Who Made You a Princess? (8 page)

“I said I had the inside scoop. Definitely no.” She gave me the kind of look that sees into your brain. “I hope that was right.”

“Of course it was right. Are you kidding me?”

She leaned back. “Just checking.”

I grabbed her arm before she got out of whisper space. “I’m serious. There is no thing. You know how I feel about—about someone
else.” I stopped as Tate leaned between us to set down a plate piled high with enough triple chocolate cake to put us all
into orbit for the afternoon.

Not quite enough to go around, however, when half your table is jocks. A minute later, Lissa reached for the empty plate.
Rashid stopped her. “Allow me.”

He took it to the dessert bar and loaded it up again. But instead of giving it to Lissa so she could start it around to everyone
who’d missed out, he held it out to me.

“Please.”

“Uh. Thanks.” This guy really was a quick study. Not to mention good at improv—he’d gone from being served by the BGs to serving
random girls in twenty-four hours flat.

Lissa pounced on the next piece of cake, and within seconds the rest of it was gone. “Thanks, Rashid.” He looked pleased,
a little smile curving his mouth. I guess when it’s the first time you’ve ever served someone, you’d want to know they appreciated
it.

A glance at the clock told me I had just enough time to scoot upstairs and grab my philosophy books and the music I’d chosen
for Individual Voice this afternoon. “See you later,” I told Lissa. “What’s going on after school? Anything interesting?”

“Nothing. Call me and we’ll figure something out.”

Philosophy is really math disguised as critical thinking and logic, and it’s a lot harder than you’d think. But my other choices
in that time slot were O-Chem and six different flavors of algebra, so I took what I could get.

Voice was a different thing. I know I’m not going to be the next Mahalia Jackson—and by the end of two lessons, my instructor
did, too. But I didn’t care. If Carly could take design modules just because she loves them, then I could take voice and chorus
for the same reason. Besides, a person deserves a little fun when she’s a senior. We’ve earned it.

I let myself into our room, feeling pretty happy about the work I’d done on my scales and a first run-through of the gospel
piece I’d chosen. I found Carly already there, changing out of her uniform.

“Hey.” I couldn’t wait to get out of mine, too. Say what you will about the hypo-allergenic fabric our plaid pleated skirts
are made of, they’re still…plaid pleated skirts.

“There you are.” She laced up her sneakers. “I wanted to talk to you before Mac gets back.”

I was slowly getting used to our room’s new look. I’d pushed my bed back against the wall, and Mac and Carly had formed an
L-shape with theirs. Mac didn’t have a desk, but since she never used one anyway, it didn’t matter. I hadn’t found her in
here doing homework once. Maybe she went to the library. Maybe she didn’t do it. None of my nevermind.

“What’s up?” I pulled on a glittery butterfly T-shirt—it had no slogans, so technically I could wear it outside class—and
my comfiest black Theory jeans. “Lissa said she’d be up for something later. I vote for retail therapy.”

“I wasn’t thinking about tonight. What are you doing Friday night?”

That was easy. “Big bunches of nothing. Why?”

“Oh, good.” She sat cross-legged on her bed, facing me. “What do you think about going out with me and Brett?”

“Uh.” How to put this nicely? “You guys need a chaperone or what? Because that’s
so
not the image I want going around.”

“No, no.” She laughed. “Are you kidding? I meant as a double. The four of us.”

“The fourth being…?” Hope sparked inside. Was Danyel coming up for the weekend? Why hadn’t Lissa said anything?

“The prince, silly. Unless you have some other local guy you haven’t told me about?”

I stared at her, my brain all wound up on the thought of Danyel while it tried to process the unexpected reality of Rashid.
“What?”

“You and the prince. Me and Brett. On a double,” she said slowly, as though she were reading a primer to a first grader. “We
were thinking dinner at TouTou’s.”

My brain and my mouth finally synced up. “If you think I’m asking the prince out to dinner, you’ve got another think coming.”

“You don’t have to ask him. He already asked us. And now I’m asking you.”

“Wait a minute. I’m his date and I’m the last to know?” I didn’t know whether to be insulted or not. “How come you get to
be the messenger?”

“Farrouk explained it all to me.”

“And Farrouk would be…”

“His Secret Service guy. The one who sleeps across his threshold at night.”

“He does not.”

“Yeah, he does. He’s got one of those army cots and they move it every morning. The other guy’s name is Bashir. He sleeps
next door. They switch off every week.”

I so didn’t need to know this. “How do you know so much about the royal sleeping arrangements?”

“Because I asked them. They’re really nice guys. And I had to talk to somebody while the prince was asking Brett if we could
double. Then Brett asked me—I said yes, what a no-brainer—and I’m to ask you.”

I had to sit down. “Carly, in case no one explained this to you yet, the guy is supposed to ask the girl. Not ask the girl’s
boyfriend to ask the girl’s roommate to ask her.”

“Not when you’re a prince, apparently. See, he can’t be turned down.”

“Oh, no?”

“No, literally. He can’t. It’s some protocol thing. So by me asking you, he saves face.” She gave me a big, sunny smile. “So
what do you say?”

“I say this is insane. I thought you were going to tell me Danyel was in town.” My shoulders slumped. “I think I’d give anything
if he’d ask me out.”

“Don’t tell Rashid he’s the consolation prize. But at the same time, having a prince for second choice isn’t so bad. Look
on the bright side. It could be Rory Stapleton.”

In spite of myself, a laugh bubbled out of me. “I wouldn’t go out with that guy if he was the last man standing after the
apocalypse.”

“So the prince isn’t so bad?”

“No, he isn’t.” I flipped open the philosophy textbook next to me and closed it again. “The grown-up version is kind of growing
on me. In fact, if the memory of him stealing my figs didn’t get in the way, I’d think he was pretty hot.”

“Go buy yourself some figs and get over it. Please say you’ll come. You can still like Danyel, who, may I remind you, hasn’t
exactly been pounding down your door. There’s nothing wrong with going out with friends—and Rashid qualifies as an old friend.
I think it would be fun.”

“We don’t have to worry about them being able to pick up the tab, that’s for sure.”

She snorted. “Don’t say you like the food. The prince might buy the place and give it to you.”

“Oh, no.” I wagged a finger at her. “He can’t do that. Brett’s family already owns it.”

“They do not. I found that out awhile ago.”

“I can’t believe it. I thought you only ate at places they own.”

“Do they own Starbucks? Huh?” She threw an embroidered pillow at me.

“Not yet. Give them time.” I lobbed it back.

“So you’ll go? I can tell him yes?”

“Yes, yes already, I’ll go. I can’t turn down my best friend.”

Even if she was a stand-in for a guy who was too hot for his own good.

And mine.

H
OW MANY GIRLS
does it take to get ready for dinner with a prince?

Five.

And you thought I was telling a joke, didn’t you? Let me tell you now—this was no joke.

“Expect the paparazzi,” Mac told Carly and me, her tone as serious as that of a commander sending troops into battle. “Dress
as though you’re going to be posted on WhoWhatWear Daily-dot-com, because you are.”

“I am
so
glad you’re here,” I said with complete sincerity. “I totally did not want to hear that, but you’re right.”

“Of course.” She made herself more comfortable on her bed. Of the five of us, she was the most qualified to be going out with
Rashid, what with the title and all. I had no idea what I was doing. If it had been left up to me, I’d have probably pulled
on my skinny jeans and a slinky top and done something fun with my hair. But no way did I want to be the Mistake of the Day
on the fashion sites. And it wasn’t because of Rashid.

Odds were Danyel would see any pictures, because of course Lissa would oh-so-innocently send them to him and Kaz. Friends
shared things, didn’t they? And if we were all going to be just friends, then a picture of me looking fabulous on a prince’s
arm was no skin off anyone’s nose, was it?

Ha. Lissa is so devious. And she’s on my side. Something else to be glad about.

“Too bad everyone’s already seen the Herrera. It would have been perfect.” Lissa and Mac were going through my closet, item
by item. Lissa held up a ruffled yellow Biba silk with cutout shoulders. “What about this?”

“Too fussy.” Mac shook her head. “She needs a statement dress that will photograph well no matter how it’s lit. That one will
go transparent. We’ll take some shots with my digital when we decide, just to make sure.”

I never thought about being lit. Or making a statement, or taking pictures while I got dressed. I just bought things because
I liked them.

“Wait—what’s that?” Mac dove and came up holding a spill of lime-green jersey. “Is this a Cavalli?” I nodded. “Put it on.”

I’d bought it because I liked the Greek vibe—you know, like a Doric chiton. Now I was glad at least something in my closet
had netted Mac’s approval. I slithered into it and glanced at my girls. “Uh, just a sec.” I had a pair of gold Prada high-heeled
sandals here…where were they? Aha! I stepped into them and then presented my changed-up self for inspection.

Four pairs of eyes gave me the once-over.

“Gold hoops,” Carly said thoughtfully. “Big ones.”

“And I have a gold necklace I can lend you,” Lissa said.

We all looked at Mac. She narrowed her eyes and fetched the camera. “Pose.”

I vamped in three different directions while she snapped pictures. Then she plugged the camera into her laptop, brought the
shots up and considered them, nibbling the inside of her lip. We crowded in behind her, looking at the pictures and waiting.
Then she nodded, once. “You’ll do. The Greek look is a nice nod to your past together. Go dramatic on the makeup. And the
hair.”

If there was one thing I could do without help, it was that. By the time I had my face on, they’d pooled their resources,
and Carly turned slowly in the middle of the room in a drop-dead Sonia Rykiel leather skirt with a discreetly ruffled Miu
Miu blouse so fine, you could pull it through the proverbial wedding ring. (And the camera test proved that her cami, at least,
wasn’t transparent.) Gillian lent her a pair of diamond earrings that had to be a couple of carats each, and once I’d finished
pulling my hair into a quasi-Greek knot, I did hers.

“You have great hair,” I told Carly, pulling it to the crown of her head and rolling the fall of curls around my fingers.
“You’re so lucky.”

“I’m lucky to have friends like you guys,” she said quietly. “This is the best part.”

“What, are you saying our night can only go downhill from here?” I was only half joking. At least she had Brett to fall back
on. If my half of the date turned out to be a disaster, all I could do was find the nearest cab and head for the hills.

“You know what I’m saying. All of us helping each other. That’s the part I like.”

And then it was time.

Brett called the room phone from the reception hall and we scrambled to finish our hair, then locate bags and wraps. Only
fifteen minutes later, while Gillian, Lissa, and Mac ranged along the upper balustrade to watch, we descended the marble staircase
like debs being presented at the ball.