see again, whom I have disappointed, my eyes begin to tear up. “You know you are getting a bargain.”
“Three fifty,” the man growls. “Now, if you were for sale, for that I would pay a thousand.”
Are all women for sale now? In my current attire, I can certainly see how one might think I was such a woman. But I say, “I will take three hundred seventy-five Euros, monsieur.”
The man opens a cash box under the counter, hands me a wad of money, which he does not bother to count, then whisks away my precious ring before I have time to bid it good-bye. I note that he is chuckling, pleased with his bargain. I bite my lip and resist the urge to sob.
“Hey, you weren’t a total disaster in there,” Jack says, counting out the money as we leave.
I understand this is a compliment, and I manage a smile, accepting it.
Our next stop is a door with peeling green paint. Jack knocks upon it, and a man who might be the twin brother of the last man answers.
“What do you want?” he asks in French.
I look at Jack.
“Jolie sent us,” he says in English.
The man nods and allows us to pass.
“You have money?” he says in English.
“How much for a passport?” he asks. “For her?”
The man gives a price, which is almost all we have, then says, “Let’s see it.”
“I am quite sorry, sir, but we only have one hundred fifty,” I tell him.
He nods. “If you were to only have two hundred fifty, I might be able to do it. Can you find that?”
I rather enjoyed bargaining with the last gentleman. It made me feel like Father negotiating treaties, so I say, “I can find two hundred.”
“Very well,” the man says.
I look at Jack. He nods and hands him the money, taking care not to show all we have.
The man takes it with dirty hands. “What is your name?”
“My name? My name is Her Royal Highness, Princess Talia Aurora Augusta Ludwiga Wilhelmina Agnes Marie Rose of Euphrasia.”
“It’s Talia…” Jack interrupts. “Talia…um…”
I grasp his meaning. “Brooke. Talia Brooke.”
“Is that your final decision?” the man growls.
“Of course,” I say. “It is my name. The other name was in jest.” I laugh. “Ha, ha!”
“Stand here.” He pushes me toward a paper board hanging from the wall. When I stand before it, he takes out a small, square object, rather resembling Jack’s telephone.
“What is…?”
A bright light flashes. “Good! Wait here.” He disappears into another room.
I stand quite still, attempting to touch nothing in the dark, cramped, dirty room.
“Ludwiga?” Jack asks.
“Father was sad at not having a male heir, so he attempted to name me after several great Euphrasian kings—Augustus, Ludwig, and Wilhem, alphabetically so no one would be offended. The other names—Agnes, Marie, and Rose—were Euphrasian queens.”
“How about Aurora?”
“She was my grandmother on my mother’s side, and she was named for the goddess of the dawn.” I glance around, spying a millipede making its way across the wall, dangerously close to nesting in my hair. I move closer to Jack. “Why are we here?”
“Getting a passport.” At my blank look, he adds, “Travel documents. So you can get around, travel. I got this guy’s name from a girl I met through a guy I met at the Gap.”
Travel! The idea is wonderful and terrible at the same time, to be aboard a boat to a strange new place with this strange, messy-haired young man I met only yesterday. I shiver slightly.
“So I will go with you?” I ask Jack.
“With me? Look, I’m helping you out, getting you set up. But after that, you’re on your own.”
“On my own? But how can I…what will I do?”
“Sell some more jewels. I don’t know.”
I cannot do that. How will I know where to go, how to sell them? How will I obtain food or even know what to wear? Even in Euphrasia, I handled no money. I do not even know how Jack paid for the bus. And if I am on my own, I can never make Jack fall in love with me.
“Will you help me a bit, just with getting money and a ticket for the ship and such?” After he helps me with that, I will talk him into the next thing. And then the next. Surely, when he sees how much I need him, he will let me stay with him. Mother always said that men like to feel needed. I gaze up into his eyes, letting my lower lip quiver just a bit. It is not difficult.
He sighs. “I guess I can help you a little.”
Now that I have achieved my goal, I clap my hands to show that I am keeping my chin up. “Thank you! It is my fondest wish to travel!”
Chapter 7:
Jack
As soon as we get the passport and are out the door, my cell phone rings.
It’s my mother.
“Jack, where are you? They said you ran away from the tour.”
“Who is this?” I say.
“You know very well who this is.”
Talia’s still with me. I feel bad about just ditching her, but what else can I do? Right now, she’s staring at the photograph on the passport. Every few steps, she touches her own face, like she’s trying to see if it’s really still there.
“Well,” I say, “it sounds like my mother, but my mother never calls.”
“Very funny. Don’t change the subject. Where are you? Amber says she called earlier and some girl answered the phone.”
“Amber? She didn’t call me. We broke up. She broke up with me.” I see Talia’s hand fly to her mouth. “Hold on a second, Mom.” To Talia, I say, “Something you need to tell me?”
She purses her lips in thought before saying, “I am dreadfully sorry…in the excitement, I forgot. A person named Amber called. She sounded angry.”
Amber? In my hand, my mother’s voice keeps buzzing. “Jack? Jack? Where are you? Jack, did you hang up on me?”
I let her wait. “Amber called? What did you say?”
“I told her we ran away together,” Talia says.
“You told her what?”
In my hand, Mom’s voice says, “This girl told Amber you’d run off together.”
Talia looks like she’s about to burst into tears. “Was it wrong to say that? I am unfamiliar with telephones!”
Nah, you’ve just totally ruined any possibility of getting back with Amber. But she looks so cute, like a little girl who’s afraid of getting in trouble. “No, of course not.”
“Jaaaaaaaack!” the telephone shrieks.
Then my father’s voice, loud but business-as-usual. “Jack, speak to me this instant.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
“Sorry? Your mother’s crying.”
“Why’s she doing that?”
“Because she thinks you’ve run off with some girl you just met!
”
Funny thought. “Oh, yeah. I guess I did.”
“What?”
I’m enjoying this. It’s the first time they’ve paid attention to me since the time I flunked science and crashed my car in the same week. It might be fun to mess with them more.
“Yeah, I met her yesterday. You’ll like her, Dad. She’s real pretty. Oh, and she’s a princess. We eloped.” That’ll get their attention.
No answer from Dad. Maybe the call dropped. Maybe he passed out.
But no. Mom’s there now. “What do you mean you eloped? I want you on a plane back home this minute. This minute!”
“Okay. Wire me some money, and I’ll buy a ticket.” This is fun. But as soon as I give them what they want, they’ll start ignoring me again.
“Don’t you get smart with me, young man.”
“I wasn’t—”
“I’ll wire you the money, and you’ll buy a ticket on the next flight.”
Isn’t that what I just said? What would happen if I just kept messing with them?
“All right. But I’m bringing Talia with me.” I hadn’t planned on saying that, but it just pops out. It’ll really drive them nuts.
When I get off the phone, Talia says, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For saying I can go with you.”
I shrug. “At least I get to go home. Who wants to travel around and see all this junk?”
“You do not like to travel.”
I shake my head, then smile, thinking about it. “Boy, are my parents going to freak when they see you.”
“Much as my parents, er, freaked when you appeared. Will it be a long journey? How many weeks will it take? I have so many questions. Will we need to acquire more clothes in order to conduct our journey in style? What if the ship sinks? Or there is an outbreak of cholera? I might never see my family again.”
I start laughing.
“What is so funny?”
“Weeks? Try a day.”
“What sort of ship can journey to the other side of the earth in a day?”
“The kind that can fly.”
Mom works like a fiend when she’s freaking out. Within twenty-four hours, Talia and I are at the airport.
