No Chance, No Way

"Did you hear about what happened between Jacob and Callie at the party last weekend?" I asked my best friend Sam as we walked out of the public school we attended and back to the respective places we lived.

"No, what happened?" he asked, pretending to sound genuinely interested.

“…absolutely nothing." I sighed while rolling my eyes. Three weeks had gone by without anything relatively interesting, gossip-worthy, or heart-wrenching happening.

"Figures."

We walked in silence until the place we parted ways was just a block away.

"Sam, do you ever get tired of your life? I mean, genuinely tired of it all? We live in the ghetto of New York, your parents are divorced and my dad was a spring-break fling, we’re both single, colleges will probably rip our applications up because our school has no street cred..." I trailed off.

He laughed at me. "Well, that's what life is, right? Making the most of what you've got?"

I guess.

“No! Something exciting has got to happen, it's just the way life works. The instigator is always provided Sam, it's just what you make of it that counts. That's what life is."

"Whatever you say, Emilie," he said as he enveloped me in a hug before he began his own journey home. I scrunched up my face as I realized that I didn't receive an answer to my question. Usually whenever Sam and I would have these insightful conversations (he would provide the insight, obviously), I would ponder his responses on my own walk home. I guess today I’d be left to my own immature thoughts as I began my walk to my apartment building.

After stopping by for a slushie from 7/11, I finally ended up at the apartment a half-hour later. I twisted the knob first to the left then quickly to the right, kicked the bottom left corner of the door, and shoved the door open. Who needs a key in the Bronx?

"Honey, is that you?"

I froze. My mom was home? What the– I looked at the digital clock on the oven, which was barely visible from my spot by the front door. It was a quarter to four. She's never home before seven if it's a good day, and most days I didn't see her because she came back to the apartment way past my bed time, which was the late hour of nine.

"Can you come into your room, please?"

Ah, damn. She's found the birth control. Fuck. I'm screwed, I'm screwed, I'm screwed!

I swallowed my fear, took a few big breaths, set my backpack down by the front door, devised a possible escape plan in case things got ugly, and made my way to my room.

As I approached the end of the hall, I noticed my door was already propped open by an old shoe. Through the crack I saw two men in suits wearing big, black sunglasses and ear pieces. Their hands were crossed in front and their faces were emotionless. Bodyguards?

"Another highway hold-up?" I joked, as I entered the room. The atmosphere seemed heavy and lightening the mood through misplaced humor was definitely my strong suit.

My mom was sitting on my bed and a relatively middle-age man was facing her, sitting on my desk chair. All heads were turned towards me.

…right. Another joke was probably not a good idea. Maybe humor wasn’t my strong suit. Maybe it was my defense mechanism.

"Hi," I said blankly, with a slight wave of my hand. I sat beside my mom on my bed and waited for the introductions and explanations.

"Hello," the man greeted, "I'm Regent Nick Rousseau. You must be Emilie."

"Regent?" I quirked an eyebrow. "Over what kingdom?"

He smiled. "So you know your history, your terminology... Tell me, Emilie, how much did you know about your father?"

My smile faltered.

"He was drunk out of his ass when my mom met him, his name started with a F, and he was a damn good kisser."

I smiled as soon as I finished speaking, only because the impending silence would be awkward, and awkward silences make me giggle. Nick pursed his lips, my mom let out a groan under her breath and covered her face with her hands out of embarrassment, and the bodyguards are totally my new best friends because they're suppressing their laughter too!

"Spring Break, ’91,” I added, as an afterthought.

"He was a bit misguided in his teen years, but he grew to be a good man. He was responsible and caring and he came to learn right from wrong. Granted, it took him a while, but he got there! Your father, Emilie, was the crown prince of Reyland."

I scoffed.

"Reyland... the place that's known for its humongous crop of prunes?"

"So you've heard of it then?" Nick asked with an oblivious smile on his face. I smiled at the ridiculous information I was hearing and nodded.

"They supplied prunes to the United States of America during the Great Depression," I managed to get out without laughing my ass off and disrespecting the country's royalty.

"You really know your history, don't you?" He asked.

"The only A she can get on her report card without really trying," my mom said, recovering from the embarrassing blow I unintentionally dealt her earlier. I reached over and rubbed her forearm slowly as a sort of apology, because I knew I’d be making up for my comments later.

"Your father was a history major, so that makes some sort of sense."

I nodded, feigning comprehension.

"Sorry, why are you here?" I asked, still unsure about why the heck this ‘Regent’ was in my apartment and why my father was his main interest.

Mr.Rousseau sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, taking a moment for himself before he began to talk.

“The crown prince, your father, died earlier this year in a racing accident. Your grandma, the Queen, died several years ago due to heart failure," he paused.

As if on cue, the bodyguards simultaneously chimed, "Long Live Marietta!”

I jumped in my seat at their outbursts– sudden noises scare me.

Regent Rousseau continued, “And your grandfather, the King of Reyland, sent me to bring you back to Reyland so you can begin preparing for your coronation in the Spring."

My eyes widened and I leaned closer to Nick, as if the words hadn't quite reached me yet. What the fu-

"Franc was a prince?"

Well duh, mom. We've already established that. Wait a minute...

I looked over at her. She told me that she was too drunk to remember his name... she lied?

"Woah, boy," I began to reason, as I tried to sort the information in my mind. "So you're telling me, that my father was a ‘prince' of a country no bigger than the smallest state of the United States and I'm now the 'heir' to the 'throne'?" I questioned, adding air quotes around the words that I still couldn't grasp in my mind.

"Yes."

"And that I need to go to Reyland to assume my position of 'Princess' of Reyland."

"In good time, Queen," he added.

...right.

*******************

"Honey? Wake up... Emilie?" I received a few light slaps across the face. "Emilie Maria Bailey, if you do not wake up this instant, I will be forced to get the mop bucket!"

"I'm up," I managed to groan, slowly opening my eyes and adjusting them to the dim light.

I pushed myself up to rest on my elbows and noticed that the strange man and his sidekicks were gone, my desk chair turned back into the groove meant for my legs, and my throw pillows were placed perfectly on my bed as if they were never moved. Was it all a dream?

"Come on, I've made us dinner."

I let out a breath and lowered to the ground once more. After a minute or two I started to doze off. Then, I heard the sound of the wheels of the mop bucket moving towards my room. I jumped off the floor screaming, "I'm up!" at the top of my lungs.

I hurried into the kitchen and sat at the table. My mom placed mashed potatoes, green beans, and macaroni and cheese in front of me before getting her own plate and joining me across the table. We held hands, said grace, and began to eat.

"My head hurts," I said, attempting to start some sort of conversation. There was an eerie silence looming over us that I didn't like one bit.

"That's because when you fainted, you hit your head on the bedpost. I don't blame you, I'd want to be knocked out after hearing I was a princess, too. And to think that we've been living like this for all these years..."

I stopped moving. So it wasn't a dream...

"Look, honey… we need to talk."

I exhaled.

"I remember that night, back in 1991. It didn't quite happen how I told you it did..."

I narrowed my eyes at her and asked, sarcastically, "So you didn't get drunk, involve yourself in a game of 7 minutes in heaven, and get carried away in a closet?"

"No. I wasn't that drunk, either. I only had one margarita. Your father made it for me, actually," she smiled at the memory and continued, "I had just walked into the hotel suite and the party was in full swing. Somehow my friend and I got separated because of the huge crowd so I figured I'd go into the kitchen for a drink and wait it out.

"And there he was, he was the hottest piece of ass in the room, I can tell you that much right now," my mom rambled on.

I blushed. Oh my god. If you ever talk to your mom about guys, ass should never come up. Even if it does, it shouldn't be coming from your mom. Gross.

"Anyway, he made me my drink and our eyes connected. I remember the feeling being so strong that I almost spilled my margarita. After that he led me to his room and we just... talked. After a while, we kissed and did other stuff... and the final result is you!"

I quickly stuffed my mouth with potatoes so I wouldn't have to say anything. What do you even say to that, anyway?

"Well?"

I swallowed and with a blank face said, "Well what?"

"Nick was here for a reason, Emilie. You have a very important decision to make and I'd hate to see you turn your head to the fact that you are of majestic blood, baby girl. Your father named you his heir, do it for him."

This made me angry.

"I didn't even know his name until two hours ago, why the hell would I do this for him?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice under control. For some reason, it was resonating with pent up anger. I never knew the man, why would I be angry at him? Oh, wait...

"You can get out of this place and live up to your true potential. You can feel free to buy more clothes instead of pillaging the Salvation Army, you can have food other then the sale items at Ralphs, and-" she paused, "I just... I don't want you stuck here. I want you to do this. If you won't do it for Franc, then do it for me."

I stood up angrily and walked over to the sink, placing my dirty plate at the top of the pile.

"You didn't have to lie about it," I mumbled as I trudged back into my room.