‘No,’ agreed Melanie. ‘I have one at home. Mummy is express couriering it to me. It’ll be arriving this afternoon. Your dresses are lovely, but I’m at least six inches taller than you, and, while I want to show off my back and shoulders, I don’t want to wear a floor-length gown that only goes as far as my knees.’

  ‘If you’re going with green,’ said Ingrid, ‘I’ll wear powder blue. Binky loves blue.’

  ‘Does he?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘He may not now,’ said Ingrid, ‘but he will when he sees me in this dress.’

  ‘What are we going to do about Friday?’ asked Melanie. They both turned to look at her.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Friday. ‘I’m going to stay here and read a book.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ said Melanie.

  ‘It would cause a diplomatic incident,’ agreed Ingrid. ‘You would offend my father.’

  ‘I seriously doubt that is the case,’ said Friday. ‘I think his royal highness has a lot more important things on his mind.’

  ‘Well, you’d offend this royal highness,’ said Ingrid, puffing up and speaking with all her regal authority. ‘I invite you into my home, share with you the very clothes off my back and this is how you repay me – by refusing to attend my twenty-first birthday party?!’

  Friday cringed. She realised she was being cowardly, but she was genuinely horrified by the idea of having to wear one of these dresses.

  ‘But I really, really, really don’t want to,’ said Friday. ‘I don’t mind going to the party, but couldn’t I just wear jeans?’

  ‘No!’ said Melanie and Ingrid in unison.

  ‘I just feel physically sick at the idea of everyone looking at me when I’m dressed up like a vertically challenged Barbie doll,’ said Friday

  Melanie sat on the couch next to her. She took pity on her friend. ‘Friday, no one is going to look at you. Everyone there will also be in uncomfortable clothes that they’re not used to wearing, and be wildly self-conscious about their own appearance.’

  ‘Except the men,’ said Ingrid. ‘They’ll just wear tuxedos like they always do. So boring.’

  ‘All eyes will be on Ingrid,’ said Melanie. ‘I’m sure that, no matter how nice a gown we dress you in, you’ll manage to make yourself look non-descript and boring and no one will notice you. You have a real talent for that.’

  ‘Do you think?’ asked Friday. She practically felt like weeping, this conversation was making her feel so vulnerable.

  ‘I know,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Okay,’ said Friday.

  ‘Hurray!’ said Ingrid. ‘What do you think, Gretel? The pink one with the sequins?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Gretel, sizing Friday up shrewdly. ‘I have just the thing for her colouring.’

  ‘Is it brown?’ asked Friday. ‘Do you have anything in brown? I like brown.’

  ‘It’s red,’ said Gretel, whipping out a fire-engine red frock.

  Friday would have made a run for it right then and there, except her legs had turned to jelly at the sight of it.

  ‘Perfect!’ exclaimed Melanie. ‘You’re right. Red is the exact right colour to bring out the muddy brown in her eyes.’

  ‘And I have a diamond tiara that will be just the thing for making her mousy dull hair sparkle,’ added Ingrid.

  Friday started mentally reciting the periodic table in Norwegian to try to calm her nerves, or at least prevent herself from screaming. She suddenly had enormous sympathy for Edvard Munch and wondered if his famous painting, The Scream, was in fact a picture of someone being forced to dress up for a ball.

  Walking barefoot over broken glass would have been less painful for Friday than walking into that ballroom. It would have been better, in fact. Because if she had walked barefoot over broken glass, Friday would have cut her feet. And then she would have been allowed to go to hospital in an ambulance. Where she would get foot surgery, which would take hours, and she’d miss the ball entirely. These were Friday’s thoughts as she stood at the top of the staircase, looking down at the ballroom below. But there was no conveniently located broken glass. There was no escaping this nightmare ordeal.

  Friday had worried that she’d look like a Barbie doll, but that wasn’t really fair. Barbie wears practical clothes. She wears a lab coat when she’s a doctor. She wears jodhpurs when she’s riding her horse. She wears a space suit when she’s an astronaut. But there was nothing practical or comfortable about the bright red, strapless ballgown Friday was wearing. The underwear alone was more fancy than any item in her own wardrobe.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Melanie as she joined her at the top of the stairs. Ingrid and her father were at the bottom, greeting guests as they arrived.

  ‘Panicking,’ said Friday.

  ‘I’ve seen you fight illegal fur traders, chase bird smugglers and confront art thieves without the smallest concern for your personal safety, but this makes you panic?’ said Melanie.

  ‘Also blood and confined spaces,’ said Friday. ‘They make me panic too.’

  Melanie took in the view of the ballroom. ‘Well, no one is bleeding . . . yet. And a ballroom is the opposite of a confined space, so you’ll be fine.’

  Friday grabbed Melanie by the forearm and looked into her eyes, ‘Please don’t make me do this.’

  Melanie could see that she was genuinely terrified and totally overwhelmed by the situation. ‘I love you, Friday,’ said Melanie. ‘You are my best friend and you have no idea how grateful I am that the biggest genius at Highcrest Academy befriended me.’

  ‘We were allocated the same dorm room,’ said Friday. ‘It was just random chance. An occurrence based purely on probability.’

  Melanie sighed. ‘I’m trying to have a moment here, so let’s set mathematics aside for now. It is because I am such a good friend to you that I am going to make you go down there. You had a very traumatic experience being wrongfully imprisoned for terrorism, and you’re suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome. If you give in to your fear, you will never recover and live life.’

  Friday was trying to control her racing heart rate by taking even steady breaths, but it wasn’t working. ‘You can’t make me,’ she whispered.

  Melanie leaned in and reassuringly put her hand on Friday’s shoulder, ‘No, but Binky can. Binky?’

  Friday had not noticed Binky come up behind her.

  ‘Hello, Friday,’ said Binky. ‘Mel though you might have a bit of trouble getting down the stairs wearing heels, so she asked me to help you.’

  Before Friday had time to work out what he meant, Binky had scooped her up and was carrying her down into the ballroom. She was so shocked she didn’t protest. It was over in three seconds and she was standing on the parquet floor.

  Friday looked about, assuming people would be laughing at her, but, amazingly, they weren’t. They were just talking among themselves. It seemed no one had noticed. And if they had, they thought nothing of a soldier in full dress uniform carrying a girl down a staircase.

  ‘Binky, do I need to be jealous that you are sweeping other girls off their feet?’ asked Ingrid as she walked over to greet them.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Binky. ‘Not another girl. It’s just Friday.’

  Friday could not be insulted. Binky was looking at Ingrid with such lovesick adoration she knew she shouldn’t judge him.

  ‘Would you like to dance?’ Binky asked Ingrid.

  ‘Yes please,’ she said, taking his arm. They disappeared into the throng on the dance floor.

  ‘What do we do now?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Wait for someone to ask us to dance,’ said Melanie.

  Friday had taught herself many things – physics, chemistry, Norwegian, how to pick a tumbler lock – but she had never even thought of teaching herself how to dance. Watching the intricate footwork of the dancers, she guessed it would be a lot harder to pick up than quantum physics – at least for her, anyway.

  ‘But you hate all forms of physical exertion,’ said Friday.

  ‘Not dancing,’ said Melanie. ‘I like ballroom dancing. You get to lean on somebody. If I could lean on someone all the time, I probably wouldn’t mind standing as much either.’

  Friday glanced about the room, desperately looking for some alternative, when she spotted someone she knew.

  ‘Is that Dr Finsberg?’ asked Friday.

  The scientist in charge of the Seed Vault was standing at the buffet, eating his way through the hors d’oeuvres and ignoring the party.

  ‘It’s hard to recognise him without his snow jacket,’ said Melanie.

  ‘I think it is him. His total lack of social skills is consistent with a scientist,’ said Friday, walking over. ‘Dr Finsberg, how are you?’

  ‘Do I know you?’ asked Dr Finsberg.

  ‘We met at Binky Pelly’s court martial,’ said Friday.

  Dr Finsberg looked her over. ‘Ah, the precocious child lawyer.’

  ‘That’s me,’ agreed Friday. ‘I didn’t expect to see you at the princess’s twenty-first party.’

  Dr Finsberg grunted as he shoved another crab puff in his mouth, ‘They wheel me out at all the formal events. International guests love the Seed Vault.’

  ‘Finsberg!’ Sir Eirik called out as he strode across the ballroom towards them.

  ‘Here we go,’ groaned Dr Finsberg. He jammed two more crab puffs in his pocket and put a fake smile on his face. ‘Sir Eirik, delighted to see you.’

  ‘The minister from Spain will be here momentarily,’ said Sir Eirik. ‘He wants to meet you. Spain is an important agricultural trade party for Norway. We want your best behaviour.’

  ‘I promise to be civil,’ said Dr Finsberg.

  ‘No, we want better than that,’ said Sir Eirik. ‘We want graciousness. I’m sure a man of your intellect can look that word up, and aspire to achieve it in the interval before the minister arrives.’

  Dr Finsberg smiled an even faker fake smile and said, ‘Fine.’

  Sir Eirik pivoted on his perfectly polished shoes and strode away to button-hole another guest. Dr Finsberg headed in the opposite direction, towards the bar, while muttering darkly to himself.

  ‘Sir Eirik is quite the operator,’ said Friday.

  ‘When you’re as beloved as Ingrid’s dad,’ said Melanie, ‘you would need to have a tough right-hand man or nothing would get done.’

  They glanced across at the king. He was smiling happily as Ingrid introduced him to her stream of guests. He looked very impressive in his black tailcoat, red sash and military medals.

  ‘What do we do now?’ asked Friday. ‘Can we just stand and eat the crab puffs?’

  ‘No, we’re guests,’ said Melanie. ‘It’s our social duty to socialise.’

  Now Friday groaned.

  ‘Let’s find someone to dance with,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Please don’t,’ said Friday. ‘Besides, I’m sure no one will ask us.’

  ‘Too late,’ said Melanie with a big smile. Friday turned to see two young men in tuxedos approaching. They were handsome and well-groomed. Friday was horrified.

  ‘Hello,’ said Melanie.

  This was too much. Friday hit the awkward-social-situation ejector button. She announced, ‘I need to go to the bathroom!’ Her voice sounded borderline hysterical as she pivoted on the spot and walked as fast as her heels would allow her in the opposite direction.

  Friday did not look back. She wove between groups of people, just in case she was being followed – she had to get away. She knew as soon as the song was over, Melanie would come looking for her and perhaps bring Binky as backup. She needed to find somewhere she could breathe. She needed to hide.

  Friday spotted the heavy curtains at the end of the room. Perfect. She walked straight up to them and slid in behind, causing barely a ripple in the fabric so no one could tell how she disappeared.

  Once behind the curtain, Friday found herself in darkness. The heavy material blocked all the light from the ballroom – the only illumination was from the dim starlight outside. As her eyes adjusted, Friday could make out that the window was actually a window box. It was an alcove, and she had more space than she expected. Friday edged back. She didn’t want to knock the curtains and draw attention to her location. Her calves backed up against something. Friday realised it must be a window seat, so she sat down.

  ‘Ow!’ said the window seat. She had not sat on a window seat. She was sitting on someone’s lap.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Friday, getting to her feet.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said the stranger with a deep voice. ‘There’s plenty of space. I’ll move my legs.’

  Friday was hesitant to sit down next to a stranger, especially a stranger she had just sat on.

  He pressed a button on his device. The soft glow of an e-reader lit up his face. ‘I just snuck back here to read a book,’ he admitted.

  Friday could see now that he was a boy about her own age. He was tall, but a bit gangly. Probably a teenager still. She sat down.

  ‘What are you reading?’ asked Friday.

  ‘War and Peace,’ said the boy.

  ‘You like Tolstoy?’ asked Friday. She had read War and Peace herself, but it had been a bit of a grind. It was hard to keep track of all the multisyllabic Russian names.

  ‘I’m lying,’ said the boy. ‘Sorry, it’s reflexive. I always say I’m reading War and Peace when people catch me reading my Kindle. I’m actually reading a Jack Reacher novel.’

  ‘I’ve never read any of those,’ said Friday. ‘But I have no trouble believing they’re more fun than being at a ball.’

  ‘Girls are supposed to like dressing up and being beautiful,’ said the boy.

  ‘Why?’ asked Friday. ‘Aren’t we meant to be valued for more than our physical appearance and ability to perform predetermined footwork in time with an auditory stimulus?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what they tell us,’ said the boy. ‘But reality rarely actually coincides with what we’re told.’

  Friday turned and looked out the window, ‘We’re on the ground floor. We could climb out and run away.’

  ‘The window is locked,’ said the boy. ‘I already tried it.’

  ‘I can pick a lock,’ said Friday.

  She could barely see the boy’s face in the low light, but she could see his eyes sparkle.

  Friday pulled two pins out of her hair and set to work, but, suddenly, they were interrupted. The curtains were thrown open and the alcove was flooded with light.

  ‘Arthur! What are you doing hiding here?’ demanded an older man in a tuxedo with a medal around his neck.

  ‘Um . . . kissing this girl,’ said Arthur, pointing to Friday.

  Friday looked at him like he was crazy. They weren’t even standing close to each other. This was hardly believable. But the older man seemed pleasantly surprised.

  ‘Oh, that’s all right then,’ he said. ‘But you can’t hide all night. Get out here and dance.’

  The man left. Arthur looked dejected. He turned to Friday. ‘Well, we’ve been sprung.’ He offered her his hand. ‘We might as well dance with each other.’

  Friday realised he was at least as miserable as she was with this situation. They should stick together. ‘Okay,’ she agreed.

  Arthur led her in the direction of the dance floor. They got there just as the song stopped. Arthur was already holding Friday’s hand. He put his other hand on her waist, ready for the next song to begin.

  ‘Who was that?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Who was who?’ asked Arthur.

  ‘The man who just burst in on us like that?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Oh,’ said Arthur. ‘The Crown Prince of Denmark.’

  ‘What?!’ exclaimed Friday. The music was starting up. ‘How do you know him?’

  ‘Oh, just because . . . um . . .’ said Arthur. ‘He’s my father.’

  The music hit the beat, and they started moving.

  Friday’s mind was boggling. ‘The Crown Prince of Denmark, as in the future king?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Arthur.

  ‘Which means the king is your grandfather,’ said Friday.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Arthur.

  ‘Which makes you a prince too,’ said Friday.

  ‘Yes, afraid so,’ said Arthur. ‘But you won’t hold it against me, will you? I know a lot of people are republicans these days, or they’ve just been forced to read Hamlet for school, so there’s a lot of negativity associated with the Danish royal family. But I’m just a person. With luck, it’ll be fifty years before it’s my turn to be king. Who knows? There may be a revolution before then and it’ll never come to that.’

  Friday was deeply shocked. She realised just how deeply shocked when she noticed that she was dancing and had evidently been dancing for some time now.

  ‘I can’t dance,’ she said, looking down at her feet.

  ‘It’s just because you haven’t been thinking about it,’ said Arthur. ‘The waltz is only walking backwards in a tri-rhythmic pattern. It’s easier if you do it without thinking.’

  Friday looked into Arthur’s face. She was terrible at gauging when someone was being sarcastic or just joking. He didn’t seem to be. This was when she first noticed that Arthur was quite handsome. They continued the rest of the dance in silence. When the music stopped, they applauded the orchestra.

  ‘This is the bit where the boy, that’s me,’ said Arthur, ‘is supposed to ask the girl – in this case, you – whether she would care for a refreshment.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Friday.

  ‘In which case,’ said Arthur, ‘if you are actually thirsty, you can say, “Yes, thank you, I’d like a glass of lemonade”. But if you want to ditch me because you’re thoroughly sick of my company, then you say, “No, thank you, I must powder my nose”.’

  ‘But I can’t say that now,’ said Friday ‘Because you’ve deconstructed the social convention, so if I were to do that now, it would be rude.’

  ‘True, sorry,’ said Arthur. ‘I was just trying to help. These are things we get instructed on at protocol classes. I didn’t want you to be ill-informed.’

  ‘I am actually thirsty,’ said Friday, remembering that she hadn’t eaten or had anything to drink for several hours. ‘And hungry too.’