The Princess & the Pauper

  Somehow I made it down the steps on weakened legs. Maybe when I got a little closer to him. Maybe when he looked into my eyes. Maybe then he would realize. Suddenly I found myself hoping that he would. If he didn't see that I wasn't his daughter ... The thought was just too sad.

  I took a few steps toward him and looked into his face. My heart was pounding so loudly I was surprised neither he nor Marcus seemed to hear it.

  "How many times have I told you that the image you project reflects on the rest of your family?" he said. "On

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  the rest of your country. Do you even realize the gravity of what you've done?"

  "All I did was--" I stopped because my voice had cracked. I cleared my throat and started again. "All I did was go out with a guy that you've been trying to set me up with since birth," I said, my Vineland accent faltering a bit.

  "Don't take that tone with me," he replied, shaking. "You both know that a princess is not supposed to run around with a young man unsupervised. I don't care who the young man is." He glanced at Markus, and Markus walked down the steps to stand next to me.

  "Sir, I can assure you that nothing improper happened," he said. "Carina conducted herself as a lady the entire time and--"

  "And Markus was a perfect gentleman," I added.

  "Don't you realize it doesn't matter?" the king said, pacing away from us. "It doesn't matter what you say. All that matters is what people want to believe. Like it or not, our world is all about appearances, Carina. I can't believe that my daughter would do something like this."

  At that moment the tears that had been welling up in my eyes--tears of frustration, of fear, of confusion, of sorrow for Carina--spilled over. Something inside me snapped. I was exhausted. I'd been through too much over the last few days. And everything came bubbling to the surface at once.

  "I can't listen to this anymore!" I shouted, causing the king to whirl around at me.

  "Carina!" he bellowed.

  "I don't want to hear about the respect I owe you or

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  how I'm supposed to act!" I yelled through my tears. "I don't owe you anything! You don't even know me! You don't even know your own daughter!"

  "Carina, calm down," Markus said, reaching out to me.

  I slapped his hand away and his whole face fell. At that moment I wanted to tell them. I wanted to tell them both and explain everything and let the fallout come. But I couldn't. I was sure if I tried, it wouldn't make any sense anyway.

  And besides, it wasn't my place. I had to let Carina figure out what she wanted to do about her own relationships. These people had nothing to do with me. Not the king and not Markus.

  So instead I simply turned and ran out of the library, leaving them both stunned and silent behind me, just hoping I could find my way back to Carina's rooms.

  And hoping neither one of them would follow.

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  ***

  Chapter 28

  "Wait a minute, wait a minute," Glenn said as he pulled the car to a stop in front of a gas pump. "Are you actually telling me that you think Julia Roberts is the greatest American actress of our time?"

  "Yes," I said, raising my eyebrows. "You don't?"

  "Please! What about Julianne Moore ... Holly Hunter ... Meryl Streep...."

  He climbed out of the car, still talking, and I did the same. We'd been discussing movies for the past two hours on the road and Glenn had some very strong opinions on the subject, all of which I disagreed with. He thought that Steven Spielberg was overrated, that all teen genre movies made in the last ten years should be destroyed, and that Gwyneth Paltrow wasn't even pretty.

  Maybe I had accepted a ride with an insane person. Besides, people were always saying I looked like Gwyneth, so if she wasn't pretty ...

  "So you don't think she should have won an Oscar for Erin Brockovich?" I asked him, slamming the car door behind me.

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  My leg muscles were all tight and my back ached in a million places. I stretched my arms over my head and yawned, then recovered myself. I couldn't do that type of thing in public.

  Yes, you can, a little voice in my head reminded me.

  I smiled and stretched again. I'd been having a lot of these little internal realizations all day. Like when I realized I didn't have to sit with my legs crossed at the ankle. Or when I passed Glenn a map from the glove compartment, then slammed the little door on my finger and let out a curse. For a moment I had cringed, waiting for Fröken Killroy's screech in my ear, and then I had realized she was thousands of miles away. So I cursed again. It felt really good.

  "Are you kidding me? Joan Allen was robbed!" Glenn said, shoving the gas pump into his car. "She was unbelievable in The Contender."

  I furrowed my brow in an exaggerated way. "Do you have a thing for older women?" I asked.

  Glenn blushed. "No. Just real actresses."

  I smiled and leaned back against the car, tipping my face toward the sun. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a real conversation with a guy. Actually, it had probably never happened. All Markus ever wanted to talk about was school and his polo and my goodwill tours. He didn't make me laugh like Glenn had all morning. And if I'd cursed in front of him, he'd probably have been appalled.

  But then, Glenn did remind me of Markus in other ways. Good ways. Like when we'd stopped at this little tourist information place to use the bathroom, he'd

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  opened the door for me. Markus always did that. Well, most people in Vineland did that for me. But everywhere I'd gone with Ribbit the night before, he'd cut ahead of me and gone in first--the dressing room after his act, the club after the dressing room, the bus after the club. Plus Glenn kept asking me if I was hot or cold or if I wanted the stereo on or off. He wanted to make sure I was comfortable, which was another Markus-type thing to do. And when I talked, Glenn really listened. Markus always really listened. Even when I was just talking about Heinrich the Lisper or Ingrid's latest whatever.

  I sighed and looked down at my scuffed sandals, my heart feeling heavy. I guess Ribbit had just turned out to be a frog and today I'd met a prince. One who had made me think about the prince I had waiting back home all along.

  Wait a minute. Was I missing Markus?

  "You okay?" Glenn asked as he put the pump thing back on its hook.

  "Um ... yeah," I said, shaking my head to try to clear the very un-me thoughts. Since when did I want to spend any time around Markus?

  "Good," Glenn said. "Cuz I need your gas money."

  "Oh! Right!" I grabbed my bag out of the car and sifted through it for what was left of my American dollars--a ten and a five. I pulled out the crumpled bills and handed them to Glenn.

  "Perfect," he said. "This'll just cover it."

  I swallowed hard as he walked off into the gas station with the last of my money. That was all I could pay for?

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  One gas stop? What was I supposed to do for the rest of the day?

  I opened the car door and sat down sideways on my seat, resting my head in my hands. You'll be all right, I told myself. It's just one day. You've come this far.

  Glenn returned from the shop, carrying a bag of pretzels and two bottles of water.

  "Thought you might want a snack," he said, handing everything to me.

  I smiled, relieved. I would just have to make these pretzels last a few hours. Glenn really was a gentleman. He was totally changing my mind about normal people. Apparently they weren't all rude.

  "So ... I bet you think Tom Cruise is a good actor, too," Glenn said with a challenging smile as he climbed back into the car.

  I slammed my door and stared him down. "You are a traitor to your own society."

  Glenn laughed, revved the engine, and raced back out onto the road.

  That evening I sat down at a table in a restaurant called International House of Pancakes across from Glenn. Just like the restaurant we'd been in that morning, the smells in this place were making my stomach grumble,
but this time it was even worse. Because this time I had no money to pay for food.

  "I can't believe you've never been to an IHOP," Glenn said, sliding an immense menu over to me. "Their buttermilk pancakes are like heroin."

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  My stomach dropped. "Do you do heroin?" I whispered, stunned.

  Glenn laughed. "No. It's just an expression. So what are you going to have?"

  "Nothing," I said nonchalantly, closing the menu to block out the scrumptious-looking photos of crepes and waffles and fruit. "I can't eat breakfast for dinner. It's too weird."

  "They have dinner food," Glenn said, opening my menu again to a page full of steaks and pasta and salad.

  "I'm not hungry." I slapped the menu closed again.

  "You have to be kidding," Glenn said. "You haven't eaten anything besides pretzels since this morning."

  "I'm fine," I said firmly, wanting to drop the subject.

  A waitress came over and put two glasses of ice water on the table. "What'll you kids have?" she asked.

  "I'll take the hearty breakfast combo and a Coke," Glenn said.

  "And you?" the woman asked me, taking Glenn's menu. I'll have everything, I thought. Pancakes and sausage and bacon and fruit cup and ...

  "Nothing for me," I replied.

  As she walked away, a cell phone started to ring. Glenn dug in his backpack and pulled out a tiny black phone. He took one look at the number on the caller ID and his whole face hardened. He turned the phone off without answering it.

  "Who was that?" I asked.

  "My sister," he replied, dropping the phone back into his backpack. He averted his gaze and took a sip of his water, then started crunching on some ice.

  "You guys don't get along?" I asked, sipping at my own

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  water. I could feel it run down my throat and into my empty stomach.

  "It's a long story," Glenn said, looking across the restaurant. "Short version is, my dad just died and he really wanted to see my sister, you know, before ..." He took a deep breath and pushed his glass back and forth on the table between his hands, leaving a little trail of water. "Anyway, we buried him a couple of weeks ago and she never even came to the funeral."

  "Oh," I said, suddenly forgetting all about my empty stomach. "I'm so sorry about your dad." I had a strange impulse to give him a hug. And I never felt like hugging anyone. "Were he and your sister ... fighting?"

  "Not anymore," Glenn said, glancing at me for a split second before looking away again. "They hadn't talked in a long time. My parents had a messy divorce and Gina-- that's my sister--she blamed my dad. I just think ... you only get one family. I just know she's gonna regret that she didn't forgive him before he ..."

  Glenn trailed off and I felt a lump form in my throat. Back in Vineland my mother was sitting with my grandmother, basically watching her get weaker and weaker. And she was probably hating me for not going to see her, just like Glenn was hating his sister right now.

  You only get one family....

  Somehow I couldn't remember why I had refused to go see my grandmother. Oh yeah, because I thought I had better things to do.

  "Anyway, Gina lives in L.A. and I'll see her when I get there. I'm just not ready to talk to her yet," Glenn said. He

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  took a deep breath, then let out a long, loud sigh. "Let's talk about something else."

  "Definitely," I replied, pressing my sweaty palms into the vinyl couch.

  "How about you tell me how it's possible you're not hungry right now?" Glenn said. "I could eat a horse."

  My face burned and I took another sip of my water. The last thing I wanted to do was admit that I was penniless. What if he got mad and just left me here because I couldn't pay for more gas?

  But what if you stop for more gas and he asks you for money and you don't have it? a little voice in my head asked.

  I took a deep breath and looked at Glenn. He'd just poured his heart out to me. And he didn't seem like the type of person who would leave a girl stranded in the middle of nowhere. He'd already saved me from that fate once today.

  "Okay, here's the thing," I said. I closed my eyes and said it in a rush. "I don't have any more money."

  "What?" Glenn said.

  I opened my eyes, feeling queasy. "That gas money I gave you was the last of it."

  "Why didn't you say something?" Glenn asked. "I was afraid that you--"

  "Did you think I wouldn't give you a ride?" Glenn leaned his elbows on the table. "I only asked for gas money because I'm kind of short on cash lately. But if you're in some kind of trouble--"

  "You have no idea," I replied, surprised by the tears that sprang to my eyes.

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  The waitress placed Glenn's plate full of food on the table and I grabbed a napkin, pressing it under my eyes to keep myself from crying.

  "Excuse me?" Glenn said before the waitress could get away. "She changed her mind. She'd like to order."

  The waitress smiled at me sympathetically. "What'll you have?"

  "Glenn, I can't take your money," I said, almost not believing the words that were coming out of my mouth. "You've done more than enough already."

  "Carina, order something," Glenn said. "Or I will leave you here."

  I laughed through my almost tears and looked up at the waitress. "I'll just have some grilled chicken and a salad, please," I said.

  "You got it," the woman said, winking at me.

  Glenn eyed me curiously across the table. "So, you gonna tell me?" he asked.

  "It's a long story," I said, repeating his words back to him. "Short version is, I fell asleep on a rock band's tour bus last night and ended up in the middle of the desert with no cash."

  "Ah, the life of a groupie," Glenn said with a grin.

  "But I can pay you back," I told him. "I'll send you the money, I swear."

  Glenn scoffed and leaned back in his seat. "Please. I'm gonna be the next Heath Ledger or Brad Pitt, right? I don't need your money."

  I smiled and looked down at his untouched plate. "Are you going to eat that?"

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  "I'll wait for yours to get here," he said, lifting one shoulder.

  "You really are a gentleman," I said.

  "Well, my dad raised me right," Glenn said, his face growing serious.

  "He really did," I replied. "He sounds like he must have been a good man."

  "Thanks," Glenn said. "He was."

  We both sat back and fell into a comfortable, thoughtful silence. When I got back home, the first thing I was going to do was go to see my grandmother. Then I was going to find a way to send Glenn the money I owed him. For the first time in my life, someone was doing something for me because they wanted to, not because they had to. And it felt... nice.

  I had a feeling I was never going to forget this moment.

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  ***

  Chapter 29

  That evening Glenn and I got lost in Los Angeles for almost an hour as I tried to find Julia's apartment building. Every time I'd been there, B.B. had driven us and I definitely hadn't been paying attention. Finally I saw a street name I recognized.

  "Turn here!" I said, grabbing Glenn's arm.

  "How good of a friend is this person you're staying with?" he asked, cutting the wheel. "It's like you don't even know where she lives."

  "Another long story," I said quietly. "But this is the right street. It's that building up there. The one with the red door."

  Glenn pulled the car up next to the curb and put it into park. I looked at him, temporarily at a loss for words. He had no idea what he'd really done for me that day. He was basically a hero. If we'd been back in Vineland, they'd have thrown a parade for him--the guy who rescued the princess from the desert.

  "So ...," Glenn said.

  "So ... ," I repeated, looking down at my hands. "Glenn, thank you so much for ... for everything."

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  "Not a problem," Glenn said. "It was kind of nice to have some comp
any."

  "Would you give me your address? I'd like to send you back the money for dinner and everything."

  "It's okay. Really," Glenn said.

  "Fine, then just give me your address so I can send you a postcard or something someday," I said, obviously lying.

  Glenn shook his head but backed down. "Okay, fine." He reached past me and popped open the glove compartment, then dug through all the stuff inside and came out with a pen and a piece of paper with writing all over it. Glenn scratched his name and address out on the corner, then ripped it off and handed it to me.

  "Thanks," I said. As I pulled out my wallet to tuck his address away, a couple of my Vinelandish bills flew out and landed on the console between me and Glenn. My stomach lurched as Glenn picked them up.

  "What're these?" Glenn asked.

  "Oh ... nothing," I replied, grabbing for them.

  He pulled his hands away and turned the bills over. "The Republic of Vineland?" he read, glancing at me. "Where'd you get these?"

  "Um ... Vineland?" I replied, taking the money back and stuffing it in my wallet.

  "When did you go to Vineland?" he asked. "And why do you have all that money and no American money?"

  I slumped back in my seat and looked at the ceiling. I was so close to getting away without having to explain.

  "It's another long story," I said. "I'm kind of ... from there."

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  "Come on," Glenn said, his blue eyes dancing. "You don't have an accent."

  "Yes, I do," I replied in my regular voice. It was such a relief to talk like myself again. "This is what I really sound like."

  Glenn's eyes widened. "Wow. You really do have a long story," he said.

  "I do," I replied. "And I'd love to tell you all about it, but I really have to go." I popped open the door and Glenn grabbed my hand.

  "Wait a minute," he said. "Promise me something."

  "What?" I asked, looking down at his hand over mine.

  "You have to write to me and tell me the whole story," Glenn said.

  "Glenn--"

  "Hey, I drove you from Arizona all the way to L.A.," he said. "The least you could do is tell me who you are."

  I smiled slowly, looking into those amazing eyes. "Okay," I said. "You have a deal." Then I squeezed his hand and stepped out of the car. Glenn waited until I was safely inside the building before pulling away. Ever the gentleman.