Extraordinary<li> (27 page)

Then, of course, Eileen’s book came out and everything kind of went to hell.

I had to learn to deal with people discussing my weight online, and finding ways to protect my friends’ privacy as well as I could. I needed cash, and fast, to pay for security and stuff, which is why I said I was a real princess on some of those talk shows. Sorry I lied. I promise you that I would have preferred to earn money by dropping bowling balls on my toes.

I don’t think I can even describe the things I fantasized about happening to Eileen Codlin. I wasn’t fantasizing about that stuff as much—being present when Gregory was torn to pieces sort of spoiled my appetite for destruction—but I made exceptions in Eileen’s case now and then.

And now the movie version of the book was opening, which I couldn’t imagine was going to help me much. I’d probably be more famous than ever. My best hope was that I’d get more expensive—like, I could just make one commercial for something I didn’t really think anyone should buy, instead of six or seven.

So now we were in a limo, cruising through the streets of Los Angeles, on the way to the premiere of the movie version of
Born to Be Extraordinary—Jenny’s Fairy Godmother
. I hadn’t really intended to see the movie at all, but they offered us a free limo ride, a four-star meal, plane tickets to Los Angeles, and all kinds of cool stuff to get us out here. No one who’s lived through an Iowa winter would skip a free chance to go to California in the middle of one.

Also, it sounded like too perfect an opportunity for mischief to pass up.

And the limo was pretty nice. I’d been in one a couple of times before, when people flew me out for talk shows and stuff. I’d always felt like a tool in them myself, honestly, but having my friends there made it a lot more fun.

Especially knowing what we were planning to do on the red carpet.

If I was going to have to be famous, at least I could be famous on my own terms, more or less.

I got on the intercom and put in a call to Jared, my bodyguard, who was in the front seat.

Yeah. I have a bodyguard now.

“Just want to give you a heads-up, Jared,” I said. “This is gonna be a little different from a day in Des Moines.”

“Roger that,” said Jared. “You guys planning something?”

“Yes, yes we are,” I said.

“I’m going to have to request that you give me all the details,” he said.

“Negative,” I said. “You’d just try to stop us.”

It’s awkward having a person working for you—not as weird as having a servant scrubbing my toilet and making my
bed would be, but awkward. I like Jared, though. It’s hard not to like a guy who will beat people up for you. I totally get that. When girls say they love the Fred in the book because he turns out to be a good protector, I understand where they’re coming from.

But I couldn’t let him know what we had in mind.

We’d thought about just making armpit noises at appropriate moments during the movie or something, but we decided to go for something bigger.

“Are you sure they aren’t going to boo me?” asked Cathy. “If anyone boos me, I’ll run.”

“No one knows what you look like,” I told her. “They all think you’re a blonde. You’ll be fine.”

I thought it would be awfully traumatic for Cathy to find out that she wasn’t
really
going to die if Fred didn’t kiss me at the dance, and that she didn’t
need
to let Gregory … do what he did to her. But she took it pretty well. She’s in counseling and all, but she’s tough. She’s a survivor.

In fact, she adapted to life as part of the undead pretty quickly. She was perfectly happy as a vampire for a while there, before Eileen’s book came out and all the hate mail started coming.

So leave her alone, guys. She’s been through enough. She was never the head of a
Mean Girls
–type clique; we didn’t really even have one of those at my school. She was just kind of mean to me, and she’s apologized about a million times. I even have coffee with her now and then. We’re both Gregory Grue survivors.

It’s the kind of thing that makes people feel like there’s sort of a bond between them, even if they never got along
before. Like nearly getting kicked out of town over a spelling bee, or destroying homecoming with a Wells Fargo Wagon full of unicorn poop.

The limo pulled up to Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, and we stepped out onto a red carpet, where Eileen was signing autographs.

“Jenny V!” she shouted when she saw me. “And the whole gang!”

“There’s Fred!” someone shouted, pointing at Mutual.

People who really do the research can always find out the truth about Fred and Mutual without too much trouble, but it’s amazing how little research people do.

I walked up to Eileen as cordially as possible, holding hands with Mutual all the way.

“Hi, Eileen,” I said.

A reporter came up to us.

“So, this is the
real
Princess Jenny, right?” he asked.

“Yes it is!” said Eileen. “The girl who was born to be extraordinary! Isn’t this extraordinary, being here tonight, Jenny?”

“Yes it is,” I said, as regally as I could, even though I was trying very hard not to laugh, since I knew what was coming.

“So, you are
really
a princess, right?” asked the reporter.

“Yes,” I said, “and one of the reasons it’s extraordinary to be here tonight is that it’s a very special night in my kingdom.”

“Oh, really?” the reporter said. “Tell us about it.”

I snuck a glance at Eileen, who was nodding as though she knew what I was talking about, though the look in her eyes was something along the lines of “What the hell are you
doing
?”

“Tonight is the night known as Feasteus Maximus,” I said. “Which is also known as National Show Your Butt Day. Jason, will you please demonstrate how it’s celebrated?”

“With pleasure,” said Jason.

And he showed his tattoo to the whole world.

Luckily, some photographer got a picture of the look on Eileen’s face. You’ve seen that picture. The one where Jason’s got his butt out and Eileen looks like a kid in a candy store.

That
was why we went to the red carpet. We couldn’t get a happily-ever-after out of the story, but we could at least get pictures of Eileen swooning over Jason’s hairy butt.

The plan kind of backfired, really. I thought we’d just give Jason a chance to do his favorite thing, then maybe coerce Eileen into mooning the crowd, too (Amber and Mutual were both prepared to pitch in, though, as royalty, I was exempt). We didn’t anticipate that when word spread about the holiday, things would get way out of control.

So, as part of the settlement with the City of Los Angeles, I’m required to say right now that we were behaving very irresponsibly on the red carpet.

But it was totally worth it. The look on Eileen’s face alone was worth the community service and the fight I had to put up to keep my scholarship.

There were other moments that made the trip worth it, too.

Like the after-party, when we said that in my kingdom, we don’t
eat
the kind of cheese you get on trays, you
suck
on it. We never did get Eileen to celebrate Feasteus Maximus, but she did demonstrate the proper way to eat cheese. That’s why there are also all those pictures of Eileen sucking cheese.

So that’s the real story of me, Cathy, Fred, Mutual, my friends, my fairy godmofo, and how I got my wishes.

It’s not the way Eileen told the story at all, but the real world just isn’t like the world in her book. It’s scarier, stinkier, sadder, and stranger. Harder and more dangerous, too. But it’s also the kind of world where throwing unicorn poo around a gym can make you feel beautiful. That counts for something, or I don’t know what does. It’s the kind of world where you can be extraordinary without any magic spell to make you that way. Without even being royalty.

I’m not a princess. But sometimes, like that night when we looked out over the ocean and Mutual told me he loved me for the first time, I sure feel like one.

So there you have it. The real story.

Now get off my lawn.