The Tiara on the Terrace

by Kristen Kittscher

  Grandpa reached out from the seat next to me and patted my shoulder. “Good tactics, soldier. Leaving your options open.”

  “Question,” Jake piped up from the way back. In one five-minute ride, he’d managed to make the entire van smell like feet. It was a talent of his. “If Sophie’s royalty now, does that make me a duke or something?”

  “More like a dork,” I mumbled.

  “Watch it, Soph,” My dad twisted around in the passenger seat and looked stern. “You’re a role model now.”

  Jake made a face at me as soon my dad turned away. I smiled a sickly sweet smile that I hoped conveyed I’d be sneaking into his room to de-alphabetize his vinyl record collection the minute I was home—which couldn’t be soon enough.

  Grandpa slid open the van door and hopped out like he was still a paratrooper dropping behind enemy lines, which is exactly what spilling out onto that mansion driveway in last summer’s purple sundress felt like. He wrapped me in a hug that left me smelling like Old Spice. “Remember, Sophie. Semper Fidelis,” he said. “Always loyal.” Grandpa hadn’t been a marine, but his army regiment in the Korean War had had the same motto, and he quoted it a lot. I was a little confused about why he was saying it then, though.

  “You bet, Grandpa,” I said, playing along. Then he pressed something into my hands. I looked down and felt a little teary. He’d given me the metal dog tags he’d worn in the army.

  “I know these will come in handy,” he said while my dad looked on doubtfully. “Now knock ’em dead!” Then, perhaps realizing someone had recently literally been knocked dead, he added, “Er, I mean—show ’em what you’re made of!”

  “Page Young! Welcome to the 125th Royal Court,” Ms. Sparrow swept one arm out in greeting. If I hadn’t have heard her in the hall after auditions, I never would’ve known she was worried about me fitting in. “I knew you had great taste,” she added with wink, looking down at her own purple sundress.

  As she chitchatted with my parents, reassuring them that she’d be staying with us on the mansion premises at all times, Grace and her parents pulled in. I waved, but Grace was sunk low in her seat, as if she were a celebrity hiding from paparazzi. When she finally emerged, she kept her head ducked, eyes darting toward the high schoolers. Dread seeped through me as I tried to figure out what was so off about her. I’d never seen such a strange look on her face. Had she found out something awful about Harrison Lee?

  I heard a hiss of tires on pavement and turned to see Trista Bottoms’ family humming past in an electric vehicle prototype that they were testing for AmStar. Trista’s little sister, Tatiana, practically flew out of the car before they parked, then pirouetted around the Ridley Mansion lawn like she was auditioning for a dance show. Apart from her ripped ballet tutu and sparkly T-shirt, she was a perfect seven-year-old version of Trista’s mom, who was tall and willowy and had light-brown skin that was always darker after they came back from vacations visiting her family in Brazil. Trista had her mom’s mane of dark-brown curls and complexion, but apart from that she looked exactly like very wide, very white Mr. Bottoms.

  I was still trying to read the strange expression on Grace’s face when I noticed the Delgado twins spilling out of their family’s SUV. Their mom appeared and hovered over them, fixing their already perfect hair while their father strolled over to talk to some Brown Suiters helping with luggage.

  I looked over at Grace. She held her arm around her mom’s waist like Dr. Yang was a balloon that might drift away and shrink to a speck in the sky. I turned back to my own mom—her blue eyes shining as she helped me wheel my luggage to the steps. A knot swelled in my throat as it hit me: Grace was scared. Maybe she’d crowed about freedom and how perfect it was that our parents were supposed to back off and let us “bond,” but she sure didn’t feel that way now. And neither did I. I was scared, too. Scared everyone would think I was a loser, like Ms. Sparrow had thought. Scared of spending every minute with all these older girls—these cooler girls who expected us to serve their every need. But it wasn’t just that. I hated the idea of being away from my family for a whole weekend. No playing Uno with Grandpa after finishing my homework. No trying to do the crossword puzzle in the morning with my mom. No listening to dad’s totally exaggerated stories about work crises. No Jake being Jake. Sure, maybe when he heard I’d made pages he snorted so hard that an actual booger flew out of his nose and onto my shoes, but I was going to miss him and our silly wars over nothing. Smelling his feet was probably a zillion times better than filing down calluses on Kendra’s.

  Add in the potential for a homicidal maniac to be lurking somewhere in the mansion, and I was already homesick.

  “Mom?” I glanced nervously at the high schoolers milling behind us. Jake was joking around with them.

  “Yeah?” Her eyes filled with concern.

  “This sounds really dumb, but I’m a little scared because—”

  “Oh, Soph, you’re going to have the time of your life,” my mom interrupted with a wave of her hand. “With your best friend? A whole long weekend? Being taken around to fancy events?” Her eyes sparkled. “It’s not really just about serving the Court, you know.”

  She smoothed my hair behind my ear and planted a kiss on my cheek. “You’ll be home in no time, sweetie.”

  Just then I noticed Grace signaling to me. She still looked frightened, but now there was a determined gleam in her eye.

  Front steps, she mouthed, jerking her head to the mansion.

  Trista caught our eyes from the lawn, where her mom and dad were basically running a professional photo shoot with her and Tati. She quickly said her good-byes, slung her army-green duffel bag onto one shoulder, and marched over, leaving her mom and dad looking a little sniffly as they watched her go.

  “Thanks, mom,” I said as the rest of my family gathered around for one last farewell. I wanted to give them all big sloppy hugs, but I felt the eyes of all the high schoolers trained on us. It was mortifying enough standing there in my too-small dress that my mom had dug out from deep in my closet. “See you guys at the Festival!” I called out cheerfully and ducked away, following Grace up the steps and joining her behind the pillar right in front of the mansion door.

  “What is it?” I whispered, darting a nervous glance toward the Brown Suiter placing a vase of Coral Beauty roses onto the table in the marble entryway.

  “We need a plan,” she said.

  Trista joined us. “So,” she said, casually but not at all quietly. “What’s first? Need me to monkey with the alarm system? I already know the code: 1890. Year of the Festival’s founding. The Brown Suiters have been tossing it around all week like nobody’s business.”

  “Good to know,” Grace said. “I’m thinking we hit up Mr. Steptoe’s office first.”

  “Won’t that look suspicious?” I asked. “As soon as we get in, we’re snooping around the victim’s office?”

  “Not if we play it right,” Grace said. “We have to be on alert for openings. First chance we have, see if you can get some cleaning supplies and meet on the third floor. We’ll act like someone asked us to do some tidying up.”

  “Roger,” I said.

  Trista looked impressed. “Sounds good. And, just to be clear up front, there’s not a chance in the universe I’m going to put on a dress and ride that float on parade day. Like, never. Unless they drug me and tie me to one of those dolphins.”

  “Don’t worry,” Grace patted her on the shoulder. “No one will make you.”

  Heels clip-clopped behind us on the steps. We turned to find Danica and Denise. The three of us stared at them. They stared back just as awkwardly.

  “Page Bottoms.” Trista broke the silence and extended her hand to the twins.

  Denise—I think Denise was the one who always wore pink hair-clips—limply took Trista’s hand but looked at her sister as if she were introducing herself to a sea slug.

  “Um . . . yeah,” Danica said with a giggle. “We know who you guys are.”

&nb
sp; “Town heroes!” said Denise with forced excitement.

  “Yay!” Danica said in a falsetto.

  Grace flipped her hair over her shoulders and shot us a look just before Ms. Sparrow floated toward us, smiling. She gestured to the flowers on the table inside the open door. “Such a beautiful arrangement! And Coral Beauties, too. Please thank your parents again,” she said to Grace. “I bet they smell as good as they look,” she added, sneezing a very cute, polite sneeze that could only have come from her. She turned and clapped her hands to get the crowd’s attention.

  “Our pages have all arrived and are ready to take on their official Royal Court duties!” she sang out. “Let’s give them a warm welcome!”

  A loud cheer rose up as everyone on the steps whirled in our direction and applauded. My face flushed. My mom waved and blew a kiss. My grandpa gave a thumbs up. This was it. We were going inside. And I wasn’t ready. Not even close.

  Ms. Sparrow waved over Kendra, who’d been laughing with a group of her friends as she practiced a parade float wave. “Princess Kendra, will you do the honors of escorting the girls to their rooms and acquainting them with the morning’s schedule?”

  Kendra’s smile collapsed for a second before she pasted it back on. “Sure thing!” she said brightly, but she rolled her eyes at her friends when Ms. Sparrow wasn’t looking. There was no way she was over our nudging Marissa out of her rightful place as royal page—and I wasn’t sure she ever would be. She came over and let out a heavy sigh, her blond bangs fanning up in its breeze as she clicked past into the mansion and motioned for us follow. I took one last look at my family, swallowed down my fear, then turned and hurried after her.

  “Welcome to the Ridley Mansion!” Kendra said breathlessly to Danica and Denise as if we weren’t even standing there. As she guided us through the entryway, the dog she had shoved in her purse burst into an ear-splitting yipping. “This is Pookums Pritchard. He’s a pure-bred Pomeranian,” she announced. It sounded like she was practicing tongue twisters. She plunked the dog onto the marble floor in front of us. “His great-grandfather took Best in Show at Westminster,” she added. Pookums immediately started sniffing the floor as if searching for a good place to relieve himself, then gave up, and licked his rear end instead. He wore a pink canvas vest that kind of looked like a tiny life jacket. “You’ll be taking care of my Pooky when my royal obligations don’t allow me to be the best dog-mother I can be.” Kendra pouted as she looked directly at me.

  Trista sneezed and fished out her inhaler as Ms. Sparrow breezed past us in the hallway. She called out a bless you and handed Trista a crisp white handkerchief, then bonded with her over the nightmare of having allergies at a flower festival.

  As soon as she’d left, Grace looked down at Pookums. “Do they really let you bring a dog—?”

  “Pooky’s a therapy dog,” Kendra snapped. “My emotional state is very fragile right now.”

  Pookums growled fiercely at an umbrella stand as Kendra opened up the entryway closet. A small safe hung open on a shelf. Her pink manicured fingernails gleamed as she pointed inside. “Phones in here. House rules.”

  Trista looked like she was handing over her younger sister to a death squad as she watched her phone—and access to TrigForce Five—disappear into the black hole of the safe.

  “The Royal Court has a long history. We need to uphold tradition,” Kendra said proudly as if she’d been born and raised in the mansion herself. “Your parents have been asked to keep communication to a minimum while you’re here. We ask the same of you. Part of the pledge you make as royal pages is to be present for us and for one another at all times. Like family.” She shut the safe door and twisted the dial, then shoved her purse at me. It was a good thing I had developed those tai chi reflexes, or it would’ve dropped on my toes like a bowling bowl. It was about as heavy as one too.

  “And we are family. Festival family,” she added, giving Danica’s shoulder a little squeeze while completely ignoring us. Danica and Denise’s eyes were shining in awe.

  “Ms. Sparrow has requested the presence of the Court for our first lessons. You’ll report for duty with us in a half hour. In the meantime, let’s get you settled,” Kendra continued, beaming as she started up the majestic staircase. We followed. “You’ll find your schedule in your rooms along with the Royal Court mix-and-match wardrobe binder,” she said when we reached the landing. “The outfits are sooo awesome! Study the combinations carefully, so you can put them together right.” She paused, and a starry look came over her. When she finally finished imagining herself sashaying down fashion runways in various dresses—or wherever else her mind had wandered—she nodded down the hallway with her chin. “Your rooms are right next to the Queen and Court sitting room,” she explained. “Ms. Sparrow will issue you each radio headsets. You are to wear them at all times. You never know when we might need you.” She smiled. I pictured flushing my radio down the toilet as soon as Ms. Sparrow issued it to me, then running out the big double doors and all the way home.

  “Denise, Danica, and Sophie, the three of you are right in there,” she pushed open an ornately carved wooden door. “Trista and Grace, you’re next door. Follow me.”

  Grace and I exchanged a look of terror. We weren’t rooming together? The possibility had never even occurred to me. Suddenly it felt like the hallway was closing in on itself. The stripes on the wallpaper blurred. This was awful. This was worse than awful. I watched helplessly as Kendra ushered them down the hall, leaving me with Denise and Danica. They’d never looked more alike than that moment, as they flashed me twin looks that made it clear they, too, assumed I’d be rooming somewhere else. Danica struggled to smile.

  “This is so exciting,” she said, her voice as forced as her grin. She gripped my hands and gave them a shake that made one of her sundress straps fall. “We’re going to be roomies!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Poise and Posturing

  The Ridley Mansion hummed with constant activity that morning. Brown Suiters rushed up and down the grand staircase to and from offices on the third floor. Caterers flitted around bringing coffee and pastries to meetings. Workers tromped across the Oriental rug runners in the long dark hallways, straightening the portraits lining them and tightening loose doorknobs. Tour guides led Luna Vista VIPs through the rooms, entertaining them with colorful stories about the Ridley family past.

  “Kendra, screwing in the lightbulb is the Queen Mother wave. You’ve got to ‘wipe the window.’ Nice, smooth long strokes,” Ms. Sparrow called out as we helped the Royal Court with Walking and Waving, their first lesson of the day. They’d channeled all their excitement that morning into taking Ms. Sparrow’s instructions very, very seriously.

  “There we go! Excellent!” she exclaimed. “Now hold that smile and let your legs do the walking. Glide with pride.” She showed them how it was done, clicking across the floor in cute purple heels that matched her dress.

  I’d never realized walking required so much moral support. Granted, I was just happy to be out of the room I was sharing with the twins. Within five minutes, Denise had claimed the bunk beds and filled up the entire dresser with their clothes while Danica had sprayed Axe body spray around the room like she was trying to kill oxygen. It reminds me of my camp boyfriend, she’d said, sucking in a deep breath.

  Luckily, the foyer smelled of both oxygen and flowers. I gulped in all the breathable air I could before Danica’s next Axe-travaganza. I didn’t even mind scuffing the Royal Court high heels with sandpaper so they wouldn’t slip on the marble staircase. I did mind, though, when all of a sudden Grace became a Court celebrity.

  “Oh my god. That is the best. I need one of those, like, yesterday,” Jardine said, pointing to Grace’s messenger bag in the corner. Grace had made it from recycled corduroy pants and jeans, and used a cool old Chinese coin as a button to fasten the flap. The rest of the Court and Danica and Denise were just as into it too. As I watched Grace being pulled into the whirlpool of their ci
rcle, I wondered if she would ever get out again—or if she’d want to. Even Ms. Sparrow joined in. “I should hire you to make me something!” she exclaimed, and Grace looked down at Ms. Sparrow’s shoes and suggested she make her some tiny Coral Beauty rose button covers out of pink ribbon for parade day.

  Things only got worse when, during the water break, they all snapped pictures of each other with the disposable cameras the Festival had given us since we couldn’t use our phones, but no one posed with me and Trista. It started to sink in how long three days really could be.

  It wasn’t until Ms. Sparrow started in on Poise and Posture that I realized I might have worried too soon. “How about Trista, Sophie, and I get some books from the mansion library? You know, for balancing?” Grace asked Ms. Sparrow. She outstretched her arms and pretended to have a stack of books on her head as she walked, then secretly flashed us a look.

  “Good idea!” I played along. “They’ll be able to really”—I tried to remember the phrase—“glide with pride.” Ms. Sparrow had barely agreed and pointed the way before we’d grabbed Trista and headed down the hall.

  The smell of musty paper and polished wood greeted us as we stepped inside the library and shut the heavy paneled door. Bookshelves rose almost all the way to the room’s high ceiling. Leather armchairs were nestled into reading nooks, and a few dark wood study tables were set up around the room. Grace plunked her messenger bag down on one of them and flapped it open. “Last night I downloaded these layouts of the mansion interior from the Luna Vista Historical Society website,” she said, pulling out several printouts. “I mean, we know the basics—but this has everything.” She darted a glance to the door, then, for cover, grabbed some books from the shelves and laid down the plans on their pages. “We’re staying here, on the second floor.” She tapped the paper. Certain rooms were labeled with letters in brightly colored marker in what seemed to be some kind of a code. “All the VIPs’ offices are one level up. Except Sparrow. Looks like she’s got an office off her bedroom suite down the hall from us.”