The Royal Treatment by Lindsey Leavitt

play.”
    “There are a lot of boys in the play.” I started to walk toward the house. “It’s Shakespeare—there used to be ONLY boys in his plays.”
    “That’s fine. But I’m here if you want to talk about it more.” Mom closed the door behind us and hung her keys on the hook.
    I crossed my arms. “And Reed is Kylee’s crush, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
    “I’m not getting at anything.” Mom tried to hide a smug smile, but I saw it. Saw it and hated it. There was nothing to be smug about.
    I ran up to my room and dropped onto my bed. I needed to call Kylee, but first I needed to take a nap. The bike ride and the using-magic-to-be-like-Titania thing had drained me.
    I sat up. Magic. There it was again. If that was really what I’d experienced, then Genevieve would want to know. I flopped down and closed my eyes. Now I just had to find the courage to use the card.
    That night, I did my homework for the week, skimmed two yachting catalogues, and clicked through eight celebrity gossip sites (research rocks!) before I took the calling card out of my desk drawer. I placed it on my pillow and lay down next to it, staring at the pictures on my Wall o’ Awesome Things. They were mostly pictures of my favorite old celebrities. And Karl. Over the last couple of months, I’d added quite a few pictures of Karl.
    I hated to admit it, but part of my motivation for wanting to do well with Façade was the prospect of seeing Karl again. Royal circles were small. Whether I subbed for Elsa or Karl’s girlfriend, Duchess Olivia, or some random royal at a charity event, our paths were bound to cross. I didn’t know what I would do or say. If I had magic, like really real magic that I could channel and use to my bidding, it would be mighty tempting to somehow get him to kiss me again. Kiss me, then date me in a few years, marry me in a few more, have some royal sons that would make nice princes and…
    I kicked at my wall. I had to learn to control my daydreams. Not only would I not do that to Elsa or Karl, but I wouldn’t want to waste an ability like magic on crushes. Subbing had shown me there was a lot more to life than boys, a lot more places where others could use help. That’s what I’d want to do, if I could. Help people.
    And not just royals. Sure, I enjoyed helping out the princesses while I was in Level One, but were all my Level Two jobs going to be like Millie? Did magic really exist so that Millie didn’t have to talk to an annoying boy or endure a corset? That job was a long way from the legend of the first Egyptian sub, Woserit. She’d used her magic to save a life. What was Façade’s magical purpose now?
    When I peeled my foot off the wall, one of my pictures fell down. It was a black-and-white photo of Elizabeth Taylor playing Cleopatra.
    She wore a gold headpiece with a beetle on top, the same figure found on the back of Genevieve’s calling card. I knew beetles symbolized something, but I couldn’t remember what. I thought about looking it up online, but it was late and I’d already been on the computer enough.
    Besides, I would only be putting off what I had been putting off all day.
    “Okay,” I said out loud to my Wall o’ Awesome Things. A picture of Karl in his school uniform looked down on me sternly. “So, Genevieve? I’m calling you. Now.”
    The card on my pillow buzzed, the beetle on the back flashing. I watched it for a few seconds, on guard in case the bug suddenly took flight and attacked me. This is Façade we’re talking about. Anything could happen.
    When the flashing stopped, my manual made a weird…trilling sound. Like an old-fashioned phone. I opened it to the image of a young man with very black skin and very white eyeballs. His features looked computer generated—no one could naturally be that chiseled. He blinked. “You called for Genevieve?” he asked in a clear accent. At first I thought it was British, but it was softer than that. Maybe…South