Chapter 1
Mihi Whan Park was a princess.
Well, kind of.
To be more precise: Mihi Whan Park felt like a princess, like someone important, someone who mattered, someone who belonged—even if she hadn’t quite found her palace yet. Deep in her heart, Mihi felt like long-lost royalty, born to a king and queen in a far-off fantasyland.
Of course, if you asked anyone else, they’d tell you Mihi was … just a girl. A four-foot-tall Korean girl, born to the owners of Park Pet Rescue in Medford, Massachusetts.
But those were pesky details.
Another pesky detail: Mihi’s morning was not going as planned.
“Do we really have to play Snow White?” Genevieve Donnelly pouted as she twirled her blonde ponytail around her finger.
Genevieve was Mihi’s best friend … ish. They’d been close since they were little, but lately, Genevieve didn’t seem to like Mihi very much. And unfortunately, that was kind of a friendship requirement.
Mihi made herself smile, as if Genevieve were just joking around. “We played your game yesterday, so we’re playing mine today.”
They played together on the playground every morning before school, and before this year, they’d always played princesses. But lately …
Genevieve sighed the world’s most dramatic sigh. “Fi-ine. Did you bring the apple?”
Mihi attempted to radiate pure sunshine to make up for Genevieve’s rain cloud of a mood. “Of course!”
She swung her backpack off her shoulder and ruffled through crumpled worksheets and candy wrappers. “I definitely, one hundred percent, know I packed it.”
Except, for reasons she could not comprehend, the apple wasn’t there.
She thought back to this morning. She’d been holding the apple in her hand. She’d looked at her backpack. And she’d thought, very clearly: Don’t forget this!
But she’d also been waiting downstairs while her parents got her little brother ready. And downstairs was her family’s pet shelter.
Her parents had recently gotten some new birds after a family moved and needed to rehome them, and Mihi had looked at the creatures, trapped inside their cages.
Watching them, her heart had pinched. They’d seemed so sad. And sure, she knew her parents wouldn’t be thrilled if she opened their cages, but the birds deserved freedom!
Mihi had imagined the result: The birds would dance around her and tweet their gratitude before flying out the open window. Then, every morning after that, they’d visit her window to help her get dressed.
But what really happened … wasn’t that.
What really happened involved the chaotic flutter of sixteen panicked birds, five barking dogs, four meowing cats, and two very unhappy parents.
And during all of that, Mihi had forgotten the apple.
“Well, I guess we can’t play.” Genevieve shrugged like this was no big deal.
But for Mihi, it was. She already had the sick-making feeling that Genevieve wouldn’t want to play princesses for much longer. And Mihi wasn’t ready for that to end. This was the only chance Mihi got to imagine an impossibly magical life.
She had to get an apple.
An idea began to shimmer in Mihi’s mind, and she pointed to the corner of the playground where a giant apple tree grew—an apple tree that they were definitely, 100 percent, totally and completely forbidden to climb. “We could get a new apple.”
Genevieve frowned. “Mihi, that’s a terrible idea.”
“But—”
“Look, I’m not trying to be mean, but…” Genevieve took a deep breath. “I think it’s time to stop playing princesses. It’s babyish and kind of annoying, and the other kids think so, too, if you haven’t noticed. You’re not really the princess type anyway.”
Mihi blinked.
“No offense,” Genevieve added.
The worst part was Genevieve didn’t look like she was trying to be mean. She just looked sad. Sad because Mihi didn’t understand. Sad because she pitied Mihi. Genevieve was the type of girl who just, somehow, had all the answers—how to dress, how to act, how to matter in the world.
All Mihi had was questions.
“The princess type?” Mihi repeated, the words echoing in her head.
Genevieve’s frown deepened. “Maybe you can find friends that match you better, like Amy Lee or Abbie Wu. And you can play … ninjas or something.”
It was like Genevieve had started speaking a foreign language. Mihi felt the way she did when her grandparents spoke Korean. She could pick out some of the words, but she couldn’t put them together in a way that made sense.
She frowned. “But I don’t know Amy or Abbie. And I don’t like ninjas. I like—” She stopped. She wasn’t sure if she was about to say princesses or you. How horrible.
“It’s just a suggestion,” Genevieve said apologetically. Then she walked away, leaving Mihi in the middle of the playground.
All around her, other kids played with their friends, and Mihi just stood there, alone.
Hurt and embarrassment boiled in her chest, and she started sweating. Genevieve had been pulling away for a long time, but this was so much worse than Mihi had feared.
Genevieve’s words dug deep—straight to the part of Mihi that wondered if they were true. It was like Genevieve had unlocked a secret fear, one that had hidden in Mihi’s heart for so long: What if she wasn’t good enough to be a princess?
Because the problem was, though Mihi felt like one, sometimes when she looked in the mirror—or worse, when someone like perfect, pretty Genevieve looked at her—that feeling disappeared. Mihi could only see her own round nose and rounder face. Her stick-straight hair and her sticking-out front teeth. She could only see the too annoying, too chubby, too babyish girl that Genevieve didn’t want to be friends with.
But no.
I can play Snow White if I want to, Mihi told herself, trying to believe it. I am the princess type.
Mihi’s eyes fell back on that apple tree, and she gritted her teeth. “I’ll show her,” she murmured. Then she grabbed her backpack and marched over to the forbidden tree.
Chapter 2
Mihi wasn’t planning to climb the tree. Not at first.
Positioning herself right below the most perfect apple, she closed one eye and made a box with her fingers, framing her goal. The leaves on the other trees were burnt orange and threatening to fall soon, but the apple tree stood big and bright with its shiny red fruit.
One apple, the biggest and brightest of all, called to her. That was the one.
She tapped her necklace, a golden crown pendant, for good luck. Then she lifted her backpack, took aim, and threw.
She envisioned what would happen next: Her bag would arc up, up, up, until it hit the perfect apple, knocking the fruit right into Mihi’s outstretched hands.
But what really happened … wasn’t that. In truth, Mihi had terrible aim.
She watched the backpack arc up, up, up, into the trees and then—stop. The backpack got stuck in the branches.
Oh. Hot tears pricked behind Mihi’s eyes, which she hated. She felt like a little kid. Babyish.
She shook her head. She had to get that apple. She had to prove … well, she wasn’t sure what, exactly. She just knew she had to get it.
Before she could stop herself, she was climbing—hand over hand, foot over foot. It was thrilling. She felt like maybe, just maybe, she could leave Genevieve’s words behind.
Mihi had spent much of her life watching princess movies, so she knew there were different kinds of princesses. There were the sleeping kind—the old movies. And then there were the prince-hunting kind. And then there were the newer princesses, the ones who went on epic journeys as the heroes of their own stories.
Mihi loved every princess, but she especially loved that last group, with Elsa, and Raya, and Rapunzel. Those princesses chased adventure and kept moving, kept going, until they achieved their dreams—until they became the people they were meant to be. Mihi would do that, too, until she had that perfect life where everything fit. Where she fit.
A happily ever after was out there for Mihi. She just had to find it.
Now, climbing like this, Mihi felt very regal. She imagined her hair blowing royally in the wind, even though she knew it was probably hanging limply. She imagined the sun peeking through the leaves, lighting her up like the chosen one.
She was getting closer and closer to that apple, and it was all going so well, really, until she heard a voice, slicing through her fantasy: “MIHI WHAN PARK.”
Mihi winced as she looked down. She hadn’t realized how high she’d climbed. Seeing the ground so far below her, her heart began to pound, and she felt a little woozy.
And there, back on Earth, beside a crowd of her classmates, was Ms. George, the playground monitor, with her hands on her hips and her hair pulled into a tight bun. Even from this distance, Mihi could see her lips forming a thin line.
For the record, Mihi was not Ms. George’s favorite student.
And for the record, Mihi was in trouble.
Text copyright © 2022 by Tae Keller
Illustrations copyright © 2022 by Geraldine Rodríguez
