Writer Games: Royals

TASK THREE: Male Entries

ARIAN LANCASTER

USED THIRTEEN

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DEMETRIUS PELEI

I whish I'd let the stylists pick out my clothes for me instead of picking them out myself, I think as I glance at the other selected around me. They're all in button downs, and slacks, and here I am in a polo shirt and jeans. I look at the converse sneakers at my feet. Great decision. I let them do my hair, though. They sprayed something in it and slicked it down. They thought it would stay down, nope. There I am sitting at a table full of dressed up people with my hair sticking up like Alfalfa from Little Rascals.

I slump down in my seat. Wow, some people really went all out prince style. The guy next to me is wearing a cape, puffy sleeves, and tight pants. He catches me looking at him and gives me a funny look.

"Jealous?" he asks.

"Very," I respond. I hope he heard the sarcasm in my voice. I look at the name card in front of him. Caradoc Green.

I look over at the girl next to me. She looks simpler, but still dressed up. Her dress poufs up around her like a tent, and her red hair is curled into tiny ringlets that look like springs trying to escape her scalp. What's with red hair these days? Did I miss an issue of Vogue that stated red was the new brown? She catches me. The girl gives a small smile and waves over to me. She is a pretty girl, but not as pretty as the princess.

"How do you do?" the girl asks.

"Good, and you?" I respond. Her name card reads Marvrillia Londonia.

"Well," she responds. That's the end of our conversation. Suddenly, we are all standing. I'm not saying I'm short, but I could barely see the top of Belle's head behind the mass of curled and gelled heads. The guy, Adrian, nudges me.

"Hey, Demetrius, your fly is down," he says. I don't dare to look down. I keep clapping like the rest of the selected.

"No, it isn't," I say through my smile. Belle stands at her seat, on the other end of the table, followed by her father.

"Yes, it is. You might want to zip it up," he hisses in my ear. I continue clapping.

"Whatever," I respond.

"I just wanted you to know 'cause everyone can see that it's down."

"MY FLY ISN'T DOWN!" I scream. Only, then I notice the room got quiet, and the royals have taken their seats. All eyes are on me as I slump into my seat. I quickly check, yup, Caradoc was right. I feel my face grow hot as my hair falls into my face. I feel it. Half is gelled like porcupine spikes, half in miserably sagging in my face, great, just great. I pick up a spoon from the table and look at myself in it. I try to flatten out the back, but it keeps springing back up. I look over to Belle. Her face is red and her smile is wide from trying not to burst out laughing. I smile at her, and she smiles back. Her brother elbows her and whispers something, and her smile fades into a stone like expression.

Servants come bursting through the door with silver platters of foods I can only dream of, lavishing stacks of hot cakes, sausages, still sizzling, a bowl of fresh berries, and a whole bunch of other things I have never seen before. I grab a few sausages, some berries in sweet, sticky syrup, a few hot cakes, a mug of creamy brown liquid I have never seen before, and a gooey honey roll. My stomach grumbles at the full platter of food in front of me. Back home, this would have lasted my family days, that is if my father didn't take it all for himself. I take a sip of the brown stuff. In my life, I've only tasted chocolate a handful of times. This drink is like liquefied heaven. The sweet hot chocolate warms my insides up, and before I know it I need another mug.