Belly peers in the window where we can see Lawrence’s head bent over his papers.
“I don’t think he does,” Belly says. “The king was sick for a long time and was basically a figurehead, so —”
“What’s a figurehead?” Jonah asks. “Like the bobbleheads I have at home?”
“Well, I’m not sure what a bobblehead is,” Belly says. “But a figurehead is a person who appears to be the leader but doesn’t really lead.”
Jonah scrunches up his forehead. “Why wouldn’t a leader want to lead? It’s in the name!”
Belly laughs. “Yes. But sometimes the leader is too old. Or sick. Or sometimes, they’re just not that smart. So there’s someone else behind the scenes, making the decisions.”
“So the king was a just a figurehead,” I say. “And Lawrence was the one really doing the leading.”
“Right,” Belly says.
“Then why bother finding a new princess at all?” Jonah asks. “Why doesn’t he just lead the kingdom himself?”
I remember what Minerva said last night. “He’s afraid that if we don’t find a real royal to at least look like an official leader, Prince Micha of Bug might take us over.”
“Right,” Belly says.
“So he’s basically looking for another figurehead,” I say. “Which he thinks is me.”
“Exactly,” Belly says. “He just wants it to look like you’re running Bog. If you leave, he’ll find another figurehead princess.”
But that’s unfair to the girl who’s meant to be a real princess of Bog. He just wants a faux ruler who takes naps and gets her hair done and swims and parades around in her (extremely pretty!) dress collection.
But Bog needs a real ruler.
A TRUE princess.
But the real princess, the one from the story, is nowhere to be found.
So how am I going to find a princess to lead Bog?
I rest my royal head against the pillow of my lounge chair, and think. Even though, according to Lawrence, I shouldn’t do such a tiring thing.
Come on, Abby. How can you find a princess in a land without princesses?
I run my fingers through one of my ringlets. My Miss America ringlets. If only we could have a Miss Bog contest to find the princess.
Oh! I sit up. Maybe we can.
Belly, will you call everyone into the Great Hall in half an hour?” I ask, standing up. “Lawrence, Minerva, and the whole royal court. I’d like to hold a meeting.”
Belly’s eyes bug out. “A meeting?” she repeats. “Shouldn’t you ask Lawrence about that first?”
I shake my head. “I’m the princess of Bog. For now, anyway. So I’m calling a meeting.”
Belly nods, looking impressed. As she should. I can be very impressive.
“What’s your plan, Abby?” Jonah asks me, intrigued.
“You’ll see!” I say.
He shrugs and jumps into the pool. Prince splashes in after him.
I go upstairs to my room and change into a dress and my Bog crown. Then I head down to the Great Hall and take a seat at the table.
A minute later, Lawrence comes rushing in, glasses askew. “What’s this about a meeting?” he demands.
“Let’s wait until everyone gets here,” I say.
Lawrence frowns. He’s definitely used to calling the shots.
Minerva comes in, eyebrows pulled together. “This is most unusual,” she whispers to Lawrence.
“Tell me about it,” he whispers back with a scowl.
“Let’s give her a chance,” Minerva says.
The maids are whispering among themselves.
Soon, all the ministers of the royal court enter the room, murmuring together. Jonah and Prince slip into the back, still wet from the pool.
“Good, everyone is here,” I say, standing up. “While I have loved serving as your princess, I’m afraid I can’t remain in my role. I have to leave Bog to go home. But first, I would like to help you find a new princess. The right princess. And I’ve been thinking. Feeling a pea under your mattress is NOT the way to tell if someone is a princess.”
“Sure it is,” Lawrence says. “Princesses are extremely delicate. That’s why they can feel a tiny pea under one hundred mattresses.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Lawrence, no offense, but that really doesn’t make sense. Want to know why?”
He narrows his eyes. “Why?”
Everyone is staring at me. Waiting for my response.
I square my shoulders. “Because. You don’t want a delicate princess. You want a tough princess. The princess of Bog should be able to have no trouble falling asleep on a pea. She should have no trouble falling asleep on an apple! Or a pumpkin! Or a watermelon! She should be adaptable. She should be able to sleep on anything! She should be able to sleep in a tree. Or in a rowboat in a swamp!”
Lawrence and Minerva glance at each other. The maids are whispering. The other members of the court look aghast.
“You want a princess who is strong!” I go on. “Who is smart! Not someone who sits around all day getting fanned by maids. But someone who is tough enough to protect her kingdom. You want a princess who isn’t bothered by a tiny little pea.”
Lawrence bangs his fist on the table. “That’s ridiculous.”
“It is not,” I say sternly.
Jonah raises his hand. “I just want to say that I would totally want to sleep in a tree!”
I wink at him. I love how he has my back. Even though I would never let him sleep in a tree.
“If we don’t use the pea test,” Minerva says, “then how do we find our princess?”
Luckily, I have an answer for that. “We have a different kind of test. A contest. We’ll invite all the young girls in the land to compete to see who will be the next princess. Like Miss America! But without the beauty pageant part.”
“A contest to pick a princess?” Minerva says. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Jonah raises his hand again.
“Isn’t it also kind of like Purim?” he asks.
“Yes!” I exclaim. “Good thinking, Jonah!”
Jonah beams. He’s clearly been paying attention in Hebrew school.
“What’s Purim?” Lawrence asks.
“It’s a Jewish holiday that falls in the springtime,” I explain. “See, in the story of Purim, the king, Achashverosh, was looking for a new queen. He got all the girls in the land to come and compete. And Esther won.” There’s a lot more to the story, about how Esther winds up saving the day and defeating the evil Haman.
“So what qualities was that king looking for?” Minerva asks.
“Beauty. But we’re skipping that part. This is not, I repeat, not, going to be a beauty pageant.”
“So what are we testing for?” Lawrence asks. “If we’re not testing for beauty. Or extreme delicacy.”
Seriously? “We’re testing for being a good leader!” I cry.
My brother raises his hand again. “Oh, oh! I have a good idea! Let’s say I accidentally throw a spitball at one of the girls. A real princess shouldn’t freak out. Especially if it’s just an accident.”
I stifle a giggle. “Right. So what you mean is that a real princess doesn’t rattle easily.”
“Exactly!” Jonah says.
“She’d be …” Belly whispers so low I can’t really hear her.
“What?” I say to her.
She steps forward. “Um, she’d be brave?”
“Yes!” I say, clapping my hands. “Brave! You know, Esther was brave, too. That’s how she saved the day.”
Lawrence doesn’t look convinced. He stands with his arms crossed over his chest. “A real princess should nap twice a day and have a maid blow on her hot cocoa at bedtime so she doesn’t risk burning her tongue.”
“We don’t want a princess who can’t handle her own hot cocoa,” I say. “We need her to be strong. We should test for strength.”
“Well, I think a true princess would be loyal,” Minerva says, raising her
voice. “To her royal staff and her subjects — the people she rules.”
“Agreed!” I say. “What else?”
“She should be nice,” Jonah says.
“And smart!” Minerva adds.
“Kind!” the super-tall maid calls out.
“And extremely delicate!” Lawrence adds.
All eyes turn to Lawrence.
Again with the delicate?
“Um, Lawrence,” I say. “With all due respect, a true princess is a leader. Leaders are not extremely delicate.”
Lawrence snorts. “I’ve never met a princess who wasn’t delicate.”
“Well, I have,” I say, thinking back to all the fairy tales I’ve visited. “I’ve met many. And they’re awesome.”
Psst!” I call to Minerva from the castle hallway later that day.
She’s sitting in the parlor with Lawrence. His face is hidden behind the Daily Swamp, the Bog newspaper. Minerva stands up and hurries over.
“Yes, Princess Abby?”
“I’m going to go to the village to hang up posters advertising the contest,” I say. “But I’ve been planning the activities, and I would love your help!”
Minerva glances at Lawrence. “Absolutely,” she whispers. “Just keep your voice down. Lawrence is dozing behind the paper, and it’s better to let him sleep. I think what you’re doing is brilliant. You have my full support. I like you, Abby. My husband needs to learn to let go. This is the perfect plan.”
Hoorah!
We go into my royal office. I sit down at my desk, get out my tablet where I wrote down my ideas, and hand it to Minerva. We read it together:
Intelligence Test: A princess must be brainy! A multiple-choice quiz to test for smarts.
Bravery Test: A princess must have courage! I’m thinking something involving … wait for it … alligators!
Interviews: A princess must be eloquent! She will answer some tough questions in front of the court and her subjects.
Minerva smiles at me. “Princess Abby, your ideas are great!”
I beam. “Thank you.” If only Principal Braun thought the same thing. “I have some questions for you, though. It would be great to have some experts to help us. For example, for the bravery test, I think we need someone with alligator experience to lead it. Do you know anyone who could keep the contestants safe and the gators at bay if need be?”
“Oh, indeed,” Minerva says. “General Glover commands Bog’s army. I’m sure he’d be happy to help out.”
“Thanks,” I say. “And are there any experts to put together the quiz?”
Minerva nods. “When you head into the village to hang up the posters, you should look for Ms. Jingle — she’s a teacher at Bog Public School. She can help you with creating the exam. Oh, and I have another idea if you’re open to hearing one.”
“Sure,” I say. A leader should be open to all ideas.
“You could add a kindness test,” Minerva suggests. “A challenge of some sort. I’m not sure what that would be, though.”
“Definitely,” I say. “I’ll think of something.”
How are Jonah and I supposed to cross the bridge to go into town if Prince won’t budge past the castle’s front door? He keeps whimpering and looking over the bridge into the moat.
“Prince, it’s okay,” I assure him. “I had security make sure there are no alligators in the area right now. See?” I say, stepping close to the moat and looking over the bridge. “No swamp creatures!”
Prince tilts his head and peers into the water. No gators. His tail starts wagging and off we go.
The castle crew was not eager to let us go off on our own. First, Lawrence wanted to send us with security. Then he said we’d need maids to carry chairs and fan us in case we got tired or hot.
I told him that they were missing the point: that princesses — even temporary ones like me — are not delicate!
I insisted we’d be fine.
“Unheard of for a princess!” Lawrence said with his usual frown.
Minerva came to my defense, though. “If the contest is for a different kind of princess,” she said, “then perhaps it’s a good thing to see Princess Abby modeling the behavior she seeks.”
Minerva is the best.
I wore the most casual dress in my closet. It’s like a long, light blue polo shirt with a collar. I traded the silver and jeweled slippers for white slip-on sneakers. I think I still look reasonably princessy, but I figured I should be comfortable walking around Bog for a couple of hours in the heat.
Jonah is wearing a new pair of shorts and his old T-shirt, which someone seems to have washed and ironed.
We reach the center of the village, where there are little shops made of stucco. I count three mattress shops. About a mile away, I can see the big factory with a sign that reads: BOG MATTRESS FACTORY. The building is made of stucco, too. Down pebbly paths in every direction are small houses made of bamboo, with palm trees out front.
People are walking around, going into the stores, and having picnics on the town green. Many of them are holding smaller palm fronds and fanning themselves.
“Abby, look,” Jonah says. “There’s a bulletin board by the shops. Let’s post our flyers on it.”
“Good idea,” I say. As we head toward the bulletin board, we pass a building with a purple flagpole and a sign that says: BPS. “I wonder what that is,” I say.
“Bog Public School!” Jonah says. “Look, I see desks and chairs inside.”
That’s the school Minerva mentioned. Maybe Ms. Jingle is still there. I look in the window but don’t see anyone. “It’s almost evening, but let’s see if the teacher is still inside.”
We head up the stone steps and gingerly open the door. “Hello?” I call. “Is anyone here?”
“Over here,” a woman’s voice says.
I enter a classroom where a woman wearing a white dress is sitting at a big wooden desk. She has a name tag that reads: MS. JINGLE, TEACHER. Yes! It’s her!
“Hello. Ms. Jingle?” I ask, walking in. “Sorry to interrupt you, but I was wondering if you could help us. We’re holding a contest to find the next princess of Bog. The leader must be smart, strong, kind, and brave.” I hand her one of our many flyers and she reads it. “By any chance, would you be able to put together an IQ test for us?”
Her eyes light up. “Hello, Princess Abby! I would love to help. What a great way to find a princess. Tell you what — you two go hand out your flyers and then come back here. I’ll have the test all ready for you.”
“Awesome — thanks,” I say. “Uh, can I ask one more big favor?”
“Of course,” she says.
“Can you grade the tests, too?” I ask hopefully.
Ms. Jingle nods. “I’d be honored to.”
Jonah gives her a thumbs-up.
“A-plus,” I say.
We leave the school and head for the bulletin board.
As we post a flyer, a woman holding a little boy’s hand reads it over our shoulders.
She curtseys and her face brightens. “I have a twelve-year-old daughter!” she says. “I’m rushing home to tell her about the contest right now.”
“Great!” I say. “See you tomorrow!”
A crowd of people gather around us. They all curtsey and bow and bombard us with questions about the contest.
“Are they really going to pick someone from the village?” a man asks.
“Yup. And anyone between eight and fifteen can enter. The contest is tomorrow,” I explain.
A girl steps forward from the crowd. “I’m fourteen,” she says.
She’s tall and has bright blue eyes and long black hair that is tied in a braid down her back. She’s wearing a burlap-type dress belted at the waist over biker shorts and sneakers like mine. She’s holding two massive buckets of water.
The girl looks at the flyer. “Strength? I’ve got that!” she says.
No kidding. Those buckets are seriously heavy.
“Leadership skills?” she read
s. “I tutor the village kids who need extra help in math and rowing and bamboo braiding. Bravery? Kindness? Loyalty? That’s me! I’m going to enter!”
I smile at her. Total princess material! “Awesome!” I say. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Wendy,” the girl says, shifting one of the buckets to her other arm. “How will you decide who wins?”
Luckily, I have a plan. “Those who enter the contest will compete against each other. The winner of each round will move on to the next. By day’s end, there will only be one girl left. That girl will be named princess of Bog!” For inspiration, I add, “And it just might be you!”
It really might. This girl is strong, seems smart, and speaks up. Plus, she looks a little like Wonder Woman. Minus the costume.
“Hahahaha!” Someone is laughing loudly. And obnoxiously.
I turn around. Oh, no. It’s Prince Micha. He’s wearing his usual white shirt tucked into shorts, and his silver crown. Behind him are at least ten members of his court, all guys with puffed-out chests and smirks on their faces.
Micha plucks the flyer out of a village boy’s hand. “A contest for a princess?” Micha says. “Hahahaha!” He throws his head back and keeps laughing.
My back stiffens. “What’s so funny?”
The crowd starts smiling and whispering. Some girls are fanning themselves. Okay, fine. Prince Micha is pretty cute, I’ll give him that. But his personality is terrible.
“Bog must be truly desperate,” Prince Micha says. “A contest for a leader is absurd.”
Grr-woof! Prince bark-growls at him.
“It is not,” I say. “I’m guessing your position was just handed to you on a silver platter? Isn’t that more absurd?”
“I deserve my position,” Micha says, narrowing his eyes. “I was born a prince. Unlike you. You just passed a dumb pea test!”
I flush. “Yes, I did. But now we’re having a contest. To find a TRUE princess.”
“Will everyone be taking naps, then, on Bog’s awful, lumpy mattresses?” He glances toward the factory and scowls. Then he looks back at me and laughs again.
I grit my teeth. How dare he! And what is he even doing in Bog if he hates it here so much?
He hops back on his horse and takes off. His entourage follows behind.
Two Peas in a Pod Page 5