Free Princess for Hire by Lindsey Leavitt Page B

Also avoid Mrs. Farahani, our family PR coordinator. She and Nabila are always telling me what to do. Wish I could tell them a thing or…Never mind. Follow their lead. Or not. Whatever.
Cultural Traditions: We’re Muslim, so don’t dress, um…provocative. Not that I could look provocative. And since I’m the youngest girl in the whole family, I have to show extra respect to everyone. (You’ll see why I don’t talk all that much.)
Anything Else We Should Know: What, like interests? I’ve played the French horn since I was little, but only in the privacy of my room. I’m maybe, well probably, well definitely good enough to play for others, but no one around here would want to hear it. And I love American soap operas. Oh, and ducks. I’m a big fan of ducks. Just check out my room.
    The bubble bounced once or twice before skidding to a stop. I realized the jewel on my rouge compact had already turned green. My hands shook as I brushed on the powder.
    “We’re here?” I held up my manual. “This is all the info I get?” Meredith looked up from her laptop. “What do you mean?”
    “If I’m going to inhabit Simmy’s character, I need more important info than horns and ducks. What about religious customs? And memories and inside jokes and all of that?”
    “I’m so tired of that Method nonsense. Look.”
    Meredith lowered her voice. “This wouldn’t have been something that Lilith would mention, but you can also use your MP as a kind of…compass. It takes some finessing, of course. I’ve found my MP to have its own frequency. When my mind is wan-dering, I can’t tune in. But when I focus on the princess’s needs, I mean really focus, everything else shifts away and I can sense what the princess would feel. It’s a very Zen experience. You just have to be careful to channel, not meddle. Besides”—she pointed at me with a green pen—“if Simmy thought you needed to know her entire history, she would have put it in there. Do you follow?”
    “I guess so. But what if she was in a hurry?”
    “You’re going to be okay as long as you pay attention. You learn the most by listening and reading between the lines. And lucky for you, Simmy is quiet and awkward. Easy.”
    “Oh, er…thanks for the tips.”
    “All right. Well, off with you,” Meredith said. “See you in a few days.”
    Days? Feeling light-headed, I slid out of the bubble and into a grand, mirrored hallway. The color scheme was totally King Midas—gold on gold on gold. On gold. The fragrance of exotic flowers overpowered me.
    I hid in a shadowy alcove while the Royal Rouge took over. The strangest part was how surface the transformation felt. In addition to the itchiness, I felt an occasional tug or pull. For some reason my elbows itched the most.
    And I swore I heard the faintest buzzing as it happened, like an electric razor was shaving all the Desiness away from me.
    When the sensation stopped, I stole a peek into one of the nearby mirrors and almost jumped back from my reflection. I touched my/her/our hair. Darker, coarser, longer. My waistline and thighs were more potato than string bean. Orange fabric bunched together in what I could only guess was a dress. I smiled at her. She smiled back. Her mouth was wide and braces-free. I wondered if that meant I could eat caramel.…
    Just when I was ready to make a move, about two dozen women of various ages swept past me, laughing and chattering. Some wore scarves over their heads, and their wild tops and designer jeans were trendier than anything in Sproutville.
    I was watching them hurry past when an older, skinnier version of Simmy grabbed my arm. Nabila . “Simmy, I need to talk to you about something,” she whispered. My thighs squished together as she dragged me into a crowded sitting room and directed me to a corner in the back. She pushed two chairs secret-sharing close and leaned forward.
    “It’s your weight,” she said matter-of-factly. “I don’t know how you’ve managed