by Meg Cabot
RULE #12
When You Know the Right Thing to Do, You Have to Do It
So. It was all up to me.
I’d always known that, in the end, it would be.
Well, Mrs. Hunter didn’t have to worry. I was ready. I knew all of Princess Penelope’s lines and her blocking. I was completely prepared to step into her part. I even had a costume—my gold flower-girl dress. I would wear it with my black patent leather party shoes (if they still fit…I hadn’t tried them on in a while).
Of course, there was the small question of who would play the part of the evil queen.
But I even had an answer ready for that: Mrs. Hunter, of course. Mrs. Hunter could play the evil queen herself. There was no reason why she shouldn’t. She wasn’t doing anything during the performance, anyway, except running around making sure we had our props, like Erica’s reusable cloth shopping bags and such, and seeing that we got onto the stage on time, and opening and closing the curtains.
But Mrs. Jenkins could do all that. She was only the principal, after all.
And yes, I did feel bad for Sophie. Of course I did.
But she had made her own misfortune by letting her celebrity go to her head. I mean, my mother was the star of a local cable television program, but had I let that go to my head and become super bossy and started telling my friends that I hated them? No.
Sophie really had no one to blame but herself.
“But has Mrs. Hunter asked you to take over Sophie’s part?” Mom inquired that day at lunch. Because I’d brought down my flower-girl dress for her to iron, assuring her I was going to be needing it that night at the open house.
“Well,” I said. “Not officially. But I’m positive she’s going to.”
“Oh, honey.” Mom took the dress from me. “If she hasn’t asked you, I really don’t think you should get your hopes up.”
“But, Mom,” I said, “there’s no one else she can ask. Cheyenne has been acting horribly lately. There’s no way Mrs. Hunter is going to ask her to play Princess Penelope. And I’m the next-best actress in the whole class. I mean, not to be a braggart or anything.”
“She really is good, Mom,” Kevin chimed in from the kitchen counter, where he was eating grilled cheese. “You should see her. She killed.”
“Well, I hope you’re right,” Mom said. “Because I hate to see you disappointed. And your father was really looking forward to seeing you in his Dracula cape.”
“This will be much better,” I assured her. “You’ll see.”
It had been hard walking a sobbing Sophie home for lunch. Mainly because I’d been waiting for her to apologize for saying she hated me, only she hadn’t. Not even once. Possibly because she’d been crying so hard over losing the part of Princess Penelope. Still, you would have thought she’d stop to think about my feelings, for a change.
We’d tried to support her as best we could, telling her that maybe Mrs. Hunter would change her mind.
But of course I for one didn’t really believe that. I suspected Sophie had been rehearsing the part of Princess Penelope so much she had actually temporarily turned into a princess herself and thought she could start telling other people what to do (like me with my shoes for my evil queen costume) and had failed to remember the number one rule—Treat people the way you yourself would like to be treated (like the way she’d told me that she hated me).
Especially since Sophie refused even to consider apologizing to me. She kept saying she thought Mrs. Hunter should apologize to her for taking her out of the play.
She never even mentioned apologizing to me.
Oh, yes. The part of Princess Penelope was going to be mine, all right.
Erica was really worried about Sophie—especially when we were walking back to school after lunch, and Caroline appeared all alone at the stop sign where we usually met to walk to Pine Heights together.
“Sophie’s mom says she made herself too sick from crying to come back to school,” Caroline explained worriedly. “So she has a stomachache and is going to stay home for the rest of the day.”
“Oh, no!” Erica cried. “That’s terrible.”
“Well,” I said philosophically, “Sophie brought it on herself. She should have apologized to all of us for being so bossy.” I didn’t mention that she should have apologized to me for saying she hated me. That seemed like it should have been a given.
“Yes,” Caroline said. “But don’t you think the whole thing was only nerves about tonight?”
“Or maybe she thinks she really is a princess,” I said.
“Come on,” Caroline said. “Sophie doesn’t think she really is a princess.”
“Then why was she telling me what to do with my own costume?” I asked. “And why did she say she hated me?”
“Well,” Caroline said, “maybe taking the afternoon off will give her a chance to cool down.”
Maybe it would. But maybe it would also be too late for her to get the part of Princess Penelope back.
Because maybe it was mine now.
What if Mom invited Lynn Martinez from Good News! to the show tonight to see me? They were such good friends now, on account of sharing that tip about false eyelashes, she probably would.
And if Lynn saw me as Princess Penelope, she would probably ask me to come on her show so she could interview me. And then a talent scout from Hollywood would see me and ask me to star in my own reality show about a fourth-grade animal lover with two pesky little brothers whose mother is also a TV star.
The only problem with this plan was, when we got back to school, Cheyenne was going around saying Mrs. Hunter planned to ask her to play Princess Penelope.
“Naturally,” Cheyenne said, loud enough for all of us to hear her over by the swings, where we were standing. “I mean, who else would she ask at the last minute, but the one semiprofessional actress she has in her class?”
“But what about your fairy queen costume?” Dominique asked her. “You said your mom spent over two hundred dollars on it.”
“It can easily be converted to a princess costume,” Cheyenne said. “Simply by removing the wings.”
“Oh!” Erica said when she overheard all this. “Do you believe them? Talking about taking over Sophie’s part like she’s dead or something. You know, Mrs. Hunter would probably still give the part back to Sophie if she’d just apologize to Allie.”
I didn’t want to tell Erica she was wrong straight to her face. First of all, I for one didn’t plan on forgiving Sophie that easily. And second of all, I didn’t want to get her hopes up, either.
“Well, it’s good to make alternative plans,” I said. “I mean, just in case Sophie doesn’t come back.”
“But you don’t really think Mrs. Hunter would give the part of Princess Penelope to Cheyenne, do you?” Erica looked worried.
“Probably not,” I said. “I think Mrs. Hunter would probably give the part to the next-best person who auditioned for it.”
Erica thought about that. “Well, Marianne and Dominique weren’t very good. And I can’t imagine her giving it to Elizabeth or one of the other elves…and Caroline, you wouldn’t want it, would you?”
“No way. I love being a unicorn. But who else…” Then I caught Caroline looking at me. “Allie. Would you want it?”
Erica’s eyes widened. “Allie? Really? Do you know all of Sophie’s lines?”
“Sure,” I said, shrugging modestly. “Memorizing lines is easy.”
“But then…” Erica looked stunned. “Who would play the evil queen?”
“Mrs. Hunter, I guess,” I said with another shrug.
“But you’re so good as the evil queen,” Erica cried. “We love you as the evil queen. You make us laugh!”
I stared at her. “Really?” I knew I made Mrs. Hunter laugh. And my little brother. And the boys. But not the rest of the class.
“Really,” Erica said. “Oh, you can’t not play the evil queen. You’re so good at playing her! The play won’t be as good without you!�
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I had never considered this before—that I was so good at playing the evil queen, the play might not be as good if I played Princess Penelope instead. I had wanted to play Princess Penelope so badly, that was all I had ever really thought about.
“It really would be a shame,” Caroline said. “I don’t think Mrs. Hunter would be as good as you are at playing the evil queen.”
“Well,” I said. I looked down at my feet. I was still wearing my red high-tops. It had been too much trouble to take them off after rehearsal…although it had occurred to me if I was going to be playing Princess Penelope that night, I’d have to take them off, anyway. Unless I decided Princess Penelope was the type of character who would wear high-tops. You never knew. As I portrayed her, she might be. “I guess we’ll see how it goes.”
When we got into Room 209 after lunch break, the mood of the class was somber. You could tell everyone had noticed Sophie hadn’t come back from lunch.
“Well, class,” Mrs. Hunter said, coming to the front of the room. “It appears that Sophie Abramowitz won’t be able to perform tonight as Princess Penelope, and we’re going to need to replace her part. Is there anyone here who thinks she knows her lines well enough to—”
Even before the words were all the way out of Mrs. Hunter’s mouth, Cheyenne’s hand shot up into the air. Not to let her have the advantage, I put my hand in the air, too. Mrs. Hunter looked at both of us.
“Cheyenne and Allie, you both think you know all of Princess Penelope’s lines?”
Cheyenne put her hand down and turned in her chair to look at me. I would not be exaggerating if I said she was giving me the stare of death.
“I know Princess Penelope’s part cold, Mrs. Hunter,” Cheyenne said. “And furthermore, Dominique knows my part, the part of the compact fluorescent bulb fairy queen, cold, and can easily step into my place. Her part, as you know, has few spoken lines, and the lines she does have can easily be given to Marianne. Whereas I don’t imagine anyone here knows all of Allie’s lines.” Cheyenne’s tone implied that no one would want to bother memorizing the evil queen’s lines.
And basically, she was right.
I glanced desperately at Mrs. Hunter. Surely she would say, “Actually, Cheyenne, I know Allie’s part, and I’ll be happy to play the evil queen so that Allie can play Princess Penelope, because she is such a better and more talented actress than you, and we all want her and not you to play the part of the princess. So just pipe down.”
Only Mrs. Hunter didn’t say that. She looked over at me and asked, “Well, Allie? Is there anyone you can think of who would be willing to take the part of the evil queen?”
In the last row, where I sat, both Stuart Maxwell and Rosemary swiveled in their chairs to face me, their faces masks of astonished betrayal.
“You can’t quit playing the evil queen to play the stupid princess,” Rosemary hissed down the row at me. “That part is so dumb! You’re so funny as the evil queen!”
“Yeah,” Stuart whispered. “And besides, princesses stink!”
And Patrick, down at the very end of our row, leaned forward to whisper, “Who’ll help me with my lines if you’re not around as the queen? Huh? Who?”
Beside me, Joey made growling noises, a clear indication he was just upset in general.
Blinking, I put my hand down. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, Cheyenne was right. The evil queen did have a lot of lines…and of course, there wasn’t anyone who knew them all and could—or wanted to—take over my part. It didn’t look like Mrs. Hunter wanted to.
And so it seemed as if I was stuck playing Queen Melissa the Maleficent, whether I wanted to or not. Story of my life.
“That’s okay,” I said to Mrs. Hunter, even as I saw all my Hollywood dreams slipping down the drain. “Cheyenne can have the part. I’ll just go on playing Queen Mel—I mean, the evil queen.”
“Well,” Mrs. Hunter said, “that’s settled, then. Why don’t we turn our attention to social studies.”
So. It was over. I was just going to be plain old Allie Finkle—not Allie Finkle, Superstar, or Allie Finkle, Best Actress in a Starring Glamorous Role—forever. Would no one ever recognize that there was princess potential in me? Or was I going to be stuck being the evil queen—what Uncle Jay called a character role—for all time?
And okay, it was nice that I was able to make kindergartners and my friends and the boys in the last row of Room 209 laugh.
But it would have been nice to have had my princess power recognized for once.
And now Cheyenne—bratty, horrible Cheyenne—was going to get what she wanted. Again.
And the worst part was, I could see her sitting over there looking all pleased with herself, passing notes with M and D. She really was going to turn into an evil queen—an actual one, who went around murdering anyone prettier than her—if this kept up. Cheyenne always got what she wanted…high-heeled zip-up boots, pierced ears, hundred-dollar amethyst earrings, the most expensive costume, and now the lead in the play…
But wait.
Wait a minute.
She didn’t have to get this. Not if I had any say in it.
Because even though no one wanted me to play a princess, that didn’t mean I couldn’t act like one.
Or rather, like a queen.
I knew how to do the queenly thing and save the day. I guess I’d known it all along.
And when you know the right thing to do, you have to do it. That’s a rule.
Yes. It really was all up to me.
I guess I’d always known, in the end, that it would be.
Which was how, after school, instead of going straight at the stop sign, I convinced Erica to turn down Caroline’s street. And we all three of us walked to Sophie’s house and knocked.
“Oh, hello, girls,” Sophie’s mom said when she came to open the door. Sophie’s mom was working on her PhD, so as usual, she was dressed in sweats and had a pencil stuck haphazardly into her hair. “Did you come to check on Sophie? Isn’t that sweet of you. She’s feeling a bit better. She’s up in her room. Why don’t you go up to see her?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Abramowitz,” we said, and ran up the stairs to Sophie’s room.
Sophie was in her nightgown in her canopy bed, rereading a Little House on the Prairie book, one of her favorite comfort books. When we barged into her room without knocking, her cheeks got a little pink, but all she said was, “Oh, hey, you guys,” in a weak voice. She was still pretending to be sick. I knew she was pretending because nobody gets sick as much as Sophie.
“Sophie,” I said, getting right down to business. Because that’s how queens do it. “We need you to come back to the play. It’s an emergency. Cheyenne got the part of Princess Penelope in your place.”
Sophie’s dark eyes flashed a little at that. But then she controlled herself and looked back down at her book.
“Well,” she said softly, “there’s nothing I can do about that. Mrs. Hunter kicked me out of the play.”
“Only because you wouldn’t apologize to Allie,” Erica cried. “Just apologize, and she’ll let you back in. I’m sure of it!”
“Yes,” Caroline said. “I’m sure Mrs. Hunter doesn’t want Cheyenne to play Princess Penelope. She wants you to play her. That’s why she picked you and not Cheyenne in the first place. All you have to do is apologize. Just say you’re sorry.”
When Sophie looked back up at us again, her eyes were filled with tears.
“Oh, but how can I?” she wailed. “I want to. You have no idea how much! I feel terrible for the way I acted. I let being the star of the play go to my head. I know I did. I was horrible to you, Allie. You don’t know how sorry I am. But it’s too late now! I know it is.”
“It’s never too late, Sophie,” I said, going over to the bed and sitting beside her. “Have your mother call the school. I’m sure Mrs. Hunter is still there, getting ready for the open house. You can talk to her, and then when we go to school for the play tonight, you can apologize to me
in front of her, I’ll forgive you, and everything will be all right.”
“You don’t think Cheyenne will be upset?” Sophie asked worriedly. “I mean, about getting my part and then me showing up and taking it away again?”
“Of course she’ll be upset,” I said. “But who cares? Cheyenne is always upset about something.”
Sophie bit her lip. Then she closed her book and threw back her comforter.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll do it. Because it’s true. I really am so, so sorry for the way I acted toward you, Allie.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “I forgive you. That’s what friends are for.”
And we all hugged Sophie…
…even though, if you ask me, she didn’t totally deserve our forgiveness. But, being a queen, I forgave her, anyway, because it was the queenly thing to do.
Besides, it was for the good of the play, so that’s all that mattered.
RULE #13
Nothing Is Impossible
It was weird to be in Pine Heights Elementary School at night. It smelled different. It looked different, too, somehow. I couldn’t really explain how. It was just that, with all the lights on and the windows dark because it was night outside, you saw how extra-old things were in a way that you didn’t notice so much during the daytime.
Not that this dampened my nervousness in any way. I was carrying my costume and listening to Mark and Kevin as they chattered away to Mom and Dad and Uncle Jay and Harmony about the presentations their classes were going to put on later in the week (about newts in Mark’s case and, in Kevin’s, a song about rainbows).
“All right,” I said to my family when they got to the auditorium slash cafeteria slash gym doors, where Mr. Eckhart had set up tons of folding chairs in front of the stage. We were a little late, so Mrs. Jenkins had already begun talking, and it was dark in the auditorium. But it was okay, because Mrs. Danielson’s class was going first, with the world’s most boring presentation on early settlers. I just hoped my parents and Uncle Jay and Harmony wouldn’t die of boredom before it was my class’s turn to perform. “You guys go sit down. I have to go to Room Two Oh Nine to get ready. So see you soon.”