The Real Trudy

By Susan Lyttek

Since graduating high school, I’d acquired the ability to identify poisons—without dying, important detail—saved the head of the council, learned about mystical evil Knights threatening our kingdom, been killed—poison again, I’m not immune—and rescued my true love on multiple occasions. You’d think that’d be enough to ask of any eighteen-year-old. Now I could fall in love with Prince Corduroy, get married, and live a normal life, right?

Wrong! This king I rescued claims I’m the only one who can keep the magical bubble surrounding our kingdom from imploding and killing everyone. Well, this poison-identifying, prince-rescuing, evil-knight-thwarting princess has one answer to that!

“I don’t wanna.”

“But, Trudy—” King Henry didn’t even have the decency to call me Princess. “You’re the solution we arranged to save the kingdom.”

“You arranged?” I wanted to indulge in a temper tantrum. Throwing myself down and kicking and screaming would feel so good. “That’s great for you. But what choice did I have?”

“You volunteered.”

I snorted—not very ladylike, but ladylike isn’t my strength. “At what, six years old? That’s not volunteering; that’s brainwashing.”

The man shook his head vigorously, his bad combover bouncing. “Not six. Sixteen. You knew the risks; you trained to face them.”

I looked at Amelia. “But we went to school together…”

“She’s right.” My best friend hovered, barely, over the ornamental ficus and kicked at its leaves. “I’ve known Trudy since forever. We even—”

“Shared a mat at preschool? Had the same teacher for second grade? Both had a crush on Max Peal in junior high?” Henry smiled knowingly.

My jaw hit the floor. “How?”

He patted my hand. “You needed a friend here. Amelia was a good fit. We gave you some shared memories to help you bond.”

I yanked my hand away. “Are you telling me my friend, my best friend, isn’t my friend at all?” I choked to stop the tears. “And who is ‘we’?”

Henry smiled sadly. “Your parents and me. With your help, actually. We needed a sorceress inside the bubble to save the kingdom.”

“No.” I gripped the chair until my fingers ached.

“No?” Confusion etched in his wrinkles.

“I’m tired of being the center of everything. So no. I won’t be your sorceress puppet. Find someone else.” I walked out of the study, down the hallway, and left the Blue Palace.

I focused on my feet, one in front of another. Neither Amelia nor King Henry followed me. Good. I needed space to think, to figure out what I wanted other than not being controlled by a past I couldn’t remember and a king with bad hair.

What would Corduroy do when he realized I was gone? Was our relationship real? Did past me engineer our love too?

Was my name even Gertrude?

I chuckled wryly. Who would choose Gertrude? That had to be real.

I studied the clouds. “Would the real Trudy please step forward?”

When I looked down, the high school loomed in front of me. “Of course.” All roads led to the high school at the center of the magic bubble. I couldn’t escape. So what could I do?

The corner of my mouth crept up. This deserted complex was my alma mater. We had a history. Maybe only two years, but still.

In the Sunday evening quiet, I pulled a bobby pin from my hair and picked the lock on the supply shed. Inside, at least one hundred rolls of bliss greeted me. I grabbed a dozen and edged the door shut with my foot.

Why were my best memories of this place too old to be real? The last two years—the real years—had been spent working toward graduation, helping Amelia learn to dance, and avoiding the grumpy P.E. teacher.

Remembering the fake memories—like Amelia and I as newbie freshmen hiding from seniors during hell week—I lofted roll one in a perfect arc. It caught the edge of the main building. Beauty. I thought about the first dance I went to, where I threw my date into the punch when he made googly eyes at Snow, and aimed my next throw up and over the lunch room.

I’d always been good at this—causing headaches for teachers, creating harmless chaos. Few people could match my artistry with toilet paper. I smiled. To be this talented at random vandalism I must’ve practiced before I took this assignment.

I weighed the roll in my hand. “Maybe the snark, attitude, and temper are part of the real Trudy, after all.” Another toss, and the toilet paper arced beautifully over an old apple tree, as if agreeing with me.

A throat cleared behind me.

I turned, thrusting my ammunition behind my skirts.

“I’d hoped to find you, princess.” Mr. Blue leaned against the gym doorway, arms crossed. How did this P.E. teacher always catch me when I needed to act out?

“You were?” That couldn’t be good.

He nodded, ignoring the toilet paper. “King Henry sent me to look for you.”

Uh-oh.

“We need to talk.”

Double uh-oh.

He glanced at my recent artwork. “Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to decorate the school, haven’t they?” He straightened and smiled. At me. In all my years, Mr. Blue never smiled at me. “You’re even better at this than your dad.”

My… dad?

Just when I thought I was figuring me out, someone had to throw in another curveball. “You knew my dad?”

“I’ve known your whole family for years, Trudy.” His steel-blue eyes studied mine.

I sighed. Whatever past-Trudy wanted, she was determined to accomplish it no matter the cost. And if throwing toilet paper had reminded me of anything, it was that we shared that rebellious, determined, inner strength. Time to use it to discover the truth—and what to do next.

I walked up to Mr. Blue, curtseyed, and handed him the remaining toilet paper.

“Mr. Blue, tell me about who I was. Who I am.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Susan A. J. Lyttek, author of five novels, award-winning writer, blogger, wife and mother to two homeschool graduates has temporarily given up job-hunting and instead spends her days tutoring over Zoom and writing the strangest tales she can. Learn more at her website.

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