Maggie Malone Gets the Royal Treatment Read online

  Maybe the shoes will be better. They’re in a beautiful silver satin box and I’m hoping they’re some elegant pumps with a just-right heel that I’d never be able to wear back home. But no. I open the lid to find a pair of boring baby flats with a strap across the top. Well, so much for making the Style File page of Tween Scene. I wonder if they’d ever put a princess on the Worst Dressed List.

  “It’s brilliant, Amelia, really,” I say, trying to sound upbeat. It’s just a dress, I tell myself. I’m not going to let it ruin my day.

  “I’m glad you approve, Princess,” she says. “Let’s just hope we can do something with that hair. Did your maids forget to braid it last night? It looks as if something could be nesting in there!”

  “Umm…well,” I say, running to my vanity to take a look. I have to say, she’s right. Maybe switching time zones cranked up the frizz factor on my curls. I try not to panic. I’m sure the palace has someone who can fix this mess. Okay, Malone. This is no time to get your knickers in a twist. You’re a princess. Do something ROYAL!

  “I was thinking we could straighten my hair today,” I say with all of the confidence I can muster. It didn’t work when I was Becca Starr—turned out Becca’s fans really dug these curls. I hope I’ll get luckier this time around.

  “You’ll be wearing your hair up today, of course,” Amelia says. “Are you feeling all right this morning, Princess? Forgive me, but you seem a bit…off.”

  Haven’t even had breakfast and I’m already rocking the palace. Yikes.

  “Oh, no, I’m jolly good, ma’am,” I say, trying to get in the swing of things.

  “I’m happy to hear that. Now let’s go over your schedule. Let’s see, you’re set to leave the palace at precisely 9:23, and we must not be late,” Amelia tells me. “That gives us exactly two hours and eleven minutes. Just a quick ride with Darling today, Princess. We’ve got to get you packed for your trip to the island estate tomorrow. And then we must bathe you, of course. Not a lot of time, I’m afraid.”

  “No problemo!” I say, since I figure princesses are probably fluent in a bunch of languages. I get to ride Darling? Princess Mimi is all into horses and Darling is her beautiful black Arabian she’s always posing with in pictures. Somebody pinch me! Wait, did she just say bathe me? As in, get lathered up like a baby? I don’t think so! Not to sound ungrateful or anything, but I think I’m perfectly capable of applying soap to my own body. I wonder if I’m allowed to do that.

  “Amelia?” I say. “After we pack and take care of Darling, I was thinking I might like to shower this morning. By myself.”

  Her rosy cheeks turn as white as the inside of a York Peppermint Pattie. A hundred years later, she answers.

  “As you wish,” she says, backing toward my door. “I’ll lay out your riding clothes now, and when we get back from the stables, I’ll run your water for you.”

  Princesses don’t even have to run their own shower water? It seems crazy to me, but seeing as I have a chore list a mile long waiting for me at home, I’m going to enjoy the royal treatment while I can.

  Chapter 10

  When I Have My Very Own Black Beauty Moment

  After I chow down on some delicious buttered toast, I slide into a pair of perfectly fitted riding pants with a matching jacket and pull on the most gorgeous leather boots. Feeling like a real equestrian, I follow Amelia to the fanciest golf cart I’ve ever seen. She starts it for me and points up toward a building in the far distance.

  “I’ll come for you at the stables in forty-five minutes,” she says.

  “Cheerio!” I tell her. I hop into this golf cart that looks like a mini Mercedes and wheel across the lawn toward the stables. The only other time I’ve even been on a golf cart was the time Stella and I visited her grandpa at his retirement community. Stella promised me it was totally okay for us to take his golf cart four-wheeling in the swamp behind the golf course. The security guard who found us slinging mud from the tires onto the NO CARTS BEYOND THIS POINT sign was not happy with us.

  This is totally different. I’m rolling across the lawn and nobody, I mean nobody, is going to tell me I’m doing anything wrong because, well, I’m a princess, right? I decide to do a figure eight. I cut it a little close on one turn and almost tip the thing over, but I straighten up. I find a button that makes all the lights flash—fun! I’m trying to think of what else I ought to try while I’ve got this sweet little ride, but then I see her: Darling, the blackest, shiniest horse on the planet with the biggest, most sparkly brown eyes I’ve ever seen. When she sees me, she stomps her feet and lets out a loud horsey “Neighhhhh!”

  I cannot wait to ride that horse. I’m a pretty good horse rider too. They have these ponies at our state fair every year, and I’ve been riding them around that circle since I was five. I walk toward Darling’s stable, saying hello and cheerio to the stable people along the way. I’m settling in to the princess life quite easily, if I do say so myself.

  “Brush, Princess?” a guy asks and hands me this paddle-looking thing with bristles on it.

  “No thank you, kind sir,” I say with a big smile. “I have someone doing my hair later this morning, I believe.”

  He looks confused, but then again he’s a guy. He’s probably never had anybody do his hair for him in his whole life.

  I get to Darling’s stable and I have to say, her teeth are GINORMOUS, which freaks me out since she could bite my nose off clean if she wanted to. But she’d never do that. She loves me—er, Mimi. I reach up and stroke her between the ears and she nuzzles me with her big, soft nose.

  Another stable guy offers me a carrot. “Um, no thank you,” I say politely. “I’ve just eaten breakfast.” They’ve got some strange customs here in Wincastle—must be a princess offering thing. Who knows?

  I use the stepladder and climb onto Darling’s saddle. It creaks when I do and I get a whiff of leather mixed with the mounds of fresh hay on the ground. I smile at one of the stable guys waiting there and he walks Darling out to the lawn. He nods at me, and he seems like a nice enough guy so I nod back. When I do, he slaps Darling square on the rear end and we’re off! Thanks for the heads-up, buddy!

  At first I’m kind of terrified, because those ponies at the fair maxed out at about a half mile an hour and we’re probably clocking close to twenty, but Darling gallops forward, moving in such a graceful rhythm, it feels like I’ve done this every morning of my life. We go up a little hill, come down, and cross a little footbridge. There’s what looks like a piece of a gate sitting in the middle of a field, and I start to feel panicky when I realize that Darling is heading straight for it. I guess I’m not very good at steering—those ponies at the fair knew that circle by heart. She has to see it, right? As it gets closer and closer, I close my eyes and hold on tight, bracing for a crash, but Darling sails over that fence like the cow jumping over the moon, and my stomach flies up into my chest like the time I rode The Gasp at Rocky’s Amusement Park. Forget the wedding; I think I’ll spend the day with Darling, here. Unfortunately, I hear a loud horn and Darling starts booking it back to the stable. When I get there, Amelia is waiting.

  “Lovely ride today, Princess,” she tells me. “Now, you’ve thirteen minutes to pack for the island, and then it’s into the shower you go.”

  Thirteen minutes, huh? They don’t mess around over here.

  “Let’s do this!” I tell her. “I mean, of course. After you, Amelia.”

  Chapter 11

  When I Meet the Devil Herself

  Amelia has already laid out stacks of swimsuits and cover-ups and dresses for me to choose from in my room. I pick my favorites—although it’s all a little formal for my tastes—hoping Mimi likes what I choose for her. Oh, whatever. The girl is going to be lounging on a beautiful, totally private tropical island. Who would she be trying to impress anyway?

  “Now, if you please, your shower awaits,” Amelia announces. �
��It’s a perfect forty degrees.”

  Forty degrees? Then I remember they use that crazy Celsius system over here. Amelia hands me a velvet robe and leads me to the shower. It’s all made out of marble and bigger than the group shower in the gym at Pinkerton. I could live in here, but I don’t want to waste my day as a princess scrubbing my armpits, so I do my business as quickly as I can.

  I open the bathroom door in a swirl of steam and bump face-first into Amelia, who is standing there with the black-dress triplets close behind her.

  “I trust you had a nice shower,” Amelia says, fanning at the steam. “Princess Penelope is dressed and ready, so we must hurry.”

  Princess Penelope is another of Mimi’s cousins. She’s not all over every magazine like Mimi and her cousin Clementine, so I don’t know much about her. What I do know is it’ll be great to have a friend my age to hang out with today.

  Amelia hands me one of those slips like Granny Malone wears. The ladies turn their backs as I drop my towel and pull on the slip before stepping into the big fat baby dress.

  I start in on those buttons, which is sort of hard to do because they’re behind me and all, so I’m all twisted up like a pretzel.

  “Princess Mimi, please,” Amelia says, pushing my hands away. “Buttoning buttons is not the work of a princess.”

  Sweet Fanny Adams, what can princesses do for themselves? I hope I’m allowed to wipe my own royal heinie!

  Seven hundred buttons later, Amelia guides me toward the vanity chair and begins brushing my hair out with a fancy silver brush. It’s not looking half bad so I’m hoping she’ll just let it be, but she takes the whole mess of it into one hand, twists it into the tightest knot possible, and begins pinning it to the nape of my neck. When she’s done, I look like an alien.

  “Take. Me. To. Your. Leader,” I croak in my best alien-robot voice.

  “I beg your pardon?” Amelia asks, looking a little Martian herself with her eyes bugging out like that.

  “Oh, it was a…I was just…” I say. “Never mind.”

  Amelia shakes her head, confused. She dusts my cheeks with powder and sweeps some clear lip gloss on my lips—big whoop de do—and then whisks me down the hall. She knocks sharply on a door, and out comes Princess Penelope. She’s wearing a tight little smile and the exact same alien hairdo and baby dress as me.

  “Good Morning, Mimi,” she purrs. “You look ever so lovely today.”

  “Oh, you know, thanks…” I stammer, looking down. Who’s she kidding? We both look ridiculous. But I figure I should play along. “And so do you, er, Penny.” If she calls me Mimi, I should probably call her Penny, right?

  “Now, Mimi,” Amelia steps in. “You know Princess Penelope prefers to be called by her given name.”

  “Perhaps Princess Mimi has forgotten how our barely royal third cousins Alfred and Arthur taunted me with those horrible nicknames in the country last summer,” Princess Penelope says, narrowing her eyes at me. “It was so long ago. I’m sure she’s forgotten.”

  Gulp.

  “Umm, yes,” I say. “I’m very sorry. I completely forgot about that. Nasty little trolls, they are!” Penelope nods, looking at least a little satisfied with me slamming our obviously annoying cousins.

  “Okay, ladies,” Amelia urges. “We mustn’t dally. The driver is waiting.” I realize that I have no idea how long we’ll be in that car, and I already need to go the bathroom. Plus I wouldn’t mind having a quick pep talk with Frank. I could use some solid genie advice right now. Somehow I doubt ducking into a Burger Barn is going to be an option.

  “Amelia?” I ask. “Would you mind if I run to the potty, if I promise to be super quick?”

  “Run to the…potty?” she asks.

  Buggers! They don’t call it the potty here, do they?

  “The loo, of course,” I say. “I’d like to visit the loo.”

  “Are you sure you’re feeling all right this morning, Princess?” Amelia wants to know.

  “Yes!” I insist. “Positively perfect. Besides having to use the loo, that is.”

  “Quickly, please,” she tells me. “We’re due to arrive at Winfordshire Abbey in less than twenty minutes, and we don’t have a moment to spare.”

  “I’ll proceed to the car then, Amelia,” Princess Penelope says. “It is ever so important to respect the schedule of such events…” I hear Penelope explaining something as I rush off in search of the nearest bathroom, relieved to see there’s no maid wearing rubber gloves following me with a role of monogrammed TP.

  I find a loo—if you can call it that. Talk about a swanky potty. I am pretty sure this very room is why they sometimes call potties thrones. It has its own lobby filled with fancy armchairs and giant mirrors on every wall with gold carved frames as thick as a door. You could have a birthday party in this place!

  “Hello?” I call out. “Anyone else in here?” My voice echoes around the place but nobody answers.

  “Psst,” I whisper into one of the mirrors. “Frank. Frank-the-genie! Come in, Frank!”

  I practically have my face pressed right up against one of those huge mirrors when I spot Frank standing behind me. It freaks me out and I scream and whip around. It turns out he’s not actually behind me, but in another one of the mirrors. It’s like we’re in a funhouse and he’s everywhere I turn—and so am I. It’s dizzying.

  “Well good day there, Princess!” Frank bellows. He’s wearing these tall rubber boots that come almost all the way to the top of his legs, and he’s standing in what looks like a river. A blinding beam of sunlight glints off the snowcapped mountains behind him. “How’s the royal life treating you so far? Better than being a handmaiden?”

  “Jeez, Frank, you sure know how to scare a girl,” I tell him. “Where are you this time?”

  “Fly-fishing in Saskatchewan!” shouts Frank, hauling back and casting his fishing rod far out of my line of vision. That river is moving pretty fast, and Frank looks like he could get swept away at any minute. “It’s an annual thing I do with my genie buddies. We need to relax and rejuvenate too, you know, have a little downtime. You probably think being a genie is all magic mirrors and flying carpets, but honestly, it’s exhausting.” Frank is a little red in the face from tugging on his line, but still he doesn’t look all that exhausted to me.

  “Well, that’s great, Frank,” I say. “I’m fine, I guess. A little nervous about today. And that Penelope seems like she might be trouble.”

  “Oh, you can handle Penelope,” Frank says with another laugh.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say. “Any specific pointers?”

  “Just be yourself, Malone,” Frank says. “That’s the secret to working the MMBs. If you get in a bind, don’t ask yourself what would Princess Mimi do, ask yourself what would Maggie Malone do? If you do that, I promise you’ll be just fine.”

  I don’t know about that. I’m pretty sure princesses are supposed to be polished and sophisticated, and I wouldn’t say I’m famous for putting my foot in my mouth or anything, but let’s just say I’m familiar with the move.

  Before I can think of anything else to ask Frank, his reel starts making this crazy buzzing sound. The line gets really taut, and then it’s dragging him away.

  “Gotta run, Malone,” he shouts, disappearing into the distance. “This sucker is huge. I think I might have a narwhal on the hook here!”

  And then he’s gone. I take care of my business, being extra careful to hike that gigantic bow up nice and high so it doesn’t dip into the toilet. Then I wash my hands, take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and look myself right in the eyes. You chose this, Malone. Now let’s go do it!

  As I approach the waiting limousine, a guy holding the door open tells me that Amelia has gone ahead in another car, to explain the scheduling mishap. Jeez! Not a lot of wiggle room in the life of a princess, huh? I slide into th
e backseat next to Penelope, who is looking straight ahead with that weird smile on her face.

  “This is going to be fantastic, don’t you think?” I ask.

  She turns toward me. Her face looks as if she’s just sucked on a lemon slice.

  “If by fantastic you mean that you’ll be escorted down the aisle by Prince Albert’s amazingly handsome son Prince Henry, while I’ll be forced to lock arms with horrible Lord Harold of Southumberland, then yes, positively fantastic,” Penelope hisses.

  Whoa! What’s that all about? Is this because I called her Penny? Big, blooming deal! I assume she’s done chewing me out, but apparently she’s not.

  “And if by fantastic you mean that you’ll be positioned front and center for all the international press to photograph, while I’ll be tucked away out of sight like a complete commoner, then yes,” she seethes, “this will be fantastic. Fantastic for you.”

  I’m about to respond, but she’s still not finished. “And if you think you’re going to be the center of attention at this wedding like you’ve been at every other affair in your entire spoiled life, you’ve got another thing coming, my noble cousin.” She’s practically shouting at me now, and she says noble like it’s an insult. Her cheeks are burning with disgust.

  Double gulp. She’s not just a little bit peeved with me—I mean Mimi. She hates her stinking guts. Like, wants to rip her heart out and stomp it into the floor mats of this really fancy car. I am burnt toast. Where is the button I press to go back to being plain old Maggie Malone?

  Frank-the-genie made it clear that once I pick a pair of shoes to step into, they’re mine for the rest of the day, no take backs. But he didn’t mention anything about becoming somebody else only find out that another somebody wants that somebody D.E.A.D.