The Royal Treatment

by Lindsey Leavitt

  I said my next line loud and clear. Very loud and clear.

  “You don’t need to project that much,” Reed said.

  “Thanks.” I clasped my hands in my lap, resisting the urge to swat him.

  “Let’s take a break,” suggested Mrs. Olman. The cast members broke into chattering groups. Reed bumped me with his elbow.

  “You’re nervous.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Do you want some advice?”

  “If I do, I’ll ask the director.”

  “It helps if you can find the truth of the character. Like, Titania may be acting one way, but feeling something else. If you can recognize the difference in what the character wants to say and what she is actually saying, you can add a lot of depth to the role.”

  Depth? He wanted depth? Hello, I wasn’t even fourteen yet and I’d already worked two jobs (one of them magical), run a small Internet business, made good grades, and got a part in this play. Not to mention I was a pretty nice person and didn’t obsess over shallow, non-obsess-worthy things, like what cologne Reed was wearing and why it smelled so nice. I was the Grand Canyon of depth!

  “Thanks. I’ll think about that.”

  After the break, Mrs. Olman offered a few tips on speaking slowly to convey the meaning of the words. Reed nudged me like I should pull out a pencil and write everything down because she was obviously talking to me.

  As annoying as his “pointers” were, I was motivated to improve my delivery. If I could channel the same feelings I’d had during tryouts, not even Shakespeare’s stupid old language could stop me from shining. I just had to figure out how I’d tapped in to those feelings.

  I closed my eyes for a second. Okay, I’m Titania. My husband has been a total jerk to me. Plus, I’m under a love spell. What would that be like, to feel a strong emotion that’s not authentic?

  A familiar spark grew inside of me. I squirmed in recognition. I had felt the princesses’ emotions, but they were still secondhand. A love potion would do the same thing—take away the honesty of emotion. I understood Titania—she believed in a feeling that wasn’t real. The spark grew until I almost burst. I was so Titania in that moment, I could have sprouted fairy wings and flown across the theater.

  When I said my lines, Reed’s mouth went slack.

  “What?” I whispered.

  He shook his head. “Wow.”

  Wow was right. It took another scene before I stopped shaking. It reminded me of this time when I was seven, when my family was in an accident that totaled my mom’s car. Everyone was fine, but I remember sitting on the curb, nearly in shock and dizzy from the adrenaline. This feeling wasn’t as intense, but the buzzing topped any sugar or caffeine rush I’d ever had.

  I was back to regular Desi by the end of the read-through, which Reed was right about—take away the Titania moments, and the last two hours made my Top Ten Most Tiring Moments of My Life list, right after my dance with Gavin. We slumped out of the theater looking defeated, Mrs. Olman especially. It was hard to imagine how those words—words half of us couldn’t even pronounce well, let alone understand—were going to transform into something watchable or entertaining.

  Once I was outside, though, I stopped to smile at the warmth of the sun. So it wasn’t my favorite play ever. So what. I’d gotten a big part in a HIGH SCHOOL PLAY. That play could have been Fluffy the Bunny Hops to Happyland and I would have been stoked.

  I wandered over to the football-field entrance, where I’d told my mom to pick me up. Almost everyone else had cars or friends with cars, and I didn’t want to be the loser eighth grader waiting for mommy directly in front of the school. I dropped my backpack and gulped some water from the drinking fountain. Reed was standing next to me when I came up. “Did you do what I told you to?” he asked.

  I grabbed my chest. “Ahhh! You scared me. What’s with everyone popping up on me like that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” I took a few deep breaths.

  “So when you read those lines…what did you do differently?”

  “Oh. Um…” I still didn’t know what I had done. Genevieve said it wasn’t possible for me to use my magic in my real life, yet I knew something had happened. I could tell by how I felt, by other’s reactions. I doubted the other actors thought they were about to get “fairified.” It wasn’t normal. Maybe it was a touch of magic, not enough for the agency to be aware of it, but enough to give me a push. Or maybe it was more, and I needed to tell Genevieve? I’d have to think about that. “I don’t know. What you said. I tried to feel what the character felt.”

  “Did you do that when you auditioned?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Pretty much. Why, did I suck?”

  “No. You…you’re…really talented, Desi.”

  I blushed at the unexpected compliment. “Well, that was just a few lines. You were on all day.”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice. But you…you should do whatever you just did again. Every time.”

  “Um, all right.”

  Reed stared at me a couple more seconds. I was starting to wonder if staring at people so long was some New Zealand thing that didn’t translate into our culture.

  “So, I’m going to go.” I backed away from his unflinching gaze. “Uh…bye.”

  Reed stepped forward, and I caught another whiff of his cologne. Wow, where did he buy that stuff? “Wait. Sorry, I’m acting weird, aren’t I?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “I do that sometimes. Sorry.” He fiddled with his backpack strap. “I’m trying to figure you out. Because, you know, we’ll be acting together, so it helps if you have a sort of understanding of your scene mate.”

  “Staring someone down doesn’t get you understood. It gets you slapped.”

  Reed cracked a smile. “You’ve got to be the funniest American I’ve met.”

  “On behalf of my country, thank you.”

  “Here, I’ll tell you what.” He tapped my leg with his foot. “Let me prove to you I’m not crazy. I’ll give you a ride home.”

  “You have a car?” I asked. It wasn’t unheard of for ninth graders to drive—the Idaho driving age was fifteen.

  “Ah, not yet. But I do have Lola.” He pointed at the sole bike on the bike rack. A tandem bike.

  “You ride a two-person bicycle by yourself?”

  “Got her at a garage sale this summer.” Reed walked over and kicked a tire. “The couple that bought her broke up, and it hurt the poor guy to look at it. I swindled it for thirty bucks. Decent workout, but it’s definitely better if you have another rider. Increases velocity. So are you in?”

  “My mom is supposed to pick me up.”

  “Call her.”

  I chewed on my lip. I’d never ridden a two-person bike; it looked like fun. If only I could swap places with Kylee right now and let her bike with Reed. But she was still in the band room, so the next best thing was to hang out with Reed for her, right?

  “Okay.” I texted my mom. Even if she missed the text, chances were she’d notice a tandem bike on the road. “Anything I should know?”

  “I’m the captain, you’re the stoker. Which basically means I steer, brake, and yell if we hit a wall. You have the difficult job of taking in the scenery.”

  “Let’s not harm any walls on this journey, okay?”

  Reed gave me his helmet, and I swung my leg over the side of the bike. He eased onto the front seat and tooted his horn. “You ready?”

  Again, a whole conversation without mentioning Kylee. I was a lousy friend. “One more thing. You know how you said I was the funniest girl you’ve ever met?”

  “Funniest American.”

  “Sure. Wait until you get to know Kylee. She’s hilarious.”

  Reed turned around and gave me a weird look. “That was the most random thing you’ve ever said.”

  “Just pedal.”

  Reed steered us out of the parking lot and onto a back road. His calm control made up for my wobbliness
. He called out whenever he made a turn or saw a bump. I pointed out Sproutville landmarks. Or, rather, made up landmarks.

  “See that house?” I pointed to a white brick rambler.

  “Yeah?”

  “Mark Twain used to live there.”

  “Huh? The guy who wrote Tom Sawyer?”

  “Close. Actually, it’s an auto tech named Mark Wayne.”

  Reed laughed. I liked his laugh. And despite his weird staring problem, Reed was easy to talk to. I didn’t get why Kylee froze up around him.

  Mom was pulling out of the driveway when we biked up. She unrolled her window and stuck her head out. “When you texted that you were riding a two-person bike, I thought it was a joke.”

  “No, Mom. Tandem biking is very serious.” I hopped off the bike and handed Reed his helmet. When he stuck it on, a strand of hair got in his eye. I almost brushed it away, just to be nice, but stopped myself because…because I don’t know why.

  “Do I get an introduction?” Mom asked. “Aren’t you the nice boy who saved Desi from that dunk tank?”

  “Yep, that’s me. Dunk Tank Superhero. Saving the world one drowned girl at a time.”

  “Oh, you’re a charmer.” Mom giggled. “Isn’t he charming, Desi?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Bye, Reed.”

  “Thanks for the pedal power.” He honked his horn and biked away.

  “You didn’t tell me Reed is in the play.”

  “There are a lot of boys in the play.” I started to walk toward the house. “It’s Shakespeare—there used to be ONLY boys in his plays.”

  “That’s fine. But I’m here if you want to talk about it more.” Mom closed the door behind us and hung her keys on the hook.

  I crossed my arms. “And Reed is Kylee’s crush, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “I’m not getting at anything.” Mom tried to hide a smug smile, but I saw it. Saw it and hated it. There was nothing to be smug about.

  I ran up to my room and dropped onto my bed. I needed to call Kylee, but first I needed to take a nap. The bike ride and the using-magic-to-be-like-Titania thing had drained me.

  I sat up. Magic. There it was again. If that was really what I’d experienced, then Genevieve would want to know. I flopped down and closed my eyes. Now I just had to find the courage to use the card.

  That night, I did my homework for the week, skimmed two yachting catalogues, and clicked through eight celebrity gossip sites (research rocks!) before I took the calling card out of my desk drawer. I placed it on my pillow and lay down next to it, staring at the pictures on my Wall o’ Awesome Things. They were mostly pictures of my favorite old celebrities. And Karl. Over the last couple of months, I’d added quite a few pictures of Karl.

  I hated to admit it, but part of my motivation for wanting to do well with Façade was the prospect of seeing Karl again. Royal circles were small. Whether I subbed for Elsa or Karl’s girlfriend, Duchess Olivia, or some random royal at a charity event, our paths were bound to cross. I didn’t know what I would do or say. If I had magic, like really real magic that I could channel and use to my bidding, it would be mighty tempting to somehow get him to kiss me again. Kiss me, then date me in a few years, marry me in a few more, have some royal sons that would make nice princes and…

  I kicked at my wall. I had to learn to control my daydreams. Not only would I not do that to Elsa or Karl, but I wouldn’t want to waste an ability like magic on crushes. Subbing had shown me there was a lot more to life than boys, a lot more places where others could use help. That’s what I’d want to do, if I could. Help people.

  And not just royals. Sure, I enjoyed helping out the princesses while I was in Level One, but were all my Level Two jobs going to be like Millie? Did magic really exist so that Millie didn’t have to talk to an annoying boy or endure a corset? That job was a long way from the legend of the first Egyptian sub, Woserit. She’d used her magic to save a life. What was Façade’s magical purpose now?

  When I peeled my foot off the wall, one of my pictures fell down. It was a black-and-white photo of Elizabeth Taylor playing Cleopatra.

  She wore a gold headpiece with a beetle on top, the same figure found on the back of Genevieve’s calling card. I knew beetles symbolized something, but I couldn’t remember what. I thought about looking it up online, but it was late and I’d already been on the computer enough.

  Besides, I would only be putting off what I had been putting off all day.

  “Okay,” I said out loud to my Wall o’ Awesome Things. A picture of Karl in his school uniform looked down on me sternly. “So, Genevieve? I’m calling you. Now.”

  The card on my pillow buzzed, the beetle on the back flashing. I watched it for a few seconds, on guard in case the bug suddenly took flight and attacked me. This is Façade we’re talking about. Anything could happen.

  When the flashing stopped, my manual made a weird…trilling sound. Like an old-fashioned phone. I opened it to the image of a young man with very black skin and very white eyeballs. His features looked computer generated—no one could naturally be that chiseled. He blinked. “You called for Genevieve?” he asked in a clear accent. At first I thought it was British, but it was softer than that. Maybe…South African?

  I stared at him, trying to place the accent, but also trying to figure out why there was a video of this guy on my manual screen.

  “I am Genevieve’s secretary, Dominick.”

  “Hi, Dominick,” I said.

  Dominick sniffed. “You called for Genevieve. How may I assist you?”

  “Oh. Sorry. I’m Desi. She told me to contact her if I had any magical experiences.”

  “She is in a meeting right now. Is this urgent?”

  “Urgent? No. I had play rehearsals today and felt kind of…Never mind. I’ll try her later.”

  Dominick held up a finger and pushed on an earpiece with the other. “Yes? Yes, her name is Desi.…”

  He raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Oh. Just Desi.” I rushed. “It’s not short for anything.”

  “Last name,” he mouthed.

  “Bascomb. Sorry.”

  “Desi Bascomb. Something about a magic play.”

  He paused, listening to someone on the other end. “Right away, Genevieve.”

  He glanced up. “I am connecting you to Genevieve. Please be brief. She is very busy. I’m surprised she’s talking to you.”

  His image clicked off, replaced a moment later by Genevieve. She smiled warmly. “Hello, Desi. Did you need to tell me something?”

  Suddenly I felt really, really stupid. How could I say that I felt like a fairy today while I was at rehearsal? How lame is that? Genevieve already told me magic didn’t happen without the Rouge to activate it, and not outside the confines of Façade. And, of course, that made sense, especially now that I knew all about the history and that royal pact. I’d been so convinced, but now looking at Genevieve, I had some doubts.

  “I…um…I…”

  Dumb! This was THE HEAD OF FAÇADE. She had to be the busiest woman alive, and here she was taking a moment to talk to a lowly sub, and I couldn’t even form a sentence. But what sentence would I form? My reason for contacting her seemed sillier and sillier by the second.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this card would contact you directly. I was…working on a birthday present for you and the words just came out.”

  Genevieve shook her finger. “A present? No presents! I’m far too old for such pomp and circumstance.”

  “Okay.”

  “I must get back to this meeting, then. Now that you’ve done…let’s call this a trial run. You know how easy it is to get a hold of me. If that buzzing feeling you spoke of returns at all, do let me know. Even if it isn’t magic, we want to figure out how to differentiate, and, of course, what your triggering emotion is. Are you sure there is nothing else?”

  “Positive.” I considered mentioning the play, but I was afraid it would make me sound wishy-washy.

  Ge
nevieve’s image faded, replaced again by Dominick. He looked down at me from over his glasses. “Can I help you with anything else, Miss Bascomb?”

  “No. I’m fine. Sorry. Thanks.”

  “Good day, then.”

  The screen went blank and I chucked my manual against the pillow. What a colossal waste of time. I shouldn’t have been worrying about calling cards and fairy buzzing. Now was the time for me to focus on my play and knock off some of my BEST training.

  Now was the time for me to get back to Façade, where the real magic happened.

  Chapter

  11

  Ever since Mom and I had had our ice cream girlie fest, we were making an effort to be more involved in each other’s lives. At least, the part of my life I could share with her. Over the next three weeks, Mom practiced my lines with me, and sometimes I’d come downstairs and sit in on her Celeste consultations (yes, Celeste, purple is your color, for the gazillionth time). The etiquette and poise involved in the Millie job proved that pageant training could help supplement my BEST. But when Mom asked me to drive up with her to meet Celeste and her mother at the Miss Teen Dream pageant, well, I think my exact words were…

  “I would rather clean out a hamster cage with my teeth.”

  “Your dad has a law conference in Reno. I’m not leaving you home alone.”

  “I’ll stay with Kylee.”

  “And I need help with Gracie.”

  “So you’re not asking me. You’re telling me.”

  “The hotel is nice.”

  Which was my Mom’s way of saying, You’re going. Don’t argue.

  The pageant was at the Grove—a fancy downtown Boise hotel that included a banquet hall and theater, so we never needed to leave the building. The reception area paled in comparison to Façade’s, but it was the nicest building I’d seen in my real life, much nicer than the Comfort Inns we frequented on family vacations.

  After two hours in the car, Gracie had Cheerios sticking to her whole body. I de-cerealized her in the lobby. Celeste showed up and hugged my mom. I thought I’d have another hour with my mom, but Mrs. Juniper had a migraine, so she released Celeste alone into the wild.

  Celeste settled into strategizing mode. “It’s looking good,” she whispered to my mom. “Half these girls have never done a pageant. The city girls are the only real competition.”