The Prince and the Punk [EDITING]

Chapter 5

Janice

I don't know what comes over me. Reading the elegant golden invitation Prince Xavier has just handed me brings me to tears. I wrap him in a hug, which is probably improper, but I don't care. He chuckles and hugs me back.

"If you're pulling my leg, I swear to god," I say into his shoulder.

"Never," he assures me.

I pull away with a breathy laugh, wiping a tear from the eye I can bear to touch. "Can a black eye heal in a week?"

"Probably enough to cover it up," Xavier replies.

I laugh again. "Oh, shit, what am I supposed to wear? I don't have, like, dresses or anything." Actually, I do, but none of them are worthy of being worn to a ball.

"Go buy one," Max suggests bluntly. For a moment, I forgot he was there.

I scoff. "Yeah, lemme just grab the 9,000 units I have set aside in my dress fund."

"I'll give you money for one," Xavier offers.

"No way, I can't take your money."

"Yes, you can. In case you haven't noticed, there's a lot of it. Besides, you're my guest. It's my responsibility."

I bite my lip. I don't like taking handouts, but Xavier seems pretty determined, so I relent. "I owe you, I guess."

"Nah." He uses his phone to scan the bar code on my wrist, automatically transferring the money to my account.

"You think Danny would want to go dress shopping?" I ask Max.

"Definitely," he says.

I lean back against the freezer, playing with the ornate card in my hands. This is a real ball—something out of a fairy tale—and I'm invited. Me, out of all nine billion people in the world, just because I had the good fortune of serving a prince a grilled cheese sandwich.

"Why me?" I blurt out. "Like, why would you invite me to this? Don't get me wrong, I'm really grateful. It just feels super random."

"Because I don't like the idea of a publicity stunt," he replies immediately. "I don't want to stand there in a suit sipping champagne, fifty cameras on me, trying to tolerate terrible people talking about boring things. I want someone cool there."

Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit he thinks I'm cool, I internalize, feeling myself blush. "I think you have a punk streak," I say as casually as I can.

Someone gruffly clears their throat, and I look up to see Skip leaving the kitchen. I have no idea where he's been hiding this whole time.

I check the clock on my phone. "Closing time," I declare, pulling myself up off the floor. No one's been in all day, and Skip is pretty good about cleaning the kitchen, so all I have to do is lock the door.

Since the café doesn't stay open for dinner, it's only about 3:00 when we close. I walk out with the others and use my barcode to lock the door behind me.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" Xavier offers as Max waves and heads off to his own job at a tattoo parlor.

"Don't you have a country to run?" I say with a smirk. "Or a planet?"

He shrugs. "Not for another few years. Besides, I think we're going the same way."

"Alright," I agree. He puts his hood up, and we chat about nothing in particular during the walk to my apartment.

"You walk this every day?" he asks me tiredly when we come to a stop.

"Yep." I smile awkwardly and gesture to my building. "This is me."