American Royals

“Everything okay?”

Logan leaned toward Rachel to read over her shoulder. His eyes widened, and he lifted them incredulously to Nina.

“Are you dating the prince?”

Nina’s stomach plummeted. “How …”

Rachel wordlessly slid her phone across the table.

Nina was stunned to see her own face sprawled on the home page of the Daily News. THE PRINCE’S SECRET NEW GIRL! ran the headline, which had been posted just fifteen minutes ago—along with photos of her and Jeff, from last night’s goodbye kiss.

“I recognize that archway! Nina!” Rachel squealed, incredulous. “You’ve been making out with Prince Jefferson outside our dorm and never told me?” A few students at nearby tables turned in their direction, curious.

“Oh my god,” Nina whispered, her mind racing.

Someone must have known about them. She hadn’t seen anyone nearby last night, and from the high resolution on the photo, she could tell it hadn’t been taken on a phone. This wasn’t an accidental royalty spotting.

Someone had been lying in wait for them, stationed across the courtyard with a long-lens camera, just hoping for the chance to snag a picture like this. But who had possibly known? Had Jeff told someone?

Nina zoomed in to look at the photos in closer detail, then winced in immediate regret. She looked disheveled and sloppy. Her coat wasn’t fastened, and beneath it her shirt was riding up, revealing a line of bare midriff. Somehow the angle made it look as though she was the one draped over Jeff, as if she was coming on to him rather aggressively.

The article contained just enough truth to make it dangerously credible. It stated that Nina was the daughter of the Minister of the Treasury, who also happened to be the king’s former chamberlain, and that she now attended college just a few miles from the palace—which she had apparently chosen because she wanted to stay near Jeff. She was clearly a fame whore, a social climber—“though the prince is so far above her, social mountaineer is a better term,” the article pointed out.

People Nina hardly knew had come out of the woodwork to denounce her: She wasn’t even pretty or nice enough to make homecoming court, sniffed a girl in Nina’s high school class, who spoke on the condition of anonymity. She’s been friends with Princess Samantha for years, and the whole time she’s been using the princess to get access to Jeff, someone else chimed in. The article had even tracked down an unflattering picture from one of the football games in the fall—with Nina in the background, taking an enormous bite of a hot dog as mustard spilled down her shirt.

The adjacent picture was of Daphne Deighton, reading to kids in the children’s wing of the hospital. When you stacked them next to each other, it made Nina look … trashy.

“The picture really isn’t all that bad,” Rachel said, watching Nina’s face. “At least you have a healthy appetite? And school spirit!”

“Daphne Deighton would never allow that kind of photo to be taken,” Nina said quietly. Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? She wasn’t Daphne.

People didn’t hesitate to say as much in the comments. Nina was taken aback at how vicious they were. Everyone seemed to have their own reason for despising her—because she had two moms, or because she was Latina, or simply because she was a commoner. They attacked her tattoo and her pierced cartilage and her hipster wardrobe. #TeamDaphne, cried out one commenter after another.

Seriously, Jeff, get rid of that skanky commoner

I don’t know who she is but I hate her

The beginning of the end for the royal family

Or, strangest of all: Don’t worry, the queen will just have her killed.

The blood drained from Nina’s face. She had known this would happen, had told Jeff that America would never approve of her as a match for their beloved prince. And events had played out exactly as she’d feared. In the span of a single half hour, she’d gone from blissful anonymity to being the most hated girl in America.

Someone must have started circulating the article around campus email chains, because it suddenly felt like the dining hall, normally a low rumble of conversation, had erupted into agitated gossip. Nina sank farther down on the bench.

“I’ll find out who took that football photo and incinerate them,” Rachel said under her breath.

If only it were as simple as a single photo, Nina thought sadly. Though she was still grateful for Rachel’s vehement and unquestioning support.

She glanced down at her phone and saw, belatedly, that she’d received dozens of text messages in the past ten minutes. Most were from Jeff, variations on Are you okay? and I’m so sorry and Please call me. A good number of the rest were from Samantha, alternating between versions of I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!! and I’m getting worried—please call?

Her parents had only sent a single message: We’re here if you want to come home and talk.

Nina forced herself to stand, ignoring the hungry, curious eyes around the room. “I’m sorry, I—I have to—I can’t—” she stammered. Rachel nodded in understanding.

Somehow Nina made it outside. She started toward the bus stop on the corner, wrapping her arms around her torso. She was wearing a thin fleece, but she couldn’t bring herself to go back to her dorm room for a real jacket; she couldn’t wait another instant before getting out of here. She stared down at her chunky brown boots.