Princess Incognito: a Royal Pain in the Class

by Humphreys, N. J;

  “Kind?”

  “No.”

  “Brave?”

  “No.”

  “Good at sweeping the floor?”

  “No. Just forget it.”

  “And who would you play? The pumpkin?”

  “No, I wouldn’t be in the musical. They wouldn’t let me be in the musical. I’d be told to do something really boring on these.”

  Charles pointed at the three laptops in Uncle Ernie’s messy living room. There were cables and whirring boxes and modems with flashing lights everywhere.

  “Why do you have three laptops anyway?” Charles asked.

  “Uncle Ernie needs them for his job.”

  “You said he was a handyman.”

  Charles crouched over one of the screens. “What’s a Mulakating?”

  I had never run so fast. I was across the office and around the desk like a cheetah sprinting across the Serengeti.

  “Sorry, but Uncle Ernie likes to keep his work private.”

  “Oh, right. But what’s a Mulakating?”

  “Wow, you really ask a lot of questions,” I said. “A Mulakating is a … well, it’s a kind of …”

  “It’s a monkey wrench.”

  Uncle Ernie appeared from nowhere. For once, I was pleased to see him.

  “What’s a monkey wrench?” Charles asked.

  I liked Charles, but he was turning into a right busybody.

  “A monkey wrench is an adjustable spanner,” Uncle Ernie said, as he went around the desk switching off each laptop. “A Mulakating is just my silly nickname for a monkey wrench. I use it to fix toilets—really blocked, smelly toilets, the kind of toilets that make you throw up, the kind of toilets that are filled with piles of steaming, horrible gooey stuff, the kind of toilets that can melt the skin on your face and …”

  “Yes, yes, all right, Uncle Ernie.”

  “Oh, I was going to get a monkey wrench and show the inquisitive Charles here how to unblock a really disgusting toilet. Would you like to see, Charles?”

  Charles winced and turned almost as green as his school blazer.

  “No, it’s ok. I have to go home now.”

  “Fair enough, young man. But if you ever want to see all the squidgy stuff that swirls around in a blocked toilet, we’ll have a nice glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice with four or five chunks of ice and then I’ll get my monkey wrench.”

  Charles hurried towards the front door. When he reached the garden path, he said, “Your uncle is weird.”

  “I know,” I said. “But he looks after me.”

  Charles smiled. “I know. So I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

  “Definitely.”

  Now I was smiling.

  Charles closed the garden gate behind him. “Sabrina, can I ask you a question?”

  “You ask more questions than Miss Shufflebottom!”

  Charles cleared his throat. “It’s about your living room.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why is there a photo of you standing in front of a castle and wearing a crown?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  My little white lies were seriously getting out of hand. Even that’s a little white lie because I wasn’t even telling little white lies anymore. I was telling huge, ginormous, pitch black lies that were getting harder and harder to keep up with. First, there was my surname and my backstory. I didn’t even know what a backstory was until Uncle Ernie told me. A backstory is a past life about a character, all of the stuff she has done before today. Well, my backstory was all made up to hide the royal family thing.

  But Charles wasn’t convinced. That was obvious. He’d have to be a bit thick if he believed Uncle Ernie’s nonsense about Mulakating being a nickname for a monkey wrench. It’s already a stupid name for a spanner. Who gives a monkey wrench a nickname anyway? My Uncle Ernie, that’s who. So now I had to remember my name, my backstory and the most ridiculous name in the history of ridiculous names for a monkey wrench.

  And, thanks to Charles and his big nose poking around my private photographs, I had to come up with the gold medal of little white lies.

  Luckily, I’d had all night to sleep on it. Not that I get much sleep, not since I left Mum and Dad. It’s a time to think and I don’t want to think. When my bedroom is dark, I can see their faces, smiling at me, but I can’t smile back. My eyes start stinging and I run to the toilet. But at least my non-stop trips to the bathroom had given me enough time to think about Charles spotting that royal photograph outside the Palace.

  “It was a trip to a theme park,” I whispered to him the next day in Miss Shufflebottom’s class.

  I knew straightaway that he needed further convincing.

  “I know it’s not Disneyland,” I added. “It was in a strange, faraway place with a funny name.”

  Charles leaned over and said, “What, like, Scotland?”

  I did say that he was a bit thick.

  “No, not Scotland. But it might have been one of those countries in Europe with really long names and loads of castles and mountains.”

  “Oh, like The Sound of Music?”

  “That’s not a country. That’s a movie.”

  “I know that. I mean the place where they made the movie, that looked a bit like where you were in your family photo.”

  “How long did you stare at the photo?”

  “Not long, but I really like The Sound of Music.”

  Charles was a peculiar boy. For a moment, I thought he was going to start singing.

  “It’s not from The Sound of Music,” I whispered, not realising that my voice was getting louder. “And it’s not in Scotland either. It was just a place we went on holiday and I dressed up as a princess because I used to like dressing up as princesses. All little girls like dressing up as princesses, you know.”

  Charles stared at me for what seemed like ages. “Yes, but you’re not a little girl in that photo. And you still like dressing up as a princess. That’s worse than still liking The Sound of Music.”

  “WHO LIKES THE SOUND OF MUSIC?”

  Everyone stopped talking. Even Miss Shufflebottom stopped scribbling on the whiteboard and turned around.

  It was Agatha. It was the awful, smelly, awful, nasty, awful, vicious, awful Agatha.

  She had spun around like a slimy snake to face Charles and me.

  His head was already leaking. Little drops of sweat trickled down his spectacles. He knew he was in trouble. He knew he had broken one of the classroom rules.

  There are hundreds of classroom rules and everyone knows them. They are all the same. Boys and girls can’t say they miss their parents, not at school. They can’t call them “Mummy” or “Daddy” either, not at our age. And never slip up and call the teacher “Mummy” or “Daddy”, not if you’re older than seven or eight. The little ones can get away with it. Sometimes, they even sound cute. But if a grown-up kid calls a teacher that, that’s it. Life will not be worth living for the rest of the year.

  Then there are the everyday rules. Young kids can bring their toys to school, but the really big kids never bring toys to school. That’s just embarrassing. Phones, yes. Toys, no.

  Boys and girls can play together when they’re little, but not when they’re our age, unless they want to start all sorts of silly rumours. Even Charles knows he’s taking a risk sitting with me in class, but Miss Shufflebottom told him to so he has an excuse.

  Little girls are allowed to dress up as princesses, but older girls can’t.

  Wearing a princess’ dress at our school is like having an accident in our underwear. It’s an EPIC disaster, the worst nightmare EVER.

  You. Just. Don’t. Do. It.

  My situation is even more frustrating because I am a princess. I’m not playing pretend. This is who I really am. I have every right to wear the frilly, fluffy dresses and the shiny crowns and tiaras that little girls wear at birthday parties.

  But I’m not a princess here. I’m just a grown-up girl with no friends who likes to dress up as a
princess, according to Charles. That’s like peeing my knickers in the school playground. If the other students found out, I’d be finished.

  But I also knew that if there’s one thing worse than being a big girl in a princess dress, it’s being a big boy who likes The Sound of Music. It’s just another one of those stupid, sexist classroom rules that make no sense. If Awful Agatha ever found out that Charles loves to sing and dance around his living room, his life would be so miserable. I had to do something to save him.

  “I do!” I blurted out.

  As usual, the greasy goblin was chewing her disgusting gum. She blew a bright, pink bubble that stretched towards my face. It popped just in front of my nose, making me blink.

  All the other girls around her started laughing, only because they didn’t want her to start picking on them. I could tell they weren’t really her friends. Girls like Awful Agatha didn’t have real friends.

  “So you like The Sound of Music, eh?” she hissed.

  “Er, yeah, it’s all right,” I mumbled.

  “It’s a stupid film, all that singing and spinning around on hills, it’s a baby’s movie.”

  “How do you know about the spinning around on hills? You must have seen it.”

  Awful Agatha snarled at me. She had bad breath and her teeth were definitely starting to turn yellow. Why didn’t her parents tell her to brush her teeth every morning and every night?

  “I’ve seen clips on YouTube, you silly *****,” she said.

  I refuse to write what she really called me, even in my private life story. But the rude word was certainly rude enough to send Miss Shufflebottom over.

  “What’s all the noise over there?” she asked.

  She knew exactly what the noise was. It was coming from Awful Agatha’s foul mouth as usual.

  “There’s nothing wrong with The Sound of Music,” I said.

  “Only if you’re a moron,” Awful Agatha shouted. “Singing and dancing stupid songs is for babies. Are you a baby, Sabrina? Do you cry when you watch it? I’m gonna tell the whole school that Sabrina thinks she’s the pretty new girl, but really she sits in her bed and cries herself to sleep.”

  “Leave her alone!” said Charles. “She doesn’t like watching The Sound of Music! She likes dressing up in princess dresses!”

  Charles stood up, puffed out his chest and smiled at me. He was one of the smallest, skinniest boys in class and much shorter than Awful Agatha.

  He had a really big heart. He also had a really small brain.

  He didn’t understand the rules about grown-up girls. We don’t dress up in babyish princess dresses at our age.

  No wonder Awful Agatha had never looked happier.

  “Sabrina likes to dress up as a princess?”

  Miss Shufflebottom stepped between our two desks. “All right, girls, let’s focus on our work now, please.”

  “Yes, Miss Shufflebottom, sorry,” Awful Agatha said. “Oh, Miss Shufflebottom, I have a question?”

  Miss Shufflebottom clearly didn’t trust the bully. “Is it a serious question, Agatha?”

  “Yes, of course, Miss Shufflebottom. It’s a question about history.”

  “Ok,” Miss Shufflebottom said, really slowly. “Go on then.”

  “In history, Miss, in the olden days, did other girls our age wear soppy princess dresses as well?”

  The class roared with laughter. Every other student turned towards me. All I could see was their chattering teeth, all giggling at me like a pack of wild hyenas. Miss Shufflebottom raised her arms.

  “That’s enough, settle down, everyone. And no more questions from you, Agatha, I think you’ve said enough this morning.”

  “What’s wrong, Miss? I’m only asking if princess dresses are for little babies or big babies like Sabrina.”

  “OH, JUST SHUT YOUR FACE, AGATHA.”

  I knew I was in serious trouble as soon as I’d finished the sentence. But I didn’t care anymore. I hated the town, the school and everyone laughing at me.

  Most of all, I hated her.

  Awful Agatha leaned back on her chair until it bumped into my desk. She turned her head just enough so I could see half of her scowling face.

  “When the bells goes,” she whispered, “you’re dead.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Charles followed me around the playground. He probably thought he was my bodyguard, even though he was a bit of a weed. I didn’t need his help, but I was glad he was with me. I didn’t feel like being alone.

  My stomach was in a right mess. I couldn’t stop thinking about Awful Agatha so I was in no mood for food. Besides, the menu was rubbish anyway. I knew the school canteen wasn’t going to have the same choices as the Palace kitchen, but did we have to eat mac and cheese every day? I didn’t even know what mac and cheese was at first. I kept hearing about this “Mac” and thought he was a greedy boy in school who ate loads of cheese. The Palace chef made macaroni with chicken and broccoli, which was green and fresh and yummy. But mac and cheese was yellow and looked like a canary’s vomit.

  So I watched Charles slurp down his mac and cheese and I started to relax a bit. Awful Agatha seemed to have vanished.

  “Maybe she’ll leave me alone,” I said. “You’ve got cheese sauce on your chin.”

  Charles wiped his mouth on his blazer cuff. “Maybe she will,” he said. “Maybe it’s because I’m here protecting you.”

  Charles was a funny boy. “Yeah, maybe that’s the reason,” I replied, trying not to laugh.

  The more I relaxed, the hungrier I started to get. Suddenly, my cold plate of mac and cheese didn’t look so bad. “Maybe I could just have one spoonful of … OW!”

  The whole right side of my face started stinging. I heard girly voices giggling and suddenly felt wet. Water was dripping down my cheek and onto my school blazer. I looked up at the sky. It wasn’t raining and we were sitting beneath the canteen’s rusty old roof. Then I noticed something rubbery on my shoulder.

  It was a water balloon!

  That weasel-faced troll had smacked me in the face with a water balloon! Without thinking, I was on my feet. I had one leg in front of the other and my fists held up high, one protecting my chin and the other protecting my chest. This was my taekwondo-fighting stance. I spun around on my back heel and there she was, Awful Agatha. We were face-to-face.

  “Ooh,” she said. “It’s the Karate Kid!”

  Her dopey donkey friends laughed, but not as much as before. They didn’t expect me to pull out my fantastic taekwondo-fighting stance. To be honest, I didn’t expect me to, either. Uncle Ernie would not be amused. In fact, I could hear his voice rattling around my brain.

  Remember, taekwondo makes you a strong, confident young woman. Taekwondo is not for attacking people. Princesses do not attack people.

  But princesses do not get bullied in the school playground either. I was so confused. I knew that I should step away. But I also wanted to kick Awful Agatha’s backside until it was redder than a baboon’s bottom.

  Even she was shocked. She didn’t seem quite as tough now that she was facing my invincible taekwondo-fighting stance. Charles looked shocked, too, but he always seemed shocked, so that didn’t really count.

  I took one teeny-tiny step backwards. “I don’t want to fight,” I said calmly.

  “Yeah? Then why are you waving your fists at me?” she shouted.

  “You threw a water balloon at my face.”

  “You don’t know it was me. You’re a lying pig!”

  “I do know it was you. You throw water at other people because you don’t need it. You never wash your face!”

  I didn’t sound like a princess anymore, but no one had called me a “lying pig” before. Awful Agatha’s face changed colour. She looked like a squishy plum now.

  “I’m gonna smash your face in!” she screamed.

  She swung a punch at me. She actually swung a punch at me.

  But it was nothing like one of Uncle Ernie’s punches. It was slow and messy
and really easy to avoid. I turned my shoulder and her fist sailed past me. Awful Agatha lost her balance and slipped.

  Charles and one or two of the other girls giggled, but they soon stopped when Awful Agatha jumped back to her feet.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me,” she roared. “No one is ever allowed to laugh at me, not in my school. When I’ve sorted her out, I’m coming after you.”

  She pointed a finger between Charles’ eyes. I thought he was going to burst into tears.

  Then she kicked me!

  She probably expected to catch me off guard, but it wasn’t like one of Uncle Ernie’s roundhouse kicks. Her kick was like a slow-motion TV replay of a goal. I had enough time to step aside. I flicked my arm to deflect her filthy shoe away from my blazer.

  She looked like a spinning top, going around in circles. She couldn’t stay on her feet and toppled over, slapping her legs against the concrete playground.

  The laughter was definitely getting louder now.

  “Agatha, let’s stop now,” I said softly.

  She brushed the dirt and grit away from her muddy knees. “No! I don’t get hit at school, ok? Nobody ever hits me at school, not here, never!”

  “But I haven’t hit you, Agatha.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m gonna hit you!”

  And she charged at me.

  She stretched her arms out wide like a huge washing line and raced towards me. Her green blazer flapped in the wind. She looked like a mad frog. Her sharp fingernails looked like eagle’s claws. There wasn’t time to go left or right. This time, she had me trapped. But then, in a split second, I remembered Uncle Ernie’s shoelaces trick.

  I dropped to the floor, as if I needed to tie my shoelaces in an emergency. Awful Agatha flew over my head and shoulders like a crazy Supergirl and kept flying until she knocked over a giant, grey bucket. But this wasn’t any old giant, grey bucket. This was the giant, grey bucket where we scraped our canteen plates. It was full of leftover mac and cheese, strawberry yoghurt and rotting bananas. The mushed-up food scraps splattered everywhere and turned the floor into a slide.