The Tiara on the Terrace (9 page)

“My parents think so too,” I said quietly.

“Mine think I just
really
want to be a royal page.” Grace looked at us. “What?” she asked. “No way I was telling them this crazy stuff. They'd flip!”

“The lead guy from the AmStar team did talk to the police for me, though. They said they'd take another look,” Trista continued. “But I'm twelve, what do I know about physics?” She snorted sarcastically.

“I'm thinking it's slow-acting poison,” Grace piped up. “Polonium. Thallium, maybe. With AmStar in town, people
can get access to some pretty intense stuff.”

She may have been into designing miniskirts made out of papyrus now or whatever, but her crime trivia was obviously still rattling around in her brain. Trista shook her head. “Thallium poisoning causes significant hair loss.” Then she raised an eyebrow. “I think it's pretty clear
that's
out.”

“With as much hair as Lee has, you'd never even notice,” Grace said, and I couldn't help but laugh.

“Fair point.” Trista looked thoughtful as she wiped her greasy hands on her jeans.

“Tryouts are today. If we want inside access, we have to act now.” Grace countered. “I'm already signed up.”

I felt a surge of dread. I still couldn't believe she was charging ahead into all this without me. Trista glanced back at the float-driver compartment, then to the sign-up clipboard.

“Now that's a recipe for disaster,” Trista said. “The last time I left you two to your own devices, you got yourselves locked in a criminal's basement!” She looked down at her cargo jacket and brushed it off. “Auditions are at noon, you say?”

“Oh, no. I'm not going.” I stepped back. “I am not smearing myself with Pretty Perfect make-up and bowing down to Princess Kendra. Ever.”

“This isn't about bowing to Princess Kendra, Soph,” Grace pleaded. “The whole town's depending on you.” She tugged my arm gently. “On us.”

“Depending on me to trip in my platform shoes and face-plant in a pile of Festival horse dung in front of the bleachers?” I crossed my arms. Grace shot Trista a helpless look.

Trista shrugged, a smile playing at her lips. “You know, I heard horse poo could be the path to a new you.”

Grace's chuckle faded fast. As she looked at me pleadingly, a stream of images tumbled through my head: I imagined Trista botching a covert mission thanks to her inability to either tiptoe or whisper. Grace “accidentally” toppling over a third-story railing and landing in the marble entryway after thinking it was a great idea to confront the murderer with evidence. I saw a target hovering square at the center of Mr. Zimball's head.

I looked down at my nails and pictured them painted candy-apple red. I looked at my feet and tried to imagine wearing heels and not falling down. Then I looked at Grace and Trista. Their faces were hopeful, their eyes desperate. I sighed.

“Okay. Where's that sign-up sheet?”

I
wrote my name on the sheet right under the all-caps BOTTOMS Trista had scrawled, adding a heart over my
i
to fit in with all the other sparkly gel-inked names. The next thing I knew, Grace, Trista, and I were in the Ridley Mansion living room for royal-page auditions, drowning in a sea of rustling satin and swoopy updos.

I wouldn't have been surprised to find out every middle-school girl in Luna Vista had packed into that room. Even all the upholstered antique furniture and wood-paneling couldn't absorb the squeally chattering. Flowery hairspray hung so thick in the air you could taste it on your tongue. If someone had lit a match, the whole place would've exploded.

That would have been one way of backing out.

I'd been in the mansion at least a dozen times—for field trips and boring tours with my parents and their out-of-town
guests. And I knew, or at least knew
of
, half the girls in the room. Still, I felt like I'd landed on an alien planet. As Grace led us past a group of seventh graders, their eyes flicked up and down my glue-stained jeans and hoodie before traveling over to Trista and the welding helmet she was holding at her side. My former friend Stacy Pedalski was one of them. She shook her head slowly as if we'd violated a sacred law. I couldn't believe she and I had once spent an entire weekend huddling inside a sofa cushion fort, sipping Coke through Red Vines while we watched all eight
Harry Potter
movies.

Grace had tried to snazz up our outfits by raiding the lost and found. Unfortunately, the same scarf that had transformed her into a
Teen Vogue
model had made me look like an accident victim in a neck brace. Trista had refused to even try it on, citing health risks. Something about lost-and-found fungus and the importance of proper airflow for people with allergies. “Besides,” she said, flashing jazz hands over the Girl Scout badges sewn on her cargo jacket. “It distracts from my flair.”

Meanwhile, Grace had pulled together leggings, a skirt, and cardigan to create a cool vintage style that made her look like she was in high school already. Leave it to her to look fashion-shoot ready in a moldy lost-and-found skirt.

I squared my shoulders and tried to make myself look
taller. “Too bad there weren't any heels in the lost and found,” I mumbled.

“You got this, Soph.” Grace plucked a stray flower petal from my shoulder and adjusted my pendant. “We're town heroes. We don't have to be perfect.”

“We'd have to really mess up for them not to let us in,” Trista agreed.

Grace elbowed Trista when she thought I wasn't looking.

“What?” Trista blinked. “Am I wrong?”

My throat went sandpaper dry. I remembered Rod's smile in the float barns when we were joking about trying out for pages. His words echoed in my head:
There's no way you wouldn't get a spot
. I glanced around the living room. Girls eyed us jealously and turned back to their friends, whispering. Every person in that room expected us to coast to victory. I looked up at Grace, hovering a head taller than me, her silky hair tumbling down her back. The judges would pick her in a second. But what about me? I pictured myself standing at the judges' table as they shook their heads at me slowly in perfect imitation of Stacy Pedalski. I could already hear the shocked whispers—could already feel my cheeks blazing red as I insisted that, really, it was no big deal. I hadn't even wanted to audition in the first place.

It turns out there was something worse than being a royal page.

Not being a royal page.

A giggle erupted next to us. It was the twins, Danica and Denise Delgado, who seemed to giggle each time their spaghetti straps slipped off their shoulders—which was roughly every two seconds. I was already practicing in my head how I'd break it to Rod that I was backing out, when I caught sight of Mr. Zimball wandering casually through the room. He smiled broadly as he shook hands, not even a hint of worry clouding his face.

I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans and stayed put. The man was a sitting duck.

“Welcome, you three!” Mr. Zimball peered down at Trista's welding helmet. “May I, uh, hang that up for you?”

Trista hugged her helmet closer and eyed the crystal chandelier dangling above her head. “It's cool, thanks. Might come in handy.”

Mr. Zimball hovered awkwardly for a moment. The way he shifted his weight from foot to foot reminded me of Rod. When a Festival official cruised past with a silver tray, he leaped at the chance to wriggle away. “Well, best of luck to you this afternoon,” he said, grabbing a mini egg roll before he strolled off.

“See that? Even the judges are wishing us luck,” Grace whispered.

“Well, he should,” Trista said, way too loudly. “Considering his life might depend on it.”

“Shh!” I hissed. “I'm pretty sure we get disqualified if it sounds like we're threatening to kill judges!” I glanced around to see who might've heard. My blood froze. Lily Lund was lurking outside the open sliding paneled door, eyes locked on us.

“Don't turn now, you two, but look who's in the hall,” I whispered.

Trista turned immediately. “Oh, man,” she said, as Grace slyly took her own peek. My legs felt shaky as I wondered whether Lily could be scoping out her next target.

“You think Barb's sent her to spy?” Grace whispered.

Before I could answer, Marissa Pritchard appeared in front of us, peering out from under the fringe of her ruler-straight blond bangs. “I think it's awesome you went with a natural look for the auditions, Sophie.” Her understanding of
awesome
sounded like it involved mopping up cat vomit.

“Oh no, Marissa!” Lauren Sparrow stopped short on her way to greet a group of girls coming through the doorway. In her bright sundress, she almost could have passed for
one of the Court. It was hard to believe that Barb, not she, had once been Queen. She frowned and tapped a spot near the corner of her mouth. “You've got a little something here. Lipstick smudge, maybe?”

Ms. Sparrow swiveled back to us as Marissa furiously rubbed at her cheek. “So glad you all decided to try out,” she said with a wink. “We could use some celebrities in the mix!”

Marissa's poufy dress might have actually deflated a little. Grace had to duck her chin into her shoulder to hide her smile.

The Royal Court huddled by a podium set up by the fireplace, nervously adjusting each other's tiaras and smoothing down their dresses. Jardine Thomas sucked in a deep breath, then jingled a tiny brass bell. The buzzing crowd quieted.

“Okay, everyone. Let's get this party started,” she said, sounding more like a business official than the newly crowned Sun Queen. Maybe she was trying to play it cool, but her eyes glistened with excitement and her hands were trembling. Sienna and Kendra stood next to her, shoulders thrown back, beaming proudly.

“Today is totally chill,” Jardine continued. Sienna and Kendra nodded. “Remember, whether you're chosen as a
royal page or not, we're all one big family here at the Festival.”

“Totally,” Sienna echoed, eyeing Jardine's tiara warily. It definitely looked like it could take another tumble.

“Just relax, mingle, and we'll come around to get to know you better. It's supercasual!” Kendra Pritchard sang out. She whipped out a small notepad and uncapped her pen like she was drawing a sword from a sheath.

Grace, Trista, and I traded looks.

“Supercasual,” I whispered. Dread crept through me.

Trista shrugged, gave a small salute, and waded into the crowd. I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd put on her welding helmet and actually flipped down the plastic safety mask first.

Grace squeezed my hand before heading off herself.

The crowd whirled into action as if a stage curtain had risen. Mr. Zimball, Ms. Sparrow, and the Court fanned through the room to evaluate us. I turned to chart my course through the mob and nearly ran smack into Marissa Pritchard. Her lips pulled back in a broad smile.

No doubt about it. This was war.

Before I could slip away from Marissa, Sienna Connors floated over. “Hey, you're Jake's sister, right?” she asked, tossing her light-brown hair over one shoulder. “I have math
with him.” She let out a goofy laugh that relaxed me, even with Marissa Pritchard hovering at my elbow. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, after all.

“So, you guys do any sports?”

“Tai chi,” I said. “It's a martial art,” I added hurriedly.

“Cool,” Sienna said. “Your team make it to regionals?”

“It's not really a team sp—” I began. “Um, no,” I corrected myself. “Not this year.”

“Tai chi?” Marissa's forehead creased. “That's, like, superslow karate?”

I stiffened. “Actually, you can speed up the movements and—”

“That's so cute,” Marissa prattled over me. “At the senior home where I volunteer they do tai chi too. And Aqua Zumba, which is like Zumba but, you know, in the pool?”

I stared straight at Sienna in hopes we could both pretend Marissa was a figment of our imaginations. “Soccer players train with tai chi sometimes,” I lied. “Quickens the reflexes.”

“Yeah?” Sienna repeated, but her eyes had already glazed over.

I grabbed a paper cup of pink lemonade from the tray and downed it in one gulp.

“So, ladies,” Ms. Sparrow's voice rang out behind me.
She was talking to Danica and Denise, who I was seriously beginning to suspect were actually conjoined twins. They'd yet to stand more than an inch apart. “Toughest question yet.” Her eyes twinkled as she held out a tray of cupcakes. “Vanilla? Or chocolate?”

Danica and Denise looked at each other and giggled. “One of each, please,” said Danica.

“We'll share,” said Denise as her spaghetti straps fell for the hundredth time.

I held in a sigh and scanned the room for Grace. I was done going it alone. It took me a moment to find her. She blended in almost too well. She was clustered in a group around Jardine Thomas. It looked like any one of them could make the perfect page, right down to their cute shoes. Trista stood a little off to the side. I slipped closer.

“The Festival looks for kids with a unique style. People who aren't afraid to stand out,” Jardine said. From the way she was looking at Trista's cargo-jacket Girl Scout getup, I was guessing that wasn't exactly the unique style she had in mind. “But we need practical style, too. Form and function. When you're up on a parade float in front of thousands, beauty emergencies can strike, you know? We need to be ready.”

The group murmured as if they'd had years of experience
with parade-float beauty emergencies.

“So. How would you help a Royal Court member accessorize on parade day?” Jardine finished.

Two hands shot up. Jardine called on gorgeous Anna Sayers, whose mom had been an actual model. She had to be one of the likeliest picks for royal page. But Anna flushed red and froze.

The group shifted uncomfortably. Jardine looked ready to end Anna's misery by calling on someone else.

“A backpack!” Anna blurted out at last. “I think it'd be awesome to celebrate Luna Vista as a beach town with maybe a sea-creature backpack? Like, you know, maybe a miniturtle with a hard shell? That flips open and inside has all the essentials?”

Even Trista wrinkled her nose.

“Cool, thanks,” Jardine said. She looked around. “Anyone else?”

“With like, maybe really skinny straps, I guess . . . so it doesn't hide your dresses. Or maybe it should be a pelican with a beak that hinges open and it'd be sooo funny. . . .” Anna couldn't help herself. She'd be muttering about sea-creature accessories decades from now, when they wheeled her away to the old folks' home. No amount of words or
ideas could save that disaster.

“Maybe something a little, uh, smaller might work?” Grace piped in delicately. She pulled a star-shaped tin of lip gloss from her pocket. “These come in all kinds of shapes. Maybe we can find one like a Coral Beauty rose, drill a hole in it, and put it on a chain. Then it's like a really cool necklace. We could even use root-beer-flavored gloss, for fun!”

Jardine looked seriously impressed. So impressed, in fact, that as the crowd broke up she and some of the others stayed huddled around Grace to chat more as Anna Sayers glowered at everyone. Jardine and her friends checked out the earrings Grace had made out of colored paper clips. Sienna, who'd just joined, snuck out her phone to snap a picture to upload to her feed. Grace tried to look casual as they oohed and ahhed, but she knew she'd rocked it. So did everyone else.

Meanwhile, Kendra Pritchard had cornered Trista—or tried to, anyway. Trista rested one arm on a wing chair casually as she fielded questions in her booming voice. Grace pulled herself away from the earring lovefest long enough to notice. She shot me a nervous look, muttered a quick excuse, and we both made a beeline to make a rescue.