An exerpt from The Princess Renegade
Clothes. Seriously, what is it with princesses and clothes? And don't even talk about shoes. Of course, my dear mother Le Queen won't let me wear ripped jeans. I mean, seriously? OK, I said that twice. I've been trying to watch that. My mother says if I want to write well someday I have to talk right, think right, and, of course, study. Mmm, no. I kind of don't think she got the whole Fiction idea yet. She's still leaning towards biography.
Where was I? Oh yes, clothes. I reluctantly pull out a pair of dark, unripped jeans and a prim white blouse. Please your mother by day, there's a whole night coming. I rush down the stairs, skipping the last two, and slide on rug in the hall.
''Natasha Annamaria, how many times do I have to tell you to walk in the house?''
''You won't let me run outside.''
Yeah. So now you see my problemo. Tight, uppity mother who can't stand any faults in her pretty little princess. Oh, and I should mention a few things.
1-I'm the princess of Scathmoore, some tiny little British island nobodies ever heard of.
2-I'm tall, skinny, and long-limbed with straight red hair and weird golden eyes. My mother says I'm gorgeous, but seriously, I look like a freak. Lately my mother's been obsessing over make-up on my face. It seems the Princess of Scathmoore is not allowed to get acne like a regular teenager.
3-I know, like, nobody. Seriously nobody. Our island is fairly small and doesn't have that big of a city, so I get a private tutor. Normal kids think of a private tooter as, you know, a butt, but I have to have one as my teacher.
4-I'm 15 years of age and therefore still uneligable for romance. Which pretty much means I'm expected to fall in love at age 16 to a rich prince and get married at 18. I don't think so, hunny.
So that's me. Pretty much. Of course, I have my secrets. Most of them happen at night, outside of the castle. I have like, a double life. It's pretty cool. I guess you could call me the Princess Renegade.