Prince Tennyson by Jenni James Page B

prince danced and floated all around the room, causing the biggest mess I had ever seen.
    I didn’t care. I was mad. I was so mad.
    I just ran and kicked and yelled and scattered those happy pictures everywhere.
    It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

Chapter Thirteen
    â€œCHELSEA? CHELSEA?”
    It was my mom, knocking on my door. I didn’t care. I just kept kicking pictures of my dad everywhere, all over my room.
    â€œOpen up, Chelsea. Open this door, please.”
    I picked up the emptied box and threw it at the door. “Go away!”
    I heard scratching at the lock and I knew my mom was using the key to come in. I dove under my bed and hid. I didn’t want to see her.
    I heard the lock click and saw Mom’s feet come in the room and I heard her gasp. Her feet froze. I knew she could see her Prince Charming all over the place. I watched her feet take a step, and then pause again.
    â€œChelsea, where did you— How did you—”
    Then Mom’s knees joined her feet on the floor and I saw her hands scooping up the pictures. Then I watched as she lay them out in a semicircle in front of her. Her fingers trailed the pictures slowly, settling on my dad’s smiles, and then his hair, and then his chest.
    â€œRyan?” I heard her whisper. “I never thought I’d ever see you again.” Mom’s hands scooped the pictures up and I peeked from under the bed a bit to see what she was doing. The pictures were smushed against her chest. I couldn’t see what her face was doing, only her body. Mom was hugging those pictures.
    When she laid them down to look at them again, wet splats began to land right on them. Mom was crying.
    Uh-oh. Mom didn’t like those pictures. I shouldn’t have thrown them around the room and yelled. I shouldn’t have never kicked them and scattered them everywhere. Now Mom was going to throw them away again, because they made her sad.
    I hoped I wouldn’t have to go into the big dumpster to get them out this time. Hannah and Cameron would be mad at me forever if I let them really get ruined. What was I thinking?
    â€œChelsea? Come out from under the bed. I want to talk to you.”
    Huh? I peeked my head out. “How did you know I was under the bed?”
    Mom gave me her “are you for real” look before she wiped her eyes.
    I had to chuckle as I crawled out, because, duh! Where else would I have been? I scooted some of the pictures over and slowly stacked them in a pile, and then sat down where they had been. Mom wandered around the room picking up the rest. She still sniffled and wiped her eyes. I felt awful.
    â€œSorry, Mom.”
    â€œIt’s okay,” she muttered as she walked to another spot to collect more.
    But it wasn’t okay. I’d ruined everything just because I was mad. “I didn’t mean to dump out the pictures, Mom. Are you mad that I did?”
    â€œNo, honey.” She stopped and stared at her favorite picture of Dad. It was a big one. He looked just like a prince. It was Hannah’s favorite too.
    â€œI didn’t mean for you to see them—honest,” I blurted out as I stood up. “I know you don’t like them anymore, but I promise to be really, really good with them and not make a mess again if you let me have them. I promise.”
    â€œWhat?” Mom looked up from studying the picture. Her eyes seemed lost.
    I sighed. “Never mind.” I walked over to the door and picked up the box where it had landed. It was bent pretty badly, but still could shut. That was a good thing.
    â€œNo, honey, I’m sorry.” Mom came over and placed her hand on my shoulder. Her other hand still held the picture of Dad. “What were you saying? I wasn’t listening.”
    I looked up into her eyes. She was staring back down at her prince. “Are you mad at me?” It’s all I really wanted to know—just how much trouble