Royal Wedding - Meg Cabot Page 0,79

very polite voice, releasing the front of the blond girl’s blouse and adjusting her now very messed up braid. “Hi. Yes, that’s me.”

“Er,” I said.

What do you say to your long lost sister upon meeting her for the first time?

Suddenly I became aware of all the gazes—and cell phone camera lenses—that were suddenly upon us. It was only then that I realized Lilly was right: it had been a very bad idea for me to get out of the car. I should have sent Lilly to break up the fight. Or Tina. Tina knew much more about tween girls than any of us, and was also nearly a doctor, or had at least studied child psychology.

“Hi,” I said, feeling a nervous sweat break out beneath my hairline, even though, for such a sunny day in May, it was not particularly warm. “I’m, uh, Mia Thermopolis.” I had never felt so uncomfortable saying my name in my entire life. “Your aunt Catherine said it would be all right for me to pick you up from school today.”

The little girl eyed me dubiously through her glasses. I could see why she might find this entire scenario a little on the shady side.

“Oh,” I said, suddenly remembering. “Here’s a note she signed, saying so.”

I was glad Lilly had thought of this at the last minute, and asked Olivia’s aunt to sign it, as well. There are advantages to having a best friend who wants to be a lawyer, even one who wants to go into something as boring as contract law, though Lilly says contract law is not boring, but the backbone of all legal practice, the way mystery novels are the backbone of all literature. Murder breaks a contract with society, which only justice can set right again.

“Would you like to come with me?” I asked as I handed Olivia the note.

Olivia didn’t exactly jump at the chance to climb in the Princess of Genovia’s limo, even to get away from someone who was threatening to beat the crap out of her. Perhaps Olivia had not been in as dire circumstances as I’d thought. With dignified calm, she unfolded the note and read it carefully.

There was complete silence from the kids all around us as she did this, although I could hear several of them breathing, including a few who tried to crowd close to read the note over Olivia’s shoulder (and mine—well, really my elbows, since the children were so short). I tried gently to shove them away, but they would not budge.

Most children are lovely, but up close some of them are not at all tidy (I don’t mean my sister, of course).

“Thank you,” Olivia said, gravely folding the note back up and tucking it into her backpack. “I’d like to go with you very much.”

Scooooooooore!

“Great!” I said, and snatched up her hand to turn around and walk back toward the limo before she could change her mind. By that time both Lars and Halim had caught up with me, and had squeezed through the crowd to flank us on either side, busily scanning the school yard for RoyalRabbleRouser or any other enemies of state who might have heard of my sudden arrival in Cranbrook and shown up to rid the world of me. “Let’s go.”

I knew whatever I’d interrupted between her and the little blond girl had been mega-intense, but I wasn’t going to ask about it until we were safely inside the car and many miles away, if ever. The last thing I expected was the blond girl—who’d begun trailing after us, along with the rest of the kids—to do so.

“Excuse me,” she said, in a high-pitched voice, “but is it true that you’re Olivia’s sister?”

I was so shocked I nearly walked right into Lars, who was barking, “Make a hole!” at all the curious moms who’d gathered around to stare. How could this little girl possibly have found out such an intimate family secret? And so fast? Had Aunt Catherine been making calls, despite the nondisclosure agreement Lilly had made her sign? Is that what all those yoga-pant-wearing mothers were talking about with one another behind the lids of their lattes grandes? That I was related to one of their kids’ classmates?

If so, I was completely canceling that check the minute we got into the car.

“Uh,” I said, yanking on Olivia’s hand to quicken her pace. But of course I was the one who was slowing us down by all my limping. “Who are you, exactly?”

“That’s Annabelle,”