Chapter 7

7

ROYALS: THEY'RE JUST LIKE US!

OMFG, we can't get enough of Réverie's royal duo in LA! Have you seen the photos of fashionista Princess Annika grabbing bubble tea from Boba Lounge in Palisades Village while wearing a Burberry silk shirt and leggings? How about Prince Jadon strolling through a trendy Santa Monica neighborhood with his personal security? While strong rumors insist Jadon's been "banished to America" for that viral video (click here to read our cover story!), we can only hope that sunny LA is taming this notoriously uncharming royal's bad boy ways.

@LacesAndPlaces started following @TheReelReiss

@TheReelReiss started following @LacesAndPlaces

It's not until after liking five of Reiss's posts in a row that I realize I might be coming on a little strong.

My finsta is mainly for finding memes, searching for new recipe videos, and occasionally browsing thirst traps. It's not for creeping on a film-obsessed, maybe-beautiful, pink-haired boy's profile. But here I am at 7:22 a.m., debating on whether to unlike at least three of those posts, terrified he's already seen the notifications.

My @LacesAndPlaces account started off as a way to separate myself from the verified prince of ?les de la Réverie account. I don't control my official social media. Some palace staffer does. That account is nothing but boring photos and videos of meeting forgettable dignitaries, goodwill trips, and "candids" that were carefully staged. At least this is fully mine.

My grid consists of views and shoes. Snapshots of places I've visited paired with a sneaker from my closet. A glowing Eiffel Tower at night with metallic gold Air Jordan 1s. The Ionian Sea's clear water near Lefkada with pale blue Jordan Melo M13 XII Energy kicks. Louis Vuitton x Nike Air Force 1 Reds to match a phone box in London.

No one's traced @LacesAndPlaces back to me. I only have 102 followers.

One hundred and one . Kofi dropped me like Rose ditched Jack's frozen corpse in Titanic .

As of 10:11 p.m. last night, I gained a new follower: @TheReelReiss.

My cheeks ache from smiling at my screen. Thankfully, it goes unnoticed. It's too early to discuss my suspicious online activity.

We're in the courtyard again. Me and Grace on one bench. Morgan and Nathan on the other. I'm sticking to this routine because, while some of the headlines about me are changing, there still isn't enough forward motion in the Team Jadon camp. I'm trying to do better.

"What about a hot zombie?" Grace suggests.

"Nah," Nathan says. "I'm going as a sexy mummy."

"No one wants to see that," Morgan says.

I'm still looking at my phone, but I can hear the sleaze in Nathan's voice: "Are you saying you don't want to help cover all my important parts with toilet paper?"

"There are no important parts on you, Nate."

"Morg, you wound me!"

I lift my eyes just in time to witness Morgan playfully punching Nathan's bicep. "Sorry," I say, confused, "what's this about?"

"Grace's Halloween bash," Morgan monotones.

" Annual Halloween bash," Grace corrects. Today, she's swapped SAT cards for a copy of Pride and Prejudice . Somehow, I've discovered this group takes their grades very seriously. Even Nathan. "An early birthday gift. My dad throws a party every year."

"She gives off ultimate Scorpio energy, doesn't she?" Nathan says to me.

"Um, I guess."

"You're coming, right?" Grace requests. It's an invite, unlike last time.

I hesitate. The last party wasn't very productive. But can I afford to say no? How is sitting in that hollow Palisades house, the one that keeps reminding me I'm not in the palace, going to help me get home? Being antisocial isn't going to prove I'm the prince anyone deserves.

Maybe Reiss will show up again? Because of Karan. Not because he wants to see me or anything.

"Jadon?" Grace scrutinizes me.

"Yes," I manage, throat dry. "I'll be there."

She beams. Her shiny lip gloss matches the pink bows keeping blunt bangs off her forehead. "I'll add you to the VIP list."

After unlocking her phone, Grace frowns.

"Kaden?" Morgan says.

Grace doesn't answer. She eyes the screen for a minute. Then, she blinks away whatever she was just thinking, smiling again. "We should plan a shopping trip. That way none of us wear the same costume."

While Grace and Nathan trade ideas, I study the courtyard. It's early October, and the sky's a sharp blue. Students are slowly trickling in. A boy from my Human Development class—Seb?—strolls by in a leather jacket instead of his cardigan. Behind him, someone's wearing a yellow beret and dramatic lilac cape.

I spin to Morgan, various pins scattered over her plaid vest. "What's with the uniforms?"

She barely lifts her eyes from her phone. She's always texting. I wonder who it is? Her mom or a sibling? I never ask.

"It's all Headmaster Parker." She locks her screen. "Back in her day, Willow Wood was very… conservative . Strict rules and expectations. She hated it. Said it made a lot of kids fail in a place where they were supposed to succeed."

My eyebrows furrow.

"So, when she was put in charge, she changed the rules," Morgan goes on.

"Within reason," Nathan adds, rolling his eyes.

"To appease the old, boring donors who have hard-ons for tradition ," Morgan reasons, "we're required to wear at least one piece of uniform the standard way. The rest is up for interpretation."

I snort when Nathan stands, modelling a pair of gray slacks he's chopped into shorts.

"She's been good for the school," Grace concedes. "Even if people disagree."

For a moment, I think about that. How stifling tradition can be. How sticking to the same rules doesn't bring steadiness. Sometimes, it brings failure. Sometimes, just one step outside of the lines is… freeing .

My eyes do another sweep of the area. At the courtyard's edge, I catch a pair of yellow-and-black Air Jordan 1s. I slide my gaze up the legs, the torso, over the now-familiar shoulders of the sneakers' owner.

Reiss .

A fuzziness creeps into my cheeks. I don't know why the skin on the inside of my ankle heats up, like I can still feel his pressed right there. Why my heart's volleying around my chest like a Wimbledon championship game. Why I'm suddenly noticing the fading dye in his hair leaves it sunrise pink. Why my fingers curl to fists in my lap when I see that he's talking to a tall, freckle-faced boy.

They're whispering. Phones out. Shoulders almost touching.

The boy's head turns. His face so close to Reiss's ear and—

"Earth to PJ." Nathan waves a hand in front of my eyes.

I almost fall off the bench.

After recovering, I stammer, "What did you say?"

He laughs. "We're headed inside." Morgan and Grace are already hovering with weird expressions. Nathan kicks up his skateboard. "Need to get my morning constitutional in before Shakespeare class."

"TMI," Morgan groans.

"That's the same thing Miss Gong said!"

"Costume shopping after school?" Grace prompts.

I avoid looking in Reiss's direction. Instead, I tug my buzzing phone from my pocket. A reminder pops up.

My face wrinkles. "Can't. I have a meeting with Headmaster Parker."

She shrugs, hooking arms with Morgan. "Your loss."

But it's not.

Don't get me wrong, Headmaster Parker's proposition to spend my afternoon recording an advertisement for Willow Wood sounds tedious. The kind of publicity stunt deeply beneath an heir to the throne. But I go along with it because she's so earnest about the potential.

"Imagine how many kids will want to come here," she says, eyes glittery, "when they see a prince like you in our promotional video."

I go along with it because of what Grace said earlier:

She's been good for this school. Even if people disagree .

I go along with it because the moment I walk into the hallway where we're shooting the advertisement, my pulse quickens at who is behind the camera.

Crooked grin. Crinkled dark eyes. Sunrise-pink hair.

" Oh ." Headmaster Parker starts. "You two already know each other?"

Did my helpless smile give it away?

"Yup," Reiss answers, stepping closer. "I'm a big fan."

I snort, then clear my throat. "Nice to see you again."

"So formal," Reiss whispers. "Thanks for doing this. It'll earn me extra credit in my Video Art I class."

"Anything for y—for the arts."

Headmaster Parker claps, satisfied. "Wonderful! Reiss is one of our brightest rising film students. I trust him. You're in great hands."

My gaze drifts downward. Long fingers, soft knuckles. Absently, I lick my lips. Reiss's cheeks pinken. Headmaster Parker is oblivious to the exchange.

"I'll leave you two to it." Then, she's gone.

Reiss swallows. "Shall we?"

Other than the Canon and tripod, I don't know the names of the equipment being used. Reiss spends a few minutes testing each one. Adjusting the lighting. Using headphones to check the audio. From behind the camera, he tries to direct me into position near a row of lockers, but I'm either too far to the right or too left or out of focus.

Sighing, he steps over and around equipment until we're face-to-face. His hands raise, fingers gripping my shoulders.

"Move…right…here."

"Is this just an excuse for you to touch me?"

He pauses abruptly. "What? N-no. You weren't following my directions."

"They weren't clear."

His hands fall away. I force myself not to sulk. His grip was firm, confident, tingles-up-my-spine inducing.

"How about this?" He backs away, exasperated. "Don't move. Stand here, smile big, and look pretty until we're done."

As he stomps away, I say, "So you think I'm pretty?"

"And don't talk until I tell you to," he yells instead of answering my question.

"Bossy," I mumble.

He resettles behind the camera, yanking his headphones on. After we record the short intro script Headmaster Parker composed, Reiss explains, "She wants this next part to be organic. Candid. Just talk about the school. What you like. Why you came here."

"Okay."

"Do you need a minute? Think about what you want to say?"

I shake my head. "Sounds simple. I can handle it."

Except, the second he signals me to start, my body goes rigid. I stare blankly into the lens. Being a prince isn't just a title. It's something you're taught to be. Decorum, how to handle situations, when and what to say.

It's also something I've always resented. I'm not a robot. I act on impulse. The second I'm uncomfortable, every little method I've learned goes out the window. Filter off, defensiveness on.

Annika's so much better at playing the part. She's polite and magnetic. Never met a question she couldn't answer diplomatically. The kind of face Willow Wood would love welcoming new students to their prestigious establishment.

I'm not bitter toward her. I just wish I could be myself.

In moments like this, I wish being myself was enough for everyone else.

Maybe Kip Davies is right. I'm nothing but a rebel. The wrong kind of prince.

"Any time you're ready," Reiss singsongs.

I flinch. "I—so, like. Tell you what I love?"

"About the school." There's a hint of frustration behind his voice. "Why you came here."

"I love…" I swallow. Stare into the lens again. "The weather. And architecture."

Reiss's head pops up. "Six whole words," he says dryly. "I like it. Raw. Minimalistic. To the point."

"I'm trying ," I grit out.

"I can tell," he shoots back.

When I glower, he raises his hands. "My bad. You're obviously not a fan of cameras."

"Obviously," I repeat tersely.

"Pretend it's not here." He waves a hand in front of the camera like a magician attempting to disappear a rabbit. "Pretend you're staring at someone special. Someone you care about. A boyfriend, maybe."

My eyes narrow even more. "Considering my last relationship didn't end well, I'll pass."

Reiss winces. "That was an awful suggestion. I've never had a boyfriend. Or been on a real date. Unless you count bowling with Paxton Shen, which I don't." He rakes a hand down his face. "Why do people even say that? ‘Stare into the camera like it's your lover.' No thanks. I'd rather look at a chicken taco that way."

As he rambles, I tilt my head. It's not the no-previous-boyfriends admission that amuses me, though my brain immediately saves that information for later. It's his unfiltered openness. The self-deprecating voice. That embarrassed wrinkle in the middle of his nose.

All of it smooths a smile across my lips.

" Ah , there they are," Reiss says almost fondly. "The dimples."

My brow rises again.

"Don't act like you don't know their power," he accuses.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I say, smiling harder.

"Whatever." He flips me off. "New idea, Your Royal Arrogance—"

"Shouldn't it be Your Royal Dimple-ness?"

He ignores my baiting. "We need a change of scenery."

After securing Headmaster Parker's permission, Reiss switches locations: Willow Wood's Olympic-level outdoor swimming pool. Ajani accompanies us, sitting in the spectator stands. Reiss resets the equipment. He only brought the essentials. The camera setup, headphones, other small tools I still can't identify.

"Shooting outdoors is better," he tells me.

"Is it?"

"Natural light looks good on you…I mean, on camera ."

I grin smugly. "Are you going to show me where to stand?"

He does. Unfortunately, without the touching this time. He uses something called spike tape to mark a spot on the concrete, near the pool's ledge.

"This is more in your element," he says as I get into position. "Being closer to the water. It'll help."

He's right. There's something about the cloudless sky. Sunlight glittering off the pool's surface as golden hour approaches.

I picture Réverie. The soft, sun-warm sand along the shores. Swaying branches on the fig trees in the palace garden. Clothes perfumed in fresh vanilla and spicy cloves after spending hours in the kitchens. Mom's laughter as I force her to learn a new online dance or Papa quietly telling me stories about our country.

Somewhere between the memories, I start talking. The things I like about Willow Wood. Instead of my practiced, fake grin, a real smile settles in. My eyes never leave the camera. Never leave Reiss.

It only takes a handful of takes, some angle changes. A brief pause when the wind picks up. Before I realize it, we're finished.

"It'll need some editing," Reiss says as he sidles up to me to play back all the best parts, "but not bad for a prince."

I snort. "I'm not sure you got my prettiest side."

"Shut up," he groans.

"No, seriously. You can barely see my dimples—"

"Glad His Royal Arrogance survived one afternoon with me." He lowers the camera. "It must've been so hard."

It wasn't. What's difficult is not getting lost in his dark eyes. The way one side of his grin is higher than the other.

I'm so close to thanking him for helping me get past my insecurities today, when a screeching voice shouts, "We did it!"

I whip around as Karan comes jogging into the pool area.

He stops in front of us, flashing his phone. "Watch out, Hollywood!"

I lean in. Stare at the screen. It's a graphic on Willow Wood Theater's web page. A casting announcement. For some reason, I forgot Dr. Garza Villa mentioned the list would be out this week. But there it is:

Karan Sharma as Wadsworth .

"Bro." Reiss shakes him. "That's you! Holy shit. We love a murder king."

Karan tips his head into the sun, beaming.

Genuine happiness fills my chest. I don't know him that well—at all, really—but it's obvious how much he wanted this. How much he deserved it.

"Congratulations," I say. "You were incredible."

" We were." He's still pointing at his phone. Farther down the list—

Prince Jadon as Mr. Green .

I almost grimace at seeing my title in front of my name until it hits me. That's my name on the casting sheet . My heart leaps up my throat. I'm going to be in the play. Overwhelming joy spreads under my skin.

It never occurred to me, through the practices with Annika and the audition process, that I would actually want this. That I'd get it.

A now-familiar hand squeezes my shoulder.

"I knew you'd get it," Reiss says. Before either of us can comment on how sincere his voice is, he adds, "Mr. Green is a great character. Much more respectable than the butler."

"Hey!" Karan says, mock insulted. "Don't be rude on my big day."

He playfully shoves Reiss, who's too busy laughing to maintain his balance. He knocks into me. Which is fine, except it's not. Because I'm so distracted by how nice it is—our bodies pressed together—that I don't pay attention to where I'm standing. My left foot slides back…into nothing.

Nothing but air until I crash into the pool.

I'm still drying my curls when there's a knock against metal.

After pulling myself out of the water, disregarding Reiss and Karan's panicked offers to help, I stomped back into the school. Shoes squishing the whole way. Headmaster Parker ushered me to the nearby gym locker room. It smells like sweat and cheap soap and chocolate body spray. I'm ready to leave.

"Yes?" I call with an edge to my voice.

Ajani steps around the corner. "My prince. This one wanted to see you."

Reiss waves shyly from around her.

I lower the towel around my shoulders, face caught between a frown and mild annoyance. I'm not angry with him. I just don't want him to see me like this. Drippy, hair wrecked, someone else's athletic socks pooled around my ankles.

"Should I dispose of him?" Ajani offers.

Reiss's eyes go comically big.

"It's fine," I sigh out. "I'm not in the mood to get blood all over my new clothes."

I wave a hand at the Willow Wood Phys Ed uniform Headmaster Parker gave me. The gray T-shirt is itchy, and I'm still wearing my damp boxers. There's no way I was going commando in these cotton shorts.

"You can murder him next time," I compromise.

Ajani nods once, shooting Reiss a lethal glare before exiting the locker room.

"She's hella frightening," he says.

"Her scare tactics are very effective." I lean against one of the lockers, arms folded over my chest.

He mirrors my posture, but keeps his arms at his side. He's clutching something. A shirt or jacket?

"You're a great swimmer."

"Lots of practice," I say. "You know, ocean and all."

When he laughs, I do too. It's this contagious noise. Or maybe it's because he looks so embarrassed, like he didn't expect his day to go like this. Me either. But I'm not disappointed with what's currently happening.

The way we're staring at each other, mouths curled into smiles, chests rising and falling at the same rhythm.

"Karan's really sorry about the"—his eyes trail over me—"pool thing. I am too."

My eyebrow arches. "Is that an apology? From the great @TheReelReiss?"

"At least I know how to apologize," he counters.

Heat spreads into my cheeks. "I'm sorry. For what I said at the party."

"Anything else?"

"Nope." I smirk. "Just that."

"Fine. Here ." He shoves whatever he's gripping into my chest. "I didn't know if you'd have anything warm to change into. Gets a little cool this time of day."

I hold it up. A cotton hoodie. Soft, thin, and bright yellow like the golden-weaver birds around Réverie.

"Thank you," I whisper, still a little awed at the thoughtful gesture.

He shrugs. "Can't have Willow Wood's second-biggest star catching pneumonia before rehearsals start."

Oh, right. The casting announcements. Even though I spent most of my time reading Wadsworth's lines, I saw a lot of Mr. Green's name throughout the script. I'm nowhere near as anxious as he is, but he's funny. Plus, he plays a major part in the ending.

I slide the hoodie over my head. It's a tight fit. It smells of earth and smoke, scents I now recognize from The Hopper. As I struggle, my T-shirt rides up my abdomen. Even with the hoodie's collar caught around my nose, I can still see Reiss.

His eyes have zeroed in on my flash of brown skin. The definition in my stomach. Thank you for the years of swimming lessons, Atlantic .

I slow my motions. Give him an extra five seconds to look. When he twists his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes darker, I clear my throat, lowering my arms.

He startles back into the lockers.

"I should go," I say, almost failing to conceal my pleased smile. "See you around?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," he stammers.

" Oh ." I pause by the entranceway. "Don't forget to highlight my dimples when you edit that video. Hate to disappoint my fans."

"You're way too cocky."

"It's not cockiness," I tell him. "Simply facts."

His lopsided grin returns. "Goodbye, Jadon."

I mock-bow, then leave with my chin high, shoulders elegantly drawn back. It's not until I'm halfway to the waiting car that it hits me. He didn't say Your Royal Arrogance .

Reiss called me Jadon.