Royal Wedding
“When I asked to use their bathroom, I checked out all the bedrooms,” I said. I was trying not to show it, but I needed help walking, and was leaning on Lars for support. My foot was killing me. It had been hard to sneak around the house, but obviously it had needed to be done. “The two other kids—Rick’s from his first marriage—had giant flat screen TVs in their rooms, but not Olivia. Her room was the smallest, and didn’t have anything fun in it, not even a computer.”
“I saw that, too,” Tina said. “But I thought maybe she doesn’t like TV. Maybe she doesn’t like computers.”
“She’s related to Mia,” Lilly said flatly. “Do you really think that’s the case?”
“Maybe,” Tina said, still struggling to find an explanation other than the only glaringly obvious one, that Olivia was the Cinderella of the family, taken advantage of and forced to sleep in the modern equivalent of a garret, “it was the maid’s room.”
“There was a sign right on the door that had the name Olivia on it,” I said. “I think she made it herself. It was in Magic Marker and had little drawings of birds and cats on it. The dossier the RGG made says she likes to draw.”
There was silence as we sat in the cool air-conditioning of the limo, absorbing this.
“Well,” Lilly said finally. “At least it wasn’t a closet under the stairs.”
I narrowed my eyes at her, then said, “François, the Cranbrook Middle School, please.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” he said.
So now we’re sitting outside it, waiting for the bell to ring. When my sister comes out, I’ll open the door and tell her who I am and ask her to come for a ride.
Tina says this is the worst plan in the entire universe because kids aren’t supposed to accept rides with strangers, even strangers who are world-famous princesses sitting in limos parked outside their school claiming to be their long-lost sister, and that I should do something more subtle, because I’m probably going to scar her for life.
But my foot hurts, and I’m upset about the aunt (and the bedroom), and the fact that my father should be here with me doing this, but that wouldn’t be “following the map.”
Only I can’t think of anything more subtle right now.
Tina noticed my limping before we got in the car and made me take my shoe off and is examining my foot and making me press my toes against her hand. She says nothing seems broken but I’m probably going to have a very bad bruise and I should see my own physician.
He’d probably only tell me to journal about it, though, and I’m already doing that.
Oh, God—the bell just rang, and children have begun pouring out of the school.
There she is.
CHAPTER 52
3:50 p.m., Wednesday, May 6
Limo back to New York City
Rate the Royals Rating: 7
Well, I’ve just ruined my sister’s life, forever and completely.
Obviously that was not my goal in coming to Cranbrook, New Jersey. My goal in coming to Cranbrook was to improve my sister’s life.
But instead I’ve inexorably wrecked it.
I don’t know why after all this time I continue to listen to anything Lilly says. Obviously I should have consulted with our family lawyers or Dominique or someone other than my lunatic best friend before coming out here and causing catastrophic and irreparable damage to the life of a little girl, a life that (probably) wasn’t so bad and that now she’ll never get back, thanks to me, even though she doesn’t seem to be aware of it. She is sitting in the limo beside me, happily doing homework that she thinks she’s going to turn in tomorrow.
Ha! By tomorrow news of the fact that she’s Prince Phillipe of Genovia’s illegitimate love child will be on the front page of every newspaper in the world (I’m surprised it is not already the top trending topic on Twitter).
There is no possible way Olivia will be able to go back to Cranbrook Middle School tomorrow, or ever.
• Note to self: I am not qualified to have children. Cancel wedding and secede right to inherit throne? Or just have my tubes tied?
On the other hand . . . Olivia does appear to be enjoying herself. It turns out I needn’t have worried about learning everything I could about a popular starlet since Olivia is much more interested in me . . . and riding in a limo and drinking soda with actual sugar in it.
Maybe I haven’t completely ruined her life. Maybe I’ve only changed her life. For the better!
This is what I set out to do this morning—what I set out to do every morning, leave the world a better place than I found it, and that’s how I should choose to think of what just happened. Olivia’s life is going to be better now, much, much better. How could it not be? She has Coke and me in it now (and soon her father and grandmother, whenever they get around to returning my messages . . . )
OK, who do I think I’m fooling? I’ve ruined her life. Dominique just called me back because I texted her what happened (Hey, Dominique, it’s me! So, not sure if you heard, but my dad has another kid and I may have inadvertently exposed her existence to the media . . . call me!) and all I could hear on the other end of the phone was screaming.
Anyway, Tina is the one who spotted Olivia first.
“There she is!” she cried, jabbing her finger against the tinted glass window of the limo.
I saw Olivia standing in the center of a group of uniformed kids by the school’s flagpole.
She looked so . . . little.