#reggie wright

"You should sleep." I hear behind me.  I look over my shoulder to see my uncle Aran sitting in roughly the same position as I am, hunched over some papers. There's a fort of binders build around him, the soft desk-light enhancing the circles under his eyes. He’s a lawyer and working on a case. Has been for the last couple of weeks, and has gotten slowly more buried in work, his fort growing in size every day. My own fort is located at the dinner table at the moment. Some discarded coffee-cups form the front, followed by an impenetrable wall of books and notebooks. The wounded soldiers can be counted by the amount of ink spots I keep managing to end up on my hands. It's three in the morning.  "Hypocrite," I mumble, loud enough for him to hear. "Nerd," he fires back, not looking up from his work either. "Actually, I will have you know that I'm not doing any schoolwork right now." I smile a little smug, seeing how he starts to frown.  "Job?" I shake my head. "Extracurriculars?" "Wrong again." I tap the papers against the table to straighten them. "It's a Selection application." "What!"  He jumps from his chair, an excited smile on his face as he approaches me. A stack of his papers fall on the floor but he ignores it. He must really be excited. I should have known, and not just from his reaction when they announced it. At least once a year, he forces me to watch the previous ones, calling it quality time. I don’t know if becoming gradually more disappointed in the previous state of our country can be considered quality. Neither can the whole procedure. The candidates’ debate skills are mediocre at best, no matter how much they bat their lashes. Not that it matters.  But it should.  At least, if I get the chance to have any say in it.  “You never said anything about applying,” he says, pleasantly surprised.  “I wanted to research the procedure first,” I reply, filling in my whole name and age. "They're asking for the colour of my eyes and hair, but no essay whatsoever,” I comment, checking the front and back of the form twice to be sure. Uncle Aran looks with me from over my shoulder. “It's already ridiculous," I add. "Of course, how else can Prince Arin romantically compare your political viewpoints to a summer's day." He makes a twinkling movement in the air with his hand, as if he's coating me with glitter as my fairy godmother.  I grab a blank piece of paper anyway and write my name and date at the top. "Appearances shouldn't matter as much for the future freaking Queen of the country." "Says the pretty girl. Besides, if this were a democracy, people would be voting for whoever is most entertaining to watch, you know that." He shrugs. Considering how he roots for the same sassy mean girl every rewatch, I’m not surprised he’s indifferent to the Selection being what it is. Or was. It’s some time ago now. "Maybe that's why we're not a democracy," I state, starting my first sentence. He does not look amused and even somewhat disappointed. In me or the country, I'm not sure. I'd say the latter is more justified.  Sighing, he starts to walk to the stairs, picking up the cat along the way.  "I'm going to sleep, and so are you," he says. "I'm coming in a second," I reply as I continue writing on why I should be admitted to the Selection. Why I would be a great addition even. Why I- "You're putting that pen down right now or I’ll burn that essay of yours first thing in the morning." I begrudgingly comply. “Usually my second draft is better anyway,” I argue, though putting my pen down.  He shakes his head, mumbling something about craziness to the cat. She seems to agree. Of course she would.  Traitor. 

My hair drips a little on the table from my swim, wetting the morning paper. I catch up on the Globe’s articles- skipping the endless pictures of celebrities handing in their application forms- and drink my coffee. “Any news?” Aran grumbles, pouring his own coffee in a huge mug. He’s not a morning person.  “MRTFLR is doing good in the stock market, and they voted against-” “I meant about the Selection you’re applying for.” “Oh,” I answer, “Only about who is and who isn’t going to apply. So no.” He quickly throws back his coffee, already late for work, motioning for me to tell him anyway as he does.  “Alright, some Two named Angela is applying, she even broke up with her boyfriend for it,” I read, disinterest coating my voice. Who reads this stuff? My question is answered by uncle Aran’s genuine interest on his face. “She did?!” he brings out, knotting his tie around his neck quickly. Apparently she’s known for something. “Uh, yeah. Oh, and your favourite actress Tianna isn’t.” "Objection!" "You're a lawyer, you know that's not how it works. It should be used-" "I know, honey, but sometimes people try to be funny." He shakes his head like I’m a lost cause and kisses the top of my head, before he grabs his briefcase to go to work. I hate when he does that. Like I don’t know the joke I’m a part of.  One would expect I’ve caught on by now through trial and error. Yet somehow I fail to notice people make intentional mistakes to be amusing. My therapist said it was coming from my compulsive desire to be right.  I replied she was wrong. The sessions stopped shortly afterwards.  Besides, there was nothing left to discuss. My parents’ death had been talked about in excessive detail. I had told her about it enough times. I wasn’t going to cry about it anymore, let myself be miserable and useless. It wouldn’t make sense to let myself dwell on that any longer.  I mean, the whole thing is almost 10 years ago now. There is nothing to say other than that they were successful, hard working people. Going on what should have been a short political trip to Swendway. Dad was Hansport’s Mayor, mom started as his assistant and became his spokeswoman. They made the perfect team. They’ve raised me till the age of twelve to be just as hard working, just as ambitious and successful.  And I will be.  That’s the least I can do in their memory. Try to be even an ounce of what they had hoped for me. They named me Regina, after all. Though I prefer Reggie, the Latin meaning of it still stands.  Queen.  I suppose subtlety wasn’t their forté.  Uncle always says mom focussed way more on the second meaning: female ruler. Usually he adds that above all she wanted me to be happy. I don’t know what my dad meant by my name. I suppose fathers tend to call their daughters their little princesses anyway. However I don’t remember either of them focussing on me becoming anything other than successful. The most royal part about that were dad’s own ambitions to become an advisor in the Palace.  An ambition I follow.  Uncle never really talks about my dad much. A lingering resentment is usually audible in his words. What for, I don’t know. I know Mom wouldn’t have gone on that plane if she didn’t want to. He seems to think she was simply too loving for her own good.  But I’ve seen clips of her as my father’s spokeswoman. She could be ruthless. Uncle has different memories with her of course, being her brother. That’s why I’ve never understood why he has gotten rid of all their work, everything through the shredder or in the fireplace. I would have clinged to every piece of paper of them if I had the choice. Their handwriting, their way with words. Reading interviews in old newspaper just isn’t the same. Imagining the words as you look at pictures isn’t either. Aran just said it was better that way, and me being twelve and grieving, I nodded.  Now I find myself compulsively reading in archives or watching them make speeches at festivities. Trying to find advice in their political statements, their decisions for our Province.  It never works of course. 

The halls are surprisingly quiet. Or well, I’m not surprised really. It’s the second week of the new semester and people are still sleeping off their hangovers as usual. Already slacking. I don’t mind. I like it better like this. The ancient buildings, the statues and the dusty library just don’t feel the same when there’s people walking around bragging about their keg stand of the night before. How someone can walk among the same places that some of the most accomplished people of our country have walked and think only about their next sexual conquest is beyond me. Since a marble statue has some problem wrinkling their nose at those people, I take the liberty to do it for them.  So I don’t mind the thinner crowd. Besides, at least halls like these permit me to read and walk at the same time.   I finished my essay in between my Political Science classes and I go over it again now. I admit I am unsure about the quality, since there’s no clear assignment. Of course, there’s no real assignment at all. But that’s where they’re wrong. Therefore the extra effort could only work out in my favour.  Just before I can fully reread it, Ethan rips it out my hands.  “What’s this?” he asks, apparently too incompetent to read, “You’re applying? I didn’t know you had the hots for the Prince.” He looks surprised and amused, checking out my essay. Ethan Brookes.  One of the most promising students at Hansport University, on his way to graduating with honors and possibly at the top of his class. If it weren't for me, of course. It’s been this way since the very first lecture I attended. Whatever position one of us takes on a subject in class, the other will oppose it. Sure, it keeps me on my toes. But he’s also annoying enough to keep standing on my toes.  “You’re applying with an essay?” he lets out with a chuckle, “You know that’s not how it works right, it’s not college.” “If college did work like that,” I say, grabbing my papers back, “You wouldn't have gotten in here.” He rolls his eyes.  “Whatever.” Weak argument. “I just don’t think they make crowns big enough for a head like yours.” Never mind. Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “I don’t think Royal Advisors wear those anyway,” I counter, lifting my chin somewhat. “Ha!” he lets out, snapping his fingers at me, “Of course. I knew your heart couldn’t have magically thawed out for the Prince.” I scowl at back at him, much to his amusement.  “I’d argue having a heart of ice beats not having one,” I add coldly, sweeping my braid off my shoulder before I turn away, leaving him annoyed or entertained. Or both. Either way, I don’t have time for his antics.  I am on a mission.  It takes another couple walks in the area close to his office, but then I spot Professor Matthews. He is at the end of the hallway with a thick stack of papers under his arm, glasses on top off his head waiting to get tangled in his messy hair. Or what’s left of it. I power walk to catch up with him.  “Good morning Professor.” He jumps.  “Fucking hell,” he mumbles. Not very professional. “Morning Miss Wright.” “I wanted to talk to you about the-” “I really don’t have the time, Miss Wright,” he says quickly, turning to the hallway on his right and advancing his pace. I follow. “Of course, but I just wanted to ask-” “No, Miss Wright,” he sighs loudly, “I can’t give you extra bonus points because you’ve given me two papers on the topic. Yes, they were both sufficient.” “Sufficient?” “Good, they were good. Now leave-...I have to go,” he replies, swiftly going into his office to hide. Perhaps I should add persistent to my application, under qualities, I joke to myself, feeling accomplished.   I realise that that makes me unlikeable in the eyes of some. Nevertheless I tend to follow the thoughts of Niccolo Machiavelli. It’s almost impossible to be a good politician and also a good person. This proposes the age old question whether to be feared or loved. Both can be argued for, but in my opinion feared has the upper hand. A leader of any degree is not someone to love, it’s someone to look up to. Someone to respect, to trust and to make decisions for you. Someone who looks at a problem as a whole and can conclude what’s best when the people can’t do that for themselves. It’s impossible to be good at all things, yet a politician should be good at those things most of all. And in that sense it’s also impossible to be both loving and kind, as well as a good politician. So I won’t apologise for who I am.  I have higher ambitions than being loved anyway. 

It wasn’t unusual that the building was bursting with energy this late at night. The pre-press team always stayed working on putting together the bulldog broadsheets content and adding the last details, then sent the whole thing before the deadline to the press team operating on the last floor, where they were all in charge of the printing process. I would dare to say there was activity in this place 24/7. But this particular night, we were focused on The Report. The streets looked almost empty from up here, everyone was at home in front of their TV waiting for the names of the lucky girls randomly picked by a drawing of names out of different crystal boxes. 35 provinces, 35 boxes, 35 names. 

My attention had been focused on Arin’s stern expression. His life was about to be decided by fate, or as many people want to call it, destiny. I wonder what was he thinking, standing there expressionless, willing to uphold his duty. 

Is he excited? Is he nervous? Is he wishing he could run away from that room and leave all this tradition behind?

My name was inside of one of the boxes, so I should had been even more anxious and edgy than Rita herself, but, after the PET Gala fiasco, where: I hadn’t gotten the clues I was so close to getting, I hadn’t finished the job I was supposed to be doing and my one month salary had been reduced to half; I was certain that whoever was in charge of my luck was not very fond of me. 

“They are back!” Rita shouted as soon as Arin’s face reappeared. Everyone in the room fell silent. I scoffed a laugh when I noticed them unconsciously leaning slightly towards the big tv, but I ended up doing the same after adjusting my glasses. One by one the basic information of the selected were being transcribed from the screen to our devices as Arin picked out their papers. 

<< “From Allens, Idalia Moretti, from Angeles, Emily Rose White,... from Honduragua, Callia Adair…” >>

My fingers were moving fast across my cellphone’s keyboard. These were the girls we would be hearing a lot about  from now on and I needed to know everything about them.

<< “From Labrador, Lea…” >>

I froze. My head felt dizzy trying to take in what I had just heard. For the shortest of seconds, everyone’s eyes were on me. I could hear Rita’s voice instructing them to get back to work and maybe someone else was now in charge of The Globe’s blog but at that moment I couldn’t care less about that.

It’s really happening... I made it to the selection!

Finally, I could stand up. I was feeling so much energy inside me that I wanted to run. Suddenly, the lift made a sound and my dad came quickly out of it and … wait, my mom is here? She was carrying my sleepy little brother, Dean. 

I could read the shock on my parents’ faces.“I’m in!!” I said a little too loud but since Mr. Grant was there no one dared to complain. My dad let out a short laugh before extending his arms for an embrace. “Congratulations, Rosie, I knew it would happen, didn’t I tell you V?” He said to my mom. “Grants always get what they want.” 

Ugh, I wish. But I wasn’t going to argue with him right now, so I just offered him a wink.

As soon as my father let go, my mom surrounded me with her free arm. “So how does it feel to be a lady, huh? We have to celebrate this!”

“Well, do ladies feel hungry this late? Cause I wasn’t feeling it a moment ago.” “Yes, let’s leave these guys to work in peace.” my dad said suddenly remembering where we were. After clearing his throat as if that simple gesture was a switch between the dad and the boss, he talked with Rita to make sure someone had replaced me updating the blog, then he congratulated everyone for their dedication and finally wished them good night. “I just hope you are paying me the full day,” I said to my dad as we all headed outside.

“I mean, are you working right now?” He raised an eyebrow, mockingly.

I sighed “I guess Grants can’t always get what they want after all.”  And I meant it in more than one way. 

The next week ran fast. My father and I agreed that I had to keep going to the office as usual, but it wasn’t easy to balance my work and my phone ringing every 5 minutes. More than once I had to ride home in the middle of the day because someone was waiting for me at home. 

First, a man with a very peculiar face came to do some kind of interrogation, which was understandable until we got to the most uncomfortable, personal ones. I almost spit my coffee laughing until I realized he had no intention to leave until he got every answer to each one of the questions on his list. 

Like him, I received a tailor and a doctor; but it wasn’t until the press started to ask for interviews when I realized my life had made a turn of 360 degrees. 

The thing I lamented the most about this odd schedule was that I couldn’t travel to the provinces to interview some of the selected as we had planned, but I did take advantage of every opportunity I had to do deep research about them. 

Some of the names or last names could be found on old newspaper editions, there were tragedies, accomplishments, unfortunate events… I smiled to myself, while I made annotations on my journal, fascinated by all the different interesting lives that were about to gather under the same roof. And I guess somehow that included mine.

The farewell party organized by Labrador’s Mayor seemed more like a political campaign than a real party. I might have fallen asleep during his speech if I hadn’t been texting Harris for the 40th time that week.

The last time I knew something about him was the night of the announcement when he sent me a simple “Congratulations, Lady Lea.” Then as the photographer, he had to go with Rea to the half-tour over the country to cover the selected interviews. 

“How dare you not be here when you are needed,... you lucky mooncalf.”

I looked up to see the crowd from my place on the big platform set in the middle of the Amberly park. It hadn’t been a very good idea, because there were grey clouds gathering over us and the sun was partially covered by them already. 

Someone forgot to check the weather section today.

But the trees surrounding us were decorated with purple and green metallic balloons -the colors of our province- and there were several signs with good wishes so I appreciated the effort. 

Everyone was here; The Globe employees that didn’t like me at all, my family on the first row, my college best friend, Liv had made space on her busy schedule  to come to the event, even my grandmother had sent his chauffeur with presents. That was her way to show support and I honestly didn’t have any complaints.  After the Mayor’s speech, the great boss Maxwell Loyd took the microphone to speak, I rolled my eyes, not caring about the people in front of me. He didn’t waste this opportunity to promote himself and flatter me. I mean, if he really had thought all that about me I would have had a promotion and a raise already, instead I just got ridiculous instructions and a handshake. 

When they both finally finished, the rain had started to pour, plus it was almost time for me to leave for the airport. I buttoned my coat before taking my place behind the microphone to start talking, but the eyes of the lady in charge of my schedule forced me to skip until the end of the speech I had prepared the night before. Every time I was going to make it sound deep and sentimental she made a sign for me to hurry.

“I appreciate your support… I will do my best… thank you for coming.”  

Were the only complete sentences I managed to say under such pressure. There was clapping and cheering afterwards, but there was after the previous boring speeches as well, so I didn’t get too excited about that. 

“Have a good time, my Lea.” My mother said after kissing my brow. I could smell her sweet perfume that I was going to miss. “I will, mom. Take care, I’m only leaving cause I know you are going to be in charge.” I side eyed the two men of the house. Then I kissed my little brother and messed his blond hair. “Bye bye little toad.” He just babbled something and waved his little hand. 

“So, Lady Grant. What do you expect from Prince Arin? Do you secretly plan to drink all the coffee from the Angele’s Palace? Rumor has it your father won’t let you marry until you turn 48 years old do you think Your Highness would wait for you that long?” “Wow, Mr. Grant you ask pretty basic questions, I have been asked the same ones all week.” He gave me a big tight hug and I ignored the wool of his coat feeling  itchy on my cheek. “I’m very proud of you Leana, and of course I’m not talking about this selection situation… I’m sorry about-” I stopped him not wanting to have our little disagreements as today’s last memory. And I also hoped I could change his mind by the time I returned home. “We can talk about that when I come back, dad.” He nodded. “I’m starting to feel bad for our dear Prince Arin.” I scoffed a laugh.

“Lady Grant, we are past the established hours already.” I heard a lady behind me. 

I turned to my friend Liv with an apologetic expression but she just smiled and waved. “I will text you… Bye! The rain started to fall harder but I had read the weather section on the paper this morning so I was properly dressed with boots and a coat over my white shirt and black pants. 

I walked towards a guard who was holding an opened umbrella to cover us with it. He opened the door of the car.  Then he offered to take my bag for me, but I had packed some of my old journals in there among my personal things. “Thank you… What’s your name?” “Finn Ray, my lady.” He answered confused. “I will keep this here with me, Finn.” I said in what I hoped was a reassuring tone before entering the car. I guessed he was new at guarding selected, because I noticed him turning to look at the woman in charge of the schedule. She nodded once at him and joined me inside the limousine. 

By the time we got to the airport I had learned that our chauffeur was called Alan Cobb, he had been working for the palace for 3 years on special occasions. He had three kids and his wife was expecting a baby girl. 

The strict lady was Miss Ramirez, she was happily single, obviously tardiness was her biggest pet peeve and she had worked there for 6 years already, but she enjoyed her job and had never thought of doing anything else, although I didn’t quite understand exactly which was her role in the royal offices of Labrador.

She left me at the boarding door after wishing me luck.

The flight to Angeles was long. I shared a plane with 3 others selected, that seemed pretty decent at first sight. 

We had a polite introduction conversation before we took off, but then everyone focused on her own thing; Jen Li, -the Yale law student from Waverly- took advantage of the 8 hours flight to sleep. Alana Hansen looked out from the window almost the whole time lost in her thoughts, and based on the green tone on Regina Wright’s face I guessed she was a risky company for the moment. 

I remembered I had read about her parents' unfortunate plane accident in an old newspaper, they used to be famous politicians and she was an apple that had fallen close to the tree. Hopefully not too close.

So, considering my options I prefer to write in my journals during the whole trip.

As soon as we arrived we were hurried to a room for makeovers. For me it felt more like a day in the salon, nothing drastic was made, just a few lights on my hair, perfect makeup and a stunning blue dress with matching elegant pump heels shoes. 

They did insisted on giving me contact lenses, since I had forgotten to pack mine, so after a long argument with the stylist, Mariel, I decided to wear the contacts and let him enjoy “his creation”. 

In the end, despite the little changes, when he showed me my reflection in the mirror, I had to recognize I was content with the  upgraded version of me.

                                       ESSENTIAL RESEARCH

The tour around the palace was quite short considering its size. I was almost sure that it was bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside, but the curiosity to see my new room, made me settle with the basic information,

I took a glance down at the little map on my hand. Eloise Hall room 28, second floor. As I headed to the stairs, the decorations and fancy details surrounding me were impossible to ignore. With every step you could find paintings by famous old artists -my mother admired- hanging on the walls, expensive vases and beautiful furniture. 

Looking around I spotted one of the selected quickly scribbling some notes in a notebook. As I got closer I noticed she was my plane mate, Regina Wright. Her green tone had disappeared or maybe covered with makeup and she looked much more secure now that we were down here on earth soil. 

I laughed a little bit inside walking by her side “Hope whatever you are writing is worth a bump on your head.”  

“I hope so too” She said absentmindedly, not looking up from her notebook. After some seconds she took a short look at me, flipped through her notebook and quickly closed it before I could react and lean discreetly to read what she was working on. 

Okay, now I’m curious.

“Excuse me, hi. Leana is it?” She gave me a polite smile. 

“Yes, feeling better... Regina..? I asked faking ignorance. 

She looked at me as she didn’t know why I was asking her that but then just answered, “Splendid. But please, call me Reggie.”

We continue walking up the stairs towards the second floor, while we shook hands, 

“I'm Leana Grant but you can call me Lea or Lee” I said touching the arc of my glasses I had put back on as soon as I left the makeover room.

She nodded. “Alright, Lea. Journalist, correct?” She made her pen click as if she was going to start writing again. I frowned, puzzled. “You too?” 

She chuckled at the question as if I should already know who she was. And the truth was, I did. 

“No,” she finally said, opening her notebook again, adding something, then she continued. “So, what brings you here?”

I was sure Reggie had many qualities but subtlety wasn’t one of them. 

I pressed my lips together, thinking about my motives, which one of them should I tell her? I’m here as an inside informant for The Globe; or, I’m here to live and learn about this whole selection phenomenon… I didn’t even know which one was the right answer.  “... just figured I couldn't miss this whole thing, you know.” 

Half- truths are always safe.  

“Are you here for politics?” I added before she could even think about my answer. 

She looked pleasantly surprised by my question, clearing her throat. “Yes, that is one of the reasons.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “You did your research.” 

I guess it was my turn to feel recognized, but unlike her I didn’t want to be so obvious, so I shrugged. “Your name rang a bell.” 

She looked at me suspiciously, lifting her chin, a slight movement I didn’t quite understand. “Is that so? That's good, I suppose. Best to be prepared.”

“Maybe you are right, I guess you actually did your research. What do you have about me?” I asked directly now, pointing at her notebook casually.

She remained serious. “Oh, just the usual. Occupation, caste, age.  Name, obviously.  There's 35 of us after all. Would be a shame to get anyone mixed up.”

“Well, now most of us are threes and the twos are pretty well known.”

“Yes well, obviously. Was to be expected. It's still an appropriate mix.”

Her statement made me remember her parents somehow, obviously she had their school but I wonder how much she agreed with them. “That’s... a word to describe it, yes.” I answered incredulous, “So where are you staying?” I asked, as I noticed I have already found my room.

We discovered we were room neighbors which I decided was very convenient for me. I liked people who have answers to my questions. 

She was concerned about my acoustic guitar hobby and I assured her I hadn’t brought mine with me. “The music room will do.”  And she assured me her studying was going to be silent. 

The conversation continued but my curiosity was already unbearable, so I opened the door of my room to check it out. I didn’t want to be rude so I invited Reggie inside as we talked.

“What are you working on?” I stepped inside

She followed. “Political Science Major.”

I gave her a glance to let her know that was not the answer I was looking for. 

She blinked with realization. “Oh, I see I misunderstood. Well, actually I was just writing a paper on the pros and cons of capitalism and if our country should focus more on it like we did when we were still called the 'United States'” She air quoted the name.

I looked around my room considering her answer. Suddenly my eyes met with three maids standing in line in the middle of the room. When they saw us they made a courtesy and I nodded at them as a greeting, hoping we can have proper introductions later.

“Hmm the lesser of evils... but the United States not exactly an example to be followed.” I said to Reggie. 

“Exactly.” She said. I noticed her writing a mark in her notebook.  

“A-are you like grading me?” I dared to ask what I had suspected since the beginning, but I didn’t want to believe. It was shocking at first but after the third mark it became amusing.

“Who else do you have in there?” I asked curiously before running next to her to peek at her notebook.  She closed it again. When I looked at her she smiled at me awkwardly “No, of course not. Just remembered something.” Her notebook was behind her back, now out of my reach. She straightened her shoulders before adding, “Well, thank you kindly for your invitation, glad to have met you…”

I stayed there confused, Had I gotten it wrong? Or was I right and she didn’t want me to know? Anyway, I should have said nothing.  “Alright ... glad to meet you too, see you around.” I said worried that she might be uncomfortable now. 

She nodded as she headed to the door. One of the maids hurried to hold the door for her. 

I frowned concerned, I couldn’t just lose a source like her. “Wait for me tomorrow, I think we can walk to the dining room together.”

She turned to give me a frown, seemingly confused by my suggestion. “But I already know where it-” then she smiled. “I will.”

As soon as Reggie left I took out the journal from the pocket of my dress and tossed on the pretty desk by a large window where I peered at the view of the Angeles city.

                                                                                       FOR THE RECORD.

After introductions my maids brought me dinner up to my room. So while I was eating the best creamy mustard chicken I ever had, we had a little chat. 

Among other things we talked about I expressed my surprise when I didn’t see any Royals when we arrived. Liberty, Camila and confirmed the Schreaves didn’t plan to meet any selected tonight, we would have to wait until morning. Queen Anjeli and Princess Ayesha had to leave the palace to attend important matters and Wylan Caldwell in spite of not being a selected was currently living in the Palace. Back in Labrador, I managed between college, work and extra work to fill my schedule, my mother never liked me being out of the house so late at night or sometimes not being able to have a complete breakfast in the morning, I enjoyed being busy and drive my Vespa from one place to another, but it was hard for me to admit that one of the reasons I liked my life that way was that besides when I was concentrated writing notes on my iTypewriter; I was not good at being alone with my thoughts. That’s why when I was a child my mother bought me a ukulele to play when I was feeling anxious, which gave excellent results. Later when I entered college I took a short guitar course with the same purpose. 

Therefore, later that afternoon, when my maids went back to their chores, leaving me alone I decided to leave my room to check out the music room, as I promised Reggie I would do. 

It took me some minutes to find the right door downstairs but my memory had never failed me and it wasn’t going to start now. 

I opened the third door in the west hall and peeked inside. I felt relieved when I saw the big piano in the last corner and dared to walk inside. Besides the piano, there were several instruments resting on their stands spread around the room, most of them to play classical music, but luckily, an acoustic guitar was among them. I was going to pick it up to test it when I spotted shelves full of old vinyl records. 

I walked towards the vinyl record player, it had a beautiful vintage look, it’s big horn imitated the ancient gramophones used during the Victorian years, but I suspected to be a more recent model. 

I noticed someone had left a classic record on, I wonder which one of the Royals had been listening to it as I moved the tonearm onto the outer edge of the disk, the little diamond tip to touch the groove. 

I guess I still remember how to use one of this. 

I stretched my arm and pulled one of the discs from the upper shelf, the others came down with it and  << "KNEEE-KNEEE!!" >>

The blaring sound of violins vibrated around the room making me wince for the annoying sound filling my ears.

“Damn!” I covered my ears while trying to find a way to turn the bloody record player off before my head exploded. Overwhelmed by the sound I went on my knees and stretched my hand behind the furniture looking desperately for the plug, but before I could find any the music stopped. 

I stood up still touching my ears 

Have I gone deaf? 

“I take you didn’t mean to do that.” I heard someone say behind me. 

Okay, I haven’t 

I turned around to find a guy eyeing me warily, from the corner of my eye I noticed a laptop and a couple of heavy leather books that weren't on the table before. 

“I was considering turning it on but it made the decision for me,” I said without explaining. 

At that moment, a couple of guards came into the room alarmed. They scanned the room quickly before looking at us puzzled. 

Wylan followed my gaze and turned to them, slightly. “Just a mishap. We’re fine.” He acknowledged with a wave of his hand. I let out a sigh of relief as they left the room to return to their posts.

“First time using a record player?” He asked to continue teasing

I gave him a deadpan look. “Ha-ha I take that the last person who played it had some hearing problems.” Before I crouched to pick up the rest of the vinyl records still scattered on the carpeted floor, I noticed a smile tugging at his lips that didn’t last.

In a minute he was bending in front of me to help. “You picked some good ones.”

Suddenly we looked at each other for a second, I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at his for a second trying to figure any sign of sarcasm in them, and he just had the word “awkward” written all over his face. Obviously I was making him feel uncomfortable. 

I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so busy trying to read him. 

“I like classics- acoustic to be precise.” I finally said with a shrug. “Do you own any of these?”

“This John Mayer one is mine. I have some other ones too. They’re over there.” He gestured to the rack behind me, then stood up with the vinyls he helped pick up.

I raised my eyebrow and nodded approvingly. “You have some taste, I will give you that.” I looked up at him, waiting for him to offer his hand for me to help me stand, but apparently living in a castle was no guarantee of anything, so I just stood up slowly, brushing my dress. 

“Some were gifts I grew to love.” He acknowledged, holding the vinyls out for me. “I’d recommend keeping the volume down before you turn it on next time.”

I took the discs to put them back in its place on the shelves “Well, you should put a sign somewhere,” I joked, a bit annoyed by his recommendation. 

I adjusted my glasses and stayed standing there, admiring the vinyl records once more. My curious mind wondered about the Prince. “Which ones are Arin’s?”

“I’m not sure. He might not own any.” I caught him glancing at his things he had left on the table before back to me. “Might be a good question to ask him yourself.”

Or you’re just evading the question. But fortunately, one of the things my job had teached me was to have thick skin so I wasn’t going to let him get away so easily. 

“You really don’t know or you don’t want to tell me?” I asked with an amusing tone.

He let out a small sigh, relenting a bit. “He likes The Killers. There’s probably a vinyl or two of those in here if you really need a good conversation starter.”

I faked a grimace “ugh! that piece of information should’ve hurt…” I said mockingly before adding. “I guess some advice for tomorrow’s interview is completely out of the table.” 

“Depends on what advice you’re looking for,” he let out, surprising me. 

I started to walk around the room still looking at him, considering my answer. “I don’t know, you are his friend... knowing a little bit about his personality would help,” I said casually, as if I didn’t already have thousands of questions listed in my head. 

But somehow he knew I did. “I’ll answer one question you have. Just one.”

“So generous …” I said more to myself than to him. My hand went unconsciously inside the pocket on my dress and my fingers touched my journal inside of it, purely out of habit. Of course, I wasn’t going to take it out so I crossed my hands in front of me as I resumed my walking around the room. 

“Okay…” In my mind I was looking for a single question that could indirectly tell me things about Arins personality … and why not about Mr. Uncomfortable himself too. 

“How do you start getting along back in college, like how did you become friends?”

Suddenly he let out a laugh, startling me. I frowned at first, but then I decided it wasn’t so bad, it picked my curiousness further.

I looked at him genuinely amused and he begined, “We were both going for runs and without knowing, I drifted a little too close. I was listening to music and not paying attention. His bodyguard sort of…” He paused to bring his fist to his neck simulating a punch. “And took me down.” I could see he was amused, for real. 

I laughed picturing the scene on my mind, considering all his previous teasing and had to admit it was a little bit entertaining to do so. “Ouch! His bodyguard does look ... fierce.” I commented remembering the man’s complexion I had seen several times on TV.

I wait for him to continue before asking, “what happened next? What did Arin say?”

His smile was more like a ghost on his face now, not physically there but somehow still present. “He apologized. After that we found out we shared a couple classes together and I offered to help him study for exams.”

“That’s an epic story… I bet it left you marked for some days.” I made a grimace, touching my neck, imagining the pain.

“Swallowing hurt, to say the least,” he said, remembering. After a minute, he combed a hand through his hair. “ Did that satisfy your question?”

“Hmm yeah, it was good, for now” I answered scoffing a laugh. The truth was I didn’t expect to enjoy his story that much, but I just couldn’t settle with only one question, but it wasn’t convenient to push more questions on him now. 

Fortunately he didn’t refuse, he just rolled his eyes at me, amused. “Alright, well I have to get back to work. At least try to not deafen the entire palace again.”

“I can’t promise anything.” I let out, finally taking the acoustic guitar from its stand, while he turned to gather his things.

“Reassuring.” He gave me a side glance and started walking out the room, he offered a two fingered salute before disappearing behind the opened door. 

After a second, while looking down at the guitar already in place on my lap, I compelled,  “Wylan... thanks!”

“You're welcome.”