Chapter 1: Smells Nikke??
Danielle's POV
[BUMP!]
I crashed into a random person on the street while skateboarding. I know it's not princess-like to skateboard—well, a girl just wants to have fun on her birthday. I looked up and saw a girl about my age.
She had a soft, freckled face framed by waves of auburn-red hair that looked like they'd caught the sun and refused to let go. Her eyes were a warm, thoughtful hazel, always scanning, always reading the room like she saw more than she let on. She looked more anxious than ever, like she was starstruck. She is justified—not to brag; I am a star.
She wasn't dressed for royalty—just a fitted top and jeans, the kind of simple outfit that somehow made her stand out more than silk ever could. I was lowkey jealous of her. She gets to dress like this daily, while I only get to when I'm away from home. She looked a bit tired, and judging from what she was holding, she'd been cleaning. I guess you can't always have it all: clean and dress as you like, or be a princess and wear corsets.
I've had the "many would want to be in your shoes, literally!" talk so much that I struggle to believe there's any better. I guess corsets will do.
I just didn't like the unnecessary parties and speeches that came with it, I have a really bad social anxiety and today is a big day for me and everyone in the city. Skating was the way I sought to ease myself, or run away from my responsibility.
"Jeez, I'm so, so, so, so sorry," she said, shaking with the bin I bumped into still in her hands—also snapping me out of my former thoughts.
Oh my God. My disguise must have fallen, and she must have recognized me. I looked around and found it—a black snapback face cap—on the floor. I was panicking a bit. Was I finally exposed?
"Let me help you up, please," she said, still shaking.
She must probably feel scared and in trouble for bumping into the prince of Eltador. But so am I.
"I'll be fine, thank you," I replied, trying to calm her down a bit.
I took her hand and stood up.
"Oh my God, you have a scratch. Let me help you clean it up."
"Oh, it's nothing serious, I swear."
"But you're bleeding a bit. I don't want your parents scolding you when you get home."
I swallowed in fear. I hated when people brought up my parents. I'd rather die than have them know I was in some sort of trouble. They somehow worsen the littlest situation, and I was most definitely not going to follow her. What if she took a picture so she could brag about our encounter? I mean, I'm the handsome prince. What if she took a picture and sent it to my parents so she could get accolades or be compensated?
Okay, now you're overthinking it. No random shop girl has that access to the King and Queen of Eltador.
I snapped out of it as she spoke again for the third time.
"Are you the last born? You act like one, hehe. I don't want you worrying your mom now, if I may," she said, gesturing toward the inside of her shop.
Wait. She doesn't know who I am?? This would've been good news, but my ego has me boiling. The fresh prince of Bel-Eltador.
She...
My thoughts got interrupted as she wiped the dust off me. Cute.
We went inside. I mean, what would it cost me? Not like she's some witch—or is she?
The shop smelled like old leather and new rubber—like fresh sneakers straight out of the box, with a faint hint of floor cleaner lingering beneath it all. Rows of shoes lined the walls like colorful trophies, all sizes, shapes, and laces staring back at me.
"Soooo… last born?" she asked, breaking me from my thoughts.
"No. You?" I asked back, wondering why I kept the conversation going.
"No and yes," she replied, so serious about something I wondered if it was a joke.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked with genuine curiosity.
"The only child and the only they ever will be," she replied with so much certainty.
"Ugh, I'm the first. I guess we have something in common," I replied, trying to make her feel a bit comfortable. How ironic—making her feel comfortable in her own place. Ha!
"Yeah, I guess. Hope I'm not being too awkward. I don't get to speak to people this much," she said, now looking rather concerned.
"Ouch," I whimpered as she wiped off the wound.
"Nah, you're good. I'm sure I'm more awkward than you. I don't get to speak to people when I'm being me," I said, hoping it sounded comforting to her.
"I understand. In school, many people think I'm a mute because I'd rather not talk to stinky teenagers. Not like I smell nice," she dropped, now looking a bit sad.
"You do. You smell like some of my favorite sneakers. And they smell nice—of course, before I put them on, though," I said, bringing out the joker in me.
She blushed. Of course she smells like shoes. We're in a shop filled with shoes, and I'm a Nikke Windforce (popular shoe brand model) girlie—or should I say, boyie.
Her phone rang loudly.
"Oh shit, it's my grandma! Can't believe it's almost 9 a.m. already. I'll be late!" she screamed. I doubt she meant for it to come out that way.
"I'm also close to my grandma. And where will you be late to?"
Why was I still trying to talk to her when she clearly had somewhere to be? Was I really that desperate for conversation? Maybe. Either way, I kept going.
"Any special occa—oh my, my, my. Did you just say it's 9 a.m. already? Nooooooo!"
I screamed out of realization. I also had somewhere important to be, somewhere that was all about me.
I jumped off the bucket I was sitting on and hurriedly skateboarded off.
I can't believe I forgot my own quinceañera. Not today again. At least, not today—please.
I only wanted an hour's distraction. I can't believe I messed up. If there's one thing I'm scared of, it's definitely being embarrassed—and my mom finding out about me and my twin's shenanigans.
I got home. I went to my brother's room because I suppose he is already taking up my identity. I hurriedly started getting ready for a cosplay that felt more like the real me than who I'm supposed to be.