Chapter 5

5

A CAUSE FOR THE CROWN

Is the sun brighter or is it the stylish and (shockingly) hilarious Crown Princess Annika that has all of us glowing? The royal dropped by The Late Late Show to discuss her visit to America, which includes working closely with nonprofits focused on engaging and uplifting the young women of LA! When asked about Prince Jadon, who's been under fire for a controversial video, Her Royal Highness happily showed off a warmer side of her younger brother via baby photos. We know who our fav royal sibling is!

After ending my call with Mom, I find Annika poolside, stretched across one of the lounge chairs with a paperback in hand. California's picturesque skies have nothing on the colorful design of her luxury beach dress. Not too far away, Luc has earbuds in, watching something on a tablet.

I angrily throw myself into the empty chair next to Annika. There's a decorative pillow digging into my spine. I toss it into the pool.

She lowers her copy of Royal Holiday , then her sunglasses. "I'm not paying for that," she says firmly.

"No, I am," I growl. "Just like I'm paying for one ridiculous video by being exiled to this trashfire of a country."

"Okay." Annika turns to face me. "Mom or Papa?"

"What?"

"You always get like this"—she waves a hand at my wrinkled nose, the elbows on my knees, my posture slouched over like I'm Quasimodo's long-lost son—"whenever it involves either Mom or Papa. So, which is it?"

I sigh. "Both."

"Yeah, that tracks."

Annika doesn't add anything else. She's great at leaving space for me to process situations. Waiting until I've finally unpacked all the clutter in my head before I tell her what's on my mind.

After recapping the conversation with Mom, Annika says, "You know she only wants what's best for you."

"She wants what's best for the throne," I argue. "What'll look good to our people."

"Same thing." Annika shrugs. "When she married Papa, she made a promise. To the throne. Our government. Our country."

I roll my eyes. "Well, I didn't."

"Aww, poor Jadon." She offers me a mocking frown. "Forced to live in a palace. Fly on private jets. He can have anything he wants. Two closets full of the latest and rarest sneakers, and all he has to do is not be a dick twenty-four seven."

"That's a pretty big demand."

My response is met with a pillow to the head. "You can do this, Jade," she insists. "You just have to get out of your own way."

"Again, that's a lot to ask."

Annika puts her book down before pulling her legs under herself. Sunlight kisses her soft cheeks. She looks younger out here. Refreshed. I've missed seeing this side of my sister.

"Hear me out." She waits until I look her in the eye. "What if being in America wasn't all about being un-banished?"

"Is that a word?"

"It is now. I'm the crown princess. I have the final say." Before I can protest, she holds up a finger. "Think about it. While we're here, you have a chance to be a teenager. Wasn't that one of the goals? Being normal?"

Her words remind me of what Mom said:

Take advantage of this opportunity, Canelé .

I cross my arms. "What does normal even mean for us?"

"You're always looking at those old photos of Mom," she points out, like she knows what I was just thinking. "This is where she's from. Explore more. Go do the things she did. Mom was in a bunch of school clubs, right?"

I shrug one shoulder. "I guess."

She holds out her hand, palm up. "Give me your phone."

I unlock the screen, checking if I have any incognito tabs left open before passing it over. She swipes around, then raises an eyebrow. My neck starts to sweat— fuck, what was my last search?— but Annika quickly moves on.

"Boom!" She flips the screen around. "This is perfect."

It's Willow Wood's newest Instagram post. Auditions for the upcoming fall theater production.

I read the first line of the caption out loud: "? ‘Willow Wood Academy proudly presents…CLUE!' Ew, are you serious?"

That's her genius idea? A play ? How will that solve my problems?

"Absolutely!" Annika is practically glowing. "Rehearsals. Costumes. Peer bonding . You can get to know more people."

As if spending every morning with Morgan and company isn't enough.

"Plus," Annika adds, "your mediocre acting skills need work."

"I'm not mediocre," I say, offended.

She purses her lips, unconvinced.

I flip her off. "I'm a thespian . Idris Elba has nothing on me. Those Willow Wood amateurs would be lucky to share a stage with—"

"Great," Annika interrupts, rereading the post. "Auditions are Thursday afternoon. We can run lines tomorrow."

I choke. It's not the auditioning part that trips me up. I pretend at almost every moment in my life. Memorizing a monologue is easy. It's committing to one more thing that might not change how anyone feels about me. Something that won't impress my parents or get me home any sooner.

"Wait," I try. "I didn't—"

"You're doing it, Jade. Crown princess, remember?" She points at herself, ignoring my screwed-up face to swipe over my phone screen. "Now that that's settled, let's talk about this ."

Annika has exited Willow Wood's account and opened my last Instagram search—the profile of one @TheReelReiss.

There's a small chance I got bored in Physics today. Spent half of class figuring out how to spell Reiss's name correctly: like the British football player, not the peanut butter–filled candy. Browsed his grid—careful not to accidentally like any of his photos—during lunch. It's nothing. I was simply gathering intel on the enemy.

"He's cute," Annika says.

"Not my type," I immediately announce.

"I like his hair. Nice smile too."

"It's horrible. There should be laws against…looking like that."

She rolls her eyes. "Is he into filmmaking?"

"Something like that." The second my tone softens, Annika's lips curl up in that triumphant way I truly hate. Flustered, I say, "I mean, I don't know. I don't care either. It's not like we've had conversations or whatever."

"See. Mediocre acting skills." Annika laughs. "What happened to American boys not being worth your time?"

"They're not ." I snatch my phone back. "None of them."

"Is this about Léon?"

I wince. Why does everyone keep bringing him up? Why does hearing his name still feel like a wooden splinter buried so deep beneath my skin I'd rather cut off a finger than wait for the ache to stop?

"I'm good," I assert. "Reiss is…just someone at school. Nobody."

This time, she cackles. "You're so bad at this. They probably won't even give you a speaking part in the play."

Great, now I'll be next in line for the throne, because I'm clearly going to drown my sister in the pool. It's a shame. She had a promising future.

Before I can begin my ascension to crown prince status, Luc gasps, "Oh! No, no, no," throwing a hand over his mouth.

I startle to my feet. "Is it a security threat? Did someone die?"

Luc tugs out his earbuds, lowering the tablet. "Unfortunately, no." He sags defeatedly. "They eliminated Jennie from the villa."

"I'm sorry"—I blink multiple times—" who ?"

Annika flops into her former position on the lounge chair. "He's obsessed with Paradise or Purgatory ."

"The reality dating series?" I almost scream, incredulous.

Luc's nose wrinkles like I just said something unforgivable about his family. "It's a brilliant examination of greed, betrayal, and the promise of love. A masterpiece."

Annika shakes her head. "You're a sad human," she says, returning to her book.

When school ends on Thursday, I walk over to Gratton Hall. It houses the three-hundred-seat auditorium where auditions are being held. The main floor is buzzing. Small groups of students partnering up to rehearse lines. A red-faced girl stares into the void while, opposite her, a boy does loud breathing exercises.

Some of the conversations drop out as I pass. Two students glare, as if I'm stepping on their territory. I smile without acknowledging them.

Good . They know I'm a threat.

For the last forty-eight hours, I've been practicing my monologue with Annika. It's the butler Wadsworth's over-the-top retelling of how the murders happened. I'd never heard of Clue , but a handful of YouTube clips informed me it's a murder-mystery comedy. I can be funny. Stage acting can't be that hard .

Inside the auditorium, people are scattered among the red velour seats, either on their phones or chatting softly. The upper deck is blocked off. So are the first ten rows closest to the stage. I find a center seat in an empty row near the back. Ajani sits behind me.

I drum my hands on my thighs while waiting. I'm not nervous. Bored, really. Ajani's not a woman of many words. Whenever I'm trapped doing royal activities, she's usually reading books on her phone.

Horror is her favorite. I only know that from sneaking looks at her screen. She'd never volunteer that kind of information.

I sigh, staring at the stage.

"It's so you get that Broadway experience of auditioning under the spotlight," a voice says to my left. Someone drops down next to me. A lanky boy with swoopy dark hair and fair reddish-brown skin. "Doc Garza Villa is very professional about auditions. No competition front and center, trying to throw you off your game. They want the best version of you up there."

I study him. His face is all striking angles. I've seen him before. Did we meet at the party? One of my classes?

As if reading my mind, he says, "Karan Sharma. No relation."

"No relation to who?"

"The actor. Or the other actor. The cricket dude. Actually…I think there's two cricket guys. Can't keep track." He shrugs. "Anyway, you're the prince, right?"

I nod slowly.

"Figured," Karan says. "You're the only one sitting with a bodyguard, so." He inclines his head, lowering his voice. "No offense, but she could step on me, and I wouldn't complain."

My brows pinch together. "What the f—"

Applause cuts off my last word. On stage, Dr. Garza Villa, the drama instructor, is flanked by another faculty adviser along with Dustin, the student director advertised online. Dustin's cute in a shy way, fidgeting with his clipboard, stage lights shining on his black curls.

Dr. Garza Villa gives a breakdown of the process. Students can audition using whatever character they choose. But no roles are guaranteed. Every spot is up for grabs, no matter the script's gender specification.

Halfway through the explanation, Karan whispers, "Nervous?"

I wait for a beat. "No."

"Me neither. Which role are you after?"

I sit up, eyes forward. "Shouldn't we be listening?"

"Nah. It's the same every year." He clearly doesn't get the hint that I'm uninterested in chatting, because he keeps going. "I'm aiming for Wadsworth. The real Mr. Boddy. I'm ready to headline a show." He spreads his hands over his head like he's unveiling a glowing marquee.

CLUE!…Starring Karan Whats-his-last-name-again?

In a deep, nervy voice, Dustin calls the first student to the stage.

"Thing is, I'm a little bit of a triple threat," Karan says in a voice more on the self-deprecating side than egotistical. "I can act, sing, and dance."

I raise both eyebrows.

"I know how it looks. This brown boy who's all bones and sick hair can move better than Shakira?" He does a small shimmy in his seat. "These hips don't lie, bro."

"Good for you?"

"Last spring, we did A Midsummer Night's Dream ," Karan says, slouching. "I rocked Theseus. Standing ovation material."

"I'm…sure," I say quietly.

"I wanted Puck. The true star," Karan continues. "My parents dream of me being an engineer. Like them. But I swear, if they see me headlining a show, they'll finally believe this is what I'm meant to do." His eyes brighten. "This is my year."

I mimic his posture in my own seat. He did Midsummer , like Mom. And he seems genuine, unlike half the other people I've met so far.

"I'm going for Wadsworth too," I admit.

"That's dope." Even his smile is sincere. "Imagine one of the two melanin boys here snatching the lead role from all these Chris Pratt and Margot Robbie wannabes. Hollywood's shaking right now."

I laugh, hard enough to earn a do you mind glare from Dr. Garza Villa in the front row. I shrink lower. Dustin calls the next student up.

"Huh." Karan adjusts his T-shirt collar. VERSACE is printed in large block letters across his chest, reminding everyone he comes from money too. "My bestie was wrong about you."

My face scrunches, confused.

"That was low-key my fault, though," Karan clarifies. "I kept texting him while you two were talking the other night."

I inhale too sharply. Fuck my life. That's where I remember him from. He's the boy Reiss was laughing with in the courtyard the other day. The best friend Reiss mentioned at the party.

"So…" Karan grins. "Are you interested?"

I startle. "Interested in what?"

"Rei—"

I cut him off. "I'm not interested in anything that has to do with him."

"He's not that bad." When I stare skeptically at him, Karan adds, "He pretends to have this total emo, ‘I make films for all the sad boys' energy. That he'd rather eat glass than socialize with anyone here. To be fair, have you met our classmates?"

I fight off another laugh, waiting for him to go on.

"The real Reiss is a quintessential softboy. In all the best ways." Karan's warm smile returns. "Smart. Funny. Exceptional taste in movies and friends."

I purse my lips, unconvinced.

"He said he really liked you," Karan casually adds. "Before the whole, you know."

I don't need him to finish. What happened lives rent-free in my head. The party. In the hallway after he opened my locker. All of it.

Hold on . I squeak out, "He likes me?"

Karan sparkles like this is the role he's been dreaming of all his life: wingman . He checks his phone. Then his eyes dart to the aisle. "Perfect timing. Ask him yourself."

Before I can turn my head, I hear: "Karan, you asshole. Hell no."

"Be quiet," Karan hisses, dragging Reiss by the elbow. They bicker softly until Karan shoves Reiss down. Into the seat next to me.

"Get me out of here now ," I whisper over my shoulder to Ajani.

"Sorry, my prince. I can't." She doesn't even lift her eyes. "Not until you finish your audition. Strict orders from the crown princess."

"What?!"

Dr. Garza Villa whips around again. I sink so low I might as well be on the floor. Which would be much better than breathing in a now-familiar smoky, earthy scent. Staring up at a sharp jaw. Watching Reiss's cheeks turn scorched red.

"Bro, you promised you'd record my audition," Karan whispers.

"I lied," Reiss grits out.

Karan leans past him to look at me. "Prince, help me out. Tell my bestie it's a dick move to promise to support the biggest moment of my future career and then back out."

"I wouldn't dare," I argue.

"Like I'd listen to him," Reiss says flatly.

"Karan?" Dustin calls. "Karan Sharma?"

"Here!" Karan screeches. At the end of our row, two giggling girls fall into the last seats, blocking his exit. That doesn't stop him. "On the way, D! One sec!"

And just like that, he uses his long legs to effortlessly climb over the seats in front of us. He jogs up to the stage. Leaving me alone with Reiss.

This is a nightmare .

After a minute, Reiss begrudgingly opens the camera app on his phone. He directs the lens toward the stage. In all the movement, his shoulder brushes mine. He leans the other way. I don't care.

It's not as if I was secretly trying to figure out what bodywash he uses. Nope. Never happened.

Onstage, charisma pours off Karan. He wasn't bragging before. He's talented.

"He's right," I find myself whispering. "It's rude to lie about helping a friend."

"Like it's rude to be an asshole to someone who, just so we're clear"—he half-turns his head to glare at me—"wasn't recording you without consent."

He doesn't leave me room to comment.

"This is LA," he continues, voice low. "I see celebs all the time. Cate Blanchett literally had tea next to me this morning. Some of us don't give a shit about who you are."

I swallow, cheeks hot. "Point taken."

"I was texting Karan that night. About you."

He's not looking at me anymore, but his face has softened to a pale pink. Like he's embarrassed about admitting that.

"Good things?" I ask, conversationally. Curiously.

"Doesn't matter now."

My brain tries to work around what to say next. How to rewind, start over. Make this a little less uncomfortable. But no amount of royal training, lessons on diplomacy, comes to me. I'm stuck in a war of silence, just like I'm stuck in California.

Reiss seems content ignoring me. He kicks a foot up on the empty seat in front of him. My eyes widen. He's wearing red-and-white Jordan 1 Retro High OGs. I have the same pair back in Réverie.

Surprising myself, I say, "Great shoes."

Another surge of blush pours down his cheeks. "Sneakerhead?"

"I dabble," I reply, then grimace. I dabble? Who the hell says that?

But the corners of Reiss's mouth twitch. "Me too."

Huh. We have something in common. Other than happily avoiding each other.

"I'll have to show you my collection sometime," I say, immediately regretting it. "On my phone. Not like. I wasn't inviting you to my bedroom . I'm not some pervy—"

"I didn't think you were," Reiss says, mercifully ending my stammering. Another almost-smile brushes his lips. "I'm good at not assuming things about people."

My whole face is on fire.

Before I can say anything, Karan climbs back over the seats. " Phew ." He fakes wiping his brow. "Not to brag, but I should probably start composing my acceptance speech for the Tonys. I slayed up there."

Reiss lowers his phone. "True. Your ego deserves at least Best Newcomer."

"That's not a category, bro." Karan nudges me. "You're up."

That's when I realize Dustin's saying, "Prince Jadon? Er, Your Highness? Your Majesty? Help, anyone?"

I jolt to my feet. "Jadon's fine," I say flatly when all eyes fall on me.

"Whenever you're ready."

I nod once.

Instead of squeezing by Reiss—and risking that awkward moment where either my ass or crotch will be eye-level with his face—to ask the girls at the end to let me out, I mimic Karan's earlier exit. But I'm not as coordinated. My foot gets caught between two seats. I pretend not to hear choked laughter as I stumble free. Is Reiss grinning at me almost faceplanting in front of everyone?

"Relax those ass cheeks," Karan instructs. "Melanin dominance, remember?"

I collect myself, then nod again.

When I'm onstage, Dr. Garza Villa asks what part I'm reading for, making a note before telling me to start. The auditorium is cast in heavy shadows. But I know Reiss is watching.

I smile.

For all four minutes my audition takes, I think about what Annika suggested. About not being prince of ?les de la Réverie. The boy all over the news. The problem his parents are tired of fixing. I'm just a semi-normal boy going after something that won't define or destroy him.

And it's…nice.

A feeling I want more of.