Free The Tiara on the Terrace by Kristen Kittscher Page A

to her sparkling braces, was none other than Kendra Pritchard. She looked so happy she practically glowed.
    â€œLily Lund . . . ,” I said, too loudly, right as Marissa and several of her friends were sweeping by with breadbaskets.
    â€œOh, didn’t you guys hear?” she asked. “Lily dropped out. Or her mom pulled her out. She said she couldn’t support the Court’s values.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I’ll say!” She smiled smugly. “They chose my sister instead.”
    â€œThat’s great, Marissa.” I said unenthusiastically. “Congrats.”
    â€œNow things are the way they were meant to be.” Marissa tilted her chin higher. “And when I’m a royal page, they’ll be even better.”
    â€œ If she’s a royal page,” Grace muttered to me as Marissa flounced off. “I have a bad feeling, Soph. Very bad. And if the police are still on it, well . . .” She arched an eyebrow and jerked a thumb toward a table in the far corner by the piano, where Officer Grady was swigging back his drink. The back of his neck rolled over his tuxedo collar as he laughed at a joke. “They might want to work a little harder.”
    â€œOfficer Grady doesn’t have to be on it personally , Grace.” I was doomed. With every passing moment, I was one step closer to being wrapped up in some sort of poufy taffeta dress, cowering in the shadow of the giant half clamshell, trying—and failing—to wave in sync with the rest of the Royal Court. “Okay, right flank, you said? Mission commences in three, two, one. . . .” I adjusted my grip on my tray and strode forward. “Maybe you can eavesdrop on—”
    Grace’s eyes widened in warning, but it was too late. “Young and Yang,” a deep voice bellowed behind me. Harrison Lee smiled and pointed to the long banquet table at the center of the room. “Our Royal Court could use some of those appetizers.”
    â€œWe’re on it, Mr. Lee,” Grace sang out, balancing her tray in one hand like a pro waiter. “Ready, Sophie?” She leaned in and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Think of it as practice.”
    I sucked in a deep breath. I sure needed practice.
    â€œMaybe they can use some appetizers,” I muttered to Grace as we started to wind our way through the crowd to the Court’s banquet table. “But their dresses are too tight for them to actually eat them.”
    I hadn’t taken two steps before guests descended upon me like a flock of birds, plucking hors d’oeuvres from my platter. One lady set her lipstick-stained wine glass right on my tray without a word. Another dumped her coat over my free arm. “Oh, sweetie, could you take care of this for me?” she asked, already turning away. Grace cruised effortlessly ahead, snaking through the crowd, tray balanced high as I ran interference as a human coatrack and litter collector. By the time I reached the Court, I had three measly hors d’oeuvres left and enough used toothpicks piled up to playan extended game of pick-up sticks.
    â€œDeviled egg?” I held out the tray to Kendra and Jardine. They turned up their noses as if I’d offered them boiled monkey brains.
    â€œUm, no thanks?” Jardine said. As I struggled to juggle the coats in my one hand I must’ve tilted the tray a little too much. Or one of the deviled eggs had simply decided it was time to show off. Like a tiny circus acrobat, it somersaulted through the air toward Jardine, and landed splat on the front of her evening gown, smearing its foamy yolky yellow across her chest.
    Jardine’s face twisted in shock. I let the coats fall to the floor as I scrambled for a napkin and leaped forward, spewing apologies. Grace shoved my arm clear of Jardine’s chest like a goalie making a save. “We’ll be back with more in a sec!” she sang out, widening her