* * *
Park
Earlier today, I had been forced to run an extra mile during our physical education period, I had called my professor a stuck up porcupine and would forever remain a lonely hermit after he told me that I didn't "run right." Needless to say, he had been rather upset.
Things worked out fairly well in my favor. Our class was filled with rather fit students, so the two miles had been completed ahead of schedule, allowing students to give themselves a twenty minute break. I had twenty minutes to run an extra mile.
One of the girls had brought a magazine with her--the very magazine I had been dying to get my hands on. I can bet you all know what I did next.
It was after school and my peers were swarming all over the grounds, chattering excitedly about homework (this school was severely deranged). I sat all alone in the outside ampitheater, staring down at the plastic stacks of glossy paper.
Six years I had successfully lived as a normal teenage girl. Only one person had ever figured it out, but we shut her up before she could reveal the truth. Not one other person had been able to hold up a picture of the princess of Cimeria while looking at me and figure out that I was actually the princess of Cimeria.
So either I'm remarkably clever, or this academy is really just moronic. I'm not willing to bet on the latter, though.
Logan took one swift look to glance at my two identities and said four words that shattered my mind. "She looks like you." Curse you, Cross, for having super enhanced eyes. The next time I see that boy, I'll be sure to recommend him towards the path of a detective.
My skinny fingers flipped through the pages until they landed on a page dedicated to the young princess of Cimeria. Frustration soared inside me as I tried to understood how he saw the resemblance. I mean, that's what my wig is all about!
Okay, wigs don't always work. In my defense, it worked for Hannah Montana, alright? If she can be an international pop star and a normal teenage girl, and be the "Best of Both Worlds," then why can't I?
I had worked so hard to look different my royal self. The fire engine shade that sat on my cranium every day was bright enough to prevent a car from hitting me in the dead of night. I work a lot of make-up. When I say a lot, I mean a lot. I was two inches away from the line that would take me to going Goth.
I had fake files, passports, ID's as well. When I came to Cross Academy, I had been sure to spread the word about Park Sparrow's story. She was a young girl, with a brainy personality and no money. The headmistress had taken pity on the poor girl and gave her a scholarship into the academy.U
Of all the people to notice a likeness between the princess and I, it just had to be Logan Cross, didn't it? What if he started talking about it? The rumor would spread like a wildfire, roaming through a dry forest with no remorse.
The more people that knew, the more I was in danger. This was so not good. I needed to find a way to shut Cross up. Should I arrive to school wearing pigtails or glasses? Dye my hair blue? This was all Cross' fault, my mind fumed.
A buzzing came from my backpack. Lazily, I dug it out, and received a message from my dear father.
I had moved to Paradise, Montana six years ago. My father moved with me, to give me more authentication on my story. He and Mother had divorced several years ago, because my father had been under the impression that my mother was no longer safe as his wife. But as the danger subsided, the future king of Cimeria proposed once more. Now they were to be wedded--again.
This summer, I was to finally return home. Two years had passed since my last visit and I was eager to arrive back at the kingdom.
There was a catch: I needed a bodyguard. Too many attempts on my life had been performed; it was one of the few reasons why I ran to Paradise. For six years, I basically stayed under the radar. By returning this summer, it meant that I was putting myself on the map once more. My mother said that I would have to sit out the wedding if I wouldn't agree to get myself a bodyguard.
So my father and mother got me one. I was going to meet them tonight, which was why the message was in capital letters, demanding that I come to the house and get ready.
Today had also been the day I had decided to empty out my locker. Five thick books were being balanced in my arm while several fat binders were nestled uncomfortably in my backpack. I could barely see straight, and had to strain around the sides to get a glimpse of where my feet were taking me.
Around...thirty seconds, I collided with someone else and I bounced back, rubbing my forehead in pain as books fell onto my lower calves and scattered around me. They flopped open, their pages spilling open to the air.
Whoever I bumped into had a chest made of titanium. What did he eat for breakfast, Oatmeal of Steel? Allowing my eyes to open, I squinted at the figure that was shadowed by the shade of the tree whose branches stretched over us. There was no denying it: Logan Cross.
Of all my nonexistent luck... I cursed inwardly as laughter from Logan's groupies. Honestly, I didn't want to spend more energy arguing with him today. Twice was enough to last me until tomorrow. Not to mention if I was late back home, my father would take away my soft drinks. My hands fumbled to gather as I attempted to gather all the books. The tights pulled over my legs began to appear dirty. Great, what if my father thought I had been mugged on my trip back to the house?
His friends didn't help. One even kicked one of my books farther away.I watched it hopscotch away from me. I sat up, my knees still digging into the ground as I wiped the red bangs away from my face. I closed my eyes in an attempt to hide my furious irritation.
Don't punch them, don't punch them, I repeated mentally, biting my lips and burying my fingers into my fists.
And in the blink of an eye, Cross was on his knees, his hands gathering all my fallen objects for me. A quick look from him and his friend fetched the book he had kicked before handing it to Cross. Mr. I Hate Park Sparrow then gripped my arms, tucking my books under his arm and lifted me up.
He shot another glare towards his faithful hounds. They backed away almost immediately, leaving us alone. Cross proceeded ahead towards the gate entrance. I had no choice but to follow him, seeing that my books were in his grasp.
His sneakers stopped right outside the gate and I almost bumped into his back.
"Here," he muttered, pushing the bounded pages into my arms. The heavy weight on my arms almost had me dropping, but I tried to stand up straight. Then I continued eyeing him suspiciously. He grew uncomfortable with my consistent oggling.
Cross backed up a few steps, crossing his arms and avoiding my gaze. "What?"
"I'm not sure what to say." I knew I should say thank you, but I was afraid that it wasn't Cross that was helping me. Who knows? Maybe an alien arrived here at Cross Academy and took the real Logan away after replacing him with a doppelganger.
"A thank you would be nice," he suggested. At that, I shook my head so that the red strands of my hair flapped around my face.
"I don't talk to strangers," I said, my tone carrying a serious vibe that seemed to persuade him of my fake somberly thoughts.
"You know me," he protested. It could've been a trick of my mind, but he sounded hurt, as if he actually thought that I didn't consider himself and myself acquaintances. That part was true; we weren't acquaintances. We were way past that--we were bitter enemies, forever doomed to destroy each other.
"No. Logan Cross doesn't help Park Sparrow," I said. "You must be his doppelganger that's been living in Great Britain until now. That's cool, but I don't know you. My apologies."
His expression was priceless. Wide, doe eyes that were shot with confusion and then concern for my sanity. He ran his long fingers through his dark, layered, hair. "Doppelganger?" He scowled. "Are you kidding me? Are you crazy?"
"Ye and yes," I smirked. His frown deepened, etching lines into his forehead. I could've guessed what was running through his mind at that moment. The look of annoyance was crawling back, and his Park-Sparrow-tolerance meter must've been hititng the limit.
But still I cracked a smile. To see Logan Cross so baffled amused me deeply. It was a variation from his "Either this is boring or you're boring" expression or his "I'm so much better than you because I'm ten times smarter" look. To see him smile, or even look sincerely confused was a rare occurence.
It should be part of the 7 Wonders of the Ancient World. Except for the ancient part. You can just take that part out.
My toes were suffering as I got on their very tips, stretching up to reach Cross' face. Two of my fingers were placed on either side of his mouth and I pulled them up. Once again, the shocked, caught-off-guard sparkle was back in his golden eyes. As much as I hated him, they were still one of the most nicest looking things ever.
"You should smile more," I said. "You look more handsome." I felt bold in that moment even though there was the opportunity that I would end up in the hospital soon.
But then Logan smiled. A full blown smile as he batted my fingers away. The very contact made my heart skip a beat, just like the first time he had opened a door for me in our first year. My mind became all fuzzy and I stepped away. We both blinked frenziedly. Had he felt what I had felt? Or did disgust and shame run through his blood?
"I'm in a good mood today," he said in a rush. "Don't go ruining it."
With that, he turned on his heels and walked away, a charge in his walk.
"Logan!" I called out. It took a moment, but he finally turned, most likely against his better judgement, looking at me with a skeptical expression.
"Thank you!"
* * *
Logan
What was that just now? As she reached up and touched his face, his heart accelerated and his breathing got ragged. Earlier when she had dropped her books, something similar happened too. The way her fists clenched, the look of murder on her eyes, he just wanted to stop it. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her it was all okay.
So he did what he could; he helped her pick everything up and walked her to the gate. It wasn't much, not what he really wanted to do, but it was what helped her the most.
And her delusional vocabulary and thoughts. They got his mind mixed up and confused. The way her dark brown eyes glittered mischievously when she spoke her words had his mind racing. Then the wind blew and her red hair flew around. She herself was more of a fairy than a princess. Or maybe a fairy and a princess combined?
When she reached up, everything around them stopped, and Logan only saw her face. It was stupid. He hated her and her idiocy. He didn't like dating or having crushes either. It was too troublesome. Especially with her kind. Fragile and delicate. Stupid and naive. Ignorant and pitiful.
Or was she? For all he knew, she could be in a gang. The way her eyes turned murderous, that wasn't normal. But it attracted him to her, like he could be the one that calmed her. And he managed to.
The spark that came alive when her silky fingers pulled his frown into a smile wouldn't die down as he walked back to his home. His heart was still beating crazily as he thought about her. His mind trailed down the path of being her friend, or even more than that. Holding hands with her...
"No!" he muttered to himself out loud. He wasn't a normal boy. He was going to become a bodyguard for a princess. It required sacrifice. He didn't want anyone else dragged into it. And she was just a normal girl. She wasn't fit for his life.
For the first time in his life, he regretted being an agent.
* * *
Park
After my cold shower and the process of having my maid dry my hair for me, I stood in front of my bed, gawking at the outrageously pink box that my old man had bought for me. We had just one maid, and a hundred back home. She was just here as a caretaker on those events where my father would fly around the world for days, weeks, or even months.
I walked to the kitchen first and got myself a Coke. And a pair of barbecue tongs. When I arrived back in my master bedroom, I set the fizzy caffeinated liquid down on the dresser and used the tongs to take off the lid.
I was allergic to pink.
At last, the lid came off. I used the tongs once more to pick up the dress. Golden tissue paper fell out as the clothing was being claimed by the Angel of Barbecue Tongs. I could instantly tell it was one of his secretaries' taste. If my old man had gotten it himself, he would've bought me a floor length ballgown complete with the Cimeria crown.
I would have a month and a half left before summer, and that time was merely for my guard and I to get to know each other. The summer and the rest of my life would be spent with this person protecting me.
I thought it was rather ridiculous that someone had to waste their life guarding someone like me. But my father and mother refused to listen to it. It was too dangerous for me to be on my own anymore.
I took a good look at the dress. It was a navy blue shade, one that would've complimented my dark brown hair perfectly. Too bad for my father that it wouldn't dry fast enough. I pulled the wig on, and shuddered as the dampness of my hair was pressed into the back of my neck.
The dress had a halter top with a sash at the hips that hugged my waist. After slipping it on, I realized that it was the kind that really defined my upper torso. There was only two layers for the bottom half, one layer merely sheer material, and the other a smooth fabric that made me feel light and cool. If I did a spin, the dress would fan out then settle down like Cinderella's birds had been working on it.
I threw on a small gray cardigan over the top, covering my bare shoulders before slipping on my black sneakers and skipping downstairs. My father was already seated in our grand living room, sipping a cup of coffee while reading the same magazine that was tucked deep in my backpack upstairs.
I spent the time in the kitchen, humming a song I couldn't recall while finishing off my Coke. I didn't know what time they were coming. I knew it was for a lavish dinner, and to discuss affairs and conditions about guarding me.
Can we say boring?
It was half past seven when I heard a car roll up to our driveway. My head perked up from my sleeping posture. The dress shoes that belonged to my father made their way across our house to open the door for our guests.
There was a shout of surprise, glee, and memories were stirred inside me. The other man's voice sounded familiar. Maybe he was someone that talked to my old man before and I had heard him say hello to me. Or could he, perhaps, be a previous bodyguard for the Sparrow family?
A woman's voice floated in, speaking words of love and happiness. This time, I didn't feel anything except for dread. I knew that voice for sure. The one tone that always doted on me even though everyone else hated me.
Don't tell me....
Agent Knight--Lancelot Cross-- walked in first. He was one of the most famous agents at XYZ and a very good friend of my father's. Best friends, even. Years had passed since I had last seen him. He was still as tall as my old man. He had the same warm, smile-crinkling grin and I felt like a little child again when looking at his eyes. His face brought back memories of Christmas in Cimeria where a big box of dresses would be put on my lap and I'd smile widely.
However, I couldn't smile well right at the moment. I already knew what was coming.
Caterina Cross followed in after that, her standard pencil skirt hugging her waist, a white blouse tucked in neatly, with her brown hair piled into a fancy bun. This time, thoughts of an oval office with hot chocolate and chocolate biscuits being offered to me as she worked out detention conditions. She flashed me a brilliant grin, one I wasn't able to return.
Because after her came Cross. For once, I was able to see him out of the academy uniform. He wore a black dress shirt, tucked neatly into black slacks. He was even wearing classy dress shoes. A burgundy tie, the only splash of color on him besides the bright golden pools of his eyes, caught my gaze. He looked nice, actually, if I was to be completely honest.
"And this must be your boy!" my father announced, clapping Logan on the back. "He's so grown up now! Why, I remember when he was small and couldn't talk!" He shocked Logan so much that his golden pupils popped before giving my father the most weak smile I had ever seen in my life.
"Handsome and smart and an agent! You're lucky, Lance!"
Lance chuckled heartily. "He's our pride and joy, Will. But you should be proud of your own daughter! Look at her! She's become such a beauty."
At that moment, Logan's eyes fell upon mine and his jaw dropped open. If he was nervous, or shy, or fearful, it didn't seem like it. Outrage and complete confoundment was all that was on his face. Looks like I didn't just "resemble" the princess.
I would be sure to remember the moment where I, Park Sparrow, managed to throw Logan Cross completely off his guard.
Malevolence urged me to smile evilly and twirl my mustache. I'm just kidding, I don't have a mustache. I did, however, smile coyly, and waved, sarcasm shaking around my wrists like loud bracelets.
That caught my father's attention.
"This is my daughter. I guess you already know her as the princess of Cimeria, Park Mai Elizabeth. You can call her any of those names."
He laughed as if it was funny. Yes, my parents gave me three names because they couldn't decide on what to name me. Park, for the surrounding they had first met each other in. Mai, because their first anniversary had been in that month, but they ended up spelling the name in French, and I got Mai instead of May. Elizabeth was a family name.
"I doubt you two remember each other from your childhood. Logan used to visit all the time, but he was so shy, he kept to himself in his room. Remember, Park?"
No, I didn't remember that. I couldn't remember many of my friends back in Cimeria. I only remembered Zen and Minnie. The only friends I had. There was no one else. So what on earth was my father talking about?
"This is Logan Cross, Park," my old man said to me. "He is the youngest agent--"
"Yeah, I know," I chuckled darkly. "I know all about Logan."
I hadn't known that Logan Cross had been that prodigy agent that XYZ had been so frequently talked about. From what I had heard, there was a young agent who was one of the best to ever work for XYZ. Never in my whole life would I have thought of Logan Cross.
Logan turned even more white. His lips barely opened as he mumbled a, "Please pardon me for a moment," and turned towards our bathroom. The parents didn't seem to take much notice in it at all--in fact, they left right away for dinner.
Oh, okay, that's cool. Let's leave an undercover princess at home alone with a shell shocked bodyguard who can't even seem to piece together a decent sentence. Did someone forget that Logan and I hated each other?