I crept down the steps slowly. I still hadn’t changed out of the torn, dirty rags that I’ve been wearing for a week. My cat, Tabby La Roux (The French are fascinating people.), crawled in to my lap and squealed. “Shhh,” I whispered. “You musn’t make them aware that I’m here.” I saw my friend Annabelle, her father Andre, who was a member of our household staff, Momma, and Papa sitting on the couch. Momma sat looking stricken. “I-I just c-can’t und-derstand,” Annabelle sputtered.  All of the sudden, Momma snapped out of her catatonic state. “Ah!”, she exclaimed. She recalled an incident before a ball, while the maids were lacing up our dresses in which I, and I quote,  her “mild-mannered” daughter, told her that she wanted to be a commoner. After recalling this incident, she burst in to tears, stating that she didn’t know that I would actually do it.

I picked up my dear, dear Tabby La Roux and climbed up the spiral staircase. I went in to my sleeping chambers and sat in my lovely canopy bed. I sunk back and started to recount my travels.

I thought back to the aforementioned night of the ball. I had danced with all the sons of the people of high-society. Afterwards, I thought about how half of the people I danced with I didn’t even know. I decided to break free. I took a pad of paper and a pen and wrote down my plan.

The next morning, I awoke at dawn.  Just looking at the pink sky, with bursts of orange, peeks of yellow, and drops of lavender gave me courage. I pinned my hair up and put on rags so that I would like a boy.  I snuck downstairs and grabbed as much money as I can from my father’s money drawer in the dining room, put it in a pouch I had, and went back upstairs. I threw down some pillows to cushion my fall. I stood, poised on the railing of my balcony. I took one look at the beautiful pots of lilies and jumped. I landed with a thud on the cobblestone streets. The minute I felt the throbbing pain on the back of my head, I knew I should have positioned myself better before I jumped. I lay down on the pillows until the pain stopped. People were giving me sideways looks. I didn’t mind, since I was used to the attention because I’m, after all, the princess of England.

The sun had just risen and already the cobblestone street were filled with people, merchants, and workers. I took a bit of time to gather my wits about me. I was fourtunate enough to have left the day everybody does their shopping for the week. I followed what all the other commoners did. I went to the butcher, the bakery, and the cheese-seller. I still had to go to many more places and I had already ran out of money. I decided to do what I often see the poor children of our village doing- stealing. Creeping around, trying to remain anonymous, I stole some apples and other fruits from a fruit-seller. Alas, my plan did not work. The fruit-seller called, “Thief! Come back here!”  He then sent his guards after me. I ran, my feet pounding on the cobblestones.

They wrestle me to the ground. I’m breathing heavy.  The guards get off of me. I stand up. One guard whispers to another, “Thing looks like a girl.” I hear them, take the pins out of hair, and yell,”I am a girl! I’m Princess Catalina!” The guards laugh. “And I was knighted,” one says, little bits of saliva flying out of his mouth.  “No,” I yell, close to tears.  I take out the thing that I put in my sack that Momma and Papa say always proves that I’m royalty: my tiara. They see it and start asking tons of questions.  “It’s a long story,” I say. “But if you don’t tell my parents and let me take the fruit, I will make sure that you are rewarded.” That calms them and they go hunt down other beggars and thieves.

I pin my hair up again and set off, sneaking between alleyways. A boy in a hat, selling papers, comes up to me. Pointing to my noticeably heavy sack, he says, “What do you have there?” “Nothing.”, I say. He pounds his fist in to his hand and says, “Nothing valuable enough for me not to steal it, eh?” I’m frightened, but I stand my ground. “No. I got lots of money yesterday while begging by the markets, so I was able to buy lots of food.”, I state. Next thing I know, I’m lying on the ground bruised and bloodied, most of the contents of my sack still there. I notice no glimmer and gasp. He took the tiara!

I stood up and grabbed my sack. My face throbbed in pain. I took the pins out of my hair again and went to the marketplace. I yelled, “Guards! I need your help! I will reward you generously!” The guards who chased me before came. I explained to them what happened and what the boy looked like. They saw a boy who looked like him, chased him, and wrestled him to the ground, just like they did to me. They grabbed the tiara and part of the money that I took that I didn’t even know was there. This boy must have really searched around in my sack. They returned to me the money and the tiara.  I decided to pay the fruit-seller from whom I had stolen previously, when I didn’t know that I still had a large sum of money hidden in the bottom of my sack. I counted the money. It was an extremely large sum, and I would be able to pay the merchant and still have a lot of money left. And so I paid the merchant.

I pinned up my hair again and walked. I had absolutely no idea where I was going. I must have looked rather awful, since a woman spotted me in the crowd and came over to me. She put her hand on my face. She smelled of perfume, face cream, and face powder.  She had a beautiful dress on and her hair was braided. She appeared to be of the high-society. I think I may have seen her a few times at balls. “Oh, you poor darling,” she exclaimed. “Somebody must have beaten you quite badly. Come with me to my home. I will give you comfort, food, and shelter,” she said sympathetically. “B-But,” I stammered. I had plans to take a coach to the country and perhaps find an inn or an abandoned shack to stay. “I will not take no for an answer. You must come with me,” she said dramatically. I supposed that if one is willing to be so charitable, I should not refuse. So I joined her.

We walked along, her skirts rustling as we walked. “Who did this to you?” she asked, almost angrily.  I did not feel comfortable telling her the full story, so I simply replied, “A boy selling papers. He wanted to steal my sack.” We walked in silence to her home.

The minute we got to her home, my suspicions were confirmed: she was part of the high society. Her house was almost as grand as our palace, with gorgeous balconies and buttresses. She led me up the spiral staircase. She opened a door. “This is where you’ll be staying,” she said. “You can’t stay in those rags. Let me give you some of my son’s clothing. How old are you?” “Twelve”, I replied. “Perfect.”, she said. She went and came back with a stack of clothes, a wash basin filled with water from a stream down the road, and a bar of soap. “Here,” she said, “wash and change your clothes.” I washed and changed my clothes. The woman knocked. She came in with bandages and such and took care of my wounds. “What shall I call you?” I asked. “Mrs. Peabody. My son’s name is Caleb.”, she answered. “Now lie down and rest.” I lay down. There was a stack of books on the bedside table. I picked one up and started to read.

There was a knock on the door. “Who is it?” I yelled. “Caleb. Caleb Peabody.” a rather manly voice for a boy of twelve answered. “Come in.” A tall, strong-looking, rather handsome  boy around my age, with brown hair and blue eyes came in. “Hello.”, he said, “You’re rather small, aren’t you?” He struck me as rather pleasant, so I decided to reveal that I am a girl. “It’s because I’m not a boy.”, I said as I unpinned my hair and the thick blond hair spilled on to my shoulder. His blue eyes widened. “You’re Princess Catalina!” he exclaimed. “Yes. Yes I am. But let’s keep this our secret.”, I reply. I then tell him the whole story. He looks at me dreamily. Then he leans in. I’m confused. He kisses me. I kiss back.  That was a big surprise. I actually like him, so I don’t mind. After he breaks away, I say, “A bit young, aren’t we?” He shrugs. I take a paper and write down the address of the palace. “So you can send me letters or visit me. Momma and Papa won’t mind, since you’re part of the high society.”, I say as I hand the paper to him.

We walk downstairs. Mrs. Peabody introduces me to everybody. When she introduces me to Caleb, I say, “I’ve already met him.” and wink at him. We both laugh. Mrs. Peabody looks bewildered, but she doesn’t question why we’re laughing.

I went upstairs and took the pins out of my hair. I took off the clothes Mrs. Peabody gave me. I had brought with me some old bedclothes I had. I put those on and climbed in to bed.  There was a knock on the door. “Who is it?”, I called. “Mrs. Peabody.” I tensed up, pinned up my hair again, and covered myself with the blanket so that she wouldn’t be able to see my feminine bedclothes. “Come in.”, I called. “I just came in to say good-night and give this glass of water.”, she said, placing a glass on the ornately carved, mahogany bedside table. And with that, she left.

Another knock. Caleb came in with some thin silver instrument, perhaps a flute or a piccolo. “You said you absolutely adore music. I play the flute and thought you might want to hear me play.”, he said and started to play. He really got very excited, jumping up and doing a little jig while playing. I laughed and clapped. “Bravo!” I said when he finished, bursting in to applause. “‘Thank you.  My instructor will be proud.”, he replied. He left, smiling broadly.

That night, I dreamt a quite interesting dream. I’m in the palace’s ballroom, dancing with Caleb. All of the sudden, I trip. I end up beneath my mother’s feet, my mother looking down and saying, “Why are you here? You moved out.” After that, the world went black.

The next day, after breakfast, I leave, thanking Mr. and Mrs. Peabody, and kissing each of the Peabodys on the cheek.

i set out again. I was well-dressed, which I think (hope) made people think better of me. I had my sack, filled with muffins, scones, biscuits, butter, jam, and bread that Mrs. Peabody had given me at breakfast for the journey. Plus, I still had money and food left over from yesterday. And so I began day two of my journey.

I found a coach to take to the countryside. I paid the man a shilling and hopped on. I ended up squished between a woman wearing a torn dress and a man who I’m pretty sure was once a servant at the palace. I hopped off and walked and walked, until I stumbled upon a deserted, semi-dilapidated home. I walked in.  A mouse scurried across my feet. I took a few more steps. I went all through the house. After I walked all through the house, I went back in to the kitchen and opened a closet. A cloud of dust came out at me. I coughed and sputtered. Inside the closet, there was a broom, mop, and pail. I took them out. I took the rusted pail and left. I walked until I encountered a babbling, clear brook. I bent down and scooped up some water. I would use that water for mopping, because hopefully the mopping would make the dilapidated house a bit more bearable to live in. Later, I would come back to this brook to get drinking water.

I found a poor merchant selling necessities such as soap and matches. I found a few coins in my pocket. They must have fallen out when I was carrying my sack in my pocket. I bought two bars of soap on ropes and a package of matches. I feel a finger in my pocket. I see it’s a boy trying to pick my pocket. Even though this is only day two of my expedition, I already learned much from being on the streets yesterday. Besides, this is angering. I punch him hard. Blood spatters out of his nose. I run.

When I get back to the pathetic house, I mop, scrub, and sweep. It actually didn’t look so bad afterwards. It looked like most of the commoners’ houses. I went back down to the brook. I saw blood in the grass. I gasped inwardly. I never knew I could hurt someone so much.

—–

If you’re wondering why this chapter is so violent, I was listening to angry Adele songs while writing this. I decided there should be something to anger Catalina.

I got back to the house and sat down to read some of the old, musty books I found. Night fell. I went upstairs, changed into my nightclothes, and fell asleep. In the middle of the night, I heard music. Without bothering to put on regular clothes or pin up my hair, I went outside. I padded along the wet grass in my bare feet, following the music. I found a boy sitting along the brook, playing a guitar, singing a slow, melancholy song I didn’t know. I hummed along softly. He didn’t know I was there. When he finished, I turned around and ran back to the house, my satin robe trailing after me, tears in my eyes.

The next morning, I went back to the brook. During the day, there were lots of merchants there. I got a job for the day with one of the merchants. After all, it was boring to sit around all day and read. I helped him sell and took the money. He paid me at the end of the day and I treated myself to some decadent, hazelnut chocolates.

That night, I unpinned my hair, put on my nightclothes, and crawled in to the bed. I stayed awake though, waiting to hear the slow, mournful music. When I heard it, I practically ran down the steps. I ran again to the brook, my robe trailing after me. Today, I saw the boy’s face, bathed in the moonlight. And he was handsome. Handsomer than even Caleb. I sang (I knew the song), my voice rising, clear and melodic, in to the darkness of the night.

The same thing happened on the next night.

On the night after that, I came again. Again, I knew the song. I sang once again. But something different happened this time. I felt like my feet picked me up and made me dance and twirl in the moonlight. I danced exquisitely. The boy heard. He turned around. He laughed. “You’re beautiful”, he called out to me. “So are you!”, I called back. He laughed and started to play and sing a glorious, happy song as we danced, laughed and sang, leaving ourselves in the darkness.

Each night, I would go down to the babbling brook. Every time, I left myself behind and became a dancer and a singer. And it was perfect.

The next night, I just came to the brook, sat, and talked with the boy. He told me his name was Elijah. We talked about ourselves. We hugged, kissed, and I left.

The moonlight shone upon me like a spotlight. I was in a contemplative mood. I thought about Caleb and Elijah, comparing them in my mind. I liked Elijah more, but Caleb is closer by. The thoughts tumbled around in my head like the earth during a quake.  I heard a distant rumble and it started to pour. Lightning flashed in the sky. I felt the fury of the sky underneath me. I felt sound and light converge beneath me. I ran for cover. I heard a voice. “Hello.” I turned and saw Elijah. We started to laugh uncontrollably. All of a sudden, the sky’s fury seemed small.

The next morning, I found something interesting. I went behind the house. I found a small, striped, gray kitten. I brought him inside. I  ran out to buy some cream and some more food (particularly fish.) I came back and found two saucers. I poured cream in to one and put fish in the other. The kitten gobbled up the fish hungrily and lapped up the cream. He then curled up in the chair and fell asleep. I giggled as he batted the air with his paws. I imagined him dreaming of a magical land of fish and yarn and giggled. I then decided to call him Slugger.

The next day, while Slugger was sleeping, I debated the pros and cons of both Caleb and Elijah. I decided to be partial to Elijah even if my parents would disapprove. Elijah was funnier, even if he was a jerk sometimes. (I learned that last night.) He was also handsomer, with his coffee colored skin and dark, chocolatey brown eyes. Caleb was a bit simpler, with his brown hair and blue eyes, and he seemed like he was trying too hard to impress me. Everything felt more natural and flowing with Elijah. Besides, Caleb was too much like the things and people I was trying to get away from.

The next day, I helped people  get water down by the brook. I enjoyed spreading joy.

I think back to the day with the guards. I remember them saying something about how my mother and father have sent out people to search for me. My heart beats a little faster. There have been lots of men in the uniform of the palace guards around lately. I would have to stock up tomorrow on food and such and hide out indoors.  Except, what about Elijah?

That night, I come to visit Elijah. He’s sitting on a rock, his head in his hands. When he sees me approaching, he slides his hand through his hair.  “I just don’t know anymore, Catalina. I just don’t.” I sit down on a slippery rock next to him, trying to stay balanced.  “Don’t know what?” “Life,” he answers, “me and you. I mean we’re only twelve. Why are we so enamored? Is it a crush, is it love? Life’s too complicated. I’m not good enough for you. You’re strong, independent, intelligent, and witty. I’m just a poor country boy.”  “Don’t worry. You’re the realest thing I’ve ever had. All those things at the palace- sure, I enjoy them, nut everything feels so fake. Nobody expresses their feelings or talks about their day. They just sit, rigid and almost like boards. You’re perfection.” He grins, then kisses me on the cheek. “You know we’re way too young for this by normal standards?” he says. “Yes, I know. But if we have more of a connection and we have more in common than any couple older than us out there, why follow standards?” I reply. He smiles. His smile to me is  like warm cookies, like being wrapped in a blanket on a rainy day, like … perfection. Even when he says disgusting things to me or about me, his smirk or smile is perfection. I tell him about how I’m hiding out, how he’ll have to visit me, and leave.