Emily's Tiara Trouble Page 3

  ‘So, what can we do?’ Grace asks. ‘Do you want us to get you out of the pageant?’

  ‘I was thinking more along the lines of a protest,’ I say. ‘You know, so we could take a stand against parading girls around like dolls.’

  Grace nods slowly. ‘Whoa, that’s big. It could take a lot of planning.’

  I may have hit the anti-princesses with a mission idea that’s too intense to be our very first.

  ‘Let’s think about that one for a bit,’ I say. ‘Does anyone else have a mission they’d like to propose?’

  Bella, Grace and Chloe’s hands shoot up.

  The pageant plotting will have to wait.

  Bella slides a piece of paper out of a folder in her backpack.

  She’s sketched an epic treehouse with the letters HQ underneath.

  ‘I drew this as soon as I got your email last night, Emily,’ she says. ‘I figured we’d need a club headquarters – that’s what the HQ stands for – and I’ve always wanted to design a treehouse.’

  Chloe, Grace and I clap with approval.

  ‘My parents won’t mind if I build it at my place,’ Bella says. ‘We’ve got the perfect tree in the backyard.’

  I open my notepad and scribble underneath our club name and motto.

  Mission HQ: build Anti-Princess clubhouse

  I flip the pad around so Bella, Grace and Chloe can read it. ‘All in favour?’ I ask.

  We all raise our hands.

  Grace keeps her arm in the air. ‘I have another mission to propose,’ she says. ‘I want to enter the Junior District Athletics Carnival.’

  I should’ve guessed that would be Grace’s wish.

  We all went along to last year’s carnival when Grace was too young to enter, and I still remember the look on her face when she watched the sprinters rip through the ribbon at the end of the track.

  ‘I haven’t asked Mum and Dad if I can enter yet,’ she says. ‘I don’t want to give them any excuse to say no.’

  I scratch my chin, concentrating. ‘What excuse might they find?’

  Grace shrugs. ‘There’s no ballet that day, I’ve already checked. And the oval is walking distance from home, so it won’t be hard to get to.’

  My mind switches to numbers. ‘What about the money? The poster we saw at the bus stop said it was forty dollars to enter.’

  Grace headbutts the table. ‘Of course,’ she says. ‘My parents will say they don’t have that sort of money and they already spend so much on ballet.’ Her bottom lip trembles.

  ‘Chin up,’ I say. ‘We’ll think of something.’

  I start doing the sums in my head. ‘The carnival is in eight days, right? So we need to raise five dollars a day between now and then.’

  Bella looks at me hopefully. ‘That’s nothing!’

  ‘We can do that easily,’ Chloe agrees.

  I’m glad the girls are so enthusiastic, but I don’t know how we’ll raise the money. None of us plays a musical instrument, so we can’t busk, and it’s illegal to beg. I don’t think Grace will be allowed to compete in the Olympics one day if she has a criminal record.

  ‘We need to sell something,’ I say. ‘But what?’

  Right on cue, Chloe pulls a lunch box out of her bag.

  ‘Baklava!’ I say. ‘Chloe, you’re brilliant!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Chloe asks. She offers the container around and we all take a piece.

  ‘This is it, Chloe!’ I say through a mouthful. ‘This is edible gold.’

  I can almost hear the cogs and wheels turning in Chloe’s brain as she realises what I’m suggesting.

  ‘You want me to sell my baklava to raise money for Grace’s carnival?’ she asks. ‘But where would we sell it?’

  I tap my fingers on the picnic table. ‘Right here at school! We’ll make a mint. Trust the mathematician here, will you?’

  I do some more sums in my head. ‘If we’re selling at school, we need to subtract two days to account for the weekend,’ I say. ‘So that means we’ll have six days, not eight, and we’ll have to raise six dollars and sixty-seven cents per day.’

  Bella counts on her fingers as she tries to follow my calculations. ‘That’s still doable.’

  ‘Let’s round it up to seven dollars per day,’ I say. ‘Because I’d like to price the baklava at seventy cents per piece.’

  I flip to the next page in my notepad and start scrawling.

  Mission baklava Raise money for Grace's carnival entry.

  ‘All in favour?’ I ask.

  Everyone’s hands shoot up just in the nick of time.

  Briiiiiing, briiiiiing. Briiiiiing. Briiiiiing.

  Recess, and our first official meeting, is over.

  ‘What about missions to help you and me, Emily?’ Chloe asks.

  I shove my notepad back in my bag.

  ‘We can’t propose four missions at every meeting,’ I say. ‘We’ll just have to be patient.’

  The anti-princesses don’t waste any time.

  The final bell rings and we all meet at the school gate so we can walk back to Chloe’s place and get started on the baklava.

  Yiayia almost jumps out of her skin when the four of us arrive together.

  ‘How wonderful to have you all here,’ she says. ‘Come and I’ll make you some tea.’

  Chloe hugs her. ‘Don’t bother with the tea, Yiayia,’ she says. ‘We’re going to be very busy for the next little while. We need to make a batch of baklava to sell at school tomorrow.’

  We follow Chloe into the kitchen and stop, startled. Chloe’s mum and dad are unloading groceries into the fridge. They’re usually in the restaurant at this time of day.

  ‘What’s this about selling baklava at school?’ Chloe’s mum asks.

  Grace steps in. ‘I’m fundraising to help with the cost of entering the Junior District Athletics Carnival,’ she says. ‘Chloe volunteered to make some baklava to sell at school. She really is such a good friend – and it’s great of you to let us use your kitchen and stuff.’

  Chloe’s dad frowns. He’s protective of his kitchen. I think he’s worried about people stealing his recipes or something.

  ‘It will be great publicity for the restaurant,’ Bella says. ‘When everyone gets a taste of your baklava you’ll have people lining up for tables.’

  Bella is so good at thinking on her feet. Surely the thought of extra business will get Chloe’s parents on side.

  ‘Hmmmm,’ Chloe’s dad mumbles. ‘Okay, girls. Chloe could use some practice in the kitchen anyway.’

  ‘Not if the anti-princesses have anything to do with it,’ I whisper in Chloe’s ear.

  Chloe smiles. But now isn’t the time to think about working in the restaurant kitchen. It’s time to focus on cooking for Grace’s mission.

  Yiayia turns on the oven and Chloe starts to delegate.

  ‘Grace, you juice the lemons and oranges,’ she says. ‘Bella, you grind the cloves. Emily, you crush the nuts.’

  Yiayia starts flattening the pastry into tissue-thin sheets with a rolling pin while Chloe stirs the syrup on the stovetop.

  ‘Try to juice those oranges fast, Grace,’ Yiayia says quietly. ‘They’re Chloe’s special addition. Her baba will be cross if he finds out she has meddled with the family recipe.

  He thinks it’s perfect the way it is.’

  Grace follows Yiayia’s advice and squeezes the oranges so quickly it’s like she’s in some sort of juicing race.

  ‘While the baklava cools, we should head to my place,’ Bella says. ‘I want everyone to check out the tree where our headquarters will go.’

  Yiayia chuckles. ‘So much to do in one afternoon, paidia mou,’ she says.

  We’re working in such perfect sync that our first tray of baklava is in the oven in no time.

  ‘We’ll get at least ten big pieces from that tray,’ I say. ‘And if we sell them all tomorrow for seventy cents each we’ll have our first seven dollars for Grace’s entry fee.’

 
; Grace claps her hands.

  Yiayia puts a crocheted tea-cosy on the pot and we all take a seat at the kitchen table. ‘So how did you clever girls come up with this idea?’ she asks with a knowing glint in her eye.

  Chloe and I smile at each other as Yiayia places china teacups and saucers in front of us.

  ‘It’s actually thanks to you, Yiayia,’ Chloe says. ‘When you told Emily and me about the club you were in when you were a girl, we got the idea to start our own.’

  Yiayia puffs out her chest and rolls her shoulders back. I think I even see a tear on her cheek. She looks super pleased to be the one who inspired the club.

  ‘And this is your first duty?’ she asks. ‘Baking to raise money for Grace?’

  We all nod as we sip our tea.

  ‘We’re called the Anti-Princess Club,’ I say. ‘Our motto is “We Don’t Need Rescuing”.’

  Yiayia laughs. ‘Princesses you girls are not,’ she says. ‘Talented and independent, yes; princesses, no. That doesn’t mean you aren’t all beautiful, though. I miss the days when I was as pretty as you.’

  If it wasn’t Yiayia commenting on the way we look I would roll my eyes, but I don’t want to be disrespectful. We all love Yiayia and she really does understand us.

  ‘Speaking of beauty,’ I say, ‘that’s another mission ahead of us. We need to think of a way to get me out of the beauty pageant. Maybe we can hold some sort of protest against girls being judged on their prettiness before pageant day.’

  Grace adds honey to her chamomile tea. ‘I know a bit about pageants,’ she says. ‘When I have a ballet performance Mum makes me wear a little bit of make-up because apparently the stage lights make your face look dull. But some of the other girls also enter beauty pageants. They spend hours getting ready – curling their hair and slopping loads of makeup on their faces. Then they have to parade around in a sparkly dress in front of some judges. The judges choose who they think is the prettiest and she gets a tiara.’

  Yiayia furrows her brow and makes a ‘hmmmmmm’ sound. I hope we haven’t offended her. I hope she doesn’t like the idea of beauty pageants.

  ‘You should enter the pageant, Emily,’ Yiayia says.

  I drop my teacup in shock. Hot tea splatters over the floor. I jump up from my seat to look for something to clean up the mess.

  ‘Is anyone burnt?’ I ask. ‘Did I splash anyone?’

  Everyone shakes their heads reassuringly.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll fix the mess, paidi mou,’ Yiayia says, motioning for me to sit back down. ‘But the pageant – if you have a point to make, you won’t make it by not turning up. You need to be onstage.’

  I pick up my empty teacup and compose myself. I don’t agree with Yiayia. If I enter the pageant I won’t be defending my beliefs. I’ll be giving in to Mum and Hungry and their eyebrow-plucking, starving ways.

  ‘Go in the pageant, Emily – but don’t wear any make-up or a fancy dress,’ Yiayia continues. ‘Show them who you really are and be proud.’

  The anti-princesses nod.

  ‘Yiayia’s right,’ Chloe says. ‘You could make a speech onstage about why beauty pageants are unfair.’

  Now I understand where Yiayia is coming from. She doesn’t want me to enter the pageant as a regular competitor. She wants me to use my entry to take a stand against the craziness of judging girls on their looks.

  Yiayia’s won me over. It is a brilliant plan. It’s a plan that’s going to get me into a lot of trouble with Mum and Hungry, but it’s brilliant all the same.

  I grab my notepad out of my backpack and pull out a pencil. I can’t believe I’m about to write these words.

  Mission Tiara:: Become undercover beauty queen to protest against pageant

  ‘Are you ready?’ Bella asks.

  It’s time for her to unveil the blueprint for the Anti-Princess Club headquarters. It didn’t take her long to finish the design. When she’s really excited about something, the sketches flow out of her fingers.

  Grace, Chloe and I are sitting underneath a tall eucalypt in Bella’s backyard. Max and the babysitter, Louis, are inside watching a movie – Bella told them to leave us alone out here so she could make her special presentation.

  ‘This is the tree we’ll build the treehouse in,’ Bella says. ‘I’ve already hammered some pieces of wood to the trunk so we can climb up to the first set of branches. That’s where the first storey will be. Then, there will be a few more steps to the second storey.’

  Grace can’t contain herself. ‘A two-storey treehouse?! You’re amazing, Bella!’

  Bella keeps a straight face and continues her presentation. She’s taking it very seriously, because she’s imagining we’re wealthy investors who want her to build us a real-life version of her icypole-stick hotel.

  ‘The second storey is where you’ll find the biggest part of the treehouse,’ Bella says. ‘That will be a simple room with four walls, two windows and a roof. Inside the roof will be another tiny space where we can hide anything we need to keep secret.’

  The mention of a secret space sends us all into a round of squeals. Bella is pleased we’re so excited, but keeps her composure.

  ‘I can’t wait to start building it, Bella,’ Chloe says. ‘But where will we get all the materials?’

  Bella hasn’t figured that bit out yet, so she tries to distract us from the question. ‘Let me demonstrate how easy it is to climb the ladder.’

  We watch as Bella climbs the steps.

  At the sixth step I start to worry. She’s very high up. I call out, ‘It’s getting dark, Bella. Be careful!’

  As Bella turns to yell back at me, the sixth step breaks and falls out from underneath her. There’s nowhere for her to put her feet.

  She tries to grab a branch above her head, but it’s just out of reach. There’s nothing to hold on to. It all happens in a split second, but it looks as if her body is falling backwards in slow motion.

  ‘Bella!’ I scream.

  Bella lands on the ground with a thud.

  Grace, Chloe and I leap to our feet and surround her. She tries to lift her head as we hover over her, but she can’t do it.

  ‘Bella, can you hear me?’ Chloe asks.

  There’s no answer.

  I pull Bella’s hair off her face and see a smear of red across her forehead. Grace takes a hanky out of her pocket and starts wiping it away.

  Bella opens her eyes into a squint.

  ‘Gross,’ she mutters. ‘Get that spew-worthy hanky away from my face.’

  We’re too worried to laugh.

  ‘You’re bleeding, Bella,’ I say.

  I’m about to call out to Max and Louis when we’re blinded by the headlights of a car pulling up in the driveway.

  ‘It’s Bella’s dad,’ Chloe says.

  The car door closes and Grace calls out, ‘Down here, Dr MacKenzie! There’s been an accident!’

  Bella’s dad has a different surname to the rest of the family, and he and Dr Singh have always been too busy to get married.

  Dr MacKenzie drops a pile of folders and starts running across the backyard, still in his white doctor’s coat.

  ‘She fell out of the tree,’ I say when he reaches us. ‘We’re building a treehouse.’

  Dr MacKenzie bends down. He checks if she can move her neck. She can.

  He holds up four fingers in front of Bella’s face. ‘How many?’

  ‘Four,’ she says.

  Dr MacKenzie takes a deep breath and smiles softly. He examines her forehead.

  ‘Looks like you’ve had quite a bump,’ he says. ‘Your face is okay. The blood is coming from a cut on your head. The good news is this cut isn’t very deep. You won’t need stitches.’

  We’re so lucky Bella’s dad is a doctor.

  The deck light comes on and Louis cranes his neck around the back door.

  ‘What’s going on out here?’ he calls.

  Dr MacKenzie picks Bella up and mutters quietly, ‘What a great babysitter you’ve got
there.’

  ‘Don’t blame him,’ I whisper. ‘We told him to stay inside with Max. He didn’t know about the treehouse.’

  We follow Bella and her dad to the house.

  Louis and Max gasp as we pass them at the back door and they see the bloody hanky pressed to Bella’s head.

  ‘Cool!’ Max says.

  Dr MacKenzie takes Bella into the lounge room and lays her down on the couch. He looks at her head again.

  ‘She’s going to be okay,’ he tells us. ‘I’ll have to keep an eye on her, though. She might have a mild concussion.’

  Louis starts sobbing. ‘It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Dr MacKenzie says reassuringly. ‘Apparently my little princess thought it would be a good idea to get a little wild and climb a tree.’

  ‘Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!’

  Bella’s scream is not a scream of pain. It’s a scream of frustration.

  ‘Dad, I am not a princess!’ she yells. ‘I don’t even like them!’

  The front door clicks shut. Bella’s mum is home.

  ‘What is wrong with your head, Bella?’ she asks. ‘And what do you mean, you don’t like princesses?’

  Poor Dr Singh. Bella didn’t want her mum to find out about her princess hatred like this. She wanted to break it to her gently.

  ‘I’ve never liked princesses, Mum,’ she says. ‘I didn’t have the heart to tell you.’

  Dr Singh inhales deeply as she digests Bella’s words. Then she exhales and leans over Bella to examine her forehead. ‘Are you sure that’s not a concussion talking?’

  Bella sits up and looks directly into her mum’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she says. ‘You too, Dad. I just want to design and build stuff. That’s what I was doing out there. I’m going to build a treehouse.’

  Dr MacKenzie spots the treehouse blueprint on the floor. I pick it up and pass it to him.

  ‘I think it’s time for you girls to head home,’ he says. ‘Bella, you’ll need to take the day off school tomorrow. And if you’re feeling better, it looks like we have a treehouse to build.’