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Enemies of the Crown

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Walking up to an intimidating oak desk really builds nervousness. I looked at a lady with tight wrinkles surrounding her eyes, rosy cheekbones, obviously botoxed, and a careful graying bun with a pencil neatly tucked through the middle. Poised in her hand was a silver ballpoint pen as she wrote by the light of a Tiffany lamp.
“Name?” she asked me in her eloquent voice.

“Georgia.” I answered sheepishly.

I noticed as she wrote my name down in her precise calligraphy.
“Age?” she asked me another question, warming up to me now.

“I’m 15.”I answered back, giving her a smile.

“Country?” she smiled back.

“Great Britain.” I gave her another answer.

“Alright dear, thank you, just take a seat over there in the green room.” She gave me a wave and pointed to where I was supposed to sit.

As you may have guessed, I am Georgia Marie Ward (the third). I am fifteen years old and I was born on January 1, 2001, yeah, you heard right, 1-1-01. I live in Great Britain in a huge house, and the British Flag is always flying overhead. Oh, and one more detail, I am a princess, yup, the whole sha-bang. Tiara and all. Right now I am applying to a special school in Northern Europe where all the princesses in the entire continent go. This school is stationed in Spain, so I don’t know anyone. I don’t know why I was pulled out of United Preparatory in Great Britain, but my daddy, the king said, “It is not suitable, nor acceptable for a girl of your standings to go to a regular old private school.”

And he said “private school” with his nose turned up like he’d smelt something sour. I looked out the window and saw at least 6 stretch limos with different flags swaying in the breeze. All the girls sitting next to me seemed a little nervous too, which made me feel better. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Once I walked in, I changed my mind.
***

Blonde hair curled into tight locks, which framed the face. Shiny tiara propped on head, polished to perfection, no doubt. And to finish it off, a gorgeous smile that lit up a room whenever it creped out of those recently glossed peach plum lips.
Uggghhh Disgusting.

Standing there was her…France. Ever since the French and Indian war, it seems as if everyone has been able to get over the rivalry between France and Great Britain… except us. Even our daddies agreed the hatred should stop, but that girl just seems to never let it go. Her real name is Diane Alexandria Henry, but to me she’s just France. I tried to make it look like I hadn’t seen her, but I knew she knew, and she knew I knew she knew. Confusing? It always is when she’s around. The only thing causing me to snap out of my “evil eye stare” was someone yelling, “Hey Britain! Over here! We saved you a seat!”

It was Spain and Portugal, two girls I didn’t totally despise. I went over, pulled up a chair, and was happy because I didn’t have to talk to France. My heart shattered when Spain told me how much France had been waiting for me to get here so she could make my life miserable for as long as I stayed at Princess Prepatory Academy. I always knew she wanted to sabotage me, but now that she had the chance, that was scary. All I wanted was to be the girl that nobody noticed. I guess that’s a lot to ask for when you go to a princess school where everyone wants to be the “it” girl.
***

I felt my breaths get heavier as France approached. Sweat beaded across my forehead. My hands shook and my lips felt dry to the touch.

“Hi ladies!” she said, “It’s been too long! You girls look fabulous, but your choice in friends is so…” she rolled her eyes, cluing me in on how much we didn’t get along. “Well, I’ve got to run, first day of school business I’ve got to take care of!”

I watched in despise and a little envy as she pranced off to greet even more of her prissy friends.

Then they walked in, The Prince Academy. They strutted through the doors like they were walking straight out of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog. I looked as France walked up to the Prince of Germany, hugged him, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. I remembered him from somewhere… Oh! The world cup, 2010! His name is Gregg and our daddies are good friends, so we sat together at the games, and honestly, kind of hit it off. But I could tell that he and France are sort of an “item.”

***

This is where things get complicated, I like Gregg, and she likes Gregg. This could be a problem.

Later that day, something good happened. Or so I thought. Gregg had invited me to a party Saturday night! At 7 o’clock at 3031 Bleaker Street, I would be with Gregg’s popular friends, and France would float away to a distant section of my mind.

I had my driver take me to the party Saturday night, and let me tell you, I looked good. I was wearing my jeans that made my waist look small, and my hips look great. I showed up to the house and had to do a double take. The lights were out, no noise, and the front gate was broken. Of course, the default house, how could I not have remembered this? Every party thrown at my old school had a designated default house for the girl you felt you had to invite, but didn’t really want there. Apparently now, I was that girl. This had France’s name written all over it.

The next day at school, I walked in, already feeling humiliated and nervous. As I opened the door, everyone was snickering. I felt my face get hot and my cheeks turned fiery red. My neck drooped in between my shoulders as if they hadn’t already seen me. I knew I had to do something to France that would smush her into oblivion. I had to take something close to her heart and just rip it away from her. I know, her peach plum lip-gloss. I would crush up macadamia nuts and slide them into that bottle of glittery perfection. You see, France is allergic to macadamia nuts. It makes her puff up for at least two days. This would make her regret making me the default girl. The next morning, I set my revenge. Here’s the schedule:
-8:00 am- show up to school, with macadamia nuts, of course!
-10:00 am- Frances daily “go to the bathroom with my girls and obsess over my reflection for 10 minutes” time.

So, somewhere between eight and ten, I had to slip the nuts into her gloss and try not to get caught.

At 8:51, I had my chance. I opened her bag and…nothing. No lip-gloss, no perfume, no cell phone, nothing. After digging through it for a while, I found a note.

You thought you had me didn’t you?
Just remember one thing, I rule these hallways,
And I know everything that happens at this school
You just basically committed social suicide.
Good Luck!


Ughhh! She drives me insane! I will get revenge on France if it’s the last thing I do! Looks like there’s another French and Indian war in the midst of Spain’s most proper, most polite school, Princess Prepatory Academy.

***

At school the next day, the buzz was huge. The welcome back dance was this Friday! Of course, France would be pushing Gregg to ask her. That’s when the perfect revenge hit me. I was going to get Gregg to ask me to the dance. Not only would that break France’s heart, but I would be going to the dance with the hottest guy at Prince Academy! It’s the perfect plan! During lunch, Spain, Portugal, and I made the brave move, and sat over at THE GUY’S TABLE. No girl in Princess Academy history has ever gone to sit on the guy’s side of the café. Girls are pink. Boys are blue. And there is absolutely NO purpleing.

I carefully walked over to his table, trying not to spill any amount of my lunch on myself or anyone around me, and then, I sat down next to MY prince. I never noticed his cute dimples, the way his hair shined in the light, or the way he smelled like recently refreshed Axe cologne. He flashed that laser white smile as he laughed at something Norway said. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait anymore.

“So, are you guys going to the dance on Friday?” I blurted out so fast I had to catch my breath.

“Yeah, I think I might,” he answered running his fingers through his hair smoothly.

I tried to sound casual. I failed. “So, who were you thinking about asking?”

“Oh, actually, I already asked France.”

“Oh.”

His head hung low, pretending to be sorry. He wasn’t. I took a deep breath and nodded my head like, “Perfect, just perfect.”

After I left the café in embarrassment, my hands shook and I bit my lip like I always do when my plan backfires and hits me right in the gut. France could just not be beat! I had lost all hope, until Gregg came up to me. Just looking at him made my heart skip a beat.

“Hey, but I’m free Saturday night if you want to hang out then, just don’t tell France.”

That lowlife! He thinks he can just have every girl in Europe, doesn’t he? I should tell France, really I should. But since when have I ever cared about France?
***

During breakfast, I decided telling her would be the best idea. She might hate me, but hey, what else is new? Even though France was a mere ten feet away, it felt like I could have climbed Mount Everest and back in the time it took me to get to her.

“Hey,” I gave her a princess wave

“Oh, it’s you. Get my note?” she smirked and lifted one eyebrow.

“Yeah actually, very sweet.”

“Some of my best work,” she said sarcastically.

“But actually, that’s not what I wanted to talk about,” I said getting myself back on track, “Um, well, Gregg’s cheating on you! He’s asked out every Northern European country!”

“What are you talking about? He would never do that! Besides, why should I believe you? He’s my man, and he’s been my beau since the 5th grade!”

“Oh yeah well there’s your beau making out with another girl right there!”

France stopped dead in her tracks. She pulled back some of her gorgeous blond curls and tucked them safely behind her ear. She cocked her head and gave me an intense, revenge-plotting stare.

“That boy is dead! We attack this Friday at the welcome back dance.” She gave me that half grin, where you knew she was plotting some intricate, amazing plan.

***

On Friday at the dance, Gregg finally showed up. Alone. Obviously he wouldn’t have showed up with France. I walked up to France and gave her a look. She pulled out her cell phone.

“Hello, Ms. Burkens?” she said as she gave me a wink.

“Yes, this is Diane, France as you may know me.”

“Um, I am just at the dance with Gregg, and I noticed he doesn’t have his headgear on. Isn’t he supposed to wear it after 8:00 every night?” she said being not-so-subtle.

“Uh-huh, yes, alright, see you in 5.” And she closed her phone, just like that.
“Done, done, and done,” she said to me
Five minutes later, the door swung open, and Gregg’s mom stood there, holding a superman headgear case. Right when she yelled, “Gregg, sweetie, you know you need to wear your headgear!” the music stopped. Perfect timing. She ran over to him, took his headgear out, and started fidgeting with his mouth, trying to get it on correctly. After the metal death trap was in place, Gregg started licking his teeth and lips ferociously. I guess he couldn’t handle all that metal in his mouth. He honestly looked like a frog trying to catch flies. The fact that he was wearing a bright green sweater vest didn’t help the cause. Okay, now for my task of the plan. I ran up on stage, grabbed the microphone, and popped in the DVD I brought from home.
The pictures of Gregg kissing other girls were all over the big screen, and I swear, every girl in that café let out a gasp. I explained, “This guy you may all know to be the Academy’s hunky prince, has been cheating on every single one of you girls. He hasn’t stopped winking at ladies since the first day he got here! So, this guy, Gregg, the hottest guy from prince academy, is not even really a prince! He’s nothing but a slimy frog! Just look at him!”
Everyone turned around to look at Gregg abnormally sticking his tongue out and then pulling it back in. What a dweeb. I can’t believe I was one of those girls that actually fell for him.
I hopped down from the stage and skipped over to France. She gave me one of her winning smiles and a high five. She then turned to a really good-looking boy standing next to her.
“Oh, by the way, this is my older brother, Brody. He’s a year older than us, and he goes to a different school back in Paris.”
“Hey,” I said giving him a quick nod of the head.
“Hi,” he answered, “I know this sounds random, but would you…like to dance?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said trying to sound casual.

I spent the rest of the night dancing with Brody, while we told jokes and laughed at eachother. At about 11, France came up to him saying they had to leave.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a sec,” he told her.

After she left, he gave me a quick wink and handed me a slip of paper. I guess the Henry family was big on giving notes. I opened the crumpled letter.

947-836-5421 Call Me
-Brody

***





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ANONYMOUS500 said...
Sept. 30, 2010 at 7:57 pm
this is mostly good, like the idea, and everything, i just feel like it's rushed. maybe add a bit more detail :P
 
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