“Of course I’m right; I’m your mother.” She blots her mouth with her napkin. “I’m just glad you’re speaking to me. I’m used to you grunting through dinner.”
My mouth quirks upward. “Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome, Joseph.”
“Joseph?” I repeat.
It’s Edgar’s father’s name. I’ve seen photos of him, with his name and a date scrawled on the back. He looks exactly like King Maurice.
Jessamyn presses her fingers against her temples. “Oh my God. I’m getting so old.” She smiles at me. “Give it a day. You two will be all over each other.”
I wince. “God, Mom!”
She laughs. “Now, there’s the Edgar I know and love.”
At least someone does.
I have planned it to perfection.
With Ms. Pingree’s permission, I have raided the drama club costume closet, picking out an ill-fitted yet passable prince’s tunic, crown, and boots. A plastic sword is strapped to my side. I sneak into the biology class greenhouse with a pair of art room scissors and cut the stems of a dozen tulips, gathering them into a bouquet before a teacher can catch me in the act. Then I stride proudly into the cafeteria, my gaze narrowing like a beam on Delilah.
I can feel the entire room watching me, and their whispers are cobwebs I easily brush aside. I march to her table, fall to my knee, and present her with the flowers. “Milady,” I say, “your eyes are but twin stars in my universe. Your voice is sweeter than a robin’s song. You are the very beat of my heart; the rush of my blood.”
I believe I’m doing quite well. The cafeteria has begun cheering me on, and two spots of color appear on Delilah’s cheeks. Chris was correct; I am surely going to win back Delilah. After all, what girl doesn’t want a knight in shining armor?
“ED-GAR! ED-GAR! ED-GAR!” My borrowed name echoes in the room.
Those two roses blooming on Delilah’s cheeks have somehow spread, making her entire face as red as a lobster. She doesn’t meet my eye, and if I’m not mistaken, she seems to be sinking farther and farther under the table.
She still hasn’t taken the bouquet. I shake it a little, still on bended knee, and clear my throat. “You’re the breath in my lungs. You’re—”
“Done,” says Jules, appearing out of nowhere to yank me upright by my velvet collar. “Get your royal ass away from my best friend.”
She tugs at my tunic, spins me around, and shoves me toward the cafeteria door. It’s all I can do not to stumble. The voices of other students follow me out: Nice try, man. Better luck next time. I would have said yes!
I realize that I’m still holding the flowers. And that they’ve already begun to die.
Slumped against my locker, I’m trying to understand how I’ve managed to make things even worse than they were. “What you need,” Raj says, “is to wow her with your intellect. You know what they say is the largest and most powerful sex organ in the body, right?” He taps his skull. “The brain.”
“I don’t think Delilah wants me to say one more word, Raj.”
“Listen. You walk up to her and you say: ‘Are you made of nickle, cerium, arsenic, and sulfur? Cuz you’ve got a NiCe AsS.’ ” When I stare at him blankly, he says, “Get it? The chemical symbols? They spell out…Oh, never mind.”
I turn to him. “Have you ever had a girlfriend quarrel with you?”
Raj shrugs. “Well, I mean, like, obviously, there’ve been women….”
“Have you ever had a girlfriend?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” he says. “In sixth-grade gym, I did fall off the ropes course and land on top of Charlotte Tazinkski and technically my lips grazed her mouth.” He looks at me. “Does that count?”
“No, Raj,” I sigh. “Not even a little.”
I drop my head into my hands, closing my eyes, which is why I don’t see Allie approach. She crouches down and lifts my chin with one finger, giving my costume a full once-over before she speaks. “I see I’m not the only one who can’t wait for drama club,” she purrs.
I push her away. “No, Allie. In fact, I think I’m quitting. I’m going to join the football team or something, where I’m less likely to encounter the opposite sex.”
She smiles at me. “You can’t tell me that was all just for show, Edgar. I felt something. I know you felt it too.”
“Honestly, I’m just a good actor,” I say. “I’m with Delilah. I’m sorry if I did or said anything that made you think otherwise.”
Her eyes flash, reminding me of the mermaids. “Really,” she says, her voice cooling. “You’d choose that over this?” She stands up, skimming her hand over her waist. “I took pity on you, because you were the new kid,” Allie continues. “But hey, if you want to socially exile yourself, be my guest.”
She walks away, hips swinging, her heels staccato on the tile floor.
It takes me a moment to remember that Raj is still sitting beside me. His jaw is practically hitting the ground. “Did you just break up with Allie?” he manages. “Are you an idiot?”
James calls my name at the end of the LGBT Alliance meeting. “Your Oreos were a hit,” he says. “There’s only crumbs left.”
“Thanks,” I say, distracted. Ever since my run-in with Allie, I’ve been trying to figure out how and when I can get Delilah alone for a minute, so that I can make a full apology before Jules tosses me down a flight of stairs.
“So rumor has it you went full Romeo in the cafeteria today,” James says. “What’s up with that?”
“I was told that a grand gesture is the way to a woman’s heart.”
“There’s such a thing as too grand,” James says. “You might want to take it down a notch.”
What was I thinking? Delilah’s not one for a show. The happiest hours we spent together were just the two of us, talking through the book. “Well, I probably won’t even get a chance,” I mutter. “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to speak to me.”
“Aren’t you the one who told me you believe nothing should stand in the way of two people in love? What’s in your way?”
I look up at James as understanding dawns. “Me.”
“Maybe instead of pretending to be someone you’re not, you should just be yourself,” James says. “After all, isn’t that who she fell for in the first place?”
The fog in my head finally clears. I understand what I’ve been doing wrong. James is correct—but it wasn’t just the cafeteria scene that was an act. I’ve been playing a role the whole time I’ve been here.
I don’t know how to apologize like a teenage boy who’s gotten into a fight with his girlfriend. I don’t know how to figure out who’s friend and who’s foe. I don’t understand the social conventions of high school.
But I’m an expert at happily-ever-after.
DELILAH
I’d rather be in Siberia right now, losing all my extremities to frostbite. Or talking to my pet cockroach in a maximumsecurity prison. Or sweating buckets in hell. I’d rather be anywhere but in the school cafeteria with everyone laughing at me.
I feel my face catching fire. If only it were a real fire, so I could disappear into ash.
Jules, my volunteer personal bodyguard, stands with her hands on her hips, ready to body-check any soul who dares to come close to me. Not that anyone is trying. They’re all applauding for Oliver as he and his ridiculous knight’s getup slink away.
“All he’s ever done is act,” Jules points out. “Maybe he wasn’t expressly trying to humiliate you.”
“Aren’t you my best friend?” I ask. “Whose side are you on?”
“Obviously yours. All I’m saying is maybe you should cut him a little slack. He’s been in high school for what, a week? It takes freshmen two whole years before they know what the hell is going on.”
I look at her. “He kissed the one girl in this school who would dance on my grave. No, actually, she would plan a schoolwide dance on my grave.”
“Well, you’ve at least gotta give him points fo
r creativity,” Jules says.
Oliver used to be creative, back when he was in the book. He had a new idea every time I opened the fairy tale, some crazy scheme about how to get off the page to be with me. But things were different back then.
He was different back then.
I thought, when Oliver was in the fairy tale, that he understood me better than anyone else. I got used to him being pages away. But having him physically and wholly with me is something I was not prepared for. Sensing that he’s come into a room before I even turned around to see him. The way his skin always smells like the inky freshness of a new book. The heat of his breath falling into my ear when he whispers my name. If Oliver in the book was captivating, then Oliver in 3-D is completely overwhelming.
Who would have thought that having your dreams come true would suck so much? I mean, I should be happier than I’ve ever been. For the first time in my life, the guy I like actually likes me back, and he isn’t imaginary. Yet that perfect prince, who used to be all mine, now has to be shared with the entire world. And I guess it should be no surprise that everyone adores Oliver, just like I did. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt me to see it happen.
In the few weeks Oliver’s been in school, I’ve actually noticed a couple of freshmen starting to imitate his style—classic jeans, solid T-shirt, leather satchel. In the hallways, kids hang on his every word. Girls go out of their way to “accidentally” bump into him. I know he didn’t mean to be popular—to have everyone string along behind him like the tail of a kite. In fact, I thought that the quirks of being a fairy-tale character dumped into reality would kind of make him an automatic outsider, like me. But that would be okay, because we would have each other.
Instead, he’s the Zac Efron of our school, and I’m still absolutely nobody.
Oliver doesn’t understand, because he hasn’t been in public school as long as I have. He thinks life is like Disney World, with magic around every corner. He doesn’t realize that the longer he hangs out with the cool kids, the harder it’s going to be to stay with me.
Not that I’ve really encouraged him to do that, lately.
I’d heard before that love can turn you into someone else…but I never imagined that this is who I’d be: a jealous monster. I don’t like who I’ve become. So why should he?
It’s hard enough watching other people want a piece of him—a smile, a conversation, a high five—when he used to be just mine. I can’t shake the feeling that if he keeps giving away these pieces, eventually there will be nothing left for me. And then, when I walked into the auditorium and saw him kissing Allie McAndrews, terror flooded me in a way I’ve never experienced before. It was like being in a car, the moment you realized the crash is happening. Like being tossed off a boat into shark-infested water, only to discover you’re paralyzed. No matter how much he assures me that the kiss meant nothing, that he was only acting, how can I trust him? How can I know that he wasn’t also acting when he said that to me?
Oliver comes from a place where there is only one person he was meant to be with. Literally, there is only one human girl his age in the book—Seraphima. He has only loved one girl because there was never an alternative. But I can’t help feeling that this kiss made him realize I’m not his only option.
Because if you hold me up against Allie McAndrews, I lose. Every time.
I am doing my best to only make eye contact with the condiments on the table, but from the corner of my eye, I see Allie walking toward me, her entourage in tow. They hang off her like ornaments, the decorations that turn a plain old spruce into a Christmas tree. I square my shoulders, trying to remind myself that without her followers, a mean girl is just a mean girl.
She sidles up to my table in a cloud of Chanel perfume and confidence. “Oh no, Allie,” Jules says. “Did someone leave your cage open?”
She slices a look toward Jules that could cut steel, then turns to me. “Hey, Deborah,” she says.
“It’s Delilah.” Really? She doesn’t know my name, after I broke her knee and her nose? I honestly can’t tell if Allie’s being intentionally mean or if she’s truly just that stupid.
She smiles, revealing a row of perfect teeth. She probably chews Crest Whitestrips like gum. “So I totally had a nightmare last night,” Allie says. “I dreamed I was you.” She laughs, and the sound echoes through her posse.
Jules looks at her with pity. “It’s scary to think people like you are allowed to breed.”
Allie ignores her. Her gaze is a laser on my face. “Your boyfriend’s a great kisser,” she says sweetly.
“That’s it,” Jules says, getting to her feet. “Piss off, Allie.”
Allie glances around, looking at everything but Jules. “Do you hear that?” she replies. “It’s the sound of no one caring.”
She and her army strut out of the cafeteria as if their exit has been choreographed.
“Don’t listen to her,” Jules says, hunkering down beside me again. “She’s irrelevant.”
I nod and try to smile at her. But deep down, I’m afraid that Allie is right. No one cares.
Not even Oliver.
I will never forget the morning Oliver first got out of the book—when we realized that we were together but not two-dimensional or trapped in a fairy tale. We sat on Jessamyn Jacobs’s porch steps in Wellfleet, and Oliver held on to my hand like a child grabs the string of a balloon, afraid that letting go meant I might just float away. We truly believed that we had been through the worst—that the struggle of getting Oliver out of the book was no match for any obstacle we would face in the future. It didn’t matter that Jessamyn lived in Wellfleet and I lived two hundred miles away in New Hampshire. It didn’t matter that Oliver had to pretend that he had been Edgar Jacobs for his entire life. It didn’t matter that my mother was going to ground me for eternity, because I ran away. None of it mattered, as long as we could sit on that porch step and hold tight to each other.
He felt the same way, back then.
One of the first snafus we discovered when Oliver moved here was realizing that Edgar had his driver’s license and Oliver didn’t even know what a car was. We couldn’t very well stick Oliver behind a wheel without it ending catastrophically—but we also couldn’t have Jessamyn ask him to drive to the grocery store and wonder why he refused. So we decided he would tell Jessamyn that he was now a tree-hugger out to single-handedly save the planet, intent on reducing his own personal carbon emissions. It was left to me to teach him how to ride a bike.
First I lowered the seat so that Oliver’s feet could brush the ground. “Sit,” I told him. “Don’t put your feet on the pedals. Just push around a little bit.”
Oliver wouldn’t take his eyes off the pavement. “You know, horses are easier,” he muttered. “They balance themselves.”
“I would have started with a tricycle, but unfortunately they don’t make them in your size.” I waited until he met my gaze. “Just trust me, okay?”
Eventually Oliver began to push off the ground a little harder, gliding for moments in between. I ran alongside him, but he wouldn’t let me step away, and we couldn’t go more than ten feet before he tipped off the bicycle, falling into my arms.
“I don’t get it,” I said, laughing, after this happened fifteen times in a row. “You climbed towers. You leaped through pages. Why can’t you do this?”
He shook his head, his eyes sliding away from mine. “I don’t know….”
“Try again,” I urged. “But this time, I’m going to let go.”
He climbed on the bike, took a few wobbly pedals forward, and, seemingly defying gravity, tumbled off the bike. Oliver knocked me flat on the ground, landing heavily on top of me. His shoulders were shaking, his face buried in my neck.
I pushed him off me, trying to see if he was hurt. “Are you all right?”
But when Oliver rolled over, he was laughing so hard he couldn’t catch his breath. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. I figured it out the first time. But you’re so
cute when you’re frustrated.”
Back then, it seemed like I could never be mad at him. When did we fall out of the honeymoon phase?
I lie on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, with Humphrey snuggled against my side. My mom says that even though the dog was a gift for her, he might as well belong to me. He stays on my bed most of the day when I’m at school, loving me unconditionally.
At least someone does.
Only days ago I was lying right here, wrapped in Oliver’s arms, when a message appeared. When he took the book from my shelf and opened it, my blood froze in my veins. What if all it took to suck him out of this world was one reminder of who he used to be? What if just opening the pages meant saying goodbye?
But none of the characters admitted to writing that desperate plea.
The thing is, someone did.
Oliver knows that. But he chose to ignore the fact that there’s someone in the book who really needs him.
Is it because he’s afraid he might have to trade his freedom and go back to the story? And if he is afraid, is it because he doesn’t want to leave me…or because he doesn’t want to leave here?
It just seems strange that after we saw that message, he didn’t dwell on it. After all, it wasn’t all that long ago that he sent a similar, desperate message to me.
I can’t shake the feeling that maybe he was just using me; that I was a hand to pull him up, a means to an end. What if he only acted like I was important to him because I was his way out of the book, and now that he’s here, I’m expendable?
There’s that word, acted, again.
My throat tightens. Am I really so desperate to be loved that I can be played that easily?
I wish I’d never met Oliver. Because then I wouldn’t know how much I’m missing now.
There’s a chime from the laptop on my desk, and the screen glows to life. A graphic of a ringing phone appears, and a name beneath it: PRINCE CHARMING.
I’m the one who gave him that Skype name.
Rolling onto my side, I reach for the keyboard and decline the call. I doubt there’s anything Oliver can say that will make me feel better. And I don’t know what I would say to him right now. It seems like the more miserable I get, the more I lash out at him, and that certainly isn’t going to make him want to stay with me any longer.