Just Your Average Princess by Kristina Springer

Girl’s and Sno-Cone Sammy’s shorts even shorter today?
    *   *   *
    At the end of the day, I’m washing my hands in the kitchen sink when Milan walks in carrying a bouquet of fresh-picked pink and purple asters.
    â€œAunt Julie? Do you have a vase?” she asks.
    Mom peeks at Milan over the top of the open refrigerator door. “Oh, aren’t those pretty! Yes, I do. Go look in the bottom section of the china cabinet in the dining room. I should have something there that will work,” Mom tells her.
    Milan gazes down at the bouquet as she passes by me. “Danny is so sweet,” she comments.
    Danny? Is she implying that he picked those flowers for her? I grimace. Danny doesn’t seem like the flower-picking type to me. But maybe around Milan guys do things they wouldn’t normally do. Ugh, I can’t watch. I pick up my backpack and head for my room until it’s time for dinner.
    At dinner I purposely don’t sit in my usual seat next to Milan’s chair. Maybe she’ll actually notice and realize that not everyone thinks she’s the most special thing ever to set foot on the planet. I take Dad’s seat, forcing him and Mom to have to sit on either side of Milan. As Dad approaches the table he comes to an abrupt stop, noticing the seat change. He stands there, staring at me like I’ve committed some huge sin or something.
    â€œWhat?” I finally mumble. “The air-conditioning was making me cold.”
    Dad frowns and takes my seat without a word.
    Milan cheerily enters the room and slips into her seat. “Dinner smells great, Aunt Julie,” she comments. “This hard work has really been giving me an appetite.”
    I cross my arms over my chest and slump back in my seat, staring skeptically at Milan. But she doesn’t even glance in my direction.
    â€œThank you, Milan,” Mom calls from the kitchen. “I tried something new. I hope you like it.”
    Hmph. She never hopes I like anything. Of course, there generally isn’t much that I don’t like.
    â€œWorking at the Pumpkin Patch is so much fun. I had no idea I’d enjoy working as much as I do,” Milan continues.
    Oh puh-lease. What a load of—
    Mom sets a big bowl of steamed broccoli on the table in front of Milan.
    I frown. That’s new. No cheese or crumbled Ritz crackers on the broccoli. Not even a few pats of butter. Are we on a diet or something?
    â€œWell, you’re doing a wonderful job. Right, Henry?” Mom asks, placing a hand on Dad’s shoulder.
    Dad wipes some milk off his mouth and clears his throat. “Excellent. Better than workers that have been here two, even three seasons.”
    My elbows drop on the table with a thump. What’s this? Compliments from the man who on most days won’t even utter a hello to his only child? Is Dad feeling okay? Is there a carbon monoxide leak in the house or something and he’s tripping? Milan doesn’t even do 10 percent of the work I do around here every day. I never get praise.
    Mom sets a big bowl of homemade applesauce on the table and retreats to the kitchen, smiling.
    â€œGee, thanks, Uncle Henry,” Milan says, glancing my way to make sure I’m taking this in. “This looks delicious.” Milan scoops some applesauce out of the bowl. She briefly passes it by her nose before dropping it onto her plate. Probably trying to see if Mom put any sugar in it.
    Mom returns and sets a big platter of … something … in the center of the table and takes a seat. She looks proud. It looks like some sort of rubbery ball of meat. And it smells sort of like turkey, but it sure doesn’t look like any turkey I’ve ever seen.
    â€œTofurkey!” Milan exclaims, clapping her hands together.
    Tofurkey? Hehe. Okay, this is going to be good. I look at Dad, waiting for him to give Mom hell for putting a big peachy tofu ball on the dinner table. And