Maggie Malone Gets the Royal Treatment (9 page)

When I Save My MMBs

“Nicely done,” Prince Henry says as soon as I get back to the table.

“Thanks,” I say, blushing. “Would you excuse me for just a few minutes?”

“Of course,” he says, standing with a smile. “Just try to steer clear of that horrible cousin of yours.”

I smile back but say nothing. There's no way I'm losing my MMBs over this girl's bratty behavior.
I
can
do
this. I can be the bigger person.

They've actually built a bathroom out here just for the royal reception. A lady in an apron opens the door for me, and right away I can hear Penelope sobbing inside one of the stalls.

I knock softly on the door.

“Go away,” she shouts through her heaving sobs.

“It's me, Mimi,” I tell her, mostly because I don't know what else to say.

“Well fluttering fiddlesticks then,
most
definitely
go away,” Penelope blubbers.

“I'll go away,” I say calmly, “when you tell me exactly why it is that you hate me so much.”

Penelope whips the door open and stands there glaring at me. Man, is she a mess. Her eyes are all bloodshot and her face looks like a blotchy tomato and she has snot running out of both nostrils. If I had a hankie, I'd give it her, but she'd probably shove it up
my
nose. I close my eyes for a second because I'm afraid she's going to punch me in the face.

“Are you off your blooming trolley?” she howls at me. “You want to know why I hate you so much? Really? You want to know why I, the most unpopular princess Wincastle has ever known, hate you, the most admired and beloved noble in our country's history?”

I assume this is one of those questions you're not supposed to answer, but Penelope is looking at me like she wants me to say something.

“Um, yeah, I guess I do,” I say.

“Because you…have…
everything
,” she replies, slumping down the wall of the stall and landing in a puddle on the floor. Her sobs grow louder, and I'm starting to worry she's going to choke on her own snot.
Eww.

“Everyone loves you,” she wails. “And not just in Wincastle, but all over the world! You always get all of the attention, and even when I try to mess it up, you come out smelling like a rose. But that's not the worst of it. The worst is that you can't even be bothered to fight back anymore. You used to—you'd get downright wicked, and when you did, I could tell myself that you were no better than me. But you
are
better than me. You are. Everyone's always known it and I guess I have to face it now too. It's not fair. I hate you and I want to
be
you all at the same time. It's maddening, I tell you. Utterly, spectacularly
maddening
!” She drops her head onto her knees.

“Penelope?” I say it like a question, because I'm not sure if she's going to let me talk.

“What?” she sighs from her spot on the floor.

“You do know that being—wicked, as you say—is a choice, right?” I ask. “I mean, you could make a decision
right
now
that you're only going to say and do nice things. Every day, to everyone. It's really not that complicated.”

Penelope lifts her head. “That's easy to say when your life is perfect,” she whimpers.

“But how do you know my life is perfect?” I ask. “And what's so bad about yours?”

“Everyone hates me,” she sighs. “And it's too late to change that. I'm a lost cause.”

“That's not true,” I tell her, pulling her to her feet. I push her toward the sink and hand her a wet towel.

“Come on,” I say. “We've got to clean you up and get back out there.”

“Look at me!” Penelope cries at her reflection in the mirror. “I'm an absolute wreck.”

I twist her to face me and dry her eyes with a hand towel. Then I take out the compact that Amelia stashed in my bag. It's tucked in right next to my genie pocket mirror. That reminds me that I'm going to have to tell Frank that he was right. Again. I powder Penelope's nose for her, smooth her hair down, and spin her back around.

“Look, you're beautiful,” I tell her.

Our eyes meet in the mirror and she gives me a weak smile. “See?” she says. “And you really are disgustingly kind. I can't believe I never saw that before.”

“You're welcome,” I say, grabbing her hand and dragging her out the door.

“Where are we going?” Penelope asks as we snake our way through the crowded tent.

“You'll see,” I say over my shoulder, squeezing her hand.

We arrive at the wedding party table still holding hands. Prince Henry sees us first and gives me a confused look.

“Prince Henry, I need to rest my feet for a bit, but Princess Penelope was just saying how much she'd fancy a dance with a handsome prince,” I say.

Henry is too much of a gentleman to do anything but smile politely and extend his hand to Penelope.

“May I have this dance, Princess?” he asks.

“Oh and Penelope, would you do me a huge favor?” I add. “It's dreadfully hot in this cape, but you know the rules—it must be worn at all times when it's not in its case at the abbey. Would you mind wearing it for a bit? I'd be most grateful.” Well, Frank did say I had to make a positive change in this life. Why stop when you're on a roll?

Penelope's jaw drops. “As you wish, Princess Mimi,” she says, accepting the cape, which Henry fastens for her. As they make their way toward the dance floor, a hum takes over the room. Flashbulbs start popping wildly again and echoes of
Do
you
see
who
is
wearing
the
Crown
Cape?
can be heard throughout the tent.

My molasses-stained butt and I sure hope she remembers to bring that thing back, or I'll be sitting here all night.

When I Find Out What I Didn't Know

As the night wears on, all eyes are on Penelope. She's actually glowing. I don't think it's the Crown Cape either. You can tell she's really happy and having a great time and feeling good about herself. The photographers can't get enough of her. They go wild getting shots of her smiling and dancing in the arms of Prince Henry.

Finally, the party seems to be winding down. At what has to be the stroke of midnight—I'm so tired I'm actually holding my eyelids open with my hands—Penelope flutters back to where I'm sitting and plops down with an exhausted but giddy smile.

“Sorry I was out there so long, Mimi,” Penelope says, and you can tell she actually means it. “I just didn't want this night to end. I
still
don't want it to end.” Her smile falls a little bit. “But I know it has to, and before it does, there's something I have to tell you.”

She bites her bottom lip but says nothing.

“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 bored of them.