It’s Monday morning, and I’m sitting in Spanish class as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Mam actually agreed to let me go, though I think mainly she wanted me out from underfoot at the townhouse.
I take out my Spanish notebook and smile at Bethany, who is sitting next to me. “Did you have a good weekend?” I ask.
Bethany looks at me through narrowed eyes. “You weren’t in school most of last week,” she says, as if lobbing an accusation at me.
“I know. Henri didn’t think it was safe.”
“Who’s Henri? Is he the man who picked you up the other day? Is he your mother’s lover or something?” There’s a sarcastic edge to Bethany’s voice that I don’t remember from last week.
“No!” I’m so shocked by the question that I almost shout. “My mother’s lover? What a thing to say! He’s her bodyguard. And he didn’t think it was safe.”
“Some bodyguard if he couldn’t even keep you safe around here.” She waves her hand to indicate the classroom and I suppose by extension the neighborhood.
“That’s not the point,” I say. This is a ridiculous conversation.
“Yeah, well. You can’t just come to school whenever you want, you know. I mean, it’s a waste of the teacher’s time if you don’t really mean to be there.”
“The teacher has to be here anyway,” Jasmine says, with barely a glance at Bethany as she walks past our desks to one in the back.
The tension in my shoulders eases a little at this support from an unexpected corner. I want to say something to Jasmine, to thank her or at least acknowledge that I appreciate her words, but she’s not looking at me as she takes her seat. Next to me, Bethany stares at her desk, her cheeks bright red. Do a few words from Jasmine really make her feel that awful?
Jasmine really is the queen bee in this school. It’s a good thing she seems to have decided to be on my side. But why has Bethany turned on me? What did I do to earn that animosity? Skip school? Or is it because I wasn’t honest with her before? Maybe I’ll sit with her at lunch today and try to explain. I wish I were back at my own school with Claudia and Sophia. But no. Even my best friend has turned on me in all of this. Life is so unfair.
Señora Sanchez starts class, and I think about translations and conjugations for awhile. When class ends, Bethany doesn’t even look at me as she bolts from the room. I gather my books together and look for Jasmine, but she is chatting with Marly and her other friend, Jordan, and doesn’t notice me.
I head to math class on my own. I guess I’m the girl without friends this week. I’ll have to do something about that.
Later, as I change for gym, a girl whose name I don’t know looks at me and rolls her eyes. “If you’re a princess, then how come your shorts come from Walmart?”
I’m not sure what one has to do with the other, and I stare at her for a second before answering. “The princess store was all out. This was the next best option.” The girl doesn’t look convinced by my answer. “You know,” I continue conversationally, “there isn’t a dress code for being a princess.”
“There should be,” she says, trying for high and mighty and sounding petulant instead.
“I’ll let the queen know you think so. I’m sure she’ll really value your opinion.”
The girl isn’t sure how to respond to that, so she tosses her flat-ironed hair over her shoulder and walks away from me.
Yeah. Whatever.
Once again, when teams are chosen for basketball, I’m on Jasmine’s.
She nods at me without speaking as I join her on the gym floor. I nod back. Somehow we’ve managed to come to a truce. That is much better than outright hostilities.
“Woo!” another girl shouts. “We have the princess.”
And that’s when I realize that people who never even bothered to learn my name last week are all calling me “princess.”
I am a princess, but the way everyone throws the term around so casually as if it were my name and not my title is a little uncomfortable. No one here seems to know anything about the proper way to address a member of the royal family or even how to use a title properly. At least they recognize me for who I am. That counts for something.
Our team wins, and Jasmine high-fives me, still without speaking. Bethany won’t even look my way. I’m not sure coming to school is really so much better than being at home. At least there, people spoke to me.
At lunchtime, I stand with my bagged lunch, for once not certain about where I should sit. Should I try to make things up with Bethany? I glance at Bethany’s table, but she’s not even looking at me. Should I see if the truce Jasmine and I seem to have is strong enough to survive lunch? Maybe I should sit with people I don’t know yet and make new friends? I could probably use some new friends at this school.
As I scan the lunchroom looking for a likely new group of friends, Jasmine sees me and waves me over to her table. Well, maybe it is better to build a friendship on whatever we have going than to start all over again. What could have prompted this new friendliness from Jasmine? Is it just because I’m a princess? Maybe. I can live with that. I head to the table by the window.
I sit down and open my lunch.
“Any more of that royal baloney?” Jasmine asks me, and I know she’s figured out I was messing with her the other day.
“No. Today it is Imperial roast beef. The favorite sandwich meat of all the tsars of Russia.”
“You’re making that up, right?” Marly asks, sounding as if she really isn’t sure.
“Ja,” I say with a grin. “I’m making it up.”
Across the table from me, Jasmine laughs, and suddenly the atmosphere feels relaxed and almost normal.
“Do you like have a chef and all kinds of servants and every-thing?” Jordan asks.
“Not here. They all stayed behind. We’re staying at a friend’s place. We’ve been living mainly on frozen dinners and takeaway.”
“Let me guess,” Jasmine says, “last night was Imperial roast beef?”
“Just like the tsar used to eat,” I answer.
“I had to have dinner with my grandmother,” Jordan says, “and then I had to wash all the dishes. You’re lucky you have a maid.”
“I don’t—” I start, but Jasmine shakes her head.
“Don’t try to explain,” she says. “It’s not worth it.”
“I looked up your country,” Marly says, picking pickles off her hamburger. “I never heard of it, but it turns out it’s real.”
“We just have a really elaborate website,” I say. Turns out it’s real, indeed.
Marly’s eyes widen as if she actually believes me.
“I’m kidding,” I assure her. “Our country is real.”
“Marly,” Jasmine says with an over-elaborate sigh, “stop being an idiot.” She looks at me over her bottle of water. “Things are pretty messed up there now, though.”
I close my eyes until the urge to cry leaves. “Really messed up,” I say finally.
“What’s the deal with the videos?” Jasmine asks. “I mean, I saw them, and they’re cute, but only some of them are in English. Spanish I can handle, since my grandma makes me watch her ‘stories’ with her whenever I’m over, but whatever that is you’re speaking, I don’t understand.”
“German,” I say. “And mostly, the English ones are just translations of the German ones.”
“Ah. The only thing I knew for certain from the German ones is that you apparently like soda.”
“Have you ever seen their commercials?” I ask, knowing full well she has. Everyone has; that’s why I used them as a guide.
“Sure,” she answers.
“I love them!” Marly says, her eyes wide. “Were you in an ad?”
I cock my head and look at her, trying to figure out what she’s talking about.
“Shut up, Marly,” Jasmine says and turns back to me. “Okay, so commercials.”
“Right. They’re short and sweet and make everyone want to drink more soda. So I wanted to make videos that were short and sweet and made everyone want the royal family back.”
“Aww!” Jordan presses one hand to her heart. “That is so sweet. Such a great idea. Is it working?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “People are watching them, but I don’t know if it’s going to save the kingdom.”
“Saving the kingdom is a pretty tall order,” Jasmine says.
“But it’s what I want,” I say, trying not to sound petulant.
“And as princess, you’re used to getting what you want?” Jasmine asks, one eyebrow quirked.
“Well, yeah,” I admit, though the way she says it, it sounds like maybe I am a bit spoiled after all.
“Can I see one of the videos?” Jordan asks.
Jasmine pulls out her phone and plays one of the videos for Jordan and Marly to see. It’s one of the German ones.
“So, what are you saying there?” Jasmine asks.
“That I miss my country and that my country might be small, but it is feisty, kind of like me.”
Jasmine grins. “Feisty. I like that. Feisty Fritzi!”
“That could totally be a hashtag!” Marly says.
“Oooh,” Jordan says, taking up the idea. “We could get T-shirts and everything!”
While I love the support from this unexpected area, I’m not sure what good T-shirts would do.
“Where would we even get T-shirts?” Jasmine asks Jordan. “But a hashtag, now that could work.” The next thing I know, she’s taking a selfie with me. “Princess Power!” she says. “Hashtag FeistyFritzi!”
I laugh. It feels good to laugh. Nothing has seemed very funny lately. Maybe with their help, I can actually make a difference.
Across the cafeteria, Bethany is glaring at us. I stop laughing and nudge Jasmine. “What’s the story with Bethany? She seemed nice when I first got here, but now she won’t talk to me.”
Jasmine shrugs. “Yeah. She’s all about helping the underdog. But you showed her you didn’t need her help. If you don’t need her, she doesn’t need you.”
Underdog. There’s that term again. “Do you think I’m an underdog?” I ask.
“You! Heck, no! You’re a princess! And you don’t let yourself get pushed around. I admire that.”
“Princesses don’t get pushed around,” I explain.
“Do you go to like princess school to learn stuff like that?” Marly asks.
Before Jasmine can tell her not to be stupid, again, I answer. “Sort of. My grandmother taught me.”
“Kind of like in Princess Diaries?” Jordan asks.
I know what she’s talking about. I saw the movie where the girl discovers she’s a princess and her grandmother teaches her all the ins and outs.
“Not exactly. I mean, I always knew I was a princess, so it was stuff my sister and I learned from when we were babies.”
“Will you still be a princess if the coup is successful?” Jasmine asks.
My shoulders tense again. I want to say that I will always be a princess, that that is who I am. That it can’t be taken from me. But in reality, perhaps it can.
“I don’t know,” I say.
None of them offer any snappy comebacks to that, for which I am both grateful and sorry. I wish one of them would have said that of course I’ll always be a princess. I’d like someone to think it, other than myself.
In the awkward silence that has descended on the table, I shift the subject back to underdogs. I need to understand this phenomenon.
“Do people like underdogs better than other people?” I ask. That seems to be what Mrs. Hart thought.
“Losers do,” Jasmine answers dismissively.
“I don’t know,” Jordan says. “I think people do. They like rooting for the person who seems to have the odds against them.”
“But,” I muse, “if you need people on your side to win, and people only back the one who is losing, how do you ever win and have people like you?”
“Some people like winners,” Marly says helpfully.
“Not Bethany,” I answer. “Are there a lot like her?”
“Enough,” Jasmine says. “You’re thinking about your country?”
“Ja,” I say. “I want the videos to convince people to back the king, and the other day someone told me they could be helpful because the American people like the underdog. But you are saying that if you start winning, people stop supporting you.”
“I don’t know if that’s always true. People like the underdog to win,” Marly says.
“But what about the next time? Then he’s not an underdog. Is he allowed to win again?” This is all so confusing.
“You only have to win once,” Jasmine points out. “Just long enough to get the country back.”
This is a very good point.