When Audrey Met Alice by Rebecca Behrens Page B

honey.” But you chose to make them, I wanted to scream. I was never free to do that!
    “ Ugh! ” I stomped my foot. “You don’t get anything.”
    “Audrey, that’s not fair.”
    “Neither is ninety-five percent of my current life.” I turned on my heel and headed out of the room.
    “Audrey,” my mom called after me, but I ignored her. I pushed past Denise, who was waiting on the other side of the door.
    I ran upstairs and slammed my door. First thing, I turned on some music to relax. Classical, while I stretched—but no special-announcement Bach because that would only upset me more. Then I turned on the playlist my dance teacher gave me before I moved, and I danced around my room for as long as it took to feel calm. It didn’t last, though, because when I flopped on the floor, sweaty and exhausted, I couldn’t stop thinking about a trip I wouldn’t take and the friendships I wouldn’t make. Nobody gets what I have to go through as a First Kid. Nobody. Well, except Alice . I reached over and slid the diary out of my desk drawer. It felt weird to be hiding someone else’s diary. But if I showed it to my parents, they’d probably find a way to ruin it too. No way would I let that happen. I thumbed through the musty pages to the one I’d left off at, when Alice was flush from her yacht christening in New York Harbor. Lucky girl.
    February 28, 1902
    Diary—
    First, if any of my maids are reading this entry, I swear on my mother’s grave that I will seek revenge on you! I caught a maid peeking in this very journal the other day. I was flabbergasted. I may scoff at my stepmother’s obsession with privacy, but when it comes to my diary, I believe in it too! I refuse to censor myself, but perhaps I will have to devise ways to protect my most private confessions from prying eyes. Maybe you’ve noticed already (you’d have to be blind not to have), but I’m trying to use Bye’s peculiar style of handwriting here. She slants her letters to an almost unreadable degree. It’s an awful lot of effort, though, and so far I’m imitating her style with a singular lack of success.
    I am so very glum today. Despite my fantastic job at foreign relations with our German friends, Father is not allowing me to attend Edward VII’s coronation. When we received the invitation, I jumped and ran the long hallway upstairs and did somersaults, terrifying some of our menagerie (as evidenced by Eli’s squawks) as I cartwheeled into the Conservatory. That giddiness was short-lived. As soon as the papers caught wind, the White House was besieged with mail, from constituents who found it “inappropriate” for me to be lumped in with royalty. My father was sorry for me, but he explained that although some (mainly those already in favor of his administration) would not care if I went, many (mainly the fools in opposition to him) would be very, very upset. I don’t like feeling like a pawn in the chess game that is his administration. This is precisely why politics frustrate me—they have a nasty way of getting in the way of living. Sure, I want to be a boon to my father’s presidency, but I bristle at his presidency hindering my life . He tried to tell me that I was a great help with the Kaiser’s yacht, and I can help again by not going to the coronation. But! Going to the coronation is the stuff of my wildest dreams. If I had the ability and the power to choose in this situation, I would choose for myself and go.
    To Thine Own Self be True,
    Alice
    March 2, 1902
    Diary—
    My ashen spirits are rising like a phoenix. I may not be able to go to England for Edward VII’s coronation, but I am about to embark on a “consolation trip” to Cuba! I’ll spend a month on the island doing all sorts of diplomatic chores for Father. I leave in only a few days. I have trunks upon trunks to pack, and Stepmother is constantly fussing over me, making sure that I bring everything I ought to and also giving me little subtle suggestions of