Laura McGehee - The Royal Expectation

W alk, sir! Excuse me? Sir? Prince Kyle yelled as loudly as he could to a furiously sprinting whirlwind of energy, commonly known as a youth at a pool during the summer. Unfortunately, Kyles strained voice emerged as a strangled yelp more reminiscent of an anxious terrier rather than the commanding decree of the King of the Royal Pool. The small ball of summertime terror did not stop sprinting across the deck, and Kyle did not try again. He didnt think his voice or spirit could take it.

From his perspective on the top of the lifeguard chair, Kyle could see his entire world stretching before him in all its chlorinated glory. The sun bore down on Kyle with an intensity that only those chained to a stationary chair high in the sky could possibly comprehend. Kyle was doing his best to maintain some semblance of propriety in his new Kingdom, and failing miserably under the dehydrating stresshis pee hadnt been clear in weeks.

Outside of this land of obnoxiously sprinting children, quickly melting snack bar ice cream, and swim race showdowns, Kyle was commonly known as Prince Kyle George Washington. He was a young man of nineteen years who had somehow turned out to be as handsome as an action-fighting superhero, in spite of his complete lack of physical confidence. But as soon as he stepped foot onto the pools abrasive concrete covered with slightly offensive chalk drawings crafted by the local ruffians, he was Prince no more. He was King of the Poolat least, thats what he whispered to himself in the mirror while wearing his cape constructed from a beach towel.

Sure, one could say that his impulsive decision to become a lifeguard might have something to do with his sister becoming King faster than any other King-elect in United States history, leaving Kyle alone with his heartbreak and a distinct lack of power, but to Kyle, only one truth was evident: the Royal Pool needed a new lifeguard, and it was his destiny to serve this pee-filled cesspool. He desperately wanted to return to the childhood he never had, in which energetic teenagers had no other care in the world besides menial summer jobs and who got to which base with whom. But mostly, he had been deeply and truly bored.

The Royal Pool spanned an immense amount of acreage and was large enough to drive any lifeguard insane with the sheer amount of childish tomfoolery occurring in each and every crevice. The Freemasons had erected the structure in the 1800s in the likeness of the King of Prussias ornate swimming facilityHerbold Jefferson was rumored to have been engaged in an illicit affair with the Prussian Kings wife, and this project came off as more of a slap in the face than an homage. The pool had been built in the midst of this personal strife and intense drama, the likes of which the Freemasons had not been prepared for, and as such, the pool was certainly not structurally sound in the slightest. A large mass of writhing, jumping, and splashing bodies frolicked and generally wreaked havoc within the tiled walls that routinely cracked and crumbled under the pressure.

To make matters worse, these unruly water fanatics were exclusively Royal adolescents, a specific breed of wildly spoiled and preposterously ill-mannered elite who operated as if the world owed them everything. Though in their defense, everything and everyone they had ever interacted with only reinforced that beliefso was it the children themselves that were horrific, or was it the system? Probably a little bit of both, but it was not Kyles place to judge. No, Kyles place was in the chair above all the mayhem. He was pale with the stress of his Kingdoms disarray, and also the large amount of sunscreen he had failed to rub into those parts of his face he couldnt see in a mirror.

The air was thick with mid-June heat and the chemical smell of chlorine mixed with non-deodorized sweat. A squad of Hamiltons sprinted around the deck, chasing each other in a life-or-death game of tag. A Madison and a Jay faced off in a game of chicken, on the shoulders of a Jay and a Madison, respectively. Child after child performed elaborate and incredibly dangerous dives off of the diving boards, inches away from splitting open their heads due to a complete lack of understanding of their physical limitations. Kyle visually combed through the madness, perching on the edge of his seat in a desperate attempt to prevent the untimely demise of these Royal existences. These lives were in his hands, but his hands were so clammy he couldnt even spin a whistle around his fingers.

In the direct center of the unruly youth, Glenn Hamilton made vicious eye contact with Kyle. Glenn smiled the devilish smile of a twelve-year-old boy hell-bent on destruction, paired with an uncanny knack for eternally getting himself out of trouble. Kyle sat utterly riveted to his seat, as stationary as a deer caught in headlights, specifically the one that Kyle had watched Trevor accidentally run over in his Royal Rover last Christmas. Just as suddenly as it began, Glenn broke eye contact and sprinted straight toward five-year-old Richie Monroe, pushing him into the pool with aggressive venom. Kyle fumbled with his whistle, nearly dropped it again, and then pressed it to his lips to shrilly sound the alarm.

You cant do that! Kyle shouted, but to no availGlenn Hamilton turned around and gave Kyle the middle finger in response. It appeared as if Kyles ruling position as King did not carry much clout in these waters, in which the local law of the fastest swimmer in each age group generally prevailed over any figure of authority.

Stop that! he shouted. Kyle reached for his whistle once more, and felt it slip through his fingers to the pavement below. His heart sank deep into his stomach. The whistle was a lifeguards key to power, their very soul. Without his red beacon of authority, Kyles baggy red swim trunks and thick shades meant absolutely nothing.