one night off a week and she was spending it at the carnival with a friend.
Her nursemaid tucked her into bed, kissed her head, and whispered, “Good night, Noodle, I will see you tomorrow.”
The second the door closed behind Rosalind, Annabella sprang from the bed in her pajamas. She ran to the window, threw it open, and shimmied down the big oak tree growing beside the wall. She reached Rosalind’s little blue Peugeot in the car park before her nursemaid did. Heart thumping, Annabella climbed into the backseat and lay down on the gray carpet. It smelled of licorice and she stayed curled up quiet as a cat. If Rosalind caught her, she would scold her and make her get out of the car.
Even so, she could not contain her excitement. It was the first time she had ever run away. The first time she ever dared anything rebellious. Without the allure of the carnival, she would never have done anything so defiant.
After Rosalind stopped the car and the door closed behind her, Annabella lay for a long moment, holding her breath. Then tentatively, she sneaked out of the backseat and found herself in wonderland. The sights were as gripping as she imagined—the lights, the sounds, the scents, the textures, the crowd. She’d never been alone in the midst of so many people.
She felt at once very big and incredibly small.
Finally, finally all her dreams were coming true.
For a long time, she stood just staring at the wonder of it all. Her hands curled into fists, her nose twitching, not knowing what to do first. She ran up to a booth to buy some cotton candy, but then the man asked her for money. He was short with greasy black hair and a mustache as big and thick as a push broom. He smelled sweaty and there was dirt underneath his long fingernails. He wore a tight shirt with no sleeves and there were pictures of naked ladies drawn on his fleshy upper arms.
Ashamed, Annabella dropped her gaze; she did not want to look at the man with naked ladies on his arms, but she wanted that cotton candy.
“Money,” he insisted, rubbing his thumb against two fingers in a circular motion.
She had no money and he would not give her the candy.
Stubbornness set in. She was a princess and unaccustomed to being refused anything by a servant. “Give me the cotton candy,” she demanded haughtily.
“You pay, you get.”
She snatched the cotton candy from his hand.
“Thief,” he accused and lunged for her.
Annabella danced from his grip. She was not a thief. She was hungry. Starving for the ordinary experiences of ordinary children. Defiantly, she bit into the sweet, pink fluff. It dissolved against her tongue and she laughed out loud at the joy of it.
The man raised a hand as if to smack her, but there was her bodyguard, Reynaldo, grabbing the man’s hand. “Strike the princess and it will be the last mistake you ever make.”
The cotton candy man’s eyes grew wide. “Pri-Pri-Princess Annabella.” He fell to his knees in front of her and began kissing her feet. “Please forgive me. Take the cotton candy, it is yours.”
But Annabella didn’t want the cotton candy any longer. It had been ruined. Everything had been ruined. Her bodyguard snatched her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and carried her back to the palace. All she saw of the carnival was upside down from behind Reynaldo’s back.
The bodyguard delivered Annabella to her mother in the upstairs parlor. It was the coldest room in the house and her mother’s favorite. Even in the summer, Annabella often shivered in the draft slipping from the stained-glass window. A heavy tapestry of dark colors and hues hung on the wall, it made the room feel colder still. The carpet was equally dark. In the corner stood a stately grandfather clock with a large pendulum. It swung back and forth, ticking loudly.
Snowflakes. Whenever she was in this room Annabella thought of snowflakes. She shivered, knowing she was in trouble.
“You were right, Your Highness.” Reynaldo bowed low
Her nursemaid tucked her into bed, kissed her head, and whispered, “Good night, Noodle, I will see you tomorrow.”
The second the door closed behind Rosalind, Annabella sprang from the bed in her pajamas. She ran to the window, threw it open, and shimmied down the big oak tree growing beside the wall. She reached Rosalind’s little blue Peugeot in the car park before her nursemaid did. Heart thumping, Annabella climbed into the backseat and lay down on the gray carpet. It smelled of licorice and she stayed curled up quiet as a cat. If Rosalind caught her, she would scold her and make her get out of the car.
Even so, she could not contain her excitement. It was the first time she had ever run away. The first time she ever dared anything rebellious. Without the allure of the carnival, she would never have done anything so defiant.
After Rosalind stopped the car and the door closed behind her, Annabella lay for a long moment, holding her breath. Then tentatively, she sneaked out of the backseat and found herself in wonderland. The sights were as gripping as she imagined—the lights, the sounds, the scents, the textures, the crowd. She’d never been alone in the midst of so many people.
She felt at once very big and incredibly small.
Finally, finally all her dreams were coming true.
For a long time, she stood just staring at the wonder of it all. Her hands curled into fists, her nose twitching, not knowing what to do first. She ran up to a booth to buy some cotton candy, but then the man asked her for money. He was short with greasy black hair and a mustache as big and thick as a push broom. He smelled sweaty and there was dirt underneath his long fingernails. He wore a tight shirt with no sleeves and there were pictures of naked ladies drawn on his fleshy upper arms.
Ashamed, Annabella dropped her gaze; she did not want to look at the man with naked ladies on his arms, but she wanted that cotton candy.
“Money,” he insisted, rubbing his thumb against two fingers in a circular motion.
She had no money and he would not give her the candy.
Stubbornness set in. She was a princess and unaccustomed to being refused anything by a servant. “Give me the cotton candy,” she demanded haughtily.
“You pay, you get.”
She snatched the cotton candy from his hand.
“Thief,” he accused and lunged for her.
Annabella danced from his grip. She was not a thief. She was hungry. Starving for the ordinary experiences of ordinary children. Defiantly, she bit into the sweet, pink fluff. It dissolved against her tongue and she laughed out loud at the joy of it.
The man raised a hand as if to smack her, but there was her bodyguard, Reynaldo, grabbing the man’s hand. “Strike the princess and it will be the last mistake you ever make.”
The cotton candy man’s eyes grew wide. “Pri-Pri-Princess Annabella.” He fell to his knees in front of her and began kissing her feet. “Please forgive me. Take the cotton candy, it is yours.”
But Annabella didn’t want the cotton candy any longer. It had been ruined. Everything had been ruined. Her bodyguard snatched her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and carried her back to the palace. All she saw of the carnival was upside down from behind Reynaldo’s back.
The bodyguard delivered Annabella to her mother in the upstairs parlor. It was the coldest room in the house and her mother’s favorite. Even in the summer, Annabella often shivered in the draft slipping from the stained-glass window. A heavy tapestry of dark colors and hues hung on the wall, it made the room feel colder still. The carpet was equally dark. In the corner stood a stately grandfather clock with a large pendulum. It swung back and forth, ticking loudly.
Snowflakes. Whenever she was in this room Annabella thought of snowflakes. She shivered, knowing she was in trouble.
“You were right, Your Highness.” Reynaldo bowed low
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