I had been so close to victory. I’d had the selfie stick in my hands when I heard a booming voice echoing down the corridor. I had run to the door to check through the peephole and, sure enough, there was Prince Gustav, striding towards me, arguing with one of his many security guards about the pros and cons of social media.
I quickly threw the selfie stick back down and, after running about the room in a panic, I clambered into the wardrobe and crouched back as far as possible.
Attempting to get comfortable without making any noise, I realised that the chances of my mum finding out about this were really quite high. If Prince Gustav decided to don different outfits for his new Instagram account, which, judging by his levels of enthusiasm, was highly likely, I was busted.
My only hope was that Prince Gustav might have to rush off to a party or something, leaving the coast clear.
‘Keep this up, Your Royal Highness, and you’ll have more Instagram followers by the end of the day than all the Kardashians put together!’
I sighed as Prince Gustav pulled the bouquet of flowers out of the vase on the dressing table and struck a rose-sniffing pose.
‘Very creative, Your Highness!’ Freddie cheered. ‘Something for the ladies!’
That was when disaster struck.
The dulcet tones of Fritz’s high-pitched bark went off in my pocket: my text alert. I had forgotten to put my phone on silent and I was suddenly getting a flurry of messages. Who was texting me this much? I reached for my phone but it was too late.
I heard quick footsteps and someone yell, ‘GET BACK, YOUR HIGHNESS,’ before the wardrobe doors were dramatically swung open and I found myself squinting up at the prince’s burly security men.
‘Hi,’ I squeaked, ducking my head to look through their legs at Prince Gustav, who was standing against the back wall with a security guard shielding him, the selfie stick still swinging from his hand and the flowers scattered all over the floor. ‘Welcome to Hotel Royale, Prince Gustav. I’m Flick.’
He blinked back at me in shocked silence.
‘Great pictures, by the way. Instagram won’t know what’s hit it.’
Yep. Mum was definitely going to kill me.
Flick! OMG I had to text you straight away. You’ll never believe what just happened to me! Are you there?
Flick? Are you there? Helloooooo!
OK, I’ll just tell you anyway. I was just in the garden talking to Mum and A BIRD LANDED ON MY HEAD
Seriously, it just landed right on there!!! I didn’t even have any food on my head or anything, it just perched there! According to Dad it was a sparrow. I’ll send you all the pics now! Mum took a hundred of them! Enjoy!
Hey Grace, sorry for the late reply.
Got myself in a bit of an awkward situation here involving a prince.
Talk later
OMG your life is so cool compared to mine. You’re hanging out with royalty and I’ve spent the evening with a bird on my head!! Oh well. At least it didn’t poop in my hair! See you at school!
‘Fan. Demand?’
That’s how my mum spoke those words, as though there was a full stop between them. She always speaks like that when she’s really angry – no long sentences but every word coming out of her mouth is said veeeeery sloooooowly to make sure her victim feels as nervous as possible. Luckily, I’m pretty immune to that tone these days.
‘Yes.’ I nodded, folding my arms and wondering how long this was going to take. This whole selfie-stick debacle had taken up most of my evening already.
Mum looked at Audrey and Matthew – both of whom were standing a few metres away watching the proceedings – supposedly to see if either of them had any comments at this stage. Neither of them said anything, so she turned back to face me.
Fritz was there too, lying across my feet, which is this weird thing he does. I don’t mind it because if I’m not wearing shoes it keeps my feet warm, which is handy, but sometimes I forget he’s there and get up to do something and he suddenly tips off and goes rolling across the floor. I would find those occasions funny if he didn’t get in such a strop with me afterwards.
‘Just so I’m clear,’ Mum began, leaning back on her desk, ‘“fan demand” is . . . your explanation?’
‘Yeah.’ I shrugged. ‘Otherwise none of this would have happened.’
‘What. Do. You. Mean?’
‘I tried explaining this to you earlier but you refused to listen.’ I sighed. ‘I had to upload a new post on to Fritz’s Instagram feed at 5.30 p.m. That’s when I had promised his legion of fans that the next photo would be up. I didn’t want to let them down! It would be like that time Matthew promised he’d get me front-row tickets for Cirque du Soleil at the last minute but it wasn’t his priority and I ended up in Row F behind some stupid lady with a topknot.’
Matthew gave a small cough. I smiled graciously at him.
‘Don’t worry, Matthew, you forgive and forget.’
‘Go. On. With. The. Story,’ Mum growled. Seriously, someone get the lady a Strepsil.
‘Well, I couldn’t upload the photo without the selfie stick. It just wouldn’t have worked with the rest of the vibe of Fritz’s feed. It’s very specific and artistic. And I didn’t have any appropriate stock photos I could use instead. So I was just going to pop in to see Prince Gustav, ask for the selfie stick for five minutes and that would be that! But he wasn’t there.’
‘So you just . . . decided to break in and steal it?’ Mum asked slowly.
‘You know, when you say it like that, it really sounds a lot worse than it was. I mean, technically Prince Gustav stole the stick from me.’
Mum closed her eyes for a moment and let out a long, deep sigh.
Seizing the opportunity, I pulled out my phone, checking for messages. Thankfully there were no more photos of Grace with a bird on her head. There was just one from Ella reminding me that I’d borrowed her mascara at school yesterday and could she have it back. Ella can be so whiny when she wants to be. Which is a LOT of the time.
‘I guess we’re done here,’ I said, preparing to stand up.
‘Not. Quite.’
I slumped back into the seat. Mum walked slowly around the desk to sit down in the large leather chair behind it. She put her head back and looked up at the ceiling before ever so slowly lowering her eyes back down to meet mine. Talk about dramatic.
‘Mum,
