Pride and Princesses The Wedding chapter 26

Chapter 26

The Wedding

    Mouche and I were silent junior bridesmaids. It was a beautiful, solemn but joyous occasion, just as a wedding should be. They had a great band playing memorable songs and beautiful flowers adorning the aisles with garlands to decorate the reception tables afterwards.

     What was left of the brief fall we’d had led to a slight layer of orange crunch covering the ground and an even briefer winter which had left the slightest amount of snow. The first time it had snowed in Sunrise in thirty years, according to Mark’s aunt. The whole town was there, practically the entire school and all the parents of the Sunrise Parents and Teachers Association gathered in synchronicity. It was just the Princesses and Mouche and I who seemed to have some socialization issues. We were dressed (to add to Mouche’s disgust) in pink. I liked the dresses, and I heard Mouche grudgingly admit to Teegan once she had hers properly fitted, that she liked them too. 

    By the day of the wedding we had consolidated the dates. After the play, the mix-ups and the dates, came the joining of two like souls in Holy Matrimony. We all had little notes in our inboxes and final drafts of the content of the blog, which was yet to be published on the internet. We still hadn’t had our final group meeting, because none of us were talking.

     At the reception that followed Mr Frames” marriage to Miss Love, Jet couldn’t take his eyes off Mouche as she sat at her table between Mark and Jet. How was it she had managed not to come between those two friends? Were the boys actually more mature than the girls or was it just that they’d never let a petty emotion like jealousy get in the way of enjoying life? I think probably the latter.

     Mark looked at me then smiled and walked over to speak.

     “Phoebe, I’m so sorry about what happened...backstage and all that. Seems like I spend half my life apologising to you.”

     “Mmm… seems like it.” I wasn’t convinced.

      Suddenly Joel appeared like my knight in shining armour.

      Mark scowled at him, turned and walked over to Mouche, then asked her to dance.

      Typical.

     “Phoebe Harris I missed you more than words can say,” Joel said.

      I wanted to laugh. I didn’t believe a word Joel said and if he hadn’t taken my hand before I stood up I would never have danced with him.

     “I’m sure you had far too much to do in New York to think about me...”

     “I emailed you hundreds of times,” Joel said in a mocking way.

     “That, I find hard to believe, since I only have two emails. It was quite thrilling to hear all about your travels. I didn’t think you’d be back here in a hurry.” I said sarcastically.

       Joel seemed to sense I knew something about his past that he hadn’t told me, like what an irresponsible individual he’d been, lying to me and manipulating all the people in his path, including Mark’s sister.

      “I couldn’t miss the entire semester. Besides, Miss Love was almost totally responsible for giving me a glowing reference that encouraged the Deputy Principal to re-think my exclusion from school...so here I am...”

     “Here you are,” I said absently, searching the room for Mark.

     Joel took my hands in his. They were surprisingly warm and not at all clammy which had to mean he had many good qualities yet to be discovered. I figured I’d let someone else discover them.

     I glanced around the room as we danced. The Sunrise Hall was decked out in strobe light splendour. As the dinner dishes were being cleared, dessert was served, mood music began to play and the night wore on.

      Teegan brought her date, Jack Adams, the film buff. They’d somehow hit it off in the back of the projection room with Teegan taking “our rules” very seriously, playing hard to get, then finally relenting and letting him know she  was interested in him. Jack seemed to like her approach and gave her a box of Coco Mademoiselle perfume for her birthday. Dutifully, she  added it to the holding locker which was now crammed full of surprises, as well as a diary filled to the brim with notes due to be uploaded onto our anonymous site.   

    Tory was with Tom Allen and his Blackberry which he had switched on to silent. He was checking shares for the stock club, which had dwindled dramatically in popularity but Tory had followed every rule in our guide and all of them had worked out brilliantly with Tom. He wasn’t very generous at first. But by the third date, he presented her with his sister’s ice-skates, unopened, left lying in a box after she ’d  abandoned them and gone to  prep school in upstate New York.  Their date was at the Sunrise ice-rink and very romantic, according to Tory, who seemed to have all but forgotten about Mark Knightly. Don’t ask me why. “Anyway those ice-skates will be perfect for skating in winter at the Rockefeller centre,” Tory said wistfully as she placed the new white skates next to a previously gifted pair.

    Brooke wore a somewhat sullen expression underneath her apricot winter hat and had straightened her curls in honour of the day. She’d managed to entice Peter Williamson to visit for a weekend with her and her very wealthy parents at one of the lake resorts. They occupied separate wings at the resort because there was no way either Peter’s or Brooke’s parents would have considered any other arrangement.   Brooke desperately tried to pull off more than rule one ‘the kiss,’ and didn’t even achieve that. However, to thank Brooke for her hospitality, Peter had very sweetly insisted on buying Brooke the sunglasses she’d admired in the resort gift shop window.  They weren’t exactly Chanel but they were the latest style and we arranged them nicely on the top she lf of our now bulging treasure chest.

    Freya had arranged to go to an art gallery opening with Josh Klein who spent the entire evening talking about his passion for playing the violin and why he loved the early works of Picasso. Freya was so surprised by how much he knew about the world of life and art that she had bypassed rules one to three and gone straight to collecting proof (in the form of an old-fashioned photo booth – she had resorted to kissing Josh in there before he’d had any chance to protest) and had even forgotten about collecting a “gift” for our treasure chest.  It was good that he had agreed to accompany her to the wedding.

    “He didn’t freak out like Mrs Jones’ Guide suggested he might,” Freya said.  He had, of course, loaned her his mother’s cashmere coat and it would be at least six months before Mrs Klein missed this particular item from her extensive wardrobe. Freya didn’t ask questions once she had claimed her prey.

    None of them (that we knew) had secured Mark for the prom and we had, in fact, heard that he was due back in London for the holidays. He was going with Mouche - or not at all. We weren’t surprised to notice him ignore us or to see Jet glance lovingly at Mouche as our teachers said their traditional vows.   

    Wednesday had come along because Miss Love desperately needed a flower girl and all the children she taught were teenagers and Wednesday was happy to be dressed like a little princess in crown and “diamonds” for the day. She currently sat under the table with the page boy (Miss Tartt’s nephew, Timmy) playing pick-up sticks.

     My cousin Ella and Mouche’s cousin Katie made a brief appearance. Ella resumed a conversation with Joel (whom she had met in the local candy store just hours after he’d arrived back from the airport). If I’d been paying more attention, I probably would have noticed Ella flirting with Joel, but I was busily finishing dessert and wondering how best to approach Mouche again by then.  

    Now that the Princesses were playing by their own rules their dates had gone surprisingly well. The boys seemed flattered and thrilled that these girls had taken the initiative to ask them out and who could have predicted their basically generous natures would rub off on the Princesses.

    Let’s face it, love was making everyone kinder.

    Everyone that is, except Mouche, me, Jet and Mark.

    We were all more confused than ever.

   And there was Petra. She may have been too young for a serious boyfriend, but she would certainly benefit from the company of good friends. Instead of socializing she arrived late and sat isolated in a corner. I found her a seat at my table for the entree (delicious lobster mornay and crunchy bread and butter with tomato soup – very exotic) which cheered her up no end and had her looking quite full and happy. I think me and Mouche (if our friendship survives this impasse which I am sure it will) will adopt Petra as our next (and slightly younger) best friend and give her the benefit of all our good advice. That’s if we ever talk to each other again.

    Petra told us she is transferring to Sunrise next semester and I have my eye on a sophomore called Josh for her. Actually, He’s sitting in the corner over there and I think I see him heading this way. Mouche coached him for a Big Sister program our school took part in last year.

    The lights were dimmed, the strobe turned to dimmer. The band played softly, and the lead guitarist took a swig of spiked soda.  Guests drifted off the dance floor, couple by couple. Minutes passed. My favorite song played in the half light.

     Suddenly Mark was at my side. He cut in and took me by the arm and said, “Please come with me outside. I need to speak to you.”

     Joel seemed to disappear the way he’d arrived, quickly.

     Tory mouthed “go for it,” since we weren’t sitting with the Princesses anymore (obviously) and she was intently conversing with Petra.

    “Was I just one of your little...trick dates?”

    “Excuse me?”

    “Tory told me about a...diary”

    “Oh, you read it?” I feigned shock at his poor manners.

    “No, I just wanted to hear what you had to say...Tory says she’s going to put it on the internet or something tonight.”

     The horror in my eyes masked my fear of exactly which pages would be uploaded. I had a feeling the Princesses did not do things anonymously and certainly not by halves. During the past weeks we’d all become so friendly, we’d shared details about our first dates with Mark and Jet. If they couldn’t have the prize, no one else would either. The Princesses planned to upload the early Mark insults I’d written, first impressions never meant to see the light of day. How could I ever have imagined Teegan was trustworthy? She probably considered showing Mark all the horrible stuff we wrote (excluding their pages) before we even got to edit the blog. It was the surest way to secure the prize for the prom! We had exactly two and a half hours before the scheduled midnight meeting.

    “Well, it’s true that we were playing a dating game, for fun, sort of...”

    “What did the winner get?”

    “The winner hasn’t   been announced yet,” I said cryptically. Let’s face it; at this point it seemed the winner was unlikely to be me.

     “That seems, kind of...confusing.”

     “Oh, you can talk! Being nice to me then kissing my best friend and trying to ruin Joel’s life!”

     “His life! Didn’t you read my letter?”

     “That still doesn’t  excuse you for being proud and difficult before we talked, then ...after we’d talked you seemed so much nicer and I was beginning to like you, but...you seemed to be more interested in Mouche. Anyway, I can see you are not in any mood to be civil.”

    “That’s not true. Why do you think I went to all the trouble of writing you letters to explain everything? I’ve never written a letter to any girl in my life. You are the special one. I think I liked you the first time I realized you could see through my facade.  I was so mad at myself for ruining things by speaking out of turn at the dance, that I’ve  been trying to make it up to you ever since. The kiss was in the script! I’m not going to apologise because it made you jealous. I was only talking to Mouche to find out more about what it would take to get you to like me.”

     Mark turned around and I thought he was about to stomp off, when this loud, fairly romantic string quartet started to play softly then louder on the steps outside the stately reception home (slightly less stately than Mark’s ). I looked up and saw Mouche and Jet dancing in the rotunda and looked quizzically at Mark.

    “He’s taking her to prom,” Mark said.

    “Oh,” I replied. So Mouche hadn’t won the bet either. Mouche had traded gold for love. Perhaps Mouche was a better person than I was.

     Mark paused. He was dressed very nicely in his suit and tie for the wedding. I wasn’t surprised he was here because he and Jet were in Miss Love’s academically gifted class, taking advanced trig, something that’s never vaguely interested me.

    Then he looked at me strangely, as if he was still trying to work me out, and smiled.

    “Will you give me another dancing lesson?”

    “I didn’t think boys really liked to dance...except maybe Peter Williamson.”

     Mark smiled and took my hand.

    

     The day had ended. Mouche sat at a table deep in conversation with Jet. I stood at the punch bowl with Mark as he leaned over and pushed some of the wedding glitter off my nose. The Princesses disappeared into the indigo shadows, along with their dates. The night wore on and the other guests started to leave. Mark’s sister, Petra, walked outside with the boy we’d introduced her to, Josh. They were sitting on the steps with their sodas, laughing. Mark looked up then looked at me.

    “I was wondering?”

     “Yes?” I said. My heart was racing.

     “Well, I was wondering if you still feel the same way you did about me after the Fall Fling.”

     “...No, absolutely not,” I smiled.

    “Good....” he said in return.

     Then quite unexpectedly, Mark moved closer. Across the functions room furniture, all cream and garlanded with peonies and chocolates and recently wiped away wedding cake, we met. He kissed me as we sat atop a mahogany table where lovers from as far back as 1968 once made out.

     We looked at each other and smiled. Then Mouche glanced over at me and smiled and even though Mark hadn’t actually asked me to the junior dance (although I was willing him to do so and wishing I could break our self-imposed rules and do it for him) suddenly everything seemed right with the world.

    “I gotta go,” I said, “You were never just a game. You were first prize. It’s a girl thing – a meeting all of us planned months ago.”

     Mark seemed to accept this explanation with a bemused smile.

     Mouche looked over at me as the Princesses started to trail off without their dates.   

    “Okay, I gotta leave early anyway. My uncle’s taking us boating before breakfast. He’s better when he’s not jet lagged,” I smiled although it was in dubious taste to mention Mark’s uncle at a moment like this. “So, I’ll call you tomorrow...”

     “Until tomorrow,” I said. I wasn’t sure how long I could wait until I saw him again. 

 

   That night, I was walking home with Mouche along Main Street. I was so glad to have my best friend back. Life was an embarrassment of riches right now. 

      I apologised for my petty behaviour and Mouche accepted.

      “I missed you so much,” I admitted, “You are my best friend in the whole world,” I added.

      Mouche smiled, “same here,” she said.

      “We should head to the Lake House; get a lead on the Princesses...C’mon...”

    The Christmas lights were out and everything looked so beautiful. By ten pm only the Sunrise Cafe was still open. As we rounded a corner, Mark’s aunt was finishing her late night shopping. Our bridesmaid dresses were dragging in the street as we walked along the pavement, so Mouche and I tucked them into our underwear.

    Mark’s aunt practically walked into us. Her expression registered our impropriety. She had left the wedding early and was finishing her late-night shopping but still wore her tailored linen suit and heels that were far too high to be comfortable. She rested a small bag of groceries on her hip as she headed towards her expensive European car. Then, before stopping as an afterthought, she turned around to speak to us.

   “Ah...Phoebe Harris, isn’t it? I didn’t get a chance to speak to you at the wedding. You came to my house for lunch a while back...”

   “Yes,” I said, unravelling my skirt.

   “Hello again, it is nice to see you.”

   “Yes, nice to see you too, Mrs Knightly.”

    Mark’s aunt had been way rude to me and had placed the skinny, miserable looking daughter of her business partner, Kayleen, right next to Mark at the wedding to encourage him to dance with her instead of me, no doubt.

   It seemed so funny that she was currently looking at me like I was the one who was seriously impolite. Mark’s aunt seemed to be concerned that I was imagining myself to be the next Mrs Knightly just because Mark took me on a tour of his house. Hello, I’m barely sixteen!

   “I’ve seen your picture on my nephew’s cell phone. I just came to ask if you are going to the prom with him.”

    She questioned me in a very loud, overbearing voice.

    “Ah...I’m not...”

    “I only ask because he knows he has a prior arrangement with Kayleen.”

    “Well if that’s the case, then how could he be going with Phoebe?” Mouche interjected.

     Mark’s Aunt got high on her horse at this point.

    “Oh, I know who you are. This whole town’s been talking about you and your mother’s infamous liaison with the school guidance counsellor...not to mention your illegitimate sister...”

    “Ah, that word is not used anymore in polite company,” Mouche said.

   “That is quite enough, Mrs Knightly!” I interjected. Being insulted was way harsh, but to insult my friend and push her to the verge of tears because she was standing up for me, was an outrage. 

    It was weird because Mouche’s psychic abilities and my telepathic ones seemed to have completely abandoned us after the happiness of the day. We were extremely pleased that, although our own dalliances hadn’t  worked out the way we planned, we seemed very good at fashioning other people’s  and in a roundabout way, love had found us when we least expected it.

   “If it is true that your business partner’s daughter and Mark are dating then you should not be concerned that he might be going to the Prom with me.”

   “Oh, I know how devious your sort can be!”

   Mrs Knightly was so pompous and had a very affected accent. I really felt sorry for her and would have had a strange desire to laugh if it weren’t for Mouche gesturing me over to the nearby park bench.

   “Excuse me!” I said and walked off towards the streetlight.

   Mrs Knightly also walked off, shaking her head. Honestly, on the subject of future in-laws, Mrs Robinson would seriously have something to say. I mean, there must be millions of future in-laws who are nice. Why couldn’t I have met some of them? I can’t believe I just said “future-in-laws,” I must be losing it. But what really surprised me was how much the dating game had changed us. I was outspoken and standing up for myself – not just on stage but in my private life and Mouche had started to act more demure around the man she seemed to love.

   “Jet,” Mouche said, “is the nicest boy I’ve ever met.”

   “And rich too,” I said, “not that that means anything.”

   “Not as rich as Mark Knightly,” Mouche added.

   “Who is not as arrogant or as rude as I thought.”

   

   Suddenly my cell beeped loudly. There was a text from the Princesses: cu@midnight@the lake house.

   Then my cell rang. It was Ella’s mother, panicking because it was almost midnight and Ella wasn’t in her bed.

   Ella’s mother was three years younger than my mom and quite the drama queen.    

  “By the time Ella is eighteen I am certain her mom will be stealing Ella’s eighteen year-old man-dates,” I told Mouche.

   “She’s a total cougar already so lock up your boyfriends, Ella,” Mouche said to the wind.

    Then Mouche checked her cell and discovered a text from Ella that said: pls cover for me don’t tell mum I’ve gone to meet Joel!

    My mother rang me after Ella’s mom had hung up and asked, “Are you on your way home? It’s so late for Wednesday! You mean you don’t have her with you?” Mrs Mouche’s screams could be heard many blocks away.

      “I came to pick her up from the reception at eight, but I was told she was with you and Mouche.”

      “Who told you that?”

     “Some boy called Joel...”

      “Just hold on, mom. Tell Mrs Mouche not to panic. Call you in ten minutes...” Mrs Mouche was hysterical on the other line as I texted Mark’s number, since I knew he had a car and could beat us back to the reception hall.

      “Just wait until I speak to Joel,” I said to Mouche as we hurried back along Main Street. I just knew he was busy distracting Ella who was not much younger than him but certainly more foolish. I knew he’d caused trouble with Mark’s sister and I figured it was about time he got a piece of my mind. But first, we had to find Wednesday. I’d give it a few seconds and a call to Mark (who could check the hall) before I called the police. 

Pride and Princesses It's Not Over Till It's Over chapter 27

Chapter 27

It’s Not Over Till It’s Over

       There was a lot of anxious waiting on that park bench under the street light. Mouche and I were nearly frozen by the time we received another call, this time from Mark.

     “I’ve got her,” Mark said exactly two minutes and twenty-eight seconds later.

      Turns out Wednesday had fallen asleep underneath the long table cloth that covered one of the round reception tables. How could Mouche and I have forgotten all about her? I hugged her so much when she arrived I almost squeezed her awake. But she was blissfully unaware of all the drama as Mrs Mouche, tears streaming down her cheeks, opened the front door. Trey was mercifully at school and had missed the entire episode. He’d be livid, so that was one less glare I could expect in my direction.

    Mark arrived at our house, twenty minutes after he’d texted me, with Wednesday in his arms. She was bundled up in a tablecloth she’d taken a fancy to, oblivious to the commotion.

    Mark was driving his own car and arrived with Joel (who was also on his best behaviour and sheepishly deposited Ella as well). The runaways had told Mark they’d been in the Sunrise car park: Ella practicing on her new rollerblades and Joel, skateboarding.

    “I just don’t know what the fuss is all about,” Ella whined sleepily.

    “You call me,” her mother lectured her, “anytime you are going to be late and we don’t know where you are...”

    Mark spoke softly to my mother on the steps. Meanwhile, I was sitting on the porch swing with Mouche’s surprise, the rescue dog. This one was a new mixed breed puppy who ran to Mouche’s arms the minute she held them out.

    “Oh,” Mouche said, “she’s gorgeous. This is big love.”

     Our moms raised their eyebrows then walked inside.

     Nobody was really talking to us, except maybe Mark and Jet. 

   “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to keep my note private. Joel is a reckless person but I think in the end, he meant well,” Mark said.

   “It’s okay,” I said, “really, its Ella’s responsibility to call her mom. I was sure Joel and Ella couldn’t have gone too far...”

   “But you wouldn’t mind going...away, sometime...” he seemed about to suggest something when my mother walked out onto the porch.

   “I think it’s time you came inside, young lady.”

    What was all this “young lady” business? I felt like I was in a Swiss Finishing School instead of standing opposite the man of my dreams.

   “Thank you, Mark,” my mom said. He smiled at her congenially.

     Joel had passed out in the back of Mark’s car after sampling the punch. He was mumbling something about wanting to go to the Metropolitan Museum and not thinking anyone would be worried.

   “According to Joel’s father, Joel had reserved flights to go and see some band in New York on his father’s credit card. Honestly, I don’t know how that boy arranged everything so quickly. He must be a genius...” my mom said.

   “Perhaps he just needs someone to keep an eye on him...” Mark suggested.

   I knew Ella was not exactly truthful and the combination of her and Joel could have led to a much bigger drama than this one. There was already talk that Ella would be on the next flight back to Phoenix to stay with her father and Joel was being sent to military school for his final year.

    “You know,” Mark said, “I was thinking, this summer, would you and Mouche consider coming with me and my sister and Jet to France for ten days? Our family own a Chateau there and we can go exploring and then visit Paris. I think you’d like it.”

    “Are you serious? But I’m saving for college.”

    “That’s okay. It will be my treat on the family jet.” Mark flashed his black card. I noted his name engraved on it in gold. “Think about it.”

   Then Mark turned on the stairs, under the porch light and looked over at me, reached out and kissed my lips. It was perfect. We got a little more passionate until I pulled away...

   “Oh, my goodness.”

   “What?”

   “I just remembered something,”

   “Until next week then?”

   “What’s next week?”

    “Prom. We’ll pick you both up at 6.30pm.”

    “Stop.”

    He turned around.

   “You’re supposed to ask me...properly.”

   Then he did something with all the charm he’d kept hidden from me these last months. He got down on one knee and said, “Phoebe Harris, will you go to the junior prom with me?”

   “Yes,” I said and kneeled down to his level and kissed him quickly.

    It was consolidation night. Although I’d won all the prizes the last thing I wanted was to have the competition made public in any way. The Princesses were waiting for our midnight meeting at Teegan’s house where we planned to upload information from the past year onto The Boy-Rating Blog.

    “There’s something I have to do,” I said to Mark as I rushed off the porch to Mouche’s place. 

    Mark looked a bit perplexed but since he’d  retrieved Wednesday and saved my cousin Ella from possible social scandal I think he knew his true character had finally been revealed to me and he just smiled in a relaxed manner and said, “Sure, I’m not going anywhere except home.”

 

   I realized my life being “news” and winning a competition with Mark as the prize, would not make me happy the way I thought it would. I mean, the Boy Rating Diary was invented before I realized that Mark was my perfect man all along. I’d really messed up. I so didn’t want all our secrets released onto the World Wide Web.

    What to do?  First, I told Mouche everything, about how I thought I’d liked Trey and then Mark and then Trey again but really all along I was in love with Mark and now he’d  asked me to the prom which meant I had lost the part but won a competition I didn’t  even want to win.

    “Oh Phoebe, that’s the game. How could you lose sight of the prize? We are supposed to split the profits, remember?” Mouche was pulling on her winter boots. “I think it’s awesome that you won and Mark and Jet turned out to be totally different from how they seemed...”

    “But I like him and I think he likes me.”

    “Most men would not choose love over good financial sense, but we are not most men...” C’mon,” Mouche said, “We’re late. What were you doing? Don’t worry; I know what you’ve been doing. I’ve been waiting for ten whole minutes. We have to stop the Princesses before they announce our stupid game to the entire population of Sunrise.” Mouche had always been good at fixing everything...

   “They can keep the stupid prizes if they keep their mouths shut...” I mused aloud.

   “Something certain Princesses have never been very good at,” Mouche noted. 

   

    Teegan and Tory and Brooke and Freya had left early. We knew why: to prepare for the meeting, the unravelling of the Boy-Rating Diary and the uploading of that diary onto an internet blog.    

    Mouche and I jumped into her car but it wouldn’t start. Then we looked over to where Mark’s car was, but he’d already left. We thought about taking my mom’s car but we were fairly sure she’d go completely bananas so we tried to call a cab. It was late and there weren’t any available for at least thirty minutes. We were in a major hurry to get to the Lake House but the Sunrise Town Square was busy that night with Christmas celebrations and people (the entire town) spilled out onto the streets.

    It seemed quicker and safer to walk, even quicker to run. We hitched up our bridesmaid’s dresses again and bolted like lightning through the Town Square and past the lakes to Jet’s house. I tried to text Teegan and all the other girls a dozen times but for some reason their signals were not getting through. We now had major trust issues with the Princesses and, let’s face it; we never should have risked leaving them alone with our thoughts, our words and our lives. 

   When we finally reached The Lake House, the lights were on upstairs and we pressed the buzzer and Brooke ushered us in.

     “Hurry up, you guys need to be here for the unveiling,” she joked.

     We raced up the stairs two at a time only to find Tory seated at Teegan’s desk, her hand hovering over the mouse as the Princesses gathered in a clump on the bed giggling. They each had an item draped over them and another in their hands: Teegan wore my sparkling sweater and my cherry cashmere scarf wrapped around her neck. She had claimed a pair of gloves with faux fur around the edges as she sprayed the scent of Mademoiselle in the air. The scarf, shoes, coats and clothes were draped across the furniture. The treasure chest was flung open. The girls were smiling smugly. It was as if the Princesses were doing a victory dance around the bedroom.

    Tory was scribbling something with Mouche’s pen, the one she’d had to endure a whole date at the midnight zoo for, and all the pens from the various other dates (including my Century City date with my “older man” candy) were gathered in a bowl in the middle of the bed. Most of the items even had names and places tagged onto them.

    Brooke was slightly plumper than the rest of us (“not a dance major,” Teegan once noted), and had squeezed herself into vintage jeans. This particular Princess had my beret perched atop her sugary curls, delicate as fairy floss.  The ice-skates were in a bundle of wrapping on the floor, in almost perfect condition and Freya wore sunglasses (at night) on the top of her head so she  could still see clearly as she  enfolded the pure cashmere coat around her body, typing on the keyboard with an eighteen carat gold bracelet dangling from her wrist.

    “Not a charm bracelet,” she smiled. The gold was obviously real. The best a boy in love could afford.

    “Look what Jet got Mouche for Christmas. I was with him when he got it. It’s perfect for the treasure chest!”

    And I realized then that unless we were careful, the Princesses were still Princesses and would cease to be minor players in our story and somehow take on leading roles.

  “Stop!” Mouche said as Tory put her hand on the button to upload.

  “Chill out, it can always be modified,” Brooke said incredulously.

  “Yeah, besides its totally anonymous...just kidding,” Teegan giggled. “We decided to give you two star billing.”

   “Stop!”

   I pulled Tory’s  hand aside but Teegan just pushed right over the top of us and uploaded all the information the Princesses had deemed acceptable onto the web with one touch. It would take us at least a day to work out how to get rid of it and by that time it would have been sent straight to the inboxes of Jet and Mark.

   And then I got this feeling, as if I was reading Teegan’s mind... she’d been so nice to me over the last few weeks. She’d promised, sworn actually, to keep everything secret – as had all the girls. We had been foolish to trust them.

   After the diary was uploaded onto the Sunrise High blog site, the house descended into chaos as pillows and quilts for the planned slumber party (the last time, we, as older teenage girls would probably ever participate in such a juvenile event) went, literally, out the window. Our night descended into a disaster of girl-crazy, cat fight proportions.

Pride And Princesses Forever and After chapter 28

Chapter 28

Forever and After

    The next day, Monday, everyone at school looked at me and Mouche like we were not very nice people.

      Someone made a twisted remark that we’d just been dating boys “for the money” which was so horribly untrue.

      “Besides, there wasn’t a single monetary prize on our list,” I whispered to Mouche.

      The Princesses had reverted to type and taken out all their comments. All the nasty ones they left, they attributed to Mouche and me. But even though most people do tend to believe the first version of a story, something strange was happening.

     There was an alternative to the Princess blog that week. It was our secretly edited online dating diary. Mouche and I had only put boys on the site that we liked or had good things to say about and gradually we added girls that we had good things to say about as well. So, while the Princesses spent a few more days defaming the whole school and losing their popularity, people started coming to us for advice until Sunrise High became like a love fest of dating teenagers, all looking for tips on the best places to go and what to do and say.

    Petra had started it all in her bedroom the night of the wedding reception and had uploaded it with our permission the next day, so although the Princesses got in first and even tried to keep the items, we got in next. The Boy-Rating Diary contained all forms of evidences, and for once, we knew to tone down all our comments about the guys and make a fairly honest and accurate account of the teenage dating scene that was ongoing at Sunrise High.

   Of course, the Princesses spent an entire week publishing excerpts of the second Boy-Rating Diary (omitting their authorship) and spent another week slandering us. We held our heads high. If the boys really cared about us we knew they would listen to our versions of the story, because Mrs Jones says, “you can almost never really put off a man who is genuine about you. The man will never take someone’s word over yours, or rarely, and in case he has any doubts about something, he should come to you first...”

    And they did.

    Jet and Mark pretty much ignored what the Princesses had to say because manzamples don’t read boy-rating blogs. Of course those girls never spoke another word to us, for the rest of junior year.

    Mouche didn’t seem to mind. “Do you honestly think we’re going to see any of these people once we leave for New York?”

    “I’m more worried about getting through senior...”

    “It will all end up right in the end,” Mouche said. “I have another idea...this time It’s nothing to do with dating juniors....I think It’s time to plan senior year and then college...”

   “Because this all turned out so perfectly,” I said archly.

   “Perfectly,” Wednesday said, clapping her hands and chewing a long strip of candy that neither of our mothers would have allowed her. There is so much to be learned about joie de vivre from children under six.

     Thom had called that day with the good news. Mouche’s baby sister got the part.

    “Do you realise that Wednesday has managed in three years to do what I haven’t done in sixteen?”

   “Yes, consolidate a college fund...”

    Mrs Mouche was so thrilled.

   “Dogs and children,” I thought as I snuggled Mouche’s new puppy in my arms.

   “Don’t worry,” Mouche said, “We’re sure to get our scholarships and if not, Wednesday can always give us a loan...”

    Wednesday clapped her hands again. We were teaching her a new word every day, but her favorite one was love.

   “It’s all about the love,” Mrs Mouche said. Our mom’s stood in the hallway with new cups of coffee and magazines in hand. Trish and Mrs Mouche had a great business idea of their own - all about matching single parents - in cyberspace.

    “Wow,” Mouche said. “Do you think we should tell them what we know?”

    “No,” I said, “they’re just going to have to find out the hard way like we did...”

    “It’s all about the love...” Mrs Mouche said, looking at Wednesday and Mouche and Trey as he walked through the door.

     “Big love,” my mom said looking at me with a smile. I smiled right back at her.

 

      And I should tell you about France that summer and how excited everyone was when we arrived in Paris. We flew to London first and took the Eurostar to the Gare du Nord which takes about three hours from the centre of London to the centre of Paris. We had breakfast on the train in tiny plastic trays and Mouche kept her unused serviette for posterity, “and to paste into our new Dating Diary,” she whispered.

    The train rocked slightly from side to side when we went under the English Chanel and although Jet was fast asleep by this point, I noticed Mouche grabbed his hand because she gets motion sickness. I took a photograph of them on the digital camera my mother bought me to remember life’s important moments. I also took loads of pictures of the boys sleeping during the long journey in between sampling tiny bottles of red wine, of Mouche posing in the many different berets she’d brought with her and saying, “I look tres sophisticated,” of my feet resting against the window ledge (because they’d be doing tons of walking that very day), and of all the dull, industrial buildings the train ambled past as we entered the outskirts of Paris. 

     When the train finally stopped, Mark took charge and hailed a taxi at the station and as we drove to the Rue de la Grande Chaumiere I put my hand out of the window to feel the fresh Parisian air. In the Sixth Arrondissement, I noticed the cobbled streets were littered with puffs of tiny smoke volcanos winding up from the artistic-looking street cafes. Loads of Parisians smoke which is very atmospheric but something I’d remember to tell Wednesday not to do, no matter how sophisticated it looks, ‘cos it’s way bad for you.

    The taxi stopped outside the Hotel des Academies et des Arts where we were staying.  We checked in, then went off to discover the sights, wandering through the Jardin du Luxembourg and along many cobbled streets. 

     You may be wondering where “the parentals” went during all of our adventures. The boys had convinced the adults to let us travel in style and we were unchaperoned for at least thirty-six hours while they went to Bordeaux for a trade fair.

    We went to the Champs Elysees the morning we arrived. After Mouche and I window shopped in all the designer boutiques and souvenir stores, we all decided to explore Sacre Coeur and Montmartre. Jet worked out how to get us Metro tickets using coins and the vending machine and we caught the underground train to Invalides and the Place de Clichy then on to Anvers. After checking our map, we walked up the steps from the subway and visited Sacre-Coeur. On the steps outside the church, we had an amazing view overlooking Paris in the pastel sun. We sat together on the steps amongst a group of tourists until Mouche said, “C’mon, let’s go to La Rive Gauche,” in a French accent. 

     After exploring the little market stalls and many shops and restaurants in Montmartre we found a bistro to have lunch opposite Notre Dame Cathedral. The cathedral was gothic and carved with intricate, lace-like stone around the entrance. Painting and architecture students spend hours sitting opposite the building, just to try and capture its brilliance in the changing light.

     Across from the cathedral, near the river Seine, next to a cloud of smoke, we joked around as we ordered bread and soup for lunch. When the traditional meal arrived we had to crack the layer of cheese baked on top of the soup bowl and dip our spoons beneath to retrieve the warm liquid. It was delicious, as was the wine that our parents would never have allowed us to drink. Strangely, no one asked our ages in Paris but the waiter frowned every time Mark attempted to speak French.

    We took lots of photographs of Notre Dame after lunch but we’d had our fill of architecture by the time we reached the Eiffel Tower, even though the Parisian icon was impressive from anyone’s perspective. Mark and I took the elevator to the upper floor of the tower but Mouche and Jet disappeared momentarily behind a crowd of tourists.

    “I wonder where they went?” Mark said with a smile, before we kissed overlooking the city of love.

    “...I know, they were busy macking all over each other,” Wednesday said later on when I told her the story of how Jet and Mouche got lost. Her verbal skills had really developed.

    “Well, yes Wednesday, I think they were, but I’m not sure we need to go there...”

     Wednesday giggled as I continued to tell her about Paris.

    “That afternoon we took a boat ride along the Seine. Jet arranged for us to travel back towards the hotel in one of the famous Bateaux-Mouches with a glass covered deck. Mouche was very impressed to be floating in her own name...”

     “I always wanted to be famous,” Mouche joked. 

      You could tell Jet totally loved her by then, and not just because they got “lost” again for an extra-long time while we all went to explore the Musee d’Orsay. Mark wasn’t really into art “but I’m pretending to be, for your sake,” he told me, “which shows you how devoted he is becoming,” Mouche whispered in my ear over dinner that night. She could talk. Jet was holding her hand everywhere we went by then. He seemed way in love with Mouche, if you ask me, although everyone said they were too young to call it that. 

     On our last day in Paris, Mark and Jet explored the gastronomical surprises in Lafayette Gourmet while Mouche and I shopped in Galeries Lafayette and Printemps. But although the large designer stores were inspirational, the polka dot dresses and geometric designer gowns and flowing skirts tres chic, we found ourselves drawn to the colorful market stalls along the street that divided the shopping centres. It was whilst sorting through items for the people we loved back home that we started to miss Sunrise.

    Parisian clothes, food and shopping in general were amazing (after we overcame the language barrier by referring to our tiny iPod guides when we couldn’t remember a French word), but we still missed the vintage shops and department stores back home. We couldn’t believe how lucky we were to be in this amazing city, but we were really missing our moms when Petra surprised us with a long-distance call from Los Angeles. Mouche answered her cell and Mark’s guardians are sure to be surprised when they get the telephone bill for that month.

     Petra was waiting at the airport with our moms and Trey and his new girlfriend (yes, you guessed it, Missy), to meet us all when we returned home. Petra was tanned after spending the summer in Cabo with her new boyfriend Josh, and his family. She’d been only too happy to take our advice about what to wear and say to impress Josh. It appeared to have worked out better than anyone expected.  

     Mouche, Petra and I took Wednesday shopping in the stores situated along the path that curved from Bel Air into Sunrise, the day after we arrived back from Paris. We were still a bit jet lagged but it was the last day of summer and we didn’t want to miss the sales.

     Our favorite vintage store was closing and everything was less expensive than usual.

     Mouche, Petra and I tried on a whole bunch of dresses and skirts and vintage jeans. Wednesday tried on hats and sunglasses that were too big for her and even a pair of cork platform sandals that she could barely stand up in.

     Mouche and I smiled. We couldn’t believe how lucky we were to have had such a great holiday, amazing boyfriends and a new, slightly younger friend to show the ropes. Although our dating advice was obviously beneficial, we assured Petra across an accessory aisle that impressing boys wasn’t the most important thing in life.

    “Sometimes, It’s more important to impress yourself,” Mouche said, adjusting a pair of elbow length, movie star, satin gloves.

    “However, if you want more tips there is always the new Boy-Rating blog we’ve started in preparation for college,” I added.   

    “But sometimes you have to look deeper than the surface of things,” Mouche said.

     It’s what the boy rating diaries taught us, and she was right. I always envied the fact that Mouche could say what she meant and mean what she said.

 

      You may be wondering about the Princesses.

      Jet’s neighbors were obliged to attend summer school.  Their blog had taken over their lives. They managed to add so many nasty words and images to the site that it crashed and their grades (which weren’t very good to begin with) suffered.

     They were plotting their next devious adventure across discarded academic notes as we shopped. Stars in their own little world, the Princesses would soon be forgotten by us. Far from seeing their popularity skyrocket, it plummeted. When they were finally outed with the top-secret information we’d kept hidden from them in the original Boy Rating Diary, they totally lost it.

    You didn’t think we’d show them everything, did you? We had tonnes of secrets ready to unleash on our world, but maybe we’d hold off, for now. Mouche envisaged showing an abridged version of the original diary, one day, to her own children and had saved each of the treasure chest items. We donated the rest to Goodwill. 

    And that’s the end of the story.

    Almost.

    When they were eighteen, Mouche and Jet eloped to New York. My best friend always knew what she wanted. We were going to share an apartment but I ended up moving in with Mouche and Jet for that one golden summer.

    So it wasn’t exactly as we thought it would be.

    I never did go to Julliard. I got a scholarship to NYU instead and I became a law student. 

    Mouche, who didn’t even want to be a triple threat or a boy chasing guru, had the perfect husband and ended up going to Julliard to study dance on a scholarship. She planned to study law at night, “when I’m old,” she told me, “like thirty or something...”

    But Mouche never did get old. She was shot in a convenience store in New York just six months after you were born. You were with Jet at the time. Mouche had stopped dancing the previous year to have you. It was nothing to give up, compared to what she gained, she told me. I saw what a wonderful mother she made.

    I wanted to write this all down and give you the diary to read when you are older. I hope you don’t mind.

    So many of the important things I knew because of Mouche. She sure taught the Princesses and me a thing or three. As a junior lawyer, living in NYC, working sixteen hour days, I took a weekend off and went home to Sunrise to pore over the diary notes and letters we wrote each other. I picked up old photographs and digital ones, the scribbled glitter words, the gifts and phrases of our teenage world. All of these items brought Mouche back to me. Finally I saw her with scratched knees standing on the porch in the shining sunlight, yelling out and waving for me to come outside when we were eight. Maybe she was waving goodbye.  

    I picked up the items we had folded and placed, one by one, in the treasure chest. Mrs Mouche had given them to me, “because,” Mrs Mouche had said, “she would’ve wanted you to have them.” The items really belonged to her. Mouche was the heart of the game.

The night she graduated from Julliard we had a huge party. Mouche held a glass of champagne decadently in her hand. She wore the latest, most fashionable shoes and the famous jeans from our treasure chest as she gave her impromptu “commencement speech.”

    In her words, Mouche incorporated so many of the things we’d learnt when we were young girls, not just about being women but about being human:

    “If you strive to do and offer others your best, if you live to serve your art but do not cut yourself off from the world, if you give more than you get and always treat your audience with respect, then you might be invited to the most fabulous party on the planet, whatever your dream and from wherever your starting place. Hopefully, when you leave that party, the people will feel happier than they were before they met you, kinder than they might have been if they hadn’t. The colors around them will be more intense, the music more beautiful, and the costumes more lavish. Then the dancing will seem more spectacular, the singing pitch-perfect, the acting better than real life, the food and drink more delicious than anyone imagined and yourself more appreciative of the sparkling applause...”

    The sound of hands clapping flew over the auditorium as she spoke. It was better than I’d ever had when I’d been a student on stage at school, better than I’d had in the one Broadway show I’d finally been picked for after six months of auditioning, before I quit and went to Law School full-time. In those six months Mouche had put me up in her apartment and never given up, “because you would never give up on me,” Mouche said.

    But she never did go to Law School like she intended. She  didn’t  get to see her brother graduate from Medical School or become a surgeon even though she  always thought he would and she  didn’t  see Wednesday bank her college fund cheque or become the head of her own little Princess clique (a kinder one, she  promised me, with a twinkle in her eyes). And worst of all, she didn’t see you grow up which is an unspeakable loss.

    Six months after she died she came to me in a dream, her blonde hair making her seem more like an angel than ever before. In reality, she looked a lot like Wednesday looks now, except her hair was poker straight and in all the commercials that Wednesday did, her hair was curly, “like a Princess,” Wednesday noted.

    “Who said blondes aren’t smart?” Mouche asked, which is why I’m giving this to you. Because the things that matter aren’t the items you can see or touch or buy but the true love and friendship enclosed herein.

     Mouche would have wanted you to have them with more love than I can ever bestow, try as I might...   

     Your Godmother,

     Phoebe Knightly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Easter

Happy Easter & Happy holidays lovelies:)