Princess Incognito: a Royal Pain in the Class

by Humphreys, N. J;

  “Hey, it’ll be all right.”

  Uncle Ernie took his seatbelt off and leaned over, but I brushed him away and stared out of the window. It was still pouring buckets.

  “It won’t be all right! My life is rubbish and you helped to make it rubbish by bringing me here. I didn’t want to be here, did I? But you made me come here and then you tell me off for not doing the right thing. That’s just mean and selfish. I don’t want to be here. Everyone hates me here. I want to go home. I want people to like me again. I want to see my friends, my family and even Miss Quick-Pants. But most of all, I want to see my Mum and Dad. But I can’t. Have you got any idea what that feels like? No, of course you don’t. And then, and then, the only person I’ve got left in the whole world is you and now you’re telling me off and shouting at me and … that’s … really … unfair!”

  I was sobbing so much that my voice kept going up and down. Miss Quick-Pants once said that about 70 per cent of my body was filled with water. I reckon my water level must have dropped to 20 per cent while in the white van. My eyes had turned into hosepipes.

  Uncle Ernie pulled out a handkerchief. “Here, wipe your eyes, Sabrina,” he said quietly.

  “I don’t want your stupid hankie,” I sobbed. “I want my parents.”

  “I know you do. Maybe one day—”

  “No, not one day,” I interrupted. “Tonight. I want to see my parents tonight.”

  Uncle Ernie didn’t speak. He just nodded his head and started the engine. In fact, neither of us spoke for the rest of the journey. We just listened to the raindrops.

  I’ll never tell anyone this, but I wept all the way home.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Uncle Ernie obviously felt guilty because he was up to something. When we got home, he ordered pizza. Actually, he ordered two cheese pizzas, without even asking first. Normally, I have to do my homework first or nag him for an hour to get a cheese pizza. But today I didn’t have to do anything.

  Then he started whistling. He always whistled when he was working and he was making a right racket in the room next door. That was Uncle Ernie’s room. He called it his “shed”, but really it was just a dining room with a table full of laptops, cables, modems, scanners and printers.

  He told me I was not to enter the room without his permission. He would call me when he was ready. Whenever he popped into the living room to check on me, he smiled and clapped his hands together. He always did this when he was excited. But I’m not stupid. I knew this was his way of not talking about our argument in the van. Uncle Ernie didn’t like arguments, not with me anyway. He preferred them with grown-ups. In fact, he really liked arguments with older, tougher guys.

  At the Palace, everyone had a story about Uncle Ernie. The cooks, the housemaids, the gardeners, everybody gossiped about him.

  There was the one about my father and a man in the crowd who wouldn’t let go of his hand, so Uncle Ernie karate-chopped the man’s arm until it fell off.

  Then there was the time my mother was walking in the Palace gardens and a python slithered towards her, so Uncle Ernie tied the snake into a knot and threw it into the lake.

  And then, there was a burglar who tried to break into the Palace and Uncle Ernie jumped through his bedroom window on the third floor, flew through the air and landed on the burglar’s back.

  I didn’t believe any of the stories. I wasn’t gullible like the other kids. Uncle Ernie wasn’t some movie superhero. He was just my Uncle Ernie.

  But he was fearless. That was definitely true. Nothing scared him, ever. In fact, I think there’s only one creature on this planet that just might terrify him.

  Me.

  Whenever we have an argument, he always gives up first. And after that, he always tries to cheer me up, which is when he does all that smiling and clapping and ordering pizzas.

  I think I know why he behaves in this way. It’s the same reason why I can never stay angry with him for too long. Even when he makes me so mad I think my head is going to explode and spray blood and skull all over my bedroom wall. But I soon calm down. So does Uncle Ernie. He’s scared of upsetting me because he, well, you know. Well, I know why and Uncle Ernie knows why and that’s all that matters. I don’t want my story to sound like a soppy fairy tale.

  “Ok, I’m ready,” Uncle Ernie’s voice called out from the dining room. “Are you excited?”

  “Yes, Uncle Ernie, I’m totally excited,” I lied.

  I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I already knew he had pizza waiting for me. I’d overheard him ordering on the phone. But I knew how to look surprised to see pizzas on the table.

  I opened the dining room door. There were no pizzas. In fact, there was nothing special in the room … except … except … it was hard to explain. I suddenly felt woozy. The room whizzed around me. Even Uncle Ernie was blurred. He was pointing at something weird. Were they aliens? Monsters? Whatever they were, they were making my brain spin.

  “Say hello to your Mum and Dad.”

  Uncle Ernie was talking gibberish again. Even at the Palace, he loved to talk gobbledygook to make the other kids laugh. But this wasn’t particularly funny at all. This was cruel.

  Maybe I was dreaming. That’s what it was. I once read a book about witches’ spells and potions and it said that if you were ever under a spell that made you fall asleep, pinch yourself to check if you’re awake or dreaming.

  So I pinched myself.

  “Ow,” I said.

  “What’s wrong?” Uncle Ernie asked.

  “I pinched myself to check if I’m dreaming.”

  Uncle Ernie grinned at me. “Oh, you are definitely awake. Come and see.”

  He held my hand and pulled me towards the blurry creatures. I rubbed my eyes.

  “Hello, Sabrina,” said the Man Alien.

  “Oh, Sabrina,” said the Woman Alien. And then she burst into tears.

  And then I burst into tears, which was a bit embarrassing. I’d watched loads of movies about aliens before and they’d never made me cry.

  The room was still swirling and my legs felt tingly. Uncle Ernie plonked me on a chair in front of the aliens.

  “Take a deep breath,” he whispered. “You seem like you’re in shock.”

  I took his advice. With every breath, the spinning room slowed down. My eyesight was getting better, too. The aliens were disappearing and turning into … my parents! They were waving at me from one of Uncle Ernie’s laptops! Daddy was smiling. Mummy was crying. And then I realised that I was still crying and smiling and waving.

  “Ok, Sabrina, I’ve had to use a VPN, a cloaking device and all kinds of hacking tools to make sure this Skype call is untraceable,” Uncle Ernie said quickly. “So, to be on the safe side, I think you can have five minutes to talk to your parents.”

  I had no idea what my EPIC, AWESOME and WONDERFUL Uncle Ernie was going on about. But I knew I wasn’t going to waste a single second.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Mummy and Daddy were sitting in the Palace dining room. I could see the framed paintings of all our relatives on the wall behind them. They were both wearing their fancy, frilly clothes that Daddy secretly hated, so they must have just finished a royal engagement. That’s probably why they kept waving at me. They wave all day. Whenever they see someone, they just start waving without thinking. Even when it’s me.

  I had so many things to say. I didn’t know where to start. So I wiped my eyes and decided to say the only thing that mattered to me. I had to get it off my chest, right at the start.

  “When can I come home?” I blurted out.

  I realised I’d made a bit of a mistake straightaway. Mummy’s waterworks started again. Daddy kept touching his eyes with a handkerchief. I told myself that he was probably suffering from hay fever.

  “Ah, it’s good to hear your voice, dear,” Daddy said.

  Normally, I can’t stand it when he calls me a “dear” because I don’t have four legs and antlers, but today I didn’t mind at all. I was
happy for him to call me “dear” forever.

  “Things are a little complicated at the moment,” Daddy continued.

  “Are the people still not happy with us? That’s crazy. We’re such a cool Royal Family. Mummy looks pretty in all her frilly dresses and Daddy shakes so many hands.”

  The Skype picture was not great. The picture kept freezing, which turned my parents into royal waxworks. But I still saw Daddy laugh.

  “Yes, I do shake a lot of hands, Sabrina,” he said. “But for some people, that’s not enough anymore. They think I should do more for their taxes.”

  “But we don’t use their taxis. We have limos.”

  Mummy smiled and whispered something to Daddy about not discussing politics with me. That was fine by me. Daddy wasn’t making any sense anyway.

  “How is your new school?” Mummy asked.

  Uncle Ernie leaned over and held my hand. “We’re getting there,” he said. “Isn’t that right, Sabrina?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s all right. An old cannibal runs the school. My teacher has the stupidest name ever for a teacher. She’s called Miss Shufflebottom.”

  Daddy thought that was hilarious. His giggling made me giggle.

  “I know, right? Miss Shufflebottom. That’s her real name. She’s probably not as smart as Miss Quick-Pants either.”

  My mother frowned.

  “Sorry, I mean Miss Cruickshanks. But she might be kinder and softer. She’s just a bit wet when it comes to dealing with girls like Awful Agatha.”

  My parents looked at each other.

  “And who’s Awful Agatha?” Daddy asked.

  “Well, she’s just Agatha really, but I call her Awful Agatha because she’s totally awful and cruel and she smells, too, like a really bad smell, like that smell in the pony stables. But it’s not just the smell. She doesn’t like me. Actually, I reckon she hates me. And I can’t stand her either. I know you say I shouldn’t hate anyone. Princesses don’t hate anyone. I do try, but I can’t help it. She’s vile and smelly and I can’t stand her. But we’ve agreed to leave each other alone for now.”

  Uncle Ernie’s elbow nudged me under the table. “But you’ve got Charlie,” he said.

  “Ooh, who’s Charlie,” Daddy said. “Is he your boyfriend? Can she marry a boy called Charlie? What do you think, Beverly? Everybody stand for Prince Charlie of the House of Valence! I’m not sure if the name has a royal ring to it.”

  I must have been blushing because Mummy told Daddy to stop teasing me about Charles. Normally, I would’ve agreed with her but not this time. I wanted Daddy to make fun of me all day and all night.

  “Just ignore your father, Sabrina,” Mummy said. “Charlie sounds like a lovely boy. I’m pleased you’re making friends. We know this hasn’t been easy for you and Uncle Ernie has told us what happened at school.”

  I gave Uncle Ernie my angry eyes. I had no idea he’d already told them about my playground fight with Awful Agatha and the pigswill.

  “It’s all right, you’re not in trouble,” Mummy said, obviously seeing my worried face. “But the school wants to speak to us and Uncle Ernie says they are being very persistent. This is very difficult for all of us. Uncle Ernie may try to organise a private phone call in the next few days. But we all need to try really hard to keep a low profile and stay safe.”

  “I know, Mummy. It’s just … I miss you both so much.”

  “Oh, we miss you too, so much, every single day.”

  My throat started to throb, but I was determined not to cry again. I needed this Skype call to be a happy memory so I could remember it every night at bedtime. Luckily, I had a silly idea.

  “Daddy, tell me about Mr Cotton, the Palace gardener, again. Please!”

  Daddy held Mummy’s hand and smiled. “Ok, very quickly. When you were five years old, you liked to throw sticks for the puppies to fetch in the Palace gardens. One day, you threw a stick too high and it landed in an oak tree that grew over the lake. You were insistent that you didn’t want another stick. So you called over Mr Cotton. He was an old-fashioned, traditional man and very, very skinny. He held up his ugly, green trousers with a rope. And you asked him to reach up into the tree for your stick. He complained and grumbled, as he always did, but agreed to help you. As he stretched his long body, the rope came loose and his trousers fell down. Now Mr Cotton was a stubborn old man who didn’t believe in wearing underwear. So he flashed his backside at everyone in the Palace gardens, including you. Then you screamed, which made him jump. He lost his balance and fell into the lake. I have never seen anyone swim so fast in my entire life. His bare bottom cut through the water like a shark’s fin. He was terrified that the ducks would bite his bum.”

  We all laughed about Mr Cotton’s backside. I knew that we’d all heard the story hundreds of times before, but we kept laughing. None of us wanted to stop laughing, not even Uncle Ernie.

  That’s why I didn’t hear the tapping at first. I was too busy laughing. Then the tapping got louder so I laughed louder. I didn’t want that miserable storm to spoil my chat with my parents. The raindrops could tap away at the windows. Nothing was going to stop me spending time with my family.

  And then I saw him.

  Charles was outside, banging on the dining room window and waving at us. He could see Uncle Ernie fiddling with his cables. Worst of all, he could see me talking to a laptop, talking to King Halbutt and Queen Beverly of the House of Valence.

  Uncle Ernie leapt across the table and slammed the laptop shut.

  I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Charles is a funny boy. He doesn’t have many friends and it’s easy to see why. For a start, he’s weird. He spends all his spare time solving detective maths puzzles. He’s rubbish at all sports, especially football, and doesn’t read comics or watch action movies. He’s the complete opposite of all the boys back at the Palace. The princes and dukes were all strong and sporty and full of muscles. They rode horses, played polo, did fencing and martial arts and were always fighting each other. They were also always showing off, which got really dull after a while.

  In the Palace gardens, they shouted the same things at me. Sabrina, come and see me play polo … Sabrina, come and watch my fencing lessons … Sabrina, look at my huge, bulging biceps. They thought they were the coolest boys ever. I thought they were the most annoying boys ever. They wore the same, silly clothes and looked and sounded like royal robots.

  That’s why I like Charles. I don’t want to hang around with a tall, handsome, athletic prince. I want to hang out with Charles. He’s small and shy and a little bit soft. He’s like a little brother who needs protecting. I don’t have any brothers or sisters so I’m stuck with Charles. I don’t have any other friends either. Charles is my only friend and maybe my best friend, too.

  But sometimes, I really want to kick Charles in the privates.

  He’s too nosey! He’s like a spy who wants to know everything. Or a tiny piece of mud stuck to my shoe. I can’t get rid of him.

  I had to drag him down the street to get him away from the house. At first, I was furious with him. He had taken me away from my parents. I seriously thought about kicking him where it would hurt most. In our self-defence class, Uncle Ernie taught me a low round kick that’s perfect for whacking naughty boys in the privates. But I didn’t. Charles can’t really defend himself and taekwondo is only for self-defence, not for attacking children who can’t fight back. Anyway, I’m pretty sure that princesses are not supposed to kick anyone in the privates.

  I stopped Charles at a small playground at the end of the street. There was a slide, a roundabout and some rusty swings. I gently shoved him onto one of the swings. Well, I thought it was a gentle shove.

  “Ow, that hurt,” Charles whimpered, rubbing his arm.

  “Don’t be such a wimp,” I replied in a huff.

  I sat on the swing beside him. He was still rubbing his arm, which made me feel a little sorry for him.
He had these big, brown eyes that made him look like one of the puppies at the Palace. My anger began to slip away. I didn’t want to boot him between the legs anymore.

  But I was still fed up with him.

  “Why do you keep following me?” I asked.

  Charles blinked a few times. That’s all I needed: more tears after a day of non-stop blubbing.

  “I wasn’t following you,” he said in a tiny voice.

  He rocked back and forth on the swing, staring at his scuffed school shoes.

  “If you weren’t following me, why were you in my garden then? Are you a garden gnome? You look like a garden gnome.”

  Charles straightened his spectacles. “No, I’m not a garden gnome and don’t make fun of my height!”

  “I’m not making fun of your height. I’m making fun of you. Gnomes hang around people’s gardens. That’s you! I want to know why you were spying on me again. I open my front door. You’re there. I look out of my window. You’re there. You’re like a stalker.”

  Charles seemed puzzled. “What’s a stalker?”

  “You. You’re a stalker, someone who keeps following someone else.”

  “I’m not! I just wanted to see if you were ok after the fight with Agatha. I’m not a stormtrooper.”

  “Stalker! It’s a stalker. And I’m fine!”

  “Then why are you shouting at me?”

  “Because you stopped me from talking to my … I mean, on my laptop. I couldn’t … oh, it doesn’t matter. I’m fine now!”

  “You don’t sound fine. Do you think Agatha will keep bullying you?”

  “Awful. Her name is Awful Agatha. No, she can’t. She’ll get suspended if she comes near me again.”

  “Good. I really don’t like her,” Charles mumbled.

  “Yeah, well, I really hate her.”

  We sat in silence for a while. Then Charles bumped his swing against my swing. So I bumped my swing against his swing. We giggled a bit. Charles should laugh more often. He looks less weedy when he laughs.