One Fine Day

Once upon a time, there were two young girls riding the Light Rail in the grungy city of Bayonne, New Jersey. They were tired and exhausted from the onerous advanced placement exams, which triggered in the girls a hunger pain. They rode the dirty, crowded train to the forty-fifth street station, hoping to order breakfast late in the afternoon.

“Wow, I’m hungry as hell.”

“Whitney, you’re always hungry.”

“I know, but I really need some pancakes.”

“Why didn’t you stay home and have one of your seven cousins cook for you? I hear Doc has hands of gold.”

“Because, Maggie,” Snow White shyly, yet boldly, said, “I need to get out of the house once in a while and do things myself! All I do is study and I need some fresh air.”

Princess Snow White is a fresh face in the city of Bayonne. Her porcelain skin glows against the smog and pollution, and her raven hair is impermeable to the humidity. Although many people do not know her royal blood, (for predictable reasons), except for her best (and only) friend in Bayonne—Maggie, she is a quiet girl and aspiring women rights activist. She is the only daughter of the King and Queen of Belgium; her family moved to this working blue-collar town outside of New York City because of incessant unrest in her country. She was upset to leave her homeland, to leave her family behind. Her mother, who passed away during childbirth, is buried on the property, whom which she visited everyday.

“Apparently, radicals don’t like how our family runs this country, so now we have to live to this dump with my wicked stepmother,” she told her mother’s tombstone.

The train stopped at the uptown station and three pairs of black eyes peered at them from afar in a parked car on Avenue E; the girls nonchalantly walked past the unassuming vehicle, unaware of its malice. The girls gossiped and walked to the Broadway Diner near the city line. They walked into the crowded diner and ordered breakfast at five o’clock in the afternoon.
“Yo, I want some ice cream! Let’s go to the Magic Fountain,” said the princess.

“Whitney, you just ate three buttermilk pancakes, a bagel and hash browns.

What is wrong with you? Seriously, I’m not lying. Really.”

“I need my sugar fix…now! I want a vanilla Oreo Hurricane.”

Parked near the classic neon sign is an ordinary car, watching the girls devour their meals. The spies of the princess’ stepmother have to kill the porcelain goddess. Of course, the last two attempts failed because, well, the hired spies are blundering idiots--more like Abbott and Costello than James Bond. Edith Penny and Hoagland Broan each took a look at the beautiful princess and her funny friend; they followed the girls to this scruffy ice cream parlor on Broadway again and watched like night owls. The spies can repeat the sound of the Queen’s roar that morning:

“You must kill my stepdaughter, she is nothing but baggage to me!” ordered the wicked stepmother. “You must kill her tonight, and spare that brown girl she’s always with!”

Snow White went to the counter and asked for a small vanilla Oreo Hurricane, her favorite dessert in Bayonne. Upon ordering she realized that her seven servants from Belgium were working inside.

“Doc? What are you doing here!”

“We’ve come to warn you about your stepmother. She’s trying to kill you.”

“Why didn’t you text me? You didn’t have to come to New Jersey, Doc.” she said.

“You must go away, leave with your friend. She won’t be harmed, but you will! Here’s your ice cream Have a good evening…”

The girls turn around to find two people dressed in tailored suits and sunglasses. Hoagland Broam takes out his silver gun, and points it at the girl. Snow White drops her ice cream in shock. He pulls the trigger, but nothing happened. A flag popped out of the gun that read:

BANG!!!

“Oh no, Hoagy! You did it again! Now what is the Queen going to say! I can’t stand you sometimes!” said Edith Penny.

The abashed spies failed to assassinate the Princess of Belgium, and are forced to leave the scene and report back to the queen.

The Magic Fountain closes its door to its customers, with a brand new vanilla Oreo Hurricane on the counter.

“This one’s on me,” it read.

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