The Royal Treatment by Lindsey Leavitt Page B

alone.”
    “I’ll stay with Kylee.”
    “And I need help with Gracie.”
    “So you’re not asking me. You’re telling me.”
    “The hotel is nice.”
    Which was my Mom’s way of saying, You’re going. Don’t argue.
    The pageant was at the Grove—a fancy downtown Boise hotel that included a banquet hall and theater, so we never needed to leave the building. The reception area paled in comparison to Façade’s, but it was the nicest building I’d seen in my real life, much nicer than the Comfort Inns we frequented on family vacations.
    After two hours in the car, Gracie had Cheerios sticking to her whole body. I de-cerealized her in the lobby. Celeste showed up and hugged my mom. I thought I’d have another hour with my mom, but Mrs. Juniper had a migraine, so she released Celeste alone into the wild.
    Celeste settled into strategizing mode. “It’s looking good,” she whispered to my mom. “Half these girls have never done a pageant. The city girls are the only real competition.”
    “Stay positive.” Mom furrowed her brow. “The competition is mental. It’s not you versus them, it’s you versus yourself. And we want you presenting the very best Celeste.”
    I kissed Gracie’s head, trying to stop the laugh tickling my throat. The “best Celeste” would have duct tape over her mouth.
    Gracie conked me on the head with her shoe.
    “Don’t hit. That’s bad.”
    “Bad, bad, bad.”
    She swung again, and I ducked. “I guess I’ll go take her to the indoor pool. Do you want to meet up at all before the pageant?”
    “I don’t think so,” Mom said. “We have the breakfast, the interview, the final walk-through…Gracie would be a mess.”
    “Sure. Well, good luck! I have my cell—” My purse buzzed. I stopped talking and stared at it for a second, trying to make sense of why it would be moving. My cell phone was in my pocket; the only reason I carried a purse now was so my manual and Rouge could be close by.…
    My manual.
    “If it’s your dad, tell him we got here fine.”
    I had to leave. Now. “Right! I need to go to the bathroom, actually, so I’ll go talk in there. Uh…here, take Gracie.” I hoisted Gracie onto Mom’s hip. Gracie grabbed for her nose.
    “The breakfast starts in a half hour,” Celeste said.
    “Aren’t you going to answer your phone?” Mom asked.
    “Yes! Right now. I’ll be back. It’s not like I can hold her on my lap in there.”
    “Gross,” Celeste said under her breath.
    I scurried into the large bathroom. Who would have thought working for the most glamorous agency in the world would involve so many bathroom scenes? I locked myself in a stall, pulled the manual out with shaking hands, and gaped at the new icon on the main page. A text message.
Meredith: Are you ready for a new assignment?
    I don’t know why a text shocked me so much. The manual had more secretive data than the CIA, but at the same time I wondered why this feature was only being brought to my attention now, why Meredith never texted me in the past. It could have majorly saved my butt.
Desi: We have text on this thing?
    Meredith: Did you seriously ask me that? OBVIOUSLY.
    Desi: Can it wait until tomorrow?
    Meredith: You’re joking.
    Desi: I’m at a beauty pageant right now, babysitting my little sister. One day won’t matter, right? You can use the Law of Duplicity somehow. It’s not like the French Revolution Part Two is going to start because I couldn’t work yet.
    Meredith: It’s funny. I don’t see you, and I almost miss you a teensy bit. Then, two messages and I’m ready to…Look, you act like our time services are a convenience. No, we follow a precise magical schedule. I need you now.
    Desi: Then why aren’t you here? Where’s the bubble?
    Meredith: You don’t need the bubble.
    Desi: How else am I going to get to the job? Did you double book your clients?
    My manual buzzed again. A picture of Meredith showed up with the words incoming call. I pushed answer.
    “This