Princess for Hire Read online

  Copyright © 2011 by Lindsey Leavitt All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Hyperion Books, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney • Hyperion Books, 114 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10011-5690.

  ISBN 978-1-4231-2192-3

  Visit www.hyperionbooksforchildren.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For Rylee and Talin,

  my little princesses

  Chapter

  1

  If my life were made into a movie—The Desi Bascomb Story Revealed—I’d use artistic license to make a few minor changes. Like switch the setting to somewhere besides Sproutville, home of the Idaho Potato Days Festival. And rewind back to the forties or fifties, a time of flowing head scarves, glamour, and what’s-wrong-with-butter? cuisine. And cast Audrey Hepburn to play me (or a young Julie Andrews if Audrey was on another project). Oh yeah—I’d also give the director some small suggestions, just to add a little sparkle to the otherwise tragic script.

  Avoid dressing me as a rodent on steroids. There’s a reason models aren’t sporting groundhog costumes on the catwalk. Actually, make that one million nine hundred and thirteen reasons, all too gruesome to list.

  Give me a cooler summer job than passing out goldfish coupons in front of a mall pet store. Literally cooler. Iffy AC + world’s worst work “uniform” = stinky, furry sauna.

  Don’t compromise my dignity in the presence of the popular people. Ever.

  Basically, avoid portraying my actual life.

  But hey. There was one perk to wearing a six-pound groundhog head: while coupon-shoving and toddler-hugging and paw-waving on behalf of Pets Charming pet store, I could stare at anyone in the mall and all they saw was Gladys the Groundhog’s permanent smile. So my anguish was perfectly hidden when I spotted the recently crowned Miss Sproutville Spud Princess herself, Celeste Juniper, flirting by the mall fountain with my four-year crush, Hayden Garrison.

  Ah, Hayden. My fourth-grade secret online Boggle sweetheart and the cutest boy in Sproutville. Even though he was more than thirty feet away, the heat in my costume shot up a few thousand degrees, which would’ve happened even in the middle of an Idaho winter. You know the late actor Paul Newman? Way back in the day, before he was on the salad dressing labels, he had this wavy hair with steel blue eyes and a swoonworthy smile, and…that’s Hayden. Well, a thirteen-year-old version.

  Celeste squealed while Hayden rifled through her shopping bags, which, knowing her, were filled with expensive, tacky junk, like DADDY’S PRINCESS T-shirts. Laughing, Hayden dug out a pink feathered purse that had no doubt cost a flamingo its life. When Celeste’s glossed lips settled into a pout, Hayden apologized and told her she could pull it off because she was the closest thing to royalty we had at Walter B. Sprout Junior High. She could even wear the purse on her delicate wrist as she waved to the masses lining Main Street for the annual Idaho Potato Days parade tomorrow.

  Well, that’s probably what he said. It’s hard to read lips when you’re battling rebellious tear ducts. Plus groundhog heads don’t offer much visibility.

  I looked away from the lovebirds. Winston, a bull terrier with beady eyes and foul breath, scratched the display glass and whimpered. He’d be graduating from puppy to dog very soon and still hadn’t been adopted, poor guy. Sure, he wasn’t the cutest doggy in the window, but he had a loyal charm. When he closed his mouth.

  “Seriously, Winston. What is Hayden thinking?”

  He cocked his head in sympathy, then noticed his tail and started chasing it.

  I glanced back at the fountain. Oh no. Celeste, with her heart-shaped face and potato-fed freshness (that did not, I should add, match her less than sparkling personality), was headed my way! Any hope for social success next year would shrink to the size of her waist if she discovered me. I’d be lucky to reach school mascot level.

  Celeste tapped her finger against the Pets Charming puppy display window. Hayden jogged up behind her. She leaned into him and sighed, “Aren’t they sooooooo cute?”

  “Not as cute as you.” Hayden instinctively flinched at his own lame line.

  If he had said those words to someone else, it could have been sweet. Sweeter still if he was talking to me. I allowed myself a second to pretend he was.

  “No, you’re cute,” I would whisper from behind my locker door in the eighth grade hallway, where Hayden would meet me after every class.

  “No, you are,” Hayden would say, looking sporty and gorgeous in his soccer jersey.

  Then I would toss my suddenly bouncy hair and tilt my head at a flirty angle. “We’re perfect, aren’t we?” I’d ask.

  “Yes we are.”

  “Ex-cuse me?” Celeste interrupted my daydream with a sharp finger snap in my face. Well, in Gladys the Groundhog’s face. “Are these puppies for rent?”

  “Don’t you…” I coughed and tried again in a squeakier, hopefully unrecognizable voice. “Don’t you mean for sale?”

  Celeste rolled her eyes, yet the clumps in her mascara managed to stay put. “No, I mean for rent. For like a month.” She scrunched up her nose. “I hate when puppies grow into big, nasty dogs. Like that.” She pointed at Winston. “Why can’t everything just stay little and cute?”

  What an ageist load of bunk. Winston could totally hear her! If only he could breathe on her. “Umm…no. We only sell puppies,” I said. “No rentals, though you might want to try Toy Warehouse. I hear they got a new shipment of Mr. Potty Puppies. Mr. Potty Puppy never turns into a dog. But he never gets potty trained either.”

  Hayden’s laugh came out in staccatoed tsk-tsks.

  Celeste chewed her bottom lip. “You’re just cranky because you’re stuck in that stupid chipmunk costume that isn’t even long enough, and your job stinks.”

  “Chipmunk? It’s a groundhog,” I said too loudly, my anger getting in the way of my judgment. “Don’t you know your rodents?”

  “Rodents? Hmmm. You remind me of someone.”

  Oh no. I tugged my head on tighter and turned toward Winston, like hiding Gladys’s face could possibly save me at that moment.

  “This pathetic girl who’s always trying out for the school plays, but of course she never makes it because she’s just too…awkward. Know her?” She glanced at Hayden, then pinned her eyes back on me. “We call her Ditzy.”

  My face burned behind Gladys’s smile. Desi. My name is Desi. And you know that, Celeste. Or you did, back when we were best friends. Back in elementary school when we had Alfred Hitchcock marathons and accidentally dyed each other’s hair orange and read our darkest secrets to each other and buried them in my backyard. Before you won a beauty pageant and turned into Princess Popular.

  Before you completed Operation Crush Desi’s Heart by going after Hayden.

  “Wait, who’s this?” Hayden asked.


  Never mind. NOW my heart is officially crushed.

  Celeste tossed her highlighted curls. “You know her. She makes her own T-shirts that say stupid things no one understands just so she can prove she’s smart. Big forehead…” Celeste sneered at my shoes. “Big feet.”

  Oh man, oh man. Please don’t do this. Please don’t embarrass me in front of Hayden. Send me to the stocks if you have to. Bleach my hair orange again. But leave Hayden out of this.

  “Oh yeah.” Hayden yawned. “Her shirts are cool. Daisy.”

  “How do you know Desi?” Celeste asked.

  “Desi. Right. We sit by each other in English. I copy off her paper sometimes.” Hayden stuck his hands into the pockets of his blue Bermuda shorts. “Let’s go. I wanna get a smoothie.”

  Yeah, one more poke in my barely beating heart. Copy? I tutor! So maybe sometimes I get frustrated when he doesn’t get it, and just hand over my paper. But he plays soccer like EVERY night, and that has to be exhausting. And it’s only for big tests. And quizzes. Some work sheets…

  Didn’t someone once say copying is the highest form of flattery?

  “Yummy. A smoothie.” Celeste smacked her gum. “And thanks for your help. Oops, it looks like your head is crooked.”

  I grabbed the groundhog head. “No, it’s fine. Er…thanks.”

  “Let me just…” Celeste yanked it off, confirming my identity. Steam poured out of the suit. My hair stuck to my face. Tears stung my eyes.

  Celeste blew a tropical fruit–scented bubble in my face. It popped, just like my hopes for eighth grade.

  Hayden kindly shifted his gaze to Winston. “Whatever, Celeste. I’m getting a drink.” He gave me a quick nod of acknowledgment, like that helped right now, and headed to the Smoothie Shack a few shops down.

  I wanted to scream at Celeste. To ask her how someone who used to be so nice could act so cruel. Tell her that for a teen princess, she had zippo class. But all I got out was, “Why?”

  “Wait for me,” she called to Hayden. “Oh. Here’s your dome back, Ditzy.” Celeste shoved the head against my chest. “Guess being a rat runs in the family.”

  Chapter

  2

  I would have walked out right then, but I’m not a quitter. I’m actually more of a crier. I hid by the reptile tanks and let it flow.

  A rat. How clever. It’s true, Celeste’s cruelty wasn’t completely random. The summer before seventh grade, my dad, the newly appointed Fredonia County prosecuting attorney (big title, little pay), argued the court case that landed Celeste’s dad in jail. Forget that her dad was defrauding people on fake land sales, or even that my dad was just doing his job. Forget that her dad got out in no time and was now enjoying early retirement in the Bahamas. Forget that her mom had filed for divorce even before her dad got caught, then remarried the richest cattle guy in three counties. Celeste was done with me and convinced our whole group of friends that they were too. Maybe farm living had seeped into everyone’s brains, making them think like sheep. Bah. Follow Celeste. Shun Desi! Baaahhh!

  I wiped my nose on my fuzzy sleeve. I know it’s shallow, but right then I really wished we were rich. Rich girls don’t have to dress as rodents for their college money or, as Dad says, “to build moral character.” No sooner had the state passed the “Idaho Future Leaders Apprenticeship Program”—which basically legalized child labor—than my dad got me an application for eligibility. Because I’d be turning fourteen in a couple of months, I qualified. Farewell, childhood.

  I tried to get a job at Cunningham Horse Stables, picturing myself all Katharine Hepburn–esque as I groomed the purebred horses. But when I showed up for the group interview, half a dozen girls in expensive equestrian gear literally gasped at my specially made (and super cute, what’s their deal?) HOLD YOUR HORSES T-shirt. It wasn’t a big shocker that they never called me back.

  After that (and my failure to convince Dad to invest in screen printing supplies for my struggling T-shirt design business), I had a choice. Either dig up bait worms to sell for two bucks a pound, or comb Sproutville for places that were A) hiring, and B) participated in the new child labor program. Which narrowed it down to one.

  Pets Charming. In the aquarium across from my little hiding spot, two dime-priced goldfish bobbed stiffly, dead. Above them, hamster wheels spilled from a sagging cardboard box. The snake staring at me from a cracked tank was one shed skin away from joining the floating fish in pet store heaven. And I, Gladys the Groundhog, wept for us all.

  “Okay, take your break.” My manager, Drake, sighed and pointed to the back room.

  “Why?”

  “Look at you. You’re scaring the snakes.”

  I trudged to the back of the store, and Drake followed. It only added to my pain that a twenty-five-yearold high school dropout with unintentional dreads and a distinct catnip odor questioned my work ethic.

  “I’m fine, Drake.” I tugged off the head. “Sometimes this suit just…gets to me.”

  “Hey, it was the best costume I could find online. I mean, besides the gorilla. But I figured that would scare the kids. If only they’d had a decent chicken—”

  “I just…Isn’t there a way I can do something more proactive?”

  Drake poked through the employee fridge and popped open a Mountain Dew. “Tell you what. Stick it out a little bit longer and maybe at the end of the summer we could discuss moving you up to Fish Tank Cleaner.”

  I knew he was trying to be nice but…Fish Tank Cleaner? Spend the next two months pushing coupons and maybe I’d be upgraded to Pond Scum Engineer. Yeah, living the life of glamour. Big Idaho dreaming.

  “Thanks. But that’s not really what I meant.”

  Drake sighed. “I know. All right.” He moved closer and flicked off the lights. “You’re obviously having a hard day, so I’m gonna show you something special.”

  Uh…they’d warned us about this in the employee orientation video. “Look, Drake, I don’t feel comfortable with you…uh…”

  He didn’t say anything for minute, just stared at me funny before bursting into laughter. “You thought…Oh, come off it. You’re way too young for me. Really, a fetus. Besides, you’re not my type. I mean, you’re too tall and skinny and I usually like a little meat—”

  “I get the point.”

  Drake flipped on another light. The fish tank in the break room glowed. “But seriously. Look. This is what I wanted you to see.”

  “It’s a fish tank.”

  “Dude. Look again.”

  I stepped closer. I’d never thought about it until then, but it was kind of weird that Drake kept a fish tank in here, where customers couldn’t see it. It was decked out with all the creature comforts—a treasure chest, cottage, neon plastic seaweed, and a waving SpongeBob figurine. The fish were unique too, iridescent with neon stripes snaking through their fins. The purplish-blue light pulsed right through them.

  “It’s a wishing tank.” Drake sprinkled fish food with reverence.

  “Um…”

  “Believe it. It’s true.”

  I scooted away. The only thing worse than being alone in a cramped room with a skeeze is being alone with a wacko. “What? What makes you think—”

  “It works? Easy. We’d just gotten these fish in, special delivery from Guam. And I was feeding them, thinking how much I’d like a girl from Guam, or”—Drake rubbed his nose—“um…any girl, really, when this hot chick walks into the store, shopping for a dog.”

  “And?”

  “And I helped her buy one. And got her number. I mean, I never called it—she was too hot to be real—but I keep it in my wallet.”

  “Point?”

  “Dude, obviously she was my wish come true. So I bought the fish myself. And it’s changed my life. I’ve got an interview for head manager coming up. And my band booked three gigs last week at Antonio’s Pizza. It would have been four, but Thursday is karaoke night.”

  “If they’re so special, why are they in the break room?”r />
  “I can’t take them home because I don’t trust my roommate.” He shivered. “Sushi eater.”

  I kneeled down and pressed my face against the tank. “How does it work?”

  “Well.” Drake scratched his head. “I don’t know exactly. I feed them and make a wish. But since they just ate…” Drake fished a handful of tank rocks out of the pocket of his black jeans. “You can try these. It might only work for me, I don’t know.”

  “Thanks.” I picked a few rocks from his outstretched hand. “I mean, yeah, maybe I’ll try it out later. If I think of it. Now, if it’s okay, I’d like to use the bathroom before my break ends.”

  Drake paused in the doorway. “All right. But I want you smiling when you get back to work. People can sense your smile, you know, even behind the suit.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Uh-huh.”

  “And hey, do you still want to pick up some extra hours at the parade tomorrow?”

  I had not once, in my six weeks of employment, passed up an extra shift. An extra shift could buy five blank T-shirts. “Can I do something besides wear this suit?”

  “Sure. I told my brother—he works for the city—I’d hook him up with some extra horse…shovelers.”

  “You mean pooper-scoopers.”

  “Yeah.”

  Of course. “I’ll have to give it some thought.”

  Drake nodded solemnly and closed the door.

  I squeezed the rocks. A wish tank. Oh boy. I’d always wondered if Drake was on some kind of drugs, and now my suspicions had been confirmed. Although, the chances of Drake’s luck changing without cosmic intervention were slim. I’d heard his band. They stunk.

  I stared at my reflection in the fish tank and pushed my ash brown hair away from my still-blotchy face. Maybe I should cut bangs to cover up the big forehead I didn’t even know I had until Celeste so kindly pointed it out. I needed to get rid of the braces too, but I still had ten months to go, and eighth grade started in two. And I only had thirty-six dollars in my non-college savings account—hardly enough to give my wardrobe a much-needed shot of glam. Even if I looked like Audrey Hepburn, which I so don’t, next year was not going to be much easier than the last.