#PastelPrincess

Chapter Eleven

Charlotte and Chris arrived well before Macen and Sophia, armed with an array of two-dozen Dunkin’ Donuts to share and Starbucks coffee for Mama. It was a little weird getting ready with Chris just a floor below me, but now as the four of us sit in the bench seat of the bay window, I couldn’t have wished this any other way. Chris’s hand is warm around mine, caging it against his leg, making the rest of me feel just as safe and sound. There had been a surprising and quick-moving turn of events in the three hours that have passed and though we all can retain and repeat it feels alien.

Charlotte in her usual picture-perfect American Mom way sits with her skinny-jeaned legs crossed at the knee, her heeled plum suede ankle boot wiggling in the air. Her too-white blouse with ruffle neckline and black buttons and cuffs is somehow not getting a single wrinkle as she leans forward to pick apart a glazed donut with her perfectly manicured, rounded French-tip nails. Her honey brown hair is in a perfect bun on top of her head, her blunt-cut bangs falling just at her eyebrows – her long black lashes brushing the tips every so often. For a moment I can’t help but wonder if it’s her and Mama’s friendship that keeps the families close or does her husband and Papa get along too?

Both Papa and Prime Minister O’Crosphen made personal comments in support of our relationship and their office’s reported on not only our long childhood friendship but the family’s years of friendship. Both parties implied that ‘gypsy scum’ is not a phrase that has ever been used towards me or Mama, but never specifically lied. As for the school and our peers, the headmaster sent out an email encouraging all students to wear a pink tie, bowtie, or socks to school today. But also, the headmaster sent out a reminder to all students, all parents, and all staff members reminding them of Excelsior Academy’s no-tolerance policy of talking to press. And needless to say, all social media outlets are in full support of Chris and me, damning Buzzwire and any other websites that supported the story (a lot of people coming to the conclusion that Buzzwire lied – that they were describing me as ‘gypsy scum’ and it was animalistic of them claim Chris had said it).

There’s a buzz from the gate and I hear Macen’s and Sophia’s voices in the distance. Nudging Chris, he lets me out and I go meet my best friends at the door.

“Dayum, Lori! Please tell me that limo is for us?” Macen slides his backpack against the entryway wall. Before straightening, he pulls a pink tie with puffy hearts on it out of the top zipper.

Tie over his head and his fingers adjusting it around his neck, he smiles wide, “Nice Cloud City hair.”

Laughing, I smack his arm playfully. “You know this is a hairstyle traditional to Benovian royalty dating way farther back than the seventies!”

“But…” he nudges me with his elbow, “it wasn’t made popular until Leia did it, I’m sure.”

Giggling, I turn to Sophia as she puts her purse next to his bag. Bending her knee, bringing her ankle to her hip, she tugs up her knee-high mauve sweater socks. She nods at David to go sit with Ivan and Noah in the formal living room, then her calloused, long-fingered hands come to my shoulders softly. “Is everything going okay? I was helping Ry-guy get ready this morning, so I really wasn’t able to check on everything. Macen was telling me a little bit as we were walking up.”

“Oh! Hey Chris,” Macen directs his nod behind me.

Sophia leans on her left foot, “Hi, Chris, good to see you’re here.”

The four of us start for the kitchen, “We’ve got donuts,” I point out before debriefing them. As we huddle around the island, Sophia and I picking at vanilla icing and glazed donuts, while the boys practically inhaled chocolate on chocolate ones, Chris and I take turns repeating it all. In the end, Macen claps Chris on the shoulder and says “Ahh, so I won’t have to beat you up, after all,” while Sophia turns us slightly to whisper in my ear “But are you okay?”

“It could have gone way worse, you know?”

She nods thoughtfully. “This may only be the start, though, Lori… I just… the Trenton thing was bad enough, but he was a no-body. I just can’t imagine with,” and her eyes dart to Chris, “how this is going to go. Celebrities, the rich and famous, they come-and-go and it’s easy enough for them to have private lives….” Her eyes move from Chris to Macen, then apologetically reaches my face, “But people with power, well, they’re always subject to scrutiny… some before they’re even born and most long after they’re dead.”

I hug her quickly, not knowing what else to do. Her dad has always been in a government position, always been in the spotlight, and it seems the USA is one of the most poisonous when it comes to political warfare. As long as we’ve been friends, I’ve known how hard that’s been on her dad, on her parents, on her family, on her… I know how it’s turned into one of her biggest fears. Doctor Renfield and I have talked about it in length, me not sure if I should be as concerned as Sophia on her best day or not.

Trying to be as reassuring as Chris had been to me last night, I rub her back and say, “Everything will be okay.” Just in time, my alarm goes off – my Monday through Friday reminder that we need to leave now to get to school on time.

*

Pink.

So much pink.

The four of us leaving the carpool area, passing through the huge, stained-glass French doors, getting into the thick of it, I hear Sophia sigh with relief, see Macen elbow Chris in the ribs and point out, and feel Chris’s arm tighten around my waist. Past the rainbow display because of the sun behind us, instead of monochromatic faceless blurs, my peers are in sharp focus, the pink blooming all around us like the Cherry Blossom Festival in D.C..

I don’t know that I’ve ever seen so many collective pink accessories in my life. From head to toe: socks and tights, ties and bowties, cufflinks and earrings, purses and scarves, and even coats…. Literally every student I see has some sort of pink on them. Some are practically faded to white, some are bright-a*s Barbie pink, some have hearts, and others have flowers…. The support is so overwhelming it uncontrollably makes me want to cry.

Mama did ornamental blush ribbon in my braids, I am sporting soft rose socks, and I used the time we were all sitting at the eat-in table to redo my nail polish in an almost ballet slipper shimmer. Chris not only has a matching tie to my ribbons, but there’s a thin slit of the same color popping up over his shoes. Not only are we noticing everyone around us, but everyone around us are surely aware of us as well.

Almost everyone we pass smile, wave, or even call out our names. A lot of people I know and some I don’t come to us and ask for selfies, commenting aloud “hashtag pastel royals” or “hashtag pretty in pink”. Extended friends, acquaintances, or outsiders even want a picture with Macen and Sophia, plus Toby and Parker and Cynthia (when they eventually joined us), knowing they are in the inner circle.

Right when I turn my Fitbit to check the time – thinking the first warning bell should have rung by now, there’s an announcement from the headmaster. “Ladies and gentlemen of Excelsior Academy, please proceed to the auditorium for a brief morning assembly.”

All the stress that was relieved by the events of the morning are now crashing through me ten-fold. Looking to Chris, helplessly, he kisses my forehead softly and starts moving us through the halls. Him and me in the center, our five besties give barrier to the outside crowd that one minute before seemed the most supportive group of people I’ve ever met, now with their pointing and whispers surround us like a swarm of bees.

The John Quincy Adams Auditorium is the only indoor place that can house all of the students and staff on the Excelsior Academy property. (Even the basketball court is too small and extra rows of folding chairs are brought out, if needed, during games.) Two ramps lead to the upper level, a few steps lead to the two double doors of the elevated back section, and two double doors open just below the stage. Thinking of how, in just a few weeks, I’d be up on that stage performing as Juliet, I now feel a sense of fright seeing how many people could truly fit in this hall.

Thinking my distress must be due to last night/this morning’s events, Chris is quick to turn to me after we’re sat, curling his neck to whisper in my ear, “Darling, are you okay?”

Blinking and pulling myself out of the nightmare-scape of Romeo And Juliet - that now with all this publicity and popularity everyone and their mother is going to want to see the play, want to see me perform, and how I don’t know if I’m up to the challenge - I turn my chin over my shoulder. “Yes, sorry. Are you?”

His hand slides under the armrest to cover mine on my leg. “I’m just fine, darling. Everything’s going to be okay.”

The final bell of first period echoes in the distance and there’s a flood of groans through the hall as the cell phone jammer is turned on. There’s a clearing of the throat from Headmaster Anderson as he tries to quiet the entire school population. It takes a few tries but after about five minutes, there’s only the ever-subtle rippling of whispers here and there.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen.”

There’s a small pause and most reply, “Good morning, Headmaster Anderson,” in return.

“I am very pleased to see so many of you this morning wearing pink in support of your fellow students after last night’s events. Though I usually don’t name-names, it’s increasingly clear who is currently under the spotlight, and I have permission from both families to address this incident.”

From our back seats in the balcony, the Coke can-sized headmaster stands a little straighter and clears his throat. “Mister Christopher O’Crosphen and Princess Lorianna Romenovf were subject of a rather cruel and unusual webzine article in the wee hours of the morning. And though there is freedom of speech in this country, and we are all allowed to form and have and share are our opinions… it is one thing to discuss factual information and it is another to express slander.

“Social media, reporters, tabloids, etcetera are a lengthy portion of our orientation every year but after last night it all seems oh too relevant again. To restate what you’ve been reminded about in the email this morning, Excelsior Academy has a no-tolerance policy when it comes to talking to any form of press. In this day and age, any adult who voices their opinions to the public on Twitter, i********:, YouTube, f*******:, blogs, and many other public sites on the internet falls under this rule, not just those who report to webzines, tabloids, newspapers, or news stations. Of course, it is understood that some adults may lie or embellish who is or is not their source of information, it cannot be ignored that some students have been in the past and seem to be presently at fault.”

Any whispering falls silent and any uncomfortable wiggling there may have been falls still. Headmaster Anderson notices and he smooths down his pink tie. “There will not be a witch-hunt because of this article but I need all of you to understand that if you are caught breaking this policy you will be expelled, your parents contacted, and the victim’s parents notified.

“It is black and white; no if’s, and’s, or but’s. This policy is one of the fundamental pillars of this school and one of the reasons why so many of your parents feel comfortable sending you here. The entire staff of Excelsior Academy works with pride to keep you all safe so please don’t do anything to jeopardize that.

“If any of you have any comments, concerns, or questions, please feel free to speak to any of your teachers or make an appointment with our thoroughly prepared group of councilors. And if your parents have any questions, please tell them to contact the, what all of you refer as ‘damage control’ team, the number found on our school website.”

The little man center stage looks to his wrist. “Ladies and gentlemen, there’s about twenty minutes left of first period, so off you all go and have a wonderful day.”