"Do you want a snack?"

"No," I said, putting my hand on my rather full stomach. "I had the hugest breakfast."

"Oh, yes, I forgot what a little pig-lotta you are!" she teased.

---

 

15. Standard Princess Gear
 

Well! Last night I didn't feel cute, but Saturday morning, I was absolutely fierce!

Mom surprised me with a really slick outfit. Most of the clothes she'd gotten me up till now were cute or nice or colorful, but this was the first one that really ROCKED.

As soon as I saw it, I shouted, "Wow!"

When I put it on, I felt like a character in a video game. It was too cool to be real!

There was a gray skirt that hung to maybe two inches above my knees. It was pleated, and each pleat somehow gathered at the bottom, so they were sort of oval. The top was teal, and fit like skin. But the sleeves! It had raglan sleeves in the same gray color as the skirt, and they were crocheted, all the way down to my wrist. The cuffs were teal. Then, teal tights that matched the shirt, and a pair of soft black boots.

Way cool. Way, way cool.

And a hat. I usually think hats are stupid, but this one was a big black, beret-like thing that topped it off perfectly.

It wasn't goth, but it suggested goth, if you know what I mean.

"So, you like it?" Mom asked with a grin.

"Mom, these clothes are kick ass!" I crowed. "Ooops! Sorry!"

"It's okay," she said, playing with the pleats. "It *is* a kick-ass outfit. I'm glad you like it. Later I have to figure out how they did these pleats."
 

Breakfast was also kick-ass. They had EVERYTHING. Pancakes, waffles, two kinds of sausage, bacon, omelets, hash-browned potatoes, eggs Benedict, huevos rancheros, regular toast, French toast, bagels, and a whole lot more. It was breakfast heaven. Best of all, it was an all-you-can-eat buffet. I took several trips, but even so, I didn't try everything. I couldn't. Mom didn't eat that much, but she did like their coffee.

While I was making my third trip, a tall, white-haired man complimented me on my outfit. "You look like a superhero or a spy in that get-up. What will you be tackling today, dressed like that?"

"For now, breakfast," I joked. "After that–"

"–the world?" he finished, laughing. "Good luck with it! You look amazing. Top notch. Just seeing you has made my day, young lady."

While we were talking, I saw a girl listening and watching from the corner of her eye. She looked like she was about twelve, which was two years older than my apparent age of ten. She was wearing a black dress with white highlights and black shoes. Her dark-brown hair was short and tied with a thin dark-brown ribbon, about as wide as a thick shoelace. Even though her outfit was simple, it looked super-elegant and expensive, and — in spite of the obvious coolness of my outfit — I felt a little intimidated. Suddenly, I felt as if I was showing off.

She let the man walk out of earshot and then asked, "Who are you supposed to be?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, that's a costume, right? I mean, you're dressed for a party today, right?"

"No," I countered. "These are just my regular clothes."

"Really? You call that regular?"

I didn't want to be rude with her, even if she'd started off being rude with me. Still, I thought I might turn the tables with a compliment. "Yes. Well, anyway, I wanted to tell you that I really like your dress."

She turned away and picked up a plate. "Do you? Thanks. It means so much, coming from you."

Of course, she meant exactly the opposite of what she said. I felt my temper rising, so I walked away before I bit her head off.

"What's eating you?" Mom asked me. "Did that man say something to upset you?"

"Him? No. He was really nice. He gave me all kinds of compliments on my outfit. It was that girl in the black dress. She was... well, she wasn't nasty, but she had a way of saying things that was so... so... I don't know. Everything she said was a put-down."

"I see." Mom sucked in her cheeks as she studied the girl. "Juliette, some girls are just that way. They're very catty. They build themselves up by putting other people down. They don't feel good unless they make every other girl feel insecure. Girls don't compete the way boys do. They're a lot more sly and psychological. Don't let it bother you."

"I won't," I said angrily, and shoved my fork into a sausage with such force, it flew off my plate and into the middle of the table. I stopped, took a breath, and put the sausage on an empty plate. "Oh, brother! She really made me mad!"

"What did she say?"

"She talked about my clothes as they were some kind of costume. And when I tried to say something nice about *her* dress, she said Ooh, that means so much coming from you. I'd like to smack her!"

Mom smiled gently and said, "It's typical. You've got to shrug it off, or shake it off, because it doesn't mean anything. I know it's hard. But just think how good she'll be at putting people down by the time she gets to be MY age!

"Anyway, you look great. You know you do, so you have to hold on to that, and realize that she's just saying things to throw you off. She wouldn't have bothered if you didn't look good."

"Okay," I said, feeling somewhat better.

---

After breakfast, we brought my luggage downstairs to the lobby. I had a small suitcase and a little hanging bag. Luckily, all the costumes were already at Miranda's house.

We sat in the lobby for fifteen minutes, when Miranda appeared. I waved, and she rushed over.

Miranda and I hugged each other, then took each other's hands and jumped up and down a few times in excitement. I know, it's weird. Nobody had to tell me to do it; it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I guess I've seen girls do it, and just got into the part I was playing.

"I'm SO excited!" Miranda told me.

"I know, me too!" I agreed.

Over my head, I heard my mother's voice. "Miranda, you're not here alone, are you? Where's your mother?"

"She's coming," Miranda said, looking over her shoulder. "She doesn't feel too good. So she's moving slow."

A few seconds later, Mrs. Jameson appeared in the doorway. She wore a pair of the biggest, darkest sunglasses I've ever seen. They wrapped around the sides of her face, as if she didn't want a single photon to reach her eyes. When she turned her head to scan the room, she did it very, very slowly. Miranda helped her by waving with both arms, and soon her mother was making her way across the lobby, threading her way through the tables and chairs. The way she walked, you could tell she wasn't feeling well. It looked as though she was making her way through a minefield.

She came to a stop when she was close enough to talk. "Migraine," she said, in a low, strained voice. "It's one of the worst I've had."

"Oh, Macy! I'm so sorry! Do you want to leave the girls with me?"

"No."

"Are you sure you're up to it? Can you even drive?"

"We came in a cab," she whispered. "We'll go home in a cab."

"Good lord!" Mom said, a bit loudly, and Macy winced. "Sorry! Listen, you go back home, leave Miranda with me..."

"No, that's too complicated. I'll take them now. They'll go to the party. Lex will watch them tonight. Tomorrow, I'll be fine."

"Who's Lex?" I asked Miranda.

"My Dad, duh!" she laughed.

"Macy, are you sure?" Mom asked. "I feel terrible about this. Let them stay with me."

"No," Mrs. Jameson told her in a monotone. "It's all arranged. It's not a big deal. I don't have the energy to argue about it. Like I said, Lex will be home tonight. He'll watch the girls. Today, they'll be at the party anyway. Tomorrow, I'll be fine. I don't want to talk any more. Let's go, girls."

My mother gave in, but she was not comfortable with the arrangement at all. Mrs. Jameson silently insisted by walking toward the front door of the hotel. We all followed her.

As we walked, Miranda told my mother, "Don't worry. She gets these a lot. She'll be okay."

When we reached the front door, Mrs. Jameson stopped. "Carly, can you do me a favor? Tell the doorman not to whistle for the taxi?"

---

As soon as we reached the Jameson's house, Mrs. Jameson went to her room and closed the door.

"We won't see her until tomorrow morning," Miranda informed me.

"So, where's your Dad?" I asked.

"He's playing golf," she replied. "He'll be back this afternoon."

"So how will we get to the party?"

"We'll just walk. Robert's house is only like a block away."

"You live that close to him?"

"Yeah, it's no big deal. He doesn't bother me. Usually. You're the one he's in love with." She giggled wildly.

"Oh, please," I groaned.

"He's been talking all week at school about the party and you..."

"Is he telling everyone I'm his girlfriend?"

She laughed loudly in response, then stopped and covered her mouth. "We've got to be really quiet. My mother is super-sensitive to noise when she gets this way."

"Okay," I answered in a soft voice. "So, what are we going to do until the party? We have two hours."

"Do you want a snack?"

"No," I said, putting my hand on my rather full stomach. "I had the hugest breakfast."

"Oh, yes, I forgot what a little pig-lotta you are!" she teased.

I rolled my eyes. "Do *you* want a snack?"

"No, I'm good." She thought for a moment, then said, "Okay, let's do this: first, we'll bring your stuff to the guest room. I can help you unpack. Then we can put our costumes on, and get completely, perfectly ready. After that, I guess we could watch TV until we have to go."
 

What with procrastination and goofing around, and Miranda wanting to see the clothes I'd brought, it was an hour and a half before we were "completely, perfectly ready" in our costumes. Our tiaras had comb-like things to dig into our hair, but it took a bit of doing to get them to work. Miranda fiddled with mine, digging it painfully into my scalp a few times before she finally got it solidly in place, and then I did the same for her.

Well, not the painful part. It was easier to get hers set, because she has a lot more hair to work with.

While we were accessorizing, Miranda reminded me to wear the necklace that Lou's mother had given me. Miranda had seen and admired it while I was unpacking, and I told her the story behind it.

"Do you think it's weird that she wants to help me dress like a girl?" I asked Miranda.

She sucked on her lower lip for a moment before responding. "If I didn't *know* you, and only heard about it, yes, I would think it was weird. But... you know, I never met Victor." She blushed a bit. "I don't know him at all. I only know Juliette. For me, it's like, there is no Victor. Whenever I think about you, I just think of Juliette, and the whole Victor thing is just, like... like an idea... that doesn't even seem true.

"Most of the time I forget that you're a girl. I mean, not a girl. So... no, it doesn't seem weird that she gave you a necklace. It's really nice."

For some reason, what Miranda said embarrassed and bothered me a bit.

While she was looking down, fiddling with a bracelet, I took her in... she was just adorable! The princess costume really suited her, and made her face look even prettier than usual, with her tiny chin, high cheekbones, her easy, even smile... I found myself wishing that she were my age, or I was her age. I suppose when we get older, the age difference won't matter... when I'm, like, 22, she'll be 18...

"Earth to Juliette! Earth to Juliette!"

"Oh, sorry!"

"What were you daydreaming about?"

I blushed and didn't answer. She shook her head in mock-irritation, then smiled and told me, "What I said was: there's a park on the next block. We can go there in our costumes and swing on the swings until the party starts. Is that okay?"

"Is it far from Robert's house?"

"No, he lives right next to the park. Really." She gestured with her hands, "Here's the park, and here's his house. So we can see when the other kids start to come, so we won't be the first ones."

It sounded like a good plan. The best part of it was doing my absolute favorite thing: being out in public in a costume. In a way, that's what I'd been doing since we left the house yesterday, but nobody knew. A real costume is different, and there's nothing like having strangers ooh and aah over your outfit. Mom always made the best costumes, so as far back as I can remember...

"Hello! Anybody home? Are you off in the clouds again? What, are you dreaming of Robert and his passionate kisses?" She began to giggle loudly, but remembered her mother's headache and stopped. "Come on, let's get out of here!"
 

In case you're not familiar with Boston's South End, most of its streets are narrow, lined with red-brick row houses with bow fronts, from one end of a block to the other. It's pretty, and old-timey, and lots of people are usually out walking... or walking their dog, or just walking.

Even though Miranda and I were both princesses, our costumes weren't that much alike. My dress was basically white, with pink draping, and a gold panel that looked like a bodice. And it had short, puffy sleeves. Mom had made mine first, so it was simpler than Miranda's, but it was still nice, and I liked wearing mine better. I'd tried Miranda's on several times for fittings while Mom was making it.

And oh, by the way, don't think that I actually know all these words for clothes and all the colors — like teal or whatever — that I mention. Mom tells them to me, and they stick in my head for a little while. That's all.

But anyway, while my dress was very... I don't know... standard princess gear, I guess, Miranda's was more like a storybook princess. It was made of pale-blue shiny material, and had long sleeves. Instead of just having a front panel like a bodice, hers had a front panel the whole length of the dress, and it was a white brocade. The bodice was laced with pink... well, I know that it was a really just a long shoe-lace, but it looked like it belonged on the dress. Nobody would guess.

Mom had woven a blue ribbon through Miranda's tiara and a pink one through mine.

During our short walk — it was only, like, a block and a half — SO many people stopped to look us over, and to give extravagant compliments. It was nice. Two people even took our pictures, and a group of older boys called us "your highnesses" and kept adding "esses" on the end. I loved it.

When we got to the park there were a few little kids playing in the sand. One girl, who must have been five, stood and stared at us for about five minutes. We smiled at her and talked to her, but all she did was stare. Then she started crying for no reason, and her mother took her away.

Which left Miranda and me alone in the play area with the swings and the teeter-totter. All the other kids, the little kids, were in the other play area, on the jungle gym. Each of the two play areas were full of sand and were fenced in. The fences kept the little kids in and the dogs out. And, by the way, one of the first things you notice in the South End is that there are about half as many dogs as people.

While we sat on the swings, side by side... talking, not really swinging... just dandling... pushing the swing around with our feet on the ground, a dog came to see us. It was a big, black rottweiler.

"He looks just like the dog in Good Dog, Carl," Miranda said.

"I've never read that book," I replied.

"You can't read it," she laughed. "It's a picture book! Hello, Carl! Hello, good boy! Hello, Carl! Hi!"

Carl sat there, looking at us, much as the little girl had done earlier. But...

"Miranda, is it my imagination, or is that dog staring at me? It's kind of creeping me out."

"No, he's looking at both of us. Aren't you, Carl? Aren't you? Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy?"

A woman came walking into the park, and as she approached the dog, she kept glancing from the dog to me. When she got right up next to the gate, where Carl was sitting, she fixed her eyes on me and said, "There is a leash law, you know, little girl. You have to keep your dog on a leash!"

"It's not my dog!" I protested, but she kept on walking. "And I'm not a little girl!"

"Why did she think it was *my* dog?" I asked Miranda. "You're the one who was talking to him!"

Miranda smiled and shrugged. "You know who that lady was? She's Jackie Como's Mom. She must have dropped Jackie off at the party." Then she glanced over her shoulder.

I looked over, too, and saw three kids in costume walk up to Robert's front door. "Yeah, I guess we can go now," I agreed. "But watch out that this dog doesn't jump up on us and leave paw prints."

"Stay, Carl, stay," Miranda commanded as she opened the gate a crack and slipped out. I followed, and Carl obediently sat still.

But when Miranda reached down to pet him, he jumped to his feet and let out a single bark. It startled us, but he wagged his tail and hung out his tongue, panting. He seemed like a good dog, but for some reason, I just didn't trust him.

"Let's go, Miranda," I said.

"Okay. Bye, Carl. Stay! Stay, Carl, stay!"

After we walked about two yards, Carl came running after us. No, not us. Me. He made to jump up and plant his dirty paws on my shoulders, so I quickly grabbed his collar and pushed him back down. Strangely, he didn't resist. While I held his collar, he was docile, even obedient. He went wherever I led him.

I pointed him away from Robert's house, and gave him a little push. "Shoo!" I told him. "Shoo! Shoo! Beat it, Carl!"

We went through the same exercise maybe five times. Each time, he'd turn and try to jump on me. Once I tried to run, but that only made it worse, and I very nearly missed getting dirtied by those big paws. Miranda tried holding him, and he'd let her, and be led by her, but the instant she let go, the dog would try to jump on me.

"What is it with this dog?" I wondered aloud.

"Maybe it's Robert in disguise," Miranda quipped.

"No, it can't be," I countered. "He hasn't tried to kiss me."

I tried running with him, and then letting go once he got some momentum, but the result was the same. He'd turn and try to plant his paws on me. I began to feel a bit desperate.

"What are we going to do, Miranda? He's fine as long as I hold him, but as soon as I let go, he's going to get me all dirty."

She shrugged.

Carl stood there, calm and still while I gripped his collar. "What am I going to do with you, Carl? Where's your owner?"

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way