with the buttons on his blazer. “He isn’t coming.”
What? I stuck my head inside the plush red-velvet carriage. It was empty.
I looked back at the girls’ faces, huddled giddily in the window. I had no choice. I waved back like nothing was wrong.
“Just drive,” I said to the coachman through gritted teeth.
It was a too-sunny day on the golf course, and I couldn’t figure out how to get the blinds down inside the carriage. By the time we rounded the fourteenth hole, I’d bitten off all my fingernails and steam was coming out of my ears. In a dumb move that showed how out of it I was, I’d left my Juicy Fruit in my bag. I had nothing to help calm me down after being stood up by Mike. How could he? In front of the entire school and everyone’s families? I was going to absolutely kill—
Someone was knocking on the carriage door. I shoved myself up against the window . . . and saw him. Mike was running alongside the carriage to keep up.
“Stop the coach!” I cried.
Before the horses had even slowed to a cantor, Mike swung open the door and climbed in. “I’m so sorry,” he said, leaning over to kiss me.
I was still too furious and too stunned to move.
“I tried to call. I knew you’d be freaking out. I just . . . I needed some time to think about how to go through with this after . . .” He took my hands.
I waved a hand to cut him off. “Groveling later, mental preparation now. We have exactly three minutes to get in the royal mindset.” I handed Mike a printout of the coronation speech. “Your paragraphs are in blue; mine are in pink, okay?”
“Um,” Mike said. “Actually—”
“We’re here!” I cried, looking out the window at the vine-coated trellis marking our entrance. Before we knew it, the coachman opened the door. He let out a low whistle as he helped me to the ground.
“I’ve been driving this rig to the coronation for a lot of years,” he said quietly. “The stunt your guy pulled today, Princess, was a first. Don’t let him off the hook too easy, okay?”
I looked at Mike. “Oh, I won’t.”
On the lawn, a yawning string quartet began to play but was soon overshadowed by the cheers of the crowd, calling out our names and waving loyally. Mike said nothing, just reached for my hand. We walked down the golden carpet to the stage.
The funny thing was, everything looked just like I had imagined, just like I’d planned out in my head all these years. There was my mother, in her tight Jessamine-print tube dress and high heels, tears in her eyes, hand in the Dick’s. There were the Kings on the other side of the stage, smiling closed-mouth smiles and wearing expensive silk suits in corresponding muted shades. There were the last few years of Palmetto Court alumni flanking either side of the stage, including Phillip Jr. and Isabelle. There were all our friends, dressed to impress, eyes wide in expectation of hearing our speeches—and our carriage ride sexploits at the reception.
The only part of the vision that wasn’t just as I imagined was us: the Prince and Princess of Palmetto. We were hand in hand, but I felt like Mike and I were worlds apart.
At the podium, he leaned in to kiss my cheek. His lips felt dry and rough. I closed my eyes and tried to enjoy the crowd’s polite applause.
“Thank you all,” Mike said when they’d died down. He cleared his throat and looked down at the speech I’d printed out for him. Then he slid it into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a napkin scribbled with notes. I reached forward to stop him, but he gripped my hand so tightly, I would have made a scene if I moved.
“You’ve all heard these acceptance speeches many times before,” Mike began. “Some of you,” he gestured behind us at the Courts of Palmetto’s past, “have even given them yourselves. So you know the drill, and you also know how grateful and excited Natalie and I are to accept this honor.” He scanned the crowd and squeezed my hand even tighter.
What? I stuck my head inside the plush red-velvet carriage. It was empty.
I looked back at the girls’ faces, huddled giddily in the window. I had no choice. I waved back like nothing was wrong.
“Just drive,” I said to the coachman through gritted teeth.
It was a too-sunny day on the golf course, and I couldn’t figure out how to get the blinds down inside the carriage. By the time we rounded the fourteenth hole, I’d bitten off all my fingernails and steam was coming out of my ears. In a dumb move that showed how out of it I was, I’d left my Juicy Fruit in my bag. I had nothing to help calm me down after being stood up by Mike. How could he? In front of the entire school and everyone’s families? I was going to absolutely kill—
Someone was knocking on the carriage door. I shoved myself up against the window . . . and saw him. Mike was running alongside the carriage to keep up.
“Stop the coach!” I cried.
Before the horses had even slowed to a cantor, Mike swung open the door and climbed in. “I’m so sorry,” he said, leaning over to kiss me.
I was still too furious and too stunned to move.
“I tried to call. I knew you’d be freaking out. I just . . . I needed some time to think about how to go through with this after . . .” He took my hands.
I waved a hand to cut him off. “Groveling later, mental preparation now. We have exactly three minutes to get in the royal mindset.” I handed Mike a printout of the coronation speech. “Your paragraphs are in blue; mine are in pink, okay?”
“Um,” Mike said. “Actually—”
“We’re here!” I cried, looking out the window at the vine-coated trellis marking our entrance. Before we knew it, the coachman opened the door. He let out a low whistle as he helped me to the ground.
“I’ve been driving this rig to the coronation for a lot of years,” he said quietly. “The stunt your guy pulled today, Princess, was a first. Don’t let him off the hook too easy, okay?”
I looked at Mike. “Oh, I won’t.”
On the lawn, a yawning string quartet began to play but was soon overshadowed by the cheers of the crowd, calling out our names and waving loyally. Mike said nothing, just reached for my hand. We walked down the golden carpet to the stage.
The funny thing was, everything looked just like I had imagined, just like I’d planned out in my head all these years. There was my mother, in her tight Jessamine-print tube dress and high heels, tears in her eyes, hand in the Dick’s. There were the Kings on the other side of the stage, smiling closed-mouth smiles and wearing expensive silk suits in corresponding muted shades. There were the last few years of Palmetto Court alumni flanking either side of the stage, including Phillip Jr. and Isabelle. There were all our friends, dressed to impress, eyes wide in expectation of hearing our speeches—and our carriage ride sexploits at the reception.
The only part of the vision that wasn’t just as I imagined was us: the Prince and Princess of Palmetto. We were hand in hand, but I felt like Mike and I were worlds apart.
At the podium, he leaned in to kiss my cheek. His lips felt dry and rough. I closed my eyes and tried to enjoy the crowd’s polite applause.
“Thank you all,” Mike said when they’d died down. He cleared his throat and looked down at the speech I’d printed out for him. Then he slid it into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a napkin scribbled with notes. I reached forward to stop him, but he gripped my hand so tightly, I would have made a scene if I moved.
“You’ve all heard these acceptance speeches many times before,” Mike began. “Some of you,” he gestured behind us at the Courts of Palmetto’s past, “have even given them yourselves. So you know the drill, and you also know how grateful and excited Natalie and I are to accept this honor.” He scanned the crowd and squeezed my hand even tighter.
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