Just Your Average Princess (16 page)

“Hear what?” I turn and face her.

“About Milan's sex tape being a fake?” Sara says. “Someone set her up. That wasn't her in the movie. It was someone else.”

“That's terrible,” I say, faking shock and disgust. “Even Milan doesn't deserve that!” Yes! If Sara has already heard the news I've been telling people then it must be spreading well throughout the Patch.

Sara nods. “Even though Milan has been so dang rotten it still must be hard being a kid with famous parents. Those gossip sites and tabloids don't attack only the celebrities, they attack their whole families.”

“Yeah,” I agree. Sara's right. I never thought about how hard it must be for Milan to have such famous parents.

 

21

“Good morning!” a cheerful voice sings from behind me.

I back out of the refrigerator, a strawberry yogurt and an apple in my hands, and shut the door with my hip. “You talking to me?” I say.

“Of course!” Milan smiles. “It's a nice morning, isn't it?” she asks. She pulls the refrigerator door back open and roots around inside for her soy milk. I'm still standing in the middle of the kitchen, shocked that Milan is being, well, pleasant.

“Um, yeah. Seems like a good morning.” I slip the food into my backpack and zip it closed. “You're in a better mood,” I add.

Milan spins around. “You know, I really am. I like it here. You have a nice town.”

Wow! What a change. A lot different from what she said when she first got here. I smile. “Yeah, it is. It's a great town.”

“Back home,” she continues, “people never would have believed the truth about me and that whole stupid rumor. But here? Everyone believes me. It's refreshing.”

I smile. She thinks everyone believes her because she said so. And I'm sure some do. But I think mostly it's because I told absolutely everyone I could and it spread. But I'm not going to say anything. It's not like I need to brag about what I did.

“That's great,” I say. “Well, see you later, I'm off to school.” I head for the door.

“Jamie, wait,” Milan says.

I turn back around and raise my eyebrows.

“Can you help me after school in the concession stand? My latte crowd has returned. I could use the assistance.”

I scrunch up my face. “You know how bad I am at making lattes though…”

“I'll teach you again,” she urges. “It'll be fine. You'll get it.”

I think about it. Maybe this is a step in the right direction for Milan and me. “Well, all right. See you after school,” I say. As I head out to my car I feel myself smiling. That was the nicest exchange I've had with Milan since she arrived.

*   *   *

After school, I change and join Milan behind the espresso maker. I've only sprayed her with foam twice so far and I think I'm getting better. And don't get me wrong, it's not like we're friends or anything now. I'm not delusional. Milan is just less mean to me.

I'm rinsing out the espresso shot glasses when Danny steps up to our stand. His brown curls are mussed and I can see a short piece of hay sticking in his hair, right by his left ear. He looks amazing.

“Hey, ladies.” He nods at both of us and I feel my insides get mushy. “Can I get a soda?”

“Sure,” I say. I pull a can of Mountain Dew out of the cooler and hand it to him, hoping he doesn't think it's weird that I know his favorite soda.

“Are you doing anything with that Baby Boo?” he asks me, nodding toward the back of the booth.

“Oh my God,” Milan whispers loudly in my ear. “Is he really going to flirt with you in front of me like that?”

I feel my cheeks flush and I look over at Danny's face. He's grinning.

“Milan!” I hiss, wanting her to shut up now.

“What?” she says. “It's totally rude!”

I pick up the tiny white pumpkin off the table at the back of the booth and carry it over to Danny. “Here, you can have it,” I say.

“Thanks,” he replies. “My kid sister loves these.”

“Sure,” I say. After he's left I turn to Milan. “For future reference, a Baby Boo is a type of pumpkin,
not
a pet name. Well, I'm sure it's someone, somewhere's pet name but it isn't mine. And Danny wasn't flirting with me. He doesn't even like me.”

“Oh. Bummer about the name. It was sorta cute,” Milan says thoughtfully. “But I wouldn't say that he doesn't like you.”

“Oh, I'm positive,” I say. But now I'm wondering what Milan's deal is. Why would she think he likes me? Not that it wouldn't be freaking fabulous if he did like me, but we both know that he doesn't. He likes her. What about those lunches and the short-shorts and the tractor rides?

Well, he
did
give me a tractor ride once too. Back when I was fifteen and first learning how to drive a car. Dad let me ride around out in the field with an old truck and I got it stuck in a big mud patch. Danny saw me and gave me a ride back to the house to get Dad. But that was it. He was only being nice then. It's not like we have moonlit rides around the Patch or anything. It's not the same as how it is with him and Milan. He doesn't look at me like he looks at her. No one looks at me like that. Boys want to kiss Milan. They want to stack pumpkins with me.

I can't say any of this to her though. I don't think Milan and I are at that place yet. “Can you show me how to grind the espresso beans again?” I ask, changing the subject to something that doesn't make me blush the shade of a tomato.

*   *   *

That evening Mom, Milan, and I are lingering at the dinner table, chatting over Pumpkin Surprise, which, go figure, I've come to sorta like. Mom must be slipping me something in my 2 percent milk (I may like the Pumpkin Surprise, but they'll never get me to touch that soy stuff ). I can tell she is absolutely tickled that Milan and I are actually kinda getting along.

“I can't believe the Pumpkin Princess contest is tomorrow,” Milan says excitedly.

“You're going to do it?” Mom and I ask at the same time. Geez, with all the drama I almost forgot about the contest.

Milan nods. “I never officially dropped out, so what the heck.”

“Awesome! May the best girl win, then,” I say, echoing what Milan said to me when she first found out I was in the contest too. But I mean it. I want to compete against Milan, fair and square.

 

22

“Oh, Jamie.” Sara puts a hand on her cheek and looks me up and down. “You are absolutely beautiful.”

“I am?” I ask tentatively. “Beautiful” isn't a word I hear too often to describe me. I walk over to the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door and stand in front of it. A tiny gasp escapes my lips. “Oh my God. You're a miracle worker, Sara!”

“No, I'm not,” Sara insists. “You had all the material. I just combed and twisted some hair and brushed some makeup on in a few places.”

I stare at my reflection. Sara has part of my blond waves pulled back from my face and gathered into some twisty thing on top of my head and the rest hanging in loose curls. I'm wearing my dress: an emerald sleeveless fitted number that ends in a ruffle a few inches above my knees. She's accented my eyes to match the dress and blushed my cheeks a shimmery shade of peach. And I'm wearing lipstick. I've never put anything but Chap Stick on my lips before. And that was only in the winter.

“I can't believe it's me,” I say, shaking my head.

“Well, it's definitely you. And you're going to go out there and win Pumpkin Princess. You deserve it, Jamie.”

I blink rapidly, tears beginning to fill my eyes.

“Oh no you don't,” Sara says. “Do
not
cry.” She waves her hands in front of my eyes. “I practiced those eyes on myself for over two hours, trying to perfect the look. I saw it in
Seventeen
. It's absolutely flawless right now and I don't want to chance having to start over.”

I take several deep breaths. “Okay, okay. I won't cry. It's only, I've wanted this for so long. I can't believe it's here. It's like a dream.”

Sara puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “I know you have. And you'll do it today and you'll win. And then you'll dream a new dream for yourself and go after that. It's not like anything is truly ending today.”

I nod, even though I can't help feeling sentimental thinking about all those days I wandered the pumpkin patch as a kid, a broken pumpkin stem tied on my head, pretending to be the Pumpkin Princess.

“Are we ready to go?” Sara asks, packing the makeup in a bag to take with us.

“Almost,” I say. “Would you mind waiting for me out front? I need to do one other thing before we go.”

“Sure.” Sara lets herself out of my room and I head for my closet.

I kneel on the floor and root around in the back, careful not to mess up my hair on the clothes hanging overhead. There. Got it. I straighten up and head for Milan's room.

I knock softly on Milan's door and hear her tell me to come in. “Jamie! You look fabulous,” Milan says.

“Stunning,” Sno-Cone Sammy agrees. I notice Kettle Corn Girl is nowhere in sight. Good. Milan obviously figured out her number.

“You look amazing yourself,” I tell Milan. And she does. Almost like a pink Barbie princess doll. Her hair is in big fancy curls and her pearly pink lips are in a huge, completely perfect smile.

Milan tilts her head slightly and says, “Thank you.” And I think she genuinely means it.

“I stopped by because I have something for you,” I say. I pull my present from behind my back and hold it up in front of me.

“My Roy Vances!” Milan shrieks, grabbing her cheeks in surprise and then racing over and pulling the shoes from my hands. “They're perfect! How did you get them cleaned? They were ruined!”

“I didn't throw them out when you told me to,” I explain. “Instead I saved them and worked on them with some saddle soap my dad has. And voilà, good as new.”

Still clutching her shoes, Milan throws her arms around me and gives me a big hug. “Thank you, Jamie.”

I hug her back. “You're welcome.” Milan and I never did talk about that awful fight we had behind the barn that one day. And I don't think we ever will. It just happened and we moved past it. For the first time since Milan arrived she actually kind of feels like a sister.

I pull away. “Well, we both better get over to the contest. I'll see you there, okay?”

Milan nods, still admiring her shoes. “Good luck!”

“You too,” I reply, and leave her room, heading for my own.

In my room, Mom is sitting on the bed. “Oh, Jamie, honey, you look gorgeous.”

I feel myself blush. I don't know how many more compliments I can take today. This is so out of my comfort zone. “Thanks, Mom. It's all Sara. She fancied me up.”

“I think it's all you. You've always been beautiful,” Mom says.

“Aw geez, Mom,” I say, embarrassed.

“Come sit by me for a minute, hon.”

I walk over to my bed and take a seat next to her.

“How's Milan doing getting ready?” she asks.

“Great. She looks stunning. Which is no surprise of course.”

Mom nods and gives me a small smile. “Good.”

I feel like she wants to say more, but is holding back.

“Mom?” I begin, and she nods. “Why is Milan living with us anyway? And don't tell me she's on a break again. That makes no sense. She's been here all this time and doesn't hardly ever talk to her parents or anything.”

Mom lets out a heavy sigh and furrows her brow. I can tell she's not comfortable with telling me the truth. She sits quietly for a few moments and then speaks. “Milan's had a tough time back home. Her world is turned upside down there. She needed some time away.”

“Why though? What could be so bad?” I press on.

I can tell that Mom is struggling with how much to say. She's never liked talking about other people—especially family. But she finally relents. “Well, I guess I can tell you. Your father and I thought it was better you didn't know. We didn't want you thinking poorly of your family. But don't say anything to Milan. She'd only be embarrassed.”

I nod.

Mom shakes her head. “That brother of mine. He's been having an affair with some young Hollywood actress from his last movie. The girl is only
two years
older than Milan. It's despicable.”

My jaw drops. I saw that movie and I know who Mom's talking about. She's a kid!

“Annabelle found out about it and instead of Jack dumping the girl and sticking with his family, he left Annabelle. She was trying to hold on to him and at the same time started abusing pain pills. I guess she wanted to be numb.” Mom must have taken in the shock across my face because she starts to speak faster. “To sum it up, Annabelle went into rehab and Jack knew he couldn't take care of Milan so he asked if she could stay with us.” Mom glances at my closed door and then leans in toward me. “But between you and me, I think he just didn't want to. He wants to be free to have fun with his new young girlfriend. It's such a shame.”

“It's horrible!” I exclaim. “I can't believe Uncle Jack did that to Aunt Annabelle.”

“And to Milan,” Mom adds. “Poor girl is a mess. She gets no attention from her parents at home and she so desperately craves it. Your dad and I have tried as hard as we could to shower her with attention. But we know it doesn't replace getting it from her parents.”

I think over the past weeks. All the crazy meals we've been eating. All the sucking up Mom and Dad have been doing to Milan—telling her what a great, hard worker she is. And Dad comforting Milan that day by the giant pumpkin. It makes sense now.

And I feel terrible. Poor Milan. “It explains a lot,” I tell Mom. “It explains all that showing off she was doing around the Patch.”