Maggie Malone Gets the Royal Treatment (3 page)

When I Find Out What It Means to Be Somebody's Handmaiden

“Well, um, I—” I start, but Lucy cuts me right off.

“Who do you think you
are
?” she spits at me. “You're
brand
new
at this school, in case you've forgotten that, Maggie Whatever-your-last-name-is. I could have any girl I want to be my handmaiden, any girl in this whole school, and believe me, you were
not
my first choice. You weren't even in my top
one
hundred
. You and your other new-girl friend here are nobodies as far as I'm concerned.” Elizabeth winces like she just got slapped in the face when she hears this. “But Alicia convinced me that I should give you guys a chance. I can't believe I ever listened to her.”

I look at Alicia, whose chlorine-water-blue eyes are brimming with tears. One blink and they're going to be all over her face. If I don't agree to this handmaiden business, Lucy is going to make Alicia pay for even suggesting me and Elizabeth. Big-time. Poor Elizabeth looks like she's about to lose it too. Her usually sparkly eyes look like a basset hound's—but way sadder, if that's possible.
Come
on, Malone. Say something fast. And make it good.

“I'm sorry, Lucy,” I say.

“You should be,” she interrupts, all red-faced and furious.

“No, I'm sorry that I didn't get to finish what I was going to say,” I add.

“Oh,” Lucy pouts, crossing her arms over her chest. My dad says that when somebody does that, it means they're totally not even planning to give you a chance. “Go on then.”

“I think the handmaiden idea is great, really great,” I say, scrambling for some way to dig myself—and my new friends—out of this hole.

Lucy smirks, which I think is the closest thing to a smile she's got. Her arms start to relax a little.

“I just think, you know, maybe it's not fair to Winnie here,” I say.
Nice
save, Malone.
Auntie Fi always says I'm great at thinking on my feet. I bet she'd be proud of me right about now.

Lucy's arms come all the way down to her sides, then she folds her hands into a neat ball in her lap. “Oh, you don't have to worry about Winnie,” she says. “Winnie is getting another,
very
special
honor all her own.”

Winnie smiles sheepishly. “I get to be Lucy's personal serf,” she gushes. “That's serf-with-an-e, not like surfing in the ocean. It's a real thing. I looked it up on Wikipedia.”

Lucy St. Claire has sure got some nerve, that's all I can say. She'll have the whole stinking school waiting on her before this ball even kicks off! I can't believe I've gotten mixed up in all of this. Stella would bust a serious gut if she was here to see this going down.

“Wow, Winnie, that's…great,” I stammer. “You know, if that's what you want.”

“Who wouldn't want it?” she asks, throwing her arms around Lucy. “It's the greatest honor of my
whole
entire
life
.”

“So,” Lucy says, pushing Winnie off her. “Does that mean you're in, Maggie?”

Elizabeth and Alicia are looking at me pleadingly. What choice do I have?

“Do all the days of the week end in y?” I say.

“What does
that
have to do with anything?” Lucy barks, confused. Honestly, I don't think she's the sharpest crayon in the box.

“I meant,
yes
,” I say, not even believing it myself. “I'd be honored to be your…handmaiden.”

Elizabeth and Alicia look like they're going to cry again—this time from relief. Lucy busts out her famously evil smirk.

“Excellent,” Lucy sighs. “Now I'll take a corn dog and French fries. Oh, but you'll have to cut the corn part off, because that stuff's just nasty. Lots of ketchup too! And one of those giant chocolate chip cookies. Just tell them to put it on my account. What are you waiting for? Chop-chop! Lunch is almost over and I'm
starving
.” She looks at the other girls like
can
you
believe
she's still sitting here
and shakes her head before turning back to me. “Remember, Maggie, I can let you go at any time. Don't forget that.”

I can actually hear my mom's voice inside my head.
Don't stoop to her level, Maggie. Be the bigger person.
I smile sweetly at Lucy.

“It would be my great pleasure, Your Apprenticeship,” I tell her, gathering my things. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“A Coke,” she says. “But not the kind with ice from the cafeteria. I like it in a can from the vending machine. I don't have any change, so you'll have to get it this time. And don't forget the straw.”

Please
, I add for her in my head, since it's clear she's never going to add it herself.

“Coming right up!” I chirp, winking at Elizabeth, who still looks too terrified to even think about opening her mouth.

It's not forever
, I tell myself as I scrounge all of the change from the bottom of my locker.
Even
though
it's probably going to feel like it.

When I Get Some Not So Magical Advice from Frank-the-Genie

The corn dog was just the beginning. (And by the way, after I stripped off that greasy cornbread coating, Lucy didn't even eat the thing because guess what? A hot dog on the inside of a corn dog is not a pretty sight—it's all wrinkly and gray and looks about a hundred years old. Lucy took one look at it and flicked it by the stick in the
direction
of
the trash can. When she missed, Winnie rushed over to scoop it up and sling it in the can—all with a big goofy smile across her face, of course. I guess some people are made for this sort of stuff.)

Every day this week, Lucy has come to school with a new list of tasks for us, her “lucky” handmaidens. In between carrying her books and standing in the lunch line for her, Elizabeth redecorated Lucy's locker with pink sparkly wrapping paper lining and a mini diamond tiara that she hung on a piece of fishing line like a disco ball. Alicia rode her bike to every craft store in town to find rainbow popsicle sticks for the “eat more veggies” extra-credit diorama Lucy's making for health class, and I got the honor of polishing her tennis shoes. Her tennis shoes! (I did do an excellent job, I have to admit. The secret is an old towel and toothpaste. It really gets that white to sparkle!) I guess I shouldn't complain. Lucy made poor Winnie scrub her retainer with a baby toothbrush.
Blech
.

Riding my bike home from school, all I can think about is how messed up this fake Pinkerton Princess stuff is. It's hard to believe that only a few short weeks ago, I spent a whole day as Becca Starr, the biggest rock star on the planet, and today I spent my lunch hour decorating paper bag book covers for the meanest girl in the school. It really boggles the brain.

I pull into my driveway, sling my bike behind the bushes at the front door, and let myself in with the hide-a-key. It's still a little creepy coming home to an empty house since my mom started working again. Stella usually comes over right after school to hang out with me, but she's got tae kwon do this afternoon. She thinks they're going to teach her to hover six feet off the ground. I keep telling her that's not going to happen, but she's convinced that once she reaches a certain level of
enlightenment
or something, she'll just float right up into the air when she makes the perfect kick. Well, I have to admit, stranger things
have
happened.

I shut my bedroom door, sling my backpack against it, and sit down at my vanity.

“Well?” I ask. “Aren't you going to say something, Frank?” I rest my chin in my hands and wait.

I did mention that a not-so-run-of-the-mill genie came along with the Mostly Magical Boots my Auntie Fi gave me for my birthday, didn't I? His name is Frank and he's the cowboy kind of genie—wears blue jeans instead of genie pants and a big ten-gallon cowboy hat (that's what he calls it) instead of a turban. He doesn't wear an earring that I've seen, but every once in a while, he gives out some pretty decent advice, which is something I could use right about now. Oh, and the other thing about Frank? He only shows up in a mirror. I know. It's totally kooky, but I didn't make up the way this stuff works, so I just go with it.

“I know you're dying to tell me what an idiot I am, agreeing to be the lowest life-form in the royal food chain,” I say, figuring that ought to pry him away from whatever he's busy doing.

“Hey there, Maggie,” Frank says with a grin as he comes into focus in the top right side of my vanity mirror. “Or are you just going by plain old Handmaiden these days?”

“Very funny,” I huff.

“You'd think that girl would have come up with a better name—something to make the job sound more attractive—maybe something like ‘darling duchesses' or ‘happy helpers,'” Frank says, cracking himself up. “But no, she didn't even go to the trouble of putting lipstick on a pig. She just called you gals straight-up
handmaidens
. She might as well have called you her minions!”

“I
tried
not to agree to it—you know I did,” I explained. “But I would've thrown my new friends under the bus. And Lucy would have torched them, for sure!”

“Uh-huh,” Frank says, as a cloud of dust follows a couple of horses pulling an old-timey-looking stagecoach right behind him.

“What the heck?” I say, leaning in to get a better look. “Where in the world are you, Frank?”

“Oh, I'm just spending a little time here in the Old Wild West, Malone,” Frank says, spitting something dark and slimy out of the corner of his mouth.

“I really wish I could unsee that, Frank,” I say, turning my head and gagging a little.

“It's every man for himself out here, handminion. Sink or swim. Get up or shut up,” he explains as a pair of wooden doors swing behind him. “You've got to stick up for yourself in these parts or you might as well lie down and let the buzzards pick you apart.”

“Um, yeah well,
that's
disgusting,” I say. “It sounds really rough out there and all, Frank. But listen. I know you're probably short on time and not to be
all
about
me
, but can we talk about me for a sec?”

“We
are
talking about you,” Frank laughs.

“What does your dirty Wild West adventure have to do with
me
, Frank?”

“Oh, I don't know, handmaiden. Are you standing up or are you lying down?” Frank asks.

“Huh?” I ask. “I'm not doing either one, Frank. I'm sitting here at my vanity talking to you!”

“Look, kid, I'm about to be late for a card game with Coyote Cain, and if I am, I'll have to start the game in my skivvies. I think you'd agree that nobody needs to see that…”

“Wait! Frank!” I yell, but it's no use.

“STAND UP, Malone!” he says, and I see him shaking his head as he goes blurry, like a watery pool. Then he's gone.

I do what he says. I stand up. But what do I do
now
? Frank just loves to pull the mysterious genie card. I think it's like his favorite thing to do. You know, toss out some crazy comments that make no sense and then leave me alone to try and piece them all together. Not to go on a Frank rant, but I always thought that genies were supposed to be at your
beck
and
call
. Frank is definitely not. I don't know about the beck part, but he hardly ever sticks around when I call.

Well, I knew he'd give me a hard time for going along with the crowd to keep the peace. He's always telling me to “
Stay
Maggie. Be yourself.
” It's true, being a handmaiden is not exactly what I'd call
being
myself.
But what else was I supposed to do? And now I'm Lucy St. Claire's handmaiden for the foreseeable future.

Or
. Or I could skedaddle right out of here. Leave this fake princess business behind and find out what it's like to be a
real
princess.
The
Princess Mimi to be exact, who I'm completely sure
never
has to put up with a royal pain like Lucy St. Claire pushing her around.