Princess Incognito: a Royal Pain in the Class

by Humphreys, N. J;

  “I’m not.”

  “I think Sabrina is simply saying that there was a little confusion between the two of you,” Miss Cannington interrupted.

  “Yes, it was probably a little inconsiderate on my part,” I said.

  Now Miss Cannington was staring at me. “Inconsiderate? Misunderstanding? How old are you, Sabrina?”

  “Er, eleven, Miss Cannington.”

  “Hmm. You’re a bright little thing, aren’t you?”

  “She’s an idiot,” Awful Agatha muttered.

  “That’s enough, Agatha,” Miss Cannington said, but she was still staring at me, as if she found me fascinating or something. “Sabrina? Sabrina Parslowe, right? I must find your file and read up on your last school.”

  “No, no, it wasn’t the school. It was, well, I had some extra tuition classes at the pala … pala … place … at the place I lived before.”

  “At the pala, pala, place? She even talks like an idiot,” Awful Agatha said.

  Miss Cannington ignored her. “Well, Sabrina, I’m all for extra education and study after school, but do remember that all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

  “Who’s Jack?” Awful Agatha asked.

  Miss Cannington smiled. “Never mind Jack. I want you to shake hands and make up. Let’s call it a misunderstanding and move on.”

  I held out my hand. The little weasel hesitated.

  “Come on, Agatha, I haven’t got all day,” Miss Cannington said.

  We shook hands, but Awful Agatha pulled her hand away really quickly, as if my fingers were all covered in bogeys.

  Miss Cannington sent us back to class, but as soon as we were in the corridor, Awful Agatha grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. I bit my lip to stop myself from sweeping her legs away.

  “Why did you do that?” she growled.

  “Do what?”

  “Make up all that stuff to get me out of trouble.”

  “I don’t know. I had to, I suppose.”

  She looked down at her shoes. They were scuffed and muddy and one of the soles was cracking.

  “No one’s ever been nice to me before,” she mumbled.

  Then she took a step towards me and peered right into my eyes.

  “I’m gonna get you for that.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Little Charles followed me around for the rest of the day. He was kind of sweet and annoying at the same time. He was also a bit of a midget. He looked up at me whenever he spoke, which was all the time.

  “Miss Shufflebottom said I have to look after you, show you where all the different classes are,” he said, as we made our way to the canteen.

  I didn’t believe him. He was telling one of those white lies, but I didn’t really mind. In fact, I was starting to enjoy his company, sort of.

  Charles was different, in a pathetic, harmless kind of way. Back at the Palace, my royal cousins and all the other princes, dukes and earls who visited were all loud and irritating. These boys always talked about the goals they’d scored in hockey or the fences they’d jumped in equestrian. They didn’t tell little white lies either. They told enormous whoppers.

  Charles was the opposite. He mostly told the truth about himself when he really should have told more lies.

  “I’m rubbish at football,” he said.

  “Ok,” I replied.

  “And rugby, I’m even more rubbish at rugby,” he continued.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I’m rubbish at all sports. In fact, there was one time when we were jumping on the trampoline. I lost my balance, fell off the trampoline and landed on my head.”

  “Is that why you’re so short?”

  “Yes. I used to be one of the tallest boys in the class. And then I fell off the trampoline.”

  “And landed on your head?”

  “Exactly.”

  I looked Charles up and down. He really was short.

  “How many times did you fall on your head?” I wondered.

  “Only once. Don’t be sarky,” he said. “It was a really big fall, ok? It stopped me being as tall as them.”

  Charles nodded towards a gang of boys heading towards us. They whooped and pushed each other as they banged their trays down on our table in the canteen.

  “They’re all really good at football,” Charles said.

  “Is that important?” I asked.

  “It is here.”

  I had no idea why he was going on about the football talents of strangers I didn’t know.

  “Are you good at football?” he asked. “I mean, did you play football in your old school? I bet you were the captain of the team, right?”

  “No, I didn’t play football.”

  “You’d be really good at football.”

  Charles was trying to flatter me. He probably felt sorry for me because of the Awful Agatha business. But really, she was the least of my problems. If nothing else, Charles stopped me thinking about family stuff that I didn’t really want to think about.

  “I played hockey and lacrosse at my last school,” I said. “And I was pretty useless at both.”

  “Blimey, your school must have been really posh. We never play hockey here and I’ve never even heard of lacrosse. Is that a foreign game? Is it like the French version of noughts and crosses?”

  Charles put on a European accent that was neither French nor German. It was just terrible. “I vant to play ze game of la cross with you, yah,” he said.

  I started giggling. It felt really good. The stingy, stabbing pains that had poked me in the stomach since Miss Cannington’s office floated away.

  “Don’t laugh. That’s a brilliant accent.”

  “Yeah, but what accent is it?”

  “Tis la accent of ze European peoples, mon amigo!”

  “Sounds like the accent of Dracula.”

  I laughed again and maybe for too long this time. Charles scrunched up his face.

  “You don’t have to sit with me in the canteen, you know. I don’t mind. I’m used to it. I can sit in the corner and do my quizzes.”

  “What kind of quizzes?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “No, I do really.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Charlie.”

  “Can you call me Charles? Where I come from, Charlie sounds really common.”

  “Where I come from, Charles sounds really common.”

  “But Charles sounds like the name of a king.”

  “Exactly.”

  Charles looked confused. “Eh? How can a king’s name be common?”

  “Tell me about your quizzes,” I said quickly.

  Charles flipped open his laptop. He was giddy with excitement. I suspected that no one had asked to see his quizzes before.

  “Well, they’re not so much quizzes, more like murder mysteries.”

  “What?”

  Charles must have noticed my face change.

  “No, no, no, they’re not violent or anything,” he insisted. “They’re maths and English comprehension quizzes, but instead of just doing really boring sums and sentences, they give you murder mysteries to solve.”

  Charles pointed at a cartoon character on his screen. It was lying face down and covered in blood.

  “You see, this one: There were 107 suspects, but the police found a blonde hair on the weapon and 38 of the 107 suspects had blonde hair. Get it?”

  “You subtract 38 from 107 and eliminate the other 69 suspects.”

  “Wow, you did that without a calculator.”

  Charles flicked the page on his screen.

  “Or there’s this one: A queen has been kidnapped inside her castle. She has 28 members of staff inside the castle.”

  I pulled a face. “Yeah, I get it.”

  “And 15 of them were in the kitchen when the queen was kidnapped.”

  “Can we talk about something else now?”

  “And 5 of them were in the garage where the rope was taken.”

  “Please
stop now.”

  “But the queen’s bloody dressing gown was found in the bathroom and …”

  “CHARLES, WOULD YOU PLEASE SHUT UP!”

  The noisy boys at the other end of the table stopped talking. In fact, the entire canteen fell silent. I saw the blood drain from poor Charles’ face. He kept blinking at me. I knew straightaway what that meant. Since my parents sent me away, I was always blinking in public places, anything to stop the waterworks.

  “Who was that?”

  I recognised that voice. Even though it was my first day at school, it was already a familiar voice. A shadow appeared across my lunch. I looked up and found myself peering into Miss Cannington’s flaming nostrils. At least they were clean. She obviously picked her nose regularly, just like I did. My parents said I wasn’t to use my fingers to hunt around for bogeys in public. But Uncle Ernie didn’t mind me having a quick nose pick as long as I was discreet.

  What the public eye doesn’t see, the private princess gets away with.

  Uncle Ernie always said that, usually after I’d caught him pulling the biggest, hairiest and most disgusting bogeys from his wrinkled hooter.

  “Oh, it’s you,” said Miss Cannington’s nostrils. I still couldn’t see past the nose on the end of her face.

  “It’s Sabrina, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Miss Cannington,” I replied.

  “You are making quite the first impression, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Miss Cannington.”

  “Who’s picking you up from school today?”

  “My uncle, Miss Cannington.”

  “Maybe I could have a chat with him at the school gates.”

  “Yes, Miss Cannington.”

  Uncle Ernie had repeated his firm instructions all weekend. Do not get into trouble. Do not cause a scene. Do not draw attention to yourself. On my first day, I had gotten into trouble, twice. I had caused a scene with a weepy-eyed Charles. And now, I had the full attention of every kid in the school canteen.

  Uncle Ernie was going to kill me.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I had hoped that Miss Cannington would let me walk to the school gates on my own. Fat chance. She escorted me from the classroom, along the corridor and out into the playground.

  “I wouldn’t want you to get lost going home on your first day,” she said.

  I wasn’t a total dimwit. She didn’t want me to run away.

  Clearly, this lousy school produced loads of lousy students like Awful Agatha and Miss Cannington thought I was another one. Obviously, she couldn’t see through her rimless glasses properly. Maybe Awful Agatha was right. Maybe Miss Cannington really was a nasty, old cannibal, chewing on little children all through the day and then spitting them out at home time.

  The old Cannibal definitely needed her eyes tested if she saw me as the new brat of the class. Why do teachers like Miss Shufflebottom and Miss Cannington waste so much time on real devils like Awful Agatha and ignore the rest of us? It should be the other way round, right? They should spend more time on the quieter students. We’re the ones who always get forgotten about. If these upside-down teachers noticed us a bit more, they’d work out that we were just as important as the nasty brats.

  And then, they’d get their facts straight.

  And then, they wouldn’t be leading well-behaved students like me through the playground.

  All the other kids stared at me. Some of the parents did, too, but I wasn’t bothered. I didn’t care. People stared at me all the time back at home. Only one person worried me at that moment.

  And he looked furious.

  Even though the playground was crammed with children running around like lunatics, Uncle Ernie spotted me in the crowd. At royal events back at the Palace, he followed me and Mum and Dad everywhere. His eyes were like lasers. He said that was part of his job as the Palace’s handyman, but I wasn’t born yesterday. He always wore an earpiece, too. Handymen didn’t need earpieces to paint walls and fix floorboards. He said he was listening to music, but I knew he was really listening to other handymen who worked at the Palace.

  They wore earpieces, too. They weren’t handymen either.

  Uncle Ernie wasn’t wearing an earpiece at the school gates, but his laser-like eyes still tracked my every move. He noticed the snooty headmistress beside me, prodding me towards him.

  He was not smiling.

  “This is Uncle Ernie,” I mumbled, preferring to look at my shoes.

  “Ah yes, I believe we spoke on the phone. I’m Miss Cannington,” she said, holding out her hand.

  They shook hands, but I could tell that Uncle Ernie didn’t really want to.

  “Oh, yes, when I registered her for the school,” he replied.

  “Yes, well, I was going to invite you in for a chat. I think it’s important that we maintain a relationship with all our parents. Or, in this case, guardians.”

  I didn’t like the way she said guardians. It was kind of sarcastic, a bit like the way I sometimes say whatever to Uncle Ernie when I don’t agree with him. He hates that. I noticed his eyebrow go up as Miss Cannington spoke. He didn’t like the way she said guardians either.

  “Yes, I’m her Uncle Ernie,” he said, putting on a really fake smile.

  Miss Cannington examined his face, as if she were looking for something.

  “Yes, yes, I can see a faint resemblance.”

  “Yes, we both have long, brown hair, don’t we?”

  “Ha ha, quite.”

  Miss Cannington laughed far too loudly for a joke I didn’t get.

  “And what can I do for you, Miss Cannington?” Uncle Ernie asked, in that smooth voice he uses to calm strangers down at the Palace. “Don’t tell me little Sabrina here is in trouble on her first day?”

  “No, of course not. It’s not so much trouble as it is a tricky period of adjustment, perhaps, which is completely understandable. A new town, a new school and a new family.”

  “Just a new school and town,” Uncle Ernie said firmly. “Not a new family.”

  He smiled at me and I smiled back, which was probably for the best as my eyes were stinging in the corners. Why do people always want to go on and on about my family? I have no interest whatsoever in talking about their families. In fact, I don’t want to talk about anyone’s family, ever. I find the subject just, so, whatever. When I hear the word, my belly tightens and my eyes go all blurry. Why is everyone in this nosey new school so cruel and evil?

  Even Uncle Ernie was fed up with all the family talk. I could see that Miss Cannington’s comments were getting on his nerves.

  “I was waiting outside the birthing suite on the day this little girl was born,” he said.

  And then he winked at me, which made my insides turn all mushy like mashed potato.

  “I’ve seen Sabrina on almost every day of her life.”

  Miss Cannington looked uncomfortable. “You must be a very close family.”

  “We were,” Uncle Ernie replied. “We are.”

  “That’s wonderful. Then I’m sure you’ll understand how difficult it must be for Sabrina to settle into a new school.”

  “Why? Has she done anything wrong?”

  “Well, there was a little incident with a girl in her class.”

  “An incident? Seriously?” I snapped. “She threw chewing gum into my eyeball! She rolled it up in her disgusting saliva and then spat it into my face!”

  For some reason, my mouth had sprung a leak. All of this angry stuff came gushing out of me like a geyser in one of those American national parks. I couldn’t stop shouting.

  “Where I come from, that Agatha would’ve been dragged from the drawing room! Where I come from, old Quick-Pants would’ve slapped the brat with her knobbly cane and locked her in the kitchens with the chefs!”

  For a good few seconds, the two grown-ups just stood there with their mouths agape. I could see their squidgy, pink tonsils.

  “Sabrina, what are you doing?” Uncle Ernie muttered finally.

  Miss Can
nington’s eyes had narrowed to slits. “Knobbly cane, quick pants, drawing room and chefs in kitchens … what was the name of your last school again?”

  “She was home-schooled mostly,” Uncle Ernie said, really quickly. “Her parents moved around so much with their work, that it made it easier. Plus, they are very private people.”

  Miss Cannington leaned closer. “They’re not, like, famous celebrities, are they?”

  Uncle Ernie touched his nose with his finger. “Ah, that would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

  “No, I completely understand. We’ll say no more about it,” Miss Cannington said. Her cheeks were turning red.

  “Actually, we have a bit of a history with famous people here. I believe that one of our parents once played Miss Hannigan in Annie,” she continued.

  “In the movie?” Uncle Ernie asked.

  “No, in our local theatre. It’s a lovely small theatre, on the edge of town, next to the recycling centre. So have no fear, we have experience in handling famous parents with the utmost discretion.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “And what do you do, Mr …”

  “It’s Parslowe, too, but please call me Ernie.”

  Miss Cannington blushed for the second time. “Ernie, right. And what do you do, Ernie? Do you work locally?”

  “Well, Miss Cannington … I’m sorry, is it Miss or Mrs?”

  “It’s Ms or Miss, or anything really,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “Really? That surprises me.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I just figured a smart lady like yourself would be happily married.”

  Miss Cannington now looked like she’d been baked in the sun for a week. “Oh, Mr Parslowe, please.”

  “Ernie.”

  “Ernie, sorry Ernie, yes, well, you know how it is. I’m married to my work. I love my students,” Miss Cannington said, putting her arm around me, which made me want to vomit. “And I’ve got my cats. I adore my three cats. So I just don’t have the time for, you know.”

  “Ah, you’re still young.”

  “Er, probably not as young as you’d think.”

  “No, I figure you’re in your late thirties, but still look younger.”

  Miss Cannington squealed like a rusty door hinge.

  “Ooh, Ernie, ha ha, you’re far too kind. I wish I were still in my thirties. I’m actually in my for … for … for what it’s worth, we’re probably much closer in age than you think.”