Truly Madly Royally

by Debbie Rigaud

  All of my paranoia completely disappears when the show starts and the special guest is announced. It’s Appleton’s mayor, Aina Oyeyemi!

  Owen does his best to keep me from jumping out of my seat. I cheer louder than anyone there. Like, ohmygawd, what are the chances? Owen is excited, too. He’s still on a mission to learn all he can about my interests. He been telling me all about the amazing Black women in the book he picked up, and he’s started watching a documentary about New Jersey politics. Meanwhile, I’ve promised to read one of his favorite novels.

  Mayor Aina’s conversation style is sparkling, motivating, informative, provocative. I can’t keep my crush on her to myself; I practically run to the mic during the Q&A session.

  “Hi! My name is Zora Emerson. I don’t know if you recognize me, but you introduced me at the Appleton Fam Fest. I just want to say I am so proud you’re my mayor,” I say in one nervous rush.

  “Zora, don’t underestimate yourself. Of course I recognize you,” she says. “You are the perfect example of what I’m trying to do—engage the youth to take charge of their communities. I’m so proud to represent a community with young people like you working for its future.”

  I’m floating on air. How incredible to get a shout-out from someone as accomplished and dope as Mayor Aina.

  They keep the floor open for one last question, and the guy who I noticed was looking at me before the show steps up to the mic.

  “Mayor, what a pleasure to have you on our campus. My name is Finn Burlington, and I—”

  I freeze and panic in the calmest manner possible. His name rings a bell so loudly in my ear, it drowns out the rest of his words. He’s the student reporter who called me for an interview after the campus police incident.

  Owen looks at me. “Are you okay?” he mouths.

  I take out my phone and text Owen a message about my suspicions. When he looks at his phone, his jaw tightens, but he remains silent. I see him send a quick text to Colin, alerting him that we won’t be sticking around after this event.

  Once the taping is over, throngs of well-wishers crowd the mayor, including the student reporter. It’s the perfect distraction. He doesn’t look like he’ll be leaving anytime soon. He probably has to interview her for a story. We’re in the clear.

  Owen and I head away from the crowd; his security is meeting us at the rear exit. It’s amazing how hiding from his security has made Owen an expert on secret passageways for practically every building on campus.

  Once we turn a corner, the corridor leading to the unassuming exit is quiet, empty, and private. Owen takes my hand and pulls me in for a hug.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “I am now.” This is no time to flirt, but it’s difficult not to with Owen this close.

  He pulls me in closer for a quick, wonderful kiss.

  We break apart when we hear footsteps behind us, though Owen keeps hold of my hand. I can sense he’s in his protective mode again. We continue heading down the corridor.

  “Prince Owen!”

  We turn and see the same nosy older man from the podcast taping. His student reporter friend isn’t with him.

  “That was some kiss,” the older man says. “Is this your girlfriend?”

  He’s wearing a lanyard identifying him as “Press.” As if that gives him license to ask us personal questions. We continue walking to the exit, faster now. But he stays on our heels.

  “And you, Zora Emerson of Appleton, is it? Will you be attending this summer’s royal nuptials?”

  I almost do a double take. My name in the mouth of a nosy stranger who has God-knows-what intentions? It’s so not a good feeling.

  As soon as we’re outside, the black town car drives up. Colin jumps out of the passenger seat when he sees we’re being followed. He gets into Men in Black mode and ushers us toward the back seat.

  “Not to worry, I didn’t snap a pic of their kiss.” The reporter backs away, but only physically. As we climb into the car, I can hear him say, “We respect your privacy as students, but the public will be excited to hear that the prince has fallen for a Jersey girl.”

  Inside the safety of the car, Owen hugs me again.

  “Zora, I am so sorry about this,” he says. “I don’t mean to frighten you, but you need to be prepared for the media storm coming.”

  “We’ll take her right home,” says Colin. “Hopefully we can beat them there.”

  “Them who?” I turn to Owen, feeling apprehensive.

  “That reporter and who knows who else will be calling their affiliates right now—they may try to camp out where they think you’re heading.”

  This cannot be happening. I call my mom and tell her what’s going on.

  “Try and calm down, honey. There’s no one here. Just get home safely, and we’ll deal with this together,” she says.

  I let my mother’s advice ease my fretting. But it gets tougher to manage when we get caught in traffic.

  When we finally get off the Parkway exit in Appleton, the neighborhood looks as it always does. People stand at bus stops like nothing has changed. The basketball courts are buzzing with kids in pickup games. An ice cream truck is pulled over dishing out refreshing treats to outstretched little arms.

  But when we turn onto my street, the mood is different. I try to remember if anyone on my block is having a cookout, because it’s poppin’ with more activity than normal. At first, there’s just a trickle of people hanging around, but the closer we get to my house, it’s clear something is up. There was this same vibe when someone got hit by a car outside the Jamaican store earlier this summer.

  That’s when I see it. There’s a news van parked and a small crowd of reporters outside my house. One person is carrying a large shoulder camera.

  This can’t be happening. I take a deep breath and turn to Owen, who is watching me warily. He looks ready, prepared to face everyone. I try to prepare myself, too. After all, I spoke to the mayor today. I spoke at the Gala, and at the Fam Fest, in front of all of Appleton. I can handle a few reporters. I nod at Owen.

  Skye calls me just then, but I send the call to voicemail. My dad calls next, and I do the same.

  We pull to a stop, and the reporters start buzzing outside our car. Colin turns to us from the front seat. “Zora, ask your mother to prepare to open the door. Owen, you stay here while I walk Zora inside.”

  “No, I’m going in with her,” says Owen with an edge. He looks at me. “It’s my fault you’re in this situation, and I want to explain things in person to your mother.”

  My mother. I’ll call her again. When I pull out my phone, I see she’s already texted me:

  I’m keeping watch at the door. I’ll see you when you pull up. Just come straight in.

  “She’s at the door,” I tell Colin.

  “Okay, here we go. Wait for me to open your door, and then stick close by me,” says Colin.

  It’s a good thing Owen has to step out before I do. The car door swings open, and we cover our heads and rush like it’s raining outside. The reporters shout all at once.

  “Zora, sources tell us you are dating Prince Owen of Landerel. Do you have any comment?”

  “Congratulations, you make a cute couple!”

  “Zora! Zora! Zora!”

  Since when did I get so popular with people over age twelve? I can barely get followers on social media, and somehow my name is ringing out in these streets?

  I can hardly see where I’m going. Owen has his arm around me like I’m the celeb people are trying to get a glimpse of. We look at our feet as we walk to give the snapping cameras the least revealing and photogenic photos. Colin is in front of us, making a path for us to follow. Somehow he seems to be protecting us from the front and rear. I don’t know how the man does it, but he does not mess around.

  As we climb my front stoop, I notice for the first time that there’s a figure standing at the top of the stairs. Whoever it is has an imposing enough vibe that the media haven’t been able to get tha
t close to the house.

  It all happens in a flash, but as soon as we hit the top step, my mom waves us in the front door. The figure on the front stoop—my dad—comes in, too.

  My mother grabs me into her arms. Owen, Colin, and Daddy huddle next to us there in the entryway.

  “Are you all right?” asks Ma.

  “I’m fine,” I say, catching my breath. “Just a little shocked at how quickly things escalated.” I lean against the console table Ma’s always fussing over, but she gives me a pass. Owen is at my side gently rubbing my arm, and Colin is holding a hushed phone conversation, no doubt strategizing next moves. I take a peek at my dad to see if his ears are leaking hot lava. He’s pacing the entry hallway like it’s a fashion runway for this season’s velour tracksuit collection.

  “There’s more dysfunction out there than at your mama’s family reunions,” Daddy says to Ma.

  Having Daddy around my mother on a good day is bad enough. Having him around at a tense time is another thing entirely. Ma needs to try out her yoga calming tricks because she already looks ready to drop-kick Daddy in his solar plexus chakra.

  Lights start flashing outside. Now the police have shown up. What a nightmare.

  “I never meant for this to happen,” says Owen. “But because I knew there was a great chance that it would, I should not have gotten you involved.” He looks full of regret. Even the fire in his ginger hair seems dimmer.

  Daddy slow claps. “Two points for Halstead homeboy for getting a clue!” My dad is fuming.

  “Daddy, please,” I tell him. Then I look at Owen. “Don’t blame yourself. This is my decision now, too.”

  “Baby, you don’t need this.” Daddy shakes his head emphatically. “Prince boy will turn this street into a three-ring circus. We have enough clowns who live here as it is.”

  “Kenney, you’re not helping matters by making Owen the villain here,” says Ma. I happen to know that this has always been one of Ma’s concerns with my dad. He’s known for treating every disagreement like a battle royale.

  “Yvette, you know those people outside are not going to mess with a prince, because he’s got people protecting him.”

  “Ma, Daddy,” I break in. “I know a media stakeout in the neighborhood isn’t ideal. But I knew what I was signing up for. Owen, there’s a plan, right?” I turn to him, and he looks surprised but answers in his official, royal voice.

  “Sir, madam, I can talk to the media and give them the interview they want so they can stay away from Zora,” he offers.

  “An interview confirming our daughter is the mystery girlfriend?” Dad says. “No, thank you.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Prince Owen,” says Colin. He’s off his call, and I’m eager to hear what he’s learned. “With your permission, we’d like to provide car service for Ms. Emerson to and from school.”

  “Yes, okay,” says Ma, who looks worried. She peers out the window. “Looks like the police are pushing back the media a few more feet.” Ma sighs in relief.

  Owen looks at me. “I’d prefer to stay a while longer … but I think I’m the one drawing the attention.”

  I nod slowly. “You’re right. I think once they get their shot of you walking out of here, there won’t be anything else to stick around for.”

  Daddy studies the two of us. I can’t believe how long he’s gone without a wisecrack. “Well, look at you two. On damage control without me.” He puts out his hand, and Owen meets it with a warm handshake. I smile at Daddy, pleased at his silent olive branch.

  “I hate to leave you with all this going on,” Owen tells me. “But I appreciate all your patience.” More quietly, he says, “I’ll call you tonight, Zora.” His one last hug is extra tight, and I can feel his apology and thanks all wrapped up in it.

  Colin addresses my parents with business cards in hand. “To safeguard your privacy and avoid any sound bites being used against you, it’s best to avoid the press for now,” he says. He hands them the cards. “I’ve arranged for a communications expert to work with you. They are on call and available to help at any hour.”

  My parents wordlessly take the cards.

  Even though we do have a back exit, this time the only option is for Owen to leave out the front door.

  We stand out of sight but peek through the window. Unlike when I was being escorted inside, the press stays at a respectable distance. I’m the hook that’s baiting their big catch—a Prince Owen story. Everyone knows the press has an agreement with the university, thanks to Her Majesty the Queen (aka, Owen’s influential mom). And then there’s me. I’m fair game. And if they’re talking about me, they’re talking about the prince—at least indirectly.

  When we all head to the family room to check out the local news, that much is clear.

  “They think they’re slick,” Daddy says in a huff.

  Stories are being framed in a way that absolves the media of being in any privacy violation. The news stories, the headlines, and the tweets all have this approach.

  “How did a girl from Appleton snag a real-life Prince Charming? Well, rumor has it this Jersey girl will be attending the royal nuptials and dancing in the traditional ceremony at the royal reception,” says a grinning on-the-street reporter. Good ole Mr. Stanley can be seen scowling in the background.

  “This is the most exciting thing to happen to us in a long time!” shouts a girl on the street. The graphic under her identifies her as “Appleton Resident.”

  That’s when it hits me—my kids from Walk Me Home. What will they think of this? At first, I worry about their reactions, but then I imagine them catching a glimpse of me at the royal wedding. Seeing just how far around the globe someone from right here in Appleton can go could be inspiring.

  “That’s it.” Daddy storms away from the TV, past the kitchen, and makes for the entryway hallway. “I’m going to shut them down so hard.”

  “Daddy, no!” I jump up from my kitchen counter seat and try and cut him off at the door. I love my dad, but he flies off the handle, especially when he’s fuming. He talks to the press, and I might as well never leave my house again. His tirade will no doubt go viral.

  “Zora’s right!” Ma hangs up on her call with John and speed-walks behind Daddy. “We shouldn’t talk to them without a strategy.”

  Daddy has a head start, plus he’s fueled by rage, so he swings open the front door before we can get to it.

  I prepare to be mortified, but instead I’m relieved. The press has cleared. No one representing any news media organization is out there.

  I spin to face my parents in victory. “Owen and I, we’ve got this,” I say.

  “ZORA, SWEETHEART, you’ll be late if you don’t get up now,” says Ma. She’s sitting on my bed, trying to pry apart my bedsheet cocoon. I just groan in response.

  I can’t remember when I finally fell asleep. After fielding worried calls from Zach and Skye, I did some reading, but couldn’t concentrate. My phone call with Owen just before bed must’ve done the trick.

  I get dressed in something neutral so I don’t stand out.

  The bell rings. Ma and John answer it. It’s one of the Men in Black—the one who’s usually behind the wheel.

  “Remember, they’ll take you home whenever you’re ready. You don’t have to stay all day if you don’t feel comfortable,” says Ma.

  “I’ll be fine, Ma.” I turn to my security escort, shake his hand, and ask his name.

  “Call me Elliot,” he says with the Landerelian accent I’m becoming so accustomed to.

  “Thank you, Elliot,” I tell him.

  The morning is muggy and quiet. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, even though I know differently. Everything has changed overnight. Now the very security and black cars I once scoffed at are shuttling me around. Mr. Stanley is not having breakfast on his front stoop, and I wonder if it’s because he’d rather avoid me thanks to the company I keep.

  Elliot opens the rear door, and I climb in.

  “Good morning, be
autiful.”

  Owen is seated inside.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, surprised. “Back at the scene of the crime already?”

  “My girlfriend lives here,” says Owen. We search each other’s eyes for a moment. “If … she’ll have me,” he says.

  Colin is in the front passenger seat, and Elliot walks around the car and gets behind the wheel.

  “I’m happy to see you.” I smile, sliding over close to indicate I don’t mind the girlfriend thing. And I’m not too worried that news of Owen and me will be swirling around campus today.

  “I don’t want to make things worse,” Owen says, “but if I can make things a little better for you in any way possible, I’ll do it.”

  His arm around me, my head on his shoulder. That’s how we ride to school. I wish the ride were longer, but soon we pull up behind the building of my first class.

  I run into Matt in the stairwell. Once I see him, I realize I forgot to answer the text he sent last night.

  “Zora, are you all right?” he asks. “Abby and I were worried about you.”

  “Taco Tuesday better have lots of comfort food,” I say. “Because things just got real, my friend.”

  “Done—you’ve earned it,” he says. His smile fades. “Just so you know, I’m here if you ever need anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We’re meeting in the piano lounge today for a change of pace,” he says.

  “Sounds good,” I say. “Pun intended.”

  Everyone in class tries to act like there is no elephant in the room. Kelsey even offers a greeting, which I know is hard for her. Goodness, smiling looks painful for her.

  That’s okay, because there are lots of elephants way larger and stompier than mine roaming in this place. It’s very “one and only Kenney” of me, but anyone wanting to discuss my personal life will have to first answer more pressing questions about what exactly they find unusual about Owen dating me.