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He pointed out that the girls on the popular television show Pretty Little Liars are children too, which revealed:
• Lars watches Pretty Little Liars.
• Human Rights Watch should probably be keeping an eye on public and private schools all over America because they seem to be breeding enough child murderers that several popular television shows have been based on the subject. There’s also one on Lifetime called Child Killers, not to mention MTV’s Teen Wolf and CW’s Vampire Diaries (although admittedly the latter two feature paranormal entities).
Meanwhile, Tina was wailing, “There are parents everywhere. Why aren’t they doing anything to control their children?”
It was true. All these moms in yoga pants and Tory Burch slides were chatting with one another while sipping lattes grandes, their gazes focused—I hate to admit—on the long black stretch limo with the tiny Genovian flags flying from it (why, oh, why didn’t I remove them when I first thought of it?), instead of what was happening beneath their noses.
Now that I think back on it, only Lilly had the common sense to say, “Uh, Mia, do you really think you should go out there? If you do, someone’s going to snap a photo of it and post it to social media, and then the next thing you know, everyone in the whole world is going to know that—”
But like a fool, I left the car without listening to the rest. Because by that time, the little blond girl had hold of my sister’s left braid, and there was no way I was going to stand for that kind of nonsense.
I threw open my car door and came striding across the schoolyard, calling Olivia’s name. It took a minute for any of the children to notice me, because they were too busy chanting the words Fight, fight, fight.
But one by one they all did, and when they did, they stopped what they were doing, including the blond girl, who released Olivia’s hair and stared at me, dumb-founded.
It’s not every day, I suppose, that the Princess of Genovia gets out of a limo in front of your school.
“Olivia?” I said, when I finally reached her.
She stared up at me through the thick lenses of her glasses. It was pretty clear she, along with the little blond girl and most of the kids in the circle around them, knew who I was. I have to say, much as I complain about it, there are certain advantages sometimes to being royal.
“Oh,” Olivia said in a very polite voice, releasing the front of the blond girl’s blouse and adjusting her now very messed up braid. “Hi. Yes, that’s me.”
“Er,” I said.
What do you say to your long lost sister upon meeting her for the first time?
Suddenly I became aware of all the gazes—and cell phone camera lenses—that were suddenly upon us. It was only then that I realized Lilly was right: it had been a very bad idea for me to get out of the car. I should have sent Lilly to break up the fight. Or Tina. Tina knew much more about tween girls than any of us, and was also nearly a doctor, or had at least studied child psychology.
“Hi,” I said, feeling a nervous sweat break out beneath my hairline, even though, for such a sunny day in May, it was not particularly warm. “I’m, uh, Mia Thermopolis.” I had never felt so uncomfortable saying my name in my entire life. “Your aunt Catherine said it would be all right for me to pick you up from school today.”
The little girl eyed me dubiously through her glasses. I could see why she might find this entire scenario a little on the shady side.
“Oh,” I said, suddenly remembering. “Here’s a note she signed, saying so.”
I was glad Lilly had thought of this at the last minute, and asked Olivia’s aunt to sign it, as well. There are advantages to having a best friend who wants to be a lawyer, even one who wants to go into something as boring as contract law, though Lilly says contract law is not boring, but the backbone of all legal practice, the way mystery novels are the backbone of all literature. Murder breaks a contract with society, which only justice can set right again.
“Would you like to come with me?” I asked as I handed Olivia the note.
Olivia didn’t exactly jump at the chance to climb in the Princess of Genovia’s limo, even to get away from someone who was threatening to beat the crap out of her. Perhaps Olivia had not been in as dire circumstances as I’d thought. With dignified calm, she unfolded the note and read it carefully.
There was complete silence from the kids all around us as she did this, although I could hear several of them breathing, including a few who tried to crowd close to read the note over Olivia’s shoulder (and mine—well, really my elbows, since the children were so short). I tried gently to shove them away, but they would not budge.
Most children are lovely, but up close some of them are not at all tidy (I don’t mean my sister, of course).
“Thank you,” Olivia said, gravely folding the note back up and tucking it into her backpack. “I’d like to go with you very much.”
Scooooooooore!
“Great!” I said, and snatched up her hand to turn around and walk back toward the limo before she could change her mind. By that time both Lars and Halim had caught up with me, and had squeezed through the crowd to flank us on either side, busily scanning the school yard for RoyalRabbleRouser or any other enemies of state who might have heard of my sudden arrival in Cranbrook and shown up to rid the world of me. “Let’s go.”
I knew whatever I’d interrupted between her and the little blond girl had been mega-intense, but I wasn’t going to ask about it until we were safely inside the car and many miles away, if ever. The last thing I expected was the blond girl—who’d begun trailing after us, along with the rest of the kids—to do so.
“Excuse me,” she said, in a high-pitched voice, “but is it true that you’re Olivia’s sister?”
I was so shocked I nearly walked right into Lars, who was barking, “Make a hole!” at all the curious moms who’d gathered around to stare. How could this little girl possibly have found out such an intimate family secret? And so fast? Had Aunt Catherine been making calls, despite the nondisclosure agreement Lilly had made her sign? Is that what all those yoga-pant-wearing mothers were talking about with one another behind the lids of their lattes grandes? That I was related to one of their kids’ classmates?
