Protagonist Bound (14 page)

Our Singing with Nature class was held outdoors in an area of the garden next to the forest, allowing our vocal projections to be easily heard by the animals nearby. At present, Madame Whimsey—a relatively buxom woman with dark skin, a warm smile, and kindly brown eyes—was shuffling through some sheet music over by the crystal fountain situated amongst the azaleas. Most of the other princesses, meanwhile, were a good distance away either getting in some vocal warm-ups of their own, or giggling over their time at the ball.

I did not join them in their reminiscing of last Saturday’s event, or their shared rehearsals. Instead I opted to stand within the relative concealment of the portion of forest that fell within the boundary of the In and Out Spell. Only in its seclusion did I feel at ease belting out my scales. Practicing in front of the other girls was about as comfortable for me as going to dinner in nothing but my sports bra and pajama pants. I was already anxious enough without having to worry about their judgment prematurely. Thus, for now privacy was my friend. Or at least it would’ve been if it wasn’t for Mauvrey.

To add to the unpleasantness of the barely started day, my nemesis chose that particular moment to seek me out and confront me about the whole Chance-dance thing from Saturday’s ball. She’d obviously decided this was the best place to do it since she was naturally superior to me in the subject. Mauvrey was as gifted with animal communication as SJ. Which, honestly, I didn’t understand, seeing as how SJ was so kind and Mauvrey was so toxic.

Apparently animals weren’t the best judges of character.

Filled with extra confidence because I was alone, Mauvrey sashayed over to me with only Jade in her wake. Girtha wasn’t in this class (being non-royal and all).

I sighed as they approached.

Might as well get our teenage girl stand-off out of the way early in the week, I suppose.

“Crisa,” Mauvrey hissed.

“Mauvrey,” I said just as confidently. “So, what’s on the agenda for our rivalry this morning? Rehearsed, unoriginal insults on your part followed by me rolling my eyes? Or are we mixing it up today?”

“Like I would need to insult you. Look at yourself, you have already done my job just by wearing that outfit.”

“Wow, real clever. And now cue my eye roll,” I responded dryly as I obligatorily rolled my eyes.

“Show some respect, Crisa,” Jade chimed in, trying to defend her friend. “You know, Mauvrey had to get a massage
and
a face peel at the school spa yesterday to calm herself down after you attempted to steal her boyfriend on Saturday.”

Mauvrey shot Jade a poisonous look. Evidently the evil princess did not want me to know just how upset I’d made her.

“A face peel, huh?” I said, shaking my head. “You should be careful, Mauvrey. Even for a royal those can get pretty expensive when a girl has two faces.”

KO!

Mauvrey’s eye twitched for a second, but the eerie calm she normally emanated returned almost instantaneously. She tossed her hair back and stepped into my personal space.

“Contrary to what my little friend here has suggested, Crisa, I was not intimidated by you. Like anyone ever could be. You want to talk about two-faced? How about the girl who pretends like she does not care what anyone thinks, but secretly wishes she could fit in like all the rest of us?”

Mauvrey lowered her voice to a malicious whisper and leaned in even further. “You and I both know that if you could fit into that transparent slipper and become everything you are not, you would not hesitate to do so. That is why you wear those stupid earrings every day, is it not? A secret hope that maybe the stumpy gourd will surprise everyone and transform into something beautiful? I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but the clock struck midnight for you a long time ago. So honestly, I would just get used to being exactly what you are—a lousy princess who has deluded herself into thinking she is strong, but in reality is just as helpless in influencing her identity as the rest of us. It is unavoidable. And no amount of Fairy Godmothers or magic is ever going to turn you into something else . . .
Pumpkin
.”

I truly didn’t know what to say then, so I focused on trying to conceal the nerve-rattling effect of Mauvrey’s comment as she stepped away from me. Regrettably, I swallowed my feelings a moment too late. She knew she’d gotten in my head.

This wasn’t because she was right about me wanting to fit in. She’d been wrong on that count because I genuinely had no desire to be like Mauvrey’s brand of snooty princess or Lady Agnue and her highbrow traditionalists. I liked who I thought I was.

No, the reason her vicious words had shimmied their way inside my brain was because she’d hammered at a notion that had been simmering in the back of my mind since my confrontation with Lady Agnue. What if who I
thought
I was wasn’t an accurate reflection of the truth?

I went around every day talking the talk and walking the walk of a girl who thought she could be strong enough to be a hero, unique enough to decide her own path, and confident enough to still represent as a princess even if her own version of the role was unorthodox. But what if this wasn’t really the case? What if—in spite of my best efforts—I didn’t have any such control over who I was? What if, in the end, my parameters were already set in stone by Lady Agnue, the Author, and everything and everyone else in this world whose regulations and ideas for my identity seemed to take precedence over my own?

I couldn’t help but self-consciously touch the silver, pumpkin-shaped accessory on my left ear.

While I was always skeptical about the somewhat cheesy double meaning my mom had placed on the earrings—as Mauvrey had so accurately narrowed in on—there was a small part of me that had always hoped there was some truth to it. That I, in fact, could change into something more despite how the world saw me now.

Whether that hope was a foolish or a fair one though, I was never entirely sure.

“I’m waiting,” Mauvrey said tersely—interrupting my moment of introspection.

She was clearly expecting me to attempt some sort of zinger to top her comment. But, for once I didn’t have one. I was at an absolute loss for any such sass as I was still recovering from the blunt coldness of her perfectly targeted hit to my self-esteem. Of course I couldn’t very well let her know that.

“Umm, well . . .” I stalled, as I waited for a retort to dawn on me.

Think. Think. Come on.

Ooh, got one
!

“Truth be told, Mauvrey, I’m going to have to get back to you on that. How ’bout I mull over comebacks with Chance next time he asks me to dance at a ball and then give you my response? I’ll just look for you over on the sidelines with all the other girls who couldn’t attract dance partners.”

Mauvrey’s face reddened and she opened her mouth to retaliate. Although, before she got the chance to voice her own comeback, Madame Whimsey blew on her harmonica to get our class’s attention.

“Ladies, ladies,” she sang in perfect pitch. “Let us all take our seats and begin this morning’s examination please.”

“This is not over,” Mauvrey spat as the other students began to migrate through the expansive garden toward its epicenter.

I shrugged coolly. “I didn’t think it was.”

She shook her head at me, amused. “It is ‘did not,’ Crisa. Princesses, even wannabe princess like you, do not use contractions. Or are you so beyond help that even that itty bitty rule cannot get through your head?”

“Maybe I just like breaking the rules. You should try it sometime; it might make Chance like you better. Worked for me.”

I gave her a cocky wink at that, which infuriated her even more. With no time left to continue our verbal sparring match, Mauvrey angrily turned on her heels with another hair toss and headed toward her seat with Jade close behind.

Pleased to have effectively thwarted my nemesis’s attempts at further harassment
and
ticked her off in the process, I smiled and went to take my seat as well.

I gotta say, while I don’t necessarily encourage having archenemies, foiling them can be pretty darn fun.

Returning from the forest where she’d been feeding the birds, SJ joined me on the white marble bench that served as our shared desk. “I saw you speaking with Mauvrey,” she whispered as she sat down.

“Speaking is a loose term,” I whispered back as I swatted a bee that appeared to be confusing the pleated red dress over my black leggings for a large flower. “It was more like the teenage girl equivalent of a grenade battle.”

“She did seem quite angry,” SJ agreed.

“I gave her a reason to be. She came over to try and mess with my head so I rubbed in the fact that her super shallow prince charming dumped her like yesterday’s fairy dust for me at the ball.”

SJ shook her head disappointedly. “Crisa, that was not very nice. Mauvrey might actually have real feelings for Chance.”

“SJ,” I moaned under my breath. “
She
started it.”

“Yes, but
you
finished it. Crisa, I know you do not like to back down from a fight, but perhaps next time you should try lowering your guard momentarily so as to give Mauvrey a chance to be something better. Taking a pause to display restraint like that is not showing weakness; it is showing strength.”

“Maybe so, but if you lower your guard that way and end up being wrong about a person, you’ve given them a free a pass to take you down.”

“Good morning everyone,” Madame Whimsey sang, halting our conversation. “Quiz day is upon us and as per tradition I shall now pick from a hat the name of the princess who will be going first on this beautiful day. I am so looking forward to being soothed by the sounds of each and every one of your sweet singing voices.”

She dipped her hand inside of an obnoxiously yellow beret and drew out a name.

”Crisanta Knight . . .”

“So much for soothing sounds,” Mauvrey commented intentionally loudly.

A few girls in the class snickered and I wrung my hands uneasily. Madame Whimsey hushed them as I took a deep, calming breath.

SJ patted me on the shoulder for support. A moment later I took take my place in the spot of shame at the front of the class. Everyone was looking at me, some with amusement like Mauvrey and Jade, some with sympathy like SJ and our professor. I grimaced.

Oh, this was going to suck.

As it would happen though, the fates took pity and chose to save me from the embarrassment of damaging my classmates’ eardrums. A common protagonist, Lisa Taylor (a friend of Blue’s actually), suddenly came running through the garden calling out to Madame Whimsey.

Lisa was out of breath when she reached us. We had to wait for her to stop panting before she could explain what was so urgent.

“Madame Whimsey. SJ and Crisa are wanted in the infirmary,” she finally said. “It’s Blue. She got her pang. It was bad.”

SJ and I burst through the infirmary doors.

The room we entered was beige and lacked character of any kind. Frankly, the smell of anti-bacterial soap that filled the air was probably the space’s most charismatic quality.

I spotted Blue lying on one of the far cots that lined the wall. The nurse was attempting to put a cold compress on her head, but Blue kept swatting her away, refusing to be tended to. As we approached, the nurse huffed indignantly and stomped away, muttering something about foolish pride.

When Blue saw us her scowl faded into an expression of defeat that I had never seen on her before. Her eyes were foggy and warbled like a pond hammered by rain, and her face looked completely drained of heart and soul. This morbid appearance did not give any cause for elaboration on her part, though. One look at the spiral mark temporarily burned into her forehead and we all knew what had happened. Her prologue prophecy had appeared.

Several moments of silent understanding passed between the three of us before SJ gathered up the courage to ask Blue the question hanging in the air.

“So . . . has Lady Agnue read it to you yet?”

“Yeah, you just missed her,” Blue responded distantly.

Our friend slowly began to sit up and tuck her hair behind her ears. As she did so, I noticed that her cloak was splotched with mud and that she had several large scrapes on her arms as well as the bluish beginnings of a bruise on the right side of her head.

When SJ and I inquired about the injuries, Blue told us that she had been climbing one of the large magnolia trees by the practice fields when her prologue pang had occurred.

As noted, neither SJ nor I could really describe what the onset of such a pang felt like, having never experienced one for ourselves. But, based on what we’d heard and seen from our classmates who had, it was supposedly very rough, physically draining, and uniquely intense to the protagonist receiving it. When Marie Sinclaire had gotten hers, for instance, she’d described it as a shower of hammers hitting her various limbs all at once while her heart jolted her about like a possessed rag doll.

Lovely, right?

Anyways, that explained Blue’s injuries. Having a spasm like that when you were climbing a tree was way less than ideal.