A Royal Mess

by Tyne O'Connell

  Are all teenagers’ lives as fearfully confusing as mine, I wondered as I began telling my pazzo tale of the Last Duckling.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Pulling the Past in Pullers’ Woods

  Sisters Regina and Bethlehem had done a wonderful job of settling Rex into the convent. Actually, all the nuns adored Rex, and the feeling was mutual. They had the gardener build a small pond, and there was talk of finding him another little companion. Not that he was ever lonely. It was so adorable the way he followed Sister Regina around everywhere she went. I wondered if I could train Dorothy to do that. It would look soooo cool wandering around Windsor with a little bunny hopping along behind me.

  The entire week was disrupted by journalists trying to get a personal account from me. But Sister Constance was by now only too familiar with the ways of the paparazzi, and they were thwarted at every attempt. All trips to Windsor were banned for the next weekend, but no one resented me too much for that, as the weather was so filthy. Also, Sunday night was the Burns Supper with the piping in of the pizza, and Star and Indie’s band was performing my song, which I hadn’t needed to rewrite once Indie attacked it with her thrashing guitar solo.

  Malcolm called and sent the odd txt, but he was too busy editing The Last Duckling to give me much attention. The film was due to be screened the following Sunday at Eades, and Saint Augustine’s was invited. I wondered what the film would be like, and okay, yes, I was also wondering if he’d get the chance to pull me. But mostly I was wondering about Freds – not whether he’d pull me, because his letter had made that pretty clear – but what it would be like to see him again. I had read and reread his letter so many times and agreed with Star that I at least needed to respond. What was the etiquette with royal ex-boyfriends?

  I didn’t see why it was so pathetic that we stay friends. I mean, we were bound to bump into one another, with our schools being so close and both of us being on our school’s sabre teams.

  Five drafts of my reply later, I decided to txt him and see if he wanted to meet up in Pullers’ Woods for a chat. Pullers’ Woods seemed like a good place, with the paps still lurking all over Windsor and outside the perimeter of the razor wire.

  Freds replied immediately.

  Sun a/noon, by tree that attack dog chased you up? F

  I replied:

  C U there, C

  I tried not to dwell on the fact that we weren’t doing x’s anymore. I decided to take Rex to meet Freds. I needed the support, and also I thought it might break the ice to have a third party there, and I didn’t trust Star not to hiss instructions to me.

  It was snowing, so I had to wrap Rex in a rug, which Sister Bethlehem had crocheted five hundred years ago and smelt of mothballs. The smell made me sneeze the whole way through the woods. The snow was falling lightly, but not many flakes were making it through the bare branches of the trees. Everything felt still and magical, and I half expected a lion to wander out and start chatting to me. I was armed with Honey’s mace in the event we ran into any attack dogs who might be in the mood to eat ducklings, but none came my way.

  I had dressed carefully in jeans and a hoodie so Freds didn’t think I was making an effort. I’d also taken special care to only wear lots of lip-gloss and mascara, for that no-makeup look that boys love. Careless and carefree was the note I was hoping to strike.

  Freds was already there, by the tree, as arranged. Punctual as ever. His hair wasn’t doing that sticky-outy thing I loved so much, although now that I knew about his covert gel usage, I was not as enamoured of his hair as I used to be. He’d had it cut, and he looked vulnerable rather than cool, but, oh my God, he was still heartbreakingly fit. It must be the prince thing.

  ‘H-Hi,’ I stuttered awkwardly. ‘Erm, this is Rex. I thought you might want to meet him because, well, he’s the star of the film Malcolm shot in Florence, and well, you’ll be seeing it next Sunday. He’s very excited. Rex, I mean. Although Malcolm’s obviously feverishly excited too. I mean, it’s his film,’ I blurted.

  Freds laughed. I couldn’t tell if he was laughing because I was mad as a drawer of old ladies’ knickers or because he thought I was funny.

  Freds stroked Rex on the beak and Rex nipped Fred’s finger. It was all very touching. Then Freds took him out of his swaddling blanket and placed him on the snow and Rex went bonkeresque. He started nipping the snow and dashing about trying to catch flakes as they fell. His little webbed prints looked soooo adorable in the snow.

  Freds and I watched him running about like a mad thing for a bit and then we looked at one another. And then Freds kissed me. First on the forehead and then on the nose.

  Then just as I feared (or was it a longing?), he was about to kiss my lips, but he said, ‘I’m going to the States in the Easter holidays.’

  ‘Cool. Me too,’ I said. I mean, I live in America, and Bob and Sarah were going back with me then. And of course, Freds knew all that. Freds knew everything.

  ‘I’m doing this tour thing with Gran and the ’rents.’

  ‘Fancy that,’ I replied. I know, I know! I can’t believe I said that. The spirit of my own gran must have inhabited my brain.

  Freds didn’t seem a bit fazed by my insanity, though. ‘Yaah, so, the thing is, I know I said it was pathetic to want to be friends, but well … I wondered if I might see you there?’

  ‘Where?’ I asked, because I was still mentally kicking myself for saying ‘fancy that!’

  I closed my eyes to gather my thoughts, and that was when he did it. That was when he really kissed me, on the mouth – with his lips. And while it was most tranquillo and fantastico and molto gorgeous, I pulled away.

  Then my phone rang. It was Malcolm, and my heart skipped a beat. Not because Freds had just attempted to pull me, but because I realised that I really wanted to see Malcolm more than anyone else in the world. ‘It’s Malcolm,’ I whispered to Freds, as I pressed Answer.

  ‘Want to meet up in Pullers’ Woods in a bit?’ Malcolm asked. ‘So you can dump me again?’

  I giggled. ‘Sure, I’ll bring Rex for a visit. Call me when you’re almost there,’ I told him, totally longing to see him.

  ‘I’m almost there, actually,’ he said. ‘Just through the barbed wire gap now.’

  ‘Well, hurry up, then, I’m already here! So’s Freds,’ I told him, because I didn’t want any subterfuge between us. Apart from not wanting to muck Malcolm around, he was the sort of person I could be honest with and be myself around.

  ‘Cool,’ he replied happily. ‘See you in a mo.’

  Freddie, on the other hand, looked at me with one of his wretched disappointed looks.

  I poked out my tongue and then – shock, horror – HRH poked his tongue out at me!

  ‘Sorry,’ Freds said, rubbing his long, tapered fingers through his hair. ‘About the kiss thing earlier. I didn’t mean for that to happen.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I told him gently, suddenly maddeningly aware of his lemony smell again. ‘It’s just not right. Not now,’ I told him maturely even though my mind was screaming, HAVE ONE LAST KISS! HE’S THE PRINCE, YOU MADDY!

  Oh, buggery bollocks, just when I thought I knew what I felt, and whom I felt it for.

  Princes! You can’t live with them, but then again, can you really live without them?

  Calypso’s fencing terms and English words

  FENCING TERMS

  attack au fer: an attack that is prepared by deflecting an opponent’s blade

  bout: one single fight, usually lasting around six minutes

  disengagement: a way to continue attacking after being parried

  en garde: the ‘ready’ position fencers take before play

  épée: another weapon used in fencing

  parry: defensive move, a block

  piste: a fourteen-metre-long combat area on which a bout is fought

  point: the tip of a weapon’s blade

  pool: a group into which fencers are divided during preliminary rounds to assess ranking

>   retire: retreat

  riposte: an offensive action made immediately after a parry of the opponent’s attack

  sabre: The only cutting fencing blade. Points are scored both by hits made with the tip of the blade and by cuts made with the blade, but more commonly by cuts. The sabre target is everything above the leg, including the head and arms. For this reason the entire weapon, including the guard, registers hits on an electrical apparatus even though hitting the weapon’s guard is not legal. This means the sabreur is totally wired – unlike fencers using the other weapons. Before play begins, the sabreurs must check that all parts of their electric kit are working. This is done by the sabreurs tapping their opponents on the mask, the sabre, the guard and the metal jacket so that all hits will be recorded

  salle: fencing hall or club

  salute: once formal, now a casual acknowledgement of one’s opponent and president at the start of a bout

  seeding: the process of eliminating fencers from their pools, based on the results of their bouts

  trompement: deception of the parry

  ENGLISH WORDS

  arse: derrière. To make an arse of yourself means to embarrass yourself

  ASBO: Anti-Social Behaviour Order, a punishment handed out to youth who graffiti or get drunk or use foul language

  blag: to talk your way into or out of something, or to fake something

  bless: an affectionate, sweet exclamation, but like all English words, it can be used sarcastically

  blank/to be blanked: to not register someone; to look through them

  blue: blue paper given to write lines on; a minor punishment

  bollocks: literally means testicles but used to mean useless, nonsense, ridiculous

  bottle out: chicken out, lose your nerve. ‘Bottle’ is another word for ‘nerve,’ so you can also ‘lose your bottle’

  chav/chavie: A person defined by a common way of behaving or dressing. They have their favourite designer brands and love loads of bling. The opposite of posh or Sloaney

  common: slang for vulgar, of low social status, lacking charm or manners. Note: you can be rich and still be common

  cut: to ignore someone, to look right through them; see blank

  Daddy’s plastic: parental credit cards

  DPGs: Daddy’s Plastic Girls; girls who are defined by their limitless credit card privileges

  dressing down: telling off

  en suite: bathroom attached to bedroom

  exeat: weekend at which pupils attending boarding school go home, usually every three weeks

  extract the urine: a polite way of saying ‘take the piss’

  fag: cigarette

  fancy (v): to find someone attractive

  Febreze: spray used to remove odours from clothes

  fit: cute, hot, attractive. Girls and boys both use the word to describe the opposite sex. Note: a girl wouldn’t refer to another girl as fit – she’d say ‘stunning’

  gating: a punishment in which one is not permitted to leave the school grounds on weekends

  hoodie: sweatshirt with a hood

  house mother or house mistress: female head of a boarding house

  It Girl: a society girl of royal extraction with a large media profile

  Kiltland: Scotland

  kit: equipment and outfit for specific event or activity

  knickers: panties

  leg it: make a run for it

  mad: eccentric, crazy or unreasonable – out there

  madly: very, as in ‘madly late’

  mobile: cell phone

  Old Chokey: a prison

  pash: pashmina

  piss-take/to take the piss: to tease, mimic or to make fun of someone, either maliciously or fondly; a joke (see extract the urine, above)

  pleb: short for plebeian – a derogatory term suggesting lack of class

  plebbie: (adj) for pleb (see above)

  point: as in making a point in an argument

  prat: idiot, fool

  pull: to make out, score, kiss, etc.

  public school: exclusive boarding school

  rinse: to totally decimate your opponent in sport or debate

  rip: to ridicule, tease; equivalent to ‘take the piss’

  Sloane: posh, snooty girl (named after Sloane Street and Square, an upscale area in London)

  snog-age: (rhymes with ‘corsage’) to tongue kiss

  sorted: an expression of approval; ‘no problem’

  soz: sorry

  spliff: marijuana; a joint

  tomoz: tomorrow

  taking the piss: to tease someone, rip it out of them, see piss-take

  term: Three terms make up a school year: winter term is before Christmas; spring term is between Christmas and Easter; summer term is between Easter and the summer holiday

  toff: snobby aristocrat

  tuck: snack foods you are allowed to bring to boarding school; junk food

  tuck in: pig out

  wardrobe: closet

  wind up: to tease either gently or nastily

  Year: girls start boarding at age 11 in Year Seven, and the ‘Years’ go up to Year Eleven (ages 15-16). The final two years are referred to as the Lower Sixth and Upper Sixth (ages 16-17 and 18, respectively)

  Acknowledgements

  First up, shout outs to the stunning, preternaturally gifted girls of Saint Mary’s Ascot, Cheltenham Ladies College, Bennerz and my favourite Etonians, you know, the really, really fit ones! In fact, the entire boarding school community should take a bow! I hope your teachers, masters, matrons, bursars and house mothers applaud you every day because one day you’ll be in a position to hand out the blues! Speaking of blue, I would be dismally blue without the friendship of Malcolm William Young. In fact, if he didn’t exist, I’d have to make him up.

  I totally lucked out having an agent like Laura Dail and an editor like Melanie Cecka at Bloomsbury USA. And I know it! Every day I do a mad little tribute dance in their honour. So far, only my family have seen my mad-dance. They recommend I hold off a few millennia before unleashing it on a wider audience. Until that day, I salute you in Latin, Salve!

  But the laurels and really, really worshipful words go to the girls who read my books, especially the girls who write in to askcalypso@calypsochronicles.com. Seriously, if you don’t grow up and rule the world, and see your names in lights over Times Square, I shall unleash my mad little dance.

  Author’s Note

  TYNE O’CONNELL is the author of several romantic comedies, including novels about the American-born, British-educated Calypso Kelly. She has written for newspapers and magazines such as Vogue, Marie Claire and Elle. She lives in London, England.

  Dueling Princes copyright © 2005 by Tyne O’Connell

  Dumping Princes copyright © 2006 by Tyne O’Connell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Dueling Princes first published in Great Britain by Piccadilly Press in 2005;

  published in the United States of America by Bloomsbury Publishing in 2005

  Dumping Princes first published in the United States of America by Bloomsbury U.S.A.

  Children’s Books in 2006

  This edition published by Bloomsbury Books for Young Readers in October 2011

  Electronic edition published in October 2011

  www.bloomsburyteens.com

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to

  Permissions, Bloomsbury BFYR, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010

  ISBN: 9781599908960 (ebook)

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Contents

  Dedication

  Dueling Princes

  One Doing the KR with My Posse

  Two ’Rental Meltdow
n

  Three The Fascism of Creative Endeavours

  Four Bell End Goes Double Bonkers!

  Five My Knickers Were in a Right Twist

  Six Be Warned! Life’s NOT All Nicey-Nicey