free hair spray and great lighting.”
Jess kept her head down, neatly tucking in the corners of her blanket just so. She was trying to be a good sport about not being a princess, but I could tell that even after RJ’s motivational speech, she was still bummed. Not exactly the joyful kickoff I’d hoped for.
I said, “Don’t give up. There’s still a chance that you could be promoted. Someone could drop out or bomb or decide being a princess is too much work.”
“Not likely.” Jess slid on a pillowcase.
I’d essentially given up on the whole settling-in thing and was lying on the one sheet staring up at the cracked ceiling. “You never know.”
“Yes, I do. During the tour of Our World this morning, I overheard that the only way to be cast as a prince or a princess is by going to one of those Fairyland summer camps as a kid. The closest one costs more than five thousand dollars per session.”
I let out a whistle. “What a rip-off.”
“Not if you win the twenty-five-thousand-dollar grant. Then you come out twenty thousand dollars ahead. But you can’t win the grant unless you spend five grand on camp so . . .” She threw up her hands.
“The rich get richer.”
“Exactly.” Jess threw the pillow on her bed. “All I can do is what RJ suggested: pump so much Wow! spirit into playing Red Riding Hood that Management has no choice but to give me that freaking grant.” Then, catching herself, she quickly added, “Not that you don’t deserve it, too, Zoe.”
“It’s okay,” I said, because it really was. And I resolved that somehow, some way, I would use my new connection to the Queen to make sure Jess got her wish, since there had to be some fringe benefit to waiting on an obviously crazy woman 24-7.
Five
I sprang out of bed the next morning with renewed energy to become the most kick-butt lady-in-waiting ever. One month of my impeccable service and the Queen would be so awed by my efficiency that she’d insist on repaying her gratitude. And what better way than by placing a crown on my cousin’s delicate head?
I said nothing to Jess, who was fast asleep when I tiptoed out of bed at dawn to shower and be in Wardrobe by six thirty, a full hour and a half before I had to bring the Queen her breakfast. The early bird gets the worm!
I took the elevator down to Our World, the underground complex maze of polished white hallways that led to the cafeteria; the rec room with games, card tables, a few couches, a soda machine, and one big flat-screen TV; the gym, where princes and princesses were working out even this early; Personnel; and, finally, Wardrobe.
Trish—the frazzled, red-haired stylist who’d taken my measurements the day before—looked up from her morning Sudoku in shock.
“You’re surprised, right?” I handed her a cheese Danish that I’d thoughtfully procured from the cafeteria, seeing as how she wouldn’t get a break this morning, what with all the new interns coming and going with various costume malfunctions. “I’m an hour early.” I grinned, awaiting her approval.
Trish checked the clock on the wall. “Actually you’re late.”
“Late?” My grin instantly deflated. “But the Queen doesn’t need to see me until eight.”
“Oh, that’s what she says. That’s not what she means.” Trish put aside the Danish and headed to the racks and racks of costumes in the back. “You’ll have to learn that what the Queen says and what she means bear absolutely no resemblance.”
A dull headache, the very beginning of one, seeped into my temples as I watched Trish flick her pink nails over the hangers. I’d had my fingers crossed for something pretty, a silky emerald-green gown to go with my eyes, perhaps. Instead, Trish held out a demure dove gray.
“Cannot upstage Her Majesty,” she said, removing the hanger.
Minutes later I was dressed and seated while Helga applied thick makeup that felt and smelled like orange mud. My skin flamed in protest. Years of Neutrogena and faithful use of non-oil-based foundation and now this. An assault!
When she was done, I looked in the mirror and barely recognized my pale face with its huge eyes and glossy lips under severely parted hair that had been pulled so tightly, the tiny blue veins on my forehead throbbed. The pearl tiara perched on top of my updo only added to the insanity.
“A true lady-in-waiting,” Helga decided, capping her mascara with satisfaction. “You could have served in Henry