Sleeping Beauty, the One Who Took the Really Long Nap Read Online Free PDF Page B

“I just wanted to be certain.”
    I went back to setting the toy soldiers up for battle. I thought Father had left but then heard, “Would you like a name?”
    Startled, I dropped the soldier in my hand. It hit the rug with barely a sound. I nodded.
    â€œHow about you pick your own?” Father said. “Come to me when you’ve chosen.” With that, he left me.
    I was quite taken aback. It is not every day one is told they may pick their own name. What a huge responsibility! Mortimer? Octavian? Rex? How would I choose? By dinnertime (quail eggs and strawberry jam, which was delicious) I had landed on Rhyan. A solid, strong-sounding name. By dessert, I had changed it to James. By the time I climbedinto bed, it was Lucas for sure. When I woke up, I couldn’t even remember why I liked Lucas. I obviously wasn’t ready to saddle myself with a name yet. Instead of me finding my name, my name would just have to find me.

I laced up my ballet slippers and flexed my ankles in preparation for my performance. Each year since I could walk — which you recall was at quite a tender age — Mama and Papa had invited the lords and ladies of the kingdom to the castle to watch me sing and dance and play musical instruments. My parents figured that since the fairies were kind enough to bless me with these gifts, I owed it to high society to share them. I never gave much thought as to whether I enjoyed these performances. They took almost no effort, since everything came naturally to me. I knew it made my parents proud, and that was enough for me.
    My eleventh birthday had just passed. I had long ago given up on having parties. I was happy to celebrate with my parents and Sara, who had become more like a sister to me than a lady-in-waiting. She went to visit her real sister, Amelia, every month at the blacksmith’s house, and Amelia often came to the castle, too. In fact, she was in the audience tonight. The cute page I had admired when I was younger(who went by the name of Clive) had become a squire. I saw him every now and then practicing with the knights. Sara wouldn’t admit it, but she lingered by the thick glass windows whenever he was jousting out on the Great Lawn.
    Mama had ordered red velvet drapes, which she’d fashioned into a makeshift curtain. I would stand behind the curtain, and then when it was time for my next piece, the curtains would open dramatically and I would begin my routine. It all came across as quite professional. I had already sung ten minutes of an opera that night as my opening act. I was glad that part was over. I liked singing little wordless songs as I strolled through the gardens or helped Cook bake her delectable desserts, but I could not stand opera. It was very odd to be so excellent at something that I didn’t even enjoy.
    The curtains drew apart and I began my ballet dance. My mind was utterly detached as I flitted and fluttered across the stage (really some boards of wood the castle carpenter had nailed together, which caused my mother to nearly faint until he assured her the pointy ends of the nails were underneath the stage and would not harm me).
    At appropriate intervals my arms arched upward and out to the side like butterfly wings, and my neck tilted back so my hair flowed down like a sheet of silk. I closed my eyes and twirled on my tiptoes, never losing my balance. The crowd was hushed, watching me. Meanwhile, I was thinkingabout the adorable little snail I had found on my window ledge that morning. What a trip he must have had to crawl all the way from the ground, three stories below! I had just determined to call him Rex when the song ended and the applause began. For the first time, I felt a bit guilty about accepting such adulation. For truly it was almost none of my doing.
    Sara helped me change out of my ballet outfit and into a long yellow gown for the last part of the concert. “You were excellent,” she whispered as she