by Meg Cabot
With that, the fifth-grade girls turned and walked away.
Meanwhile, Cheyenne’s face turned bright red. Because of course she thought she already knew what was going on. Finding out she didn’t was quite a surprise to her. It was such a surprise that even her best friends, Marianne and Dominique, giggled at the shock of it.
This caused Cheyenne to twirl around and say, “Shut up!” to them. Then she stuck out one hip and put her hand on it and said, “Well, I guess we’ll find out who knows what’s going on today when Mrs. Hunter tells us who got the part of Princess Penelope, won’t we, Allie?”
So. She didn’t know yet, after all. The reason she’d been all mad when she’d stomped up to us had been because the cool fifth-grade girls had been paying attention to us, and not her. That was all.
“I guess we will,” I said. I added in my head, but not out loud, And it’s going to be me. The reason I didn’t say it out loud was because I didn’t want to make Sophie feel bad. I knew how much she wanted to play Princess Penelope, and that she was probably going to cry when she found out I’d gotten the part and not her. Friends don’t try to make friends feel bad on purpose. That’s a rule.
That was also why Cheyenne wasn’t our friend. She was always trying to make us feel bad. And none of us had ever done anything to her except try to be nice.
I couldn’t wait until Mrs. Hunter told everyone I had gotten the part of Princess Penelope. Sure, it was going to be sad when Sophie cried.
But it was going to be awesome when Cheyenne did. And this time, her tears wouldn’t be fake.
RULE #7
No One Likes a Sore Winner
“I hate her,” Sophie said after Cheyenne had stormed off.
“No, you don’t,” Erica, always the peacemaker, said. “It’s wrong to say you hate people. Even Cheyenne.”
Except that I didn’t think so. And neither did Sophie, it turned out.
“I still hate her,” Sophie said. “If she gets the part of Princess Penelope, I’m transferring to a different school.”
Oh, no! Did this mean if I got the part, Sophie would transfer?
“What if Dominique gets it?” I asked carefully, as an experiment.
“She won’t get it,” Sophie said with a sniff. “Her audition stank.”
Uh-oh. This was terrible. If Mrs. Hunter gave me the part—and she was probably going to—one of my best friends was going to stop being my best friend, and maybe even transfer to another school! Oh, why had I even listened to Uncle Jay and auditioned for Princess Penelope in the first place? Uncle Jay gave the worst advice of all time. Well, some of the time.
It was right after that that the bell rang to show it was time to line up to go inside. As we got into our lines, Mrs. Hunter noticed me looking at her, and she smiled. I thought this must mean I got the part of Princess Penelope, but my hopes were crushed when all Mrs. Hunter said was, “I saw your mother last night on television, Allie. She was wonderful.”
Wonderful! Mrs. Hunter thought my mother had been wonderful on TV! And she’d said so in front of the whole class! So loudly that Joey Fields went, “Your mom was on TV, Allie? Why didn’t you tell me?” And Stuart Maxwell tried to snatch my scarf off and throw it down the stairwell as we were going up the stairs, but Rosemary caught it just in time and gave it back to me.
“Your mom was good,” Rosemary said. “But her eyes looked kinda funny.”
I stared at her. “What?”
“Her eyes looked funny,” Rosemary said. “Like a mouse or something.”
“They did not,” I said.
“All right,” Rosemary said. “I’m just saying. There’s nothing wrong with mice.”
What was Rosemary talking about? My mother looked nothing like a mouse. Okay, maybe she looked prettier in real life than she had on TV. But everyone did. I looked different in mirrors than I did in my school photos, didn’t I (usually better, since school photographers always seem to catch me smiling all goofy)?
Anyway, Mrs. Hunter saying my mother looked wonderful on TV was a good sign that I’d gotten the part of Princess Penelope. I mean, wasn’t it? Otherwise, wouldn’t she have just said my mom had done a good job or been nice or whatever? Wonderful means delightful, which is like joy, and Mrs. Hunter had once said I was a joy to have in the classroom. So that’s practically like saying I got the part.
Then Mrs. Hunter was asking us to please take our seats, that she had an announcement to make. We all knew what that meant:
She was going to announce the cast list for Princess Penelope in the Realm of Recycling.
You could have heard Uncle Jay microwaving leftover pizza in his apartment over on campus six blocks away, that’s how quiet it was in Room 209 as Mrs. Hunter unfolded the cast list. Everyone was dying to hear what part they had gotten.
“First,” Mrs. Hunter said, “allow me to tell you what a spectacular job I thought all of you did at the auditions yesterday. You were very prepared, and you tried very hard, and I really appreciate that. I wish I could have given all of you the parts you wanted, but I couldn’t, so instead I gave each of you the part in which I believe, knowing all of you as well as I do, you will most excel, and give the best performance. I really hope you will accept my decisions. Now, I’ll start with the evil queen’s soldiers.”
There were hoots and fist pumps of excitement as Stuart Maxwell, Patrick Day, and a few other boys plus Rosemary all discovered they’d gotten the parts they’d wanted (well, Patrick and Stuart weren’t too stoked to find out Rosemary was going to be a soldier along with them, since that meant they wouldn’t be able to get in as much trouble as they would have liked. But she was sure excited).
Mrs. Hunter then moved on to the reusable water bottle wizard, the part Joey Fields had really wanted. Not surprisingly, given that Joey F was the only one who’d auditioned for it, he got the part. Joey closed his eyes and gave a silent Yessss!
Next, Lenny Hsu learned he’d gotten the part of the recycled paper dragon (again, he’d been the only person who’d auditioned for it). He barely looked up from his book on dinosaurs upon learning this.
Caroline looked relieved when she found out she was playing the unplug-when-not-in-use unicorn. This was the part she’d auditioned for. It had very few lines, exactly what Caroline wanted. She just had to prance around the stage and point Princess Penelope in the right direction through the magical woods with her horn, then explain that unplugging electronics when not in use saves one thousand pounds of carbon dioxide and $256 per year per household. I guess Mrs. Hunter had been as impressed by Caroline’s prancing as we all were, since she gave Caroline the part.
But then Mrs. Hunter read off some names of people who most definitely were not happy with the parts they’d gotten…like some of the girls who’d auditioned for the part of Princess Penelope. They were stunned to discover that, instead of the princess, they’d been awarded parts as public transportation elves or water conservation mermaids. Dominique and Marianne looked like they were about to cry upon learning that they were compact fluorescent bulb fairies. I saw Cheyenne throwing them fake sympathetic smiles. I knew they were fake because Cheyenne is incapable of feeling real sympathy for anyone but herself. I knew she was just waiting to hear her own name read off, along with the words “will be playing the part of Princess Penelope.”
Well, as far as I was concerned, Cheyenne could wait until the cows came home, but Mrs. Hunter was never going to say those words. Because that part was mine.
Then Mrs. Hunter said, “The part of the fairy godmother of reusable cloth shopping bags will be played by Erica Harrington.”
Erica gasped and then twisted around in her seat to look at me. “Yay!” she mouthed joyfully.
“Yay!” I mouthed back. I was really happy for Erica, because she’d wanted to play the fairy godmother so badly.
“The part of the fairy queen,” Mrs. Hunter went on, “will be played by Cheyenne O’Malley.”
Cheyenne wasn’t the only person in Room 2
09 who gasped upon hearing this—but she might have been the only person in the room who didn’t gasp in a good way. You could tell she was totally horrified.
“Mrs. Hunter,” Cheyenne said, her hand flying up into the air. “I’m afraid there’s been some mistake. That’s not the part I auditioned for. I tried out for Princess Penelope!”
“I realize that, Cheyenne,” Mrs. Hunter said. “But I think, based on your performance yesterday, that you’ll be better in the role of the fairy queen, which is a very good part as well.”
Cheyenne’s mouth fell open. Also, her eyes bulged out of her head a little.
“But that’s not the lead,” Cheyenne said. “I’ve always had the lead in every play I’ve been in. Back in Canada, anyway.”
“Well, I pictured you as the fairy queen from the play’s inception,” Mrs. Hunter said. “It’s a lovely part. You’ll be able to wear lots of sparkles and a pair of wings along with a beautiful gown and a tiara of compact fluorescent lightbulbs. Plus, you’ll be the head of all the other fairies.”
The other fairies, Marianne and Dominique, looked over at Cheyenne expectantly, as if to say, Hey! Remember us? We wanted to play Princess Penelope and we’re stuck with being compact fluorescent lightbulb fairies, too. Hello! I mean, at least Cheyenne got to be a compact fluorescent lightbulb fairy queen.
But Cheyenne barely glanced at them.
“I don’t want to be a fairy queen,” Cheyenne said. “I want to be Princess Penelope. And I’m telling my mother!”
With that, she folded her arms across her chest, turned her head to look out the window, and dismissed us all.
Mrs. Hunter said, “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Do let your mother know that I look forward to hearing from her, as always,” and returned to her list.
There were only two names she hadn’t read off yet—mine and Sophie’s. And I knew why.
Obviously, I’d gotten the role of Princess Penelope. I couldn’t think what other part hadn’t been assigned yet, but clearly Sophie was getting that one…
…and just as clearly, she was going to cry when she found out I was Princess Penelope and she wasn’t.
So I couldn’t act too excited when I found out. Even though, of course, on the inside I would be bursting with happiness.
No one likes a sore loser like Cheyenne. That’s a rule.
But no one likes a sore winner, either. That’s another rule.
So if you win, it’s rude to be too celebratory about it and rub it in other people’s faces. It’s important to accept victory modestly.
Then you can celebrate all you want in private, where the losers can’t see you (that’s another rule).
“Allie Finkle,” Mrs. Hunter read from her list.
I leaned forward a little in my chair, trying to contain myself. I wasn’t going to jump to my feet or anything, let alone climb on top of my desk and do a self-congratulatory victory dance.
But I might do one tiny fist pump. Just a little one. I mean, I could celebrate a little. After all, I’d earned it. I’d worked hard on that audition!
“…I’m giving you the part of the evil queen,” Mrs. Hunter said.
Yay—
Wait. What?
What had she just said?
“Cool, Allie,” Rosemary, down the row of desks from me, whispered. “We’ll get to be in tons of scenes together!”
“And the role of Princess Penelope,” Mrs. Hunter went on, “goes to Sophie Abramowitz.”
Sophie, in her seat a few rows ahead of mine, let out a little shriek. Then she put both hands over her mouth and said, “Oh, my goodness! Oh…my goodness! Me? ME?”
“Yes, Sophie,” Mrs. Hunter said, smiling at her. “You. Now, class. We don’t have very much time. I want everyone to start trying to learn their lines right away. I want them memorized by the end of next week at the latest. Now, let’s get out our math books and turn to page two-ten. We’re going to be working on fractions this morning.”
Except that I didn’t get out my math book. And I didn’t turn to page 210.
Because I couldn’t move. I just couldn’t believe it. I mean, I just couldn’t believe it. I’d tried out for the role of Princess Penelope—I’d worked really, really hard on my audition—and yet, somehow, I’d ended up as the princess’s evil stepmother?
How could something like that even happen?
I mean, no offense, but I had been the best Princess Penelope at the auditions. I’m not even being a braggart, either, when I say that. I had practiced with an actual theater major (well, he was at one time). Uncle Jay had totally coached me. I hadn’t overacted like Cheyenne. And I had even made Mrs. Hunter laugh during my audition!
And okay, maybe she wasn’t supposed to have laughed. But come on!
And I know I don’t look as much like a princess as Sophie does. I’m not totally beautiful in the traditional sense the way she is.
But I know I’m a better actress. I’m not saying that to be mean. And I would never say it to Sophie’s face.
But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. And I know it.
So why would Mrs. Hunter—my Mrs. Hunter, the best teacher I’d ever had—give me the worst part in the whole entire play? The part of the evil, mean sorceress who spends the play trying to kill not only the pretty heroine but everyone else in the Realm of Recycling? A character who litters? A character who thinks global warming doesn’t exist even though ninety-eight percent of scientists do, and who doesn’t realize you can save a tree by recycling a stack of newspapers only three feet high? The character everyone hates? Why? WHY?
It didn’t make any sense. Had I done something to make Mrs. Hunter hate me? I couldn’t remember doing anything to make Mrs. Hunter hate me. But maybe I had, by accident or something. Maybe I had disappointed her in some way, and so in revenge, or to teach me a lesson, she was making me take this awful, awful part.
Or maybe…maybe Mrs. Hunter was mad at my mom. Maybe Mrs. Hunter had really loved Requiem for a Somnambulist and was mad that my mom called it preachy and pretentious.
But no…that made no sense. She had said my mom’s performance on Good News! the night before had been wonderful. Why would she say that if she didn’t agree with my mom’s review?
No. It must be me. It must be me Mrs. Hunter hated.
I wanted to cry. A few moments earlier, I had been telling myself not to celebrate too hard in order not to hurt my best friend’s feelings.
And now I was sitting there, trying hard not to burst into tears in front of the whole class.
Only not really, because no one was even paying attention to me. Everyone was too busy buzzing about Sophie and her remarkable achievement.
And Sophie was being fittingly modest, acting just the way a proper princess should, saying, “Oh, thanks,” and “Well, I’m just going to do my best,” and “It’s all Mrs. Hunter’s doing, really, for giving me the chance.”
I’m sorry, but even though I know it’s wrong to hate people, a part of me hated Sophie just then!
Well, okay, maybe not. But a part of me really disliked her. Just a little. Because that should have been me saying those things! How come no one was crowding around my desk, congratulating me?
Oh, wait. I know why. Because everyone hates the evil queen!
To prove it, Stuart Maxwell just threw a wadded-up piece of paper at me and went, “Ha. Evil queen. That suits you, Allie!”
I wanted to cry even more when he said that. But instead, remembering I was an actress, I acted like I didn’t want to cry. I said, “Well, you’re an evil soldier. And you work for me, the evil queen. So you have to do what I say. And I say, shut up.”
He looked at me with his eyebrows raised and went, “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Yes, I can,” I said. “I’m the queen. So I’m the boss of you.”
Defenseless in the face of such logic, Stuart did the only thing he could, which was take out a piece of paper and frantically start drawing headless zombies.
I kind of knew how he felt. I mean, I would have started drawing headless zombies, too, if I thought it would have made me feel better.
But I knew the only thing that was going to make me feel better was…well, getting to play Princess Penelope.
But since I knew that wasn’t going to happen now, I guessed I was going to have to settle for going up to Sophie myself when the bell for morning recess rang, and say, “Hey, Sophie. Congratulations. I’m really glad you got the part you wanted.”
And act like I mean it.
Which was exactly what I did. While Cheyenne stomped off to go call her mother on her cell phone and tell her to call Mrs. Hunter, I went up to Sophie and congratulated her for getting the role of Princess Penelope. The role I thought I should have gotten.
Because that’s what gracious losers—and best friends—do.
“Oh, my goodness, Allie,” Sophie said, throwing her arms around my neck and giving me a huge hug. “Thank you so much! And I’m so sorry you didn’t get it. You were really good, too.”
“Yeah,” Caroline said. “But it’s okay, because Allie didn’t really want it the way you did, Sophie. She just tried for it to make sure Cheyenne didn’t get it.”
I practically had to blink back tears when I heard that. I didn’t want it as much as Sophie? Um, yes, I so totally had.
But considering I hadn’t gotten it, I guess it was just as well everyone thought this.
“Yeah,” I said casually, hugging Sophie back. “I’m fine with the part I got. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to go call my mother and complain, like Cheyenne.”
“Can you believe she’s doing that?” Sophie let go of me and pushed some of her curly hair out of her big brown eyes. “Talk about being a princess! She must think she is one or something!”
“Totally,” I said.
“You’ll make such a good evil queen, Allie,” Erica said. “You’ll be the best evil queen ever.”
I just stared at her. “I will?”
“Of course,” Sophie said.