**Thanks so much to the fabulous DreamyGal, who came up with this idea and let me use it. You get free cookies!**

I walked down the hall behind Mark to my new boss's office, fingering the strap on the professional digital camera around my neck. The camera took me a year and a half to save up for, and it still looks like the cheap plastic use-once cameras you can buy at a Wal-Mart checkout counter compared to the photographers' at my father's expose magazine, The Real Storey, a "complete look inside the lives of celebrities brought to you by Daniel Storey."
"Hurry up, Abby," Mark sneers. "I have things to do. Or wait- I don't. Because while some people's daddies give them free jobs, the rest of us have to work our way up, starting as the office bathroom attendant."
Rolling my eyes, I don't do anything to change my speed. I've dealt with Mark before. And this isn't even technically a job, just a summer internship to put on next year's college applications. As Dad always tells me, "If you want to become a successful journalist like me, you have to get experience."
Hence, my internship with the co-editor, Mr. Burns. He wasn't delighted when my dad sent him a sixteen-year-old intern instead of a twentysomething with experience, but what could he do? He wanted his job, so he accepted me.
"Here." Mark's nasty tone brought me back to reality. "I'm almost late for my shift- as if anyone will miss me. Turn the corner here and you'll see a glass door with "CALEB BURNS" on it. That means you're there. Have fun fetching coffee and donuts." He marches off, leaving the space blissfully silent. But as soon as I take a step, my father runs up behind me and grabs my wrist. "Abby, Abby. Change of plans. I need you to do something for me."
"What? But Mr. Burns-"
"I called Delilah back, she took the post. I need you to write an article."
This gets me excited. "About what?"
He jams a folder into my hands, but yanks it back when I try to open it. "Do you still have your old Disney Princess movies?"
"Like, Aladdin, Cinderella, Mulan? Yes, but how does this-"
"Here." He slaps something into my hand- a ticket for the four-thirty showing of Tangled. "Go see this. When it's over, watch the rest of those movies, read the folder and come back here. Do not let anybody see the contents of this folder. Antonio is waiting out front with the car." He spins me around and shoves me back towards the elavator, and after I stumble down the stairs instead (I'm claustrophobic) and fall into the backseat of the car, I stare at the now-crumpled ticket and the folder. Surely one peek couldn't hurt?
My hands slowly pull the flaps apart. Mug shots, police records. Nothing new for me after Dad's constant exclusives on Lindsay Lohan.
I quickly scan over the picture, but do a double take before I read any of the information. Hair that red can't be real...
...except in cartoons.
After a closer look, I have a strong suspicion. I pull out my phone and get onto the Internet, Google Imaging "Ariel". I click on a screencap of her looking a bit sad, like the girl in the picture. After comparing, I can tell it's definitely Ariel.
I flip through the pages faster. Jasmine. Rapunzel. Snow White. Mulan. Pocahontas. All of the princesses. All of them. Arrested.
What is happening?
I obediently watch the showing of Tangled, not really paying attention but still getting immersed in the story. Disney sure knows how to makes a movie.
After a quick drive back home to our McMansion, I lock myself in my room and have an all-nightathon. Dinner is brought to my room, but I just eat without noticing what it is- seeing if Jaq and Gus can drag the key to Cinderella's room in time is much more important than eating. After the "the end" credit fades off of "Snow White" at about eight thirty in the morning, I drag myself out of my room, chugging down a Mountain Dew as I sleepwalk back to the car, not even bothering with my usual "I'm sixteen, why can't I drive myself places?" complaint, instead filling my cheeks with a complimentary Starbucks latte and Red Bull.
So, I'm wide awake and jittery when I slip into my father's office with the folder, now stained with a few tears from crying alongside Belle when the Beast died. Like a boss, he's already there and facing away from me in his high-backed swivel chair. "Abby," he says in an intense tone. "did you do as I asked?"
"Yes."
"Abby. Each of these princesses has a flawless repuation- less blemished than any celebrity alive. My money is on exploiting those reputations. Lindsay Lohan alone paid for our house entirely. Each of them has been arrested- I didn't risk putting why in the folder, but here is the list." He swivels around and slides a small slip of paper across his desk. I take it and find in his tiny, all-caps writing:

Cinderella- Drunk driving
Snow White- Indecent exposure (while protesting with PETA)
Aurora- Cocaine addiction
Jasmine- Beating
Ariel- Selling marijuana
Belle- Illegal psychic services sold
Mulan- Bribery
Rapunzel- Obsessive hoarding
Tiana- Neglecting children
Pocahontas- Kidnapping

I try to slip the list inside the folder, but Dad shakes his head. "Look on the back."
I flip the paper over, and I see "Honolulu Rehabilitation Center" scribbled on it. A plane ticket is stapled next to it.
"Abby."
"What?"
"Get in there. Get me the stories. Expose the princesses."