It reminds me of being inside that fairy tale, and seeing bits and pieces of my mother’s life scattered through the pages.
We sit down and my mother serves me a heaping scoop of lasagna. I breathe in deeply, thinking that even though Queen Maureen was a good cook, she couldn’t live up to my mom’s skill in the kitchen. I’ve wolfed down half of what’s on my plate before I realize she’s staring at me like I have six heads.
“Hungry?” she asks politely.
“Starving.” I make an effort to stop eating like an animal. “So, um, did you have a good day?”
“Not as productive as I wanted it to be,” my mom replies. “I think I napped more than I worked.”
Oliver mentioned to me that she was tired, and I dismissed it. But what if it’s something more? “Well, don’t you work for yourself? Can’t you just give yourself a vacation…or a raise?”
My mother used to be a pretty famous mystery writer. When my dad died and I was a mess, she wrote the fairy tale to give me hope for a happy ending. Oliver was the boy I was supposed to grow up to be. Except I didn’t. In fact, now I’m a year older than Oliver in this fairy tale, so she’s probably come to terms with the sad truth: I’m just me.
She stopped writing after she finished Between the Lines. After that, she did freelance editing projects to put food on the table. I suppose she can work anywhere her computer can be plugged in, which is why Oliver was able to convince her to move closer to Delilah.
“So what are you editing right now?” I ask.
“It’s a debut novel about time travel.”
“Does it suck?”
My mother laughs. “The author wouldn’t know a comma if it hit him between the eyes, but it’s a great premise. I mean, imagine how freeing it would be to wake up in a different world and get to start over.”
I hesitate. “It’s probably not as awesome as you’d think.”
She stabs at her lasagna. “This coming from the boy who plays video games 24/7?”
Instinctively I say, “I do not.”
“Actually, you’re right,” my mother replies. “You don’t. Not since you’ve started dating Delilah.”
This conversation has suddenly taken a turn for the worse.
“You two seem glued at the hip,” she prompts.
“She’s all right,” I say.
“All right?” my mother repeats. “Spoken with such intense passion.”
“She’s amazing,” I correct myself, but then I realize I can’t really go on and on about Delilah, a girl I don’t really know. In fact, there’s only one girl in my life I’d describe as amazing. “She’s fierce—she won’t back down from anything. And she’s totally her own person. She won’t take no for an answer, and she doesn’t care what other people think about her.” Just saying these things makes me wish Jules were here.
I find my mother staring at me. “I’m glad you have someone like that. Someone who’ll take care of you.”
“Why?” I joke. “Are you planning to be abducted by aliens anytime soon?”
My mother tosses me a smile. “My starship leaves tomorrow at noon,” she says.
It starts the moment I get on the bus.
Immediately I duck my head and move toward a seat in the back, where nobody will notice me. But before I can make it there, a half-dozen people are calling my name or high-fiving me as I walk down the aisle.
“Hey, Edgar,” calls a kid in a polka-dotted bow tie. He points to the seat beside him.
“Uh, thanks.” I slide in, realizing two things at once: I’m super popular here, and these people expect me to know who they are.
“I had the craziest dream last night,” the boy says. “I was in a production of Peter Pan that was being performed in my grandmother’s driveway, and I felt the urge to run, so I raced into the woods, but after a few minutes, I was starving because of all the exercise, and I looked down and realized my hands were made of cake. So I ate them. And I said to myself, ‘James, now what are you gonna do? You don’t have any hands.’ ”
James, I note.
“That’s messed up,” I say. And then I add, “Were they chocolate or vanilla?”
“Devil’s food all the way,” James says, grinning.
The bus screeches to a halt in front of the high school. This, at least, looks like every other public school on the planet. Pacing in front of a massive oak tree with gnarled arms is Jules, decked out again in head-to-toe black.
Maybe being in the real world isn’t so bad after all.
I say goodbye to James and walk toward her immediately. “You’re the sexiest ninja I’ve ever seen,” I say.
“First, ninjas are naturally sexy. Second, I’m not sexy. Not to you. You know who’s sexy? Delilah.”
Another kid walks up, snaking an arm around Jules—my Jules. “Feeling better?” he asks.
Jules goes beet-red. “Chris,” she says, stepping away. “We’re in public.”
“So? It’s been like a week since I’ve seen you.”
She smiles. “Try three days.”
I’m going to punch him. I’ve never punched anyone before in my life, but this feels like the time to do it.
I feel a tap on my back just as my fist curls at my side. Delilah stares at me and then at Chris and Jules. “Hey,” she says, then belatedly adds, “honey.”
Jules’s lips tighten into a thin line. I wind my fingers through Delilah’s and raise my brows at Jules. “Want me to walk you to class, babe?” I ask Delilah.
As we head into school, I can feel Jules’s eyes burning a hole in my back. I wait till we’re all the way inside the doors, far enough away from them not to be heard. Then I turn to Delilah. “Who the hell is he?”
“Your best friend,” she says.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I reply.
She pats my shoulder. “It’s going to be a fun day.” Then Delilah pulls a piece of paper from her backpack. “I’ve written out all your classes,” she says. “And there’s a map, marked up, so you know where to go. My phone number’s on there too; text me if you get lost. Oh, and just so you know, today we have activity block in between third and fourth period. You start with chess and then go to drama club. By the way, you’re starring in Romeo and Juliet.”
“Wait, what?”
“I’ll save you a spot in the cafeteria at lunch,” she says.
I don’t want to live in this world, so close to Jules but unable to be with her. “We should break up.” The words burst out of me, so forceful I didn’t realize how hard I’d been working to hold them inside. “That way Jules and I could be together.”
Delilah narrows her eyes, and her voice drops. “Do you really think I want to be with you?”
I remember the way she looked at Oliver when I was still in the book and able to watch them together. Slowly I shake my head.
“You made your mother move here for me,” Delilah says. “And people are going to ask questions if you ditch me and the next day you’re dating my best friend. This isn’t forever. But it’s for now.”
I nod grimly. Then I slip my arm around her waist as if I actually like her, and we move down the hall in solidarity, if not in love.
Chess club is cancelled so we can be in homeroom for our guidance counselors to give us our SAT scores. There goes my college career; my standardized test was taken by a guy whose knowledge consists of how to tame a dragon. Once we are dismissed, I stand in front of my locker. I take a deep sigh and prepare to open the envelope.
Before I can even peek at the score, however, another stranger comes running up to me. “Dude,” he says. “I got a 2280. I can totally work with that. I think if I have decent teacher recs, Harvard’s still an option.”
I frantically glance at him, looking for a clue to his name. Then I see it: on his backpack is a label reading RETURN TO RAJ PATEL.
“Raj,” I murmur.
“Yeah? Come on. Tell me your score already.”
“I haven’t even looked…but I was really out
of it that day. It was almost like I wasn’t here….”
Raj grabs the envelope from my hand and pulls out the paper inside. “Edgar,” he breathes. “You are a god among men.”
“What?” I grab the printout and turn it toward me: 2400.
“You got a perfect score, man.”
My jaw drops. Oliver’s totally done me a solid.
Raj throws his arms around me. “Harvard 2020, dude! We could be roommates!”
He runs down the hall, sniffing out other students to compare scores with. I shake my head, still smiling a little. I wonder how on earth Oliver managed to pull that one off.
“Hey, Edgar,” a voice says—a voice I recognize, unfortunately. “I’m really glad I caught you.”
I turn to find Chris opening the locker beside mine. Of course we’re locker buddies. Who else would I want to see every morning but the guy who’s trying to make out with the girl I like?
“I want to talk to you about Jules.”
Can this get any better?
“What about her?” I ask tightly.
“She’s been really weird today. I mean, I thought everything went so well on Friday night—but now she kind of seems like she’s not interested.”
“Really?” I say, brightening. “Hey. You tried your best.”
“That’s the thing—I haven’t. I really think I can still turn this around. I just need another chance. She won’t turn me down if we go on another double date.”
“You want to go out with Delilah and me?”
“Yeah,” Chris says. “You guys are the perfect couple. Maybe it’ll rub off on her.”
The perfect couple, I think. Ha.
“So whaddya say?” Chris asks. “Minigolf? Today? After school?”
The last thing I want to do is watch this guy put his hands all over Jules again. But the first thing I want to do is spend more time with her.
“Can’t wait,” I tell him.
If it were the only activity left in the universe, I still wouldn’t join the drama club. I lurk near the door, hoping I won’t be noticed, but Ms. Pingree sees me and waves me forward with a beaming smile. “Ah, it’s our Romeo,” she trills. “Don’t be shy, Edgar!”
There is a gaggle of girls sitting in a semicircle on the stage; when I step into the light, they twitter like a brood of chicks. One girl sits off to the side, staring at her iPhone. When she glances at me, I smile, and I’m pretty sure she bares her teeth in response.
“As I was saying,” Ms. Pingree continues, “this is the most iconic scene in the play. What I’d like you all to channel is that moment you looked at a significant other and truly believed in love at first sight. The minute you felt that the universe had been working all this time to bring you two together…”
Uncomfortably I realize that every girl on that stage is staring at me as if I am food and she is starving. Suddenly I remember James’s dream.
If this is what it’s like to be a heartthrob, I think I preferred being anonymous.
“All right, let’s get to it.” Ms. Pingree hands out our scripts. “Romeo? Juliet? Center stage.”
Awkwardly I move into position, waiting alone in a circle of light. “Allie?” Ms. Pingree says. “There’s no Facebook in fair Verona.”
The mean girl gets to her feet. She comes closer, so close that I can see the sparkles flecked in her lip gloss. As soon as the teacher turns away, she stomps on my foot.
“Ouch!” I yelp.
“Sorry. I was aiming…higher.”
What did Oliver do to piss her off so badly?
“Any time you’re ready,” Ms. Pingree says.
I look at Allie and offer her a half smile as a truce. “I should warn you, I kind of suck at this.”
She narrows her eyes. “What don’t you suck at?”
Ms. Pingree clears her throat. “Now, remember, you two—you are in loooove. You lay eyes on each other and the stars collide! You complete each other!”
I pick up my script and stumble through Romeo’s lines. “Uh…‘Lady. By yonder blessed moon I swear / That tips with silver all these fruit-tree trops’…I mean, tops…” I glance up. “Who wrote this crap, anyway?”
Ms. Pingree’s face falls. “The Bard,” she whispers.
Allie snaps her gum. “ ‘O, swear not by the moon,’ ” she says flatly, “ ‘the unconstant moon…’ ”
“Inconstant,” Ms. Pingree corrects her. “As in something that’s changeable. What Juliet is worried about is that Romeo’s love might be fickle.”
“Reeeealllly,” Allie says, raising a brow. “Probably Juliet thought that he was going to kiss her and then humiliate her in the cafeteria in front of half the school.”
Ms. Pingree frowns. “That might be a stretch, but if it helps you get into character…”
Allie shoves me with both hands: I stumble backward as she shouts her next lines into my face. “ ‘…that monthly changes in her circled orb, / Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.’ ”
“You know,” Ms. Pingree says, “Juliet’s a little gentler in this scene….”
Allie rounds on her. “I think you’re wrong. I think Juliet is pretty pissed that Romeo just blew her off. Besides, she didn’t really like Romeo all that much. It was just that he was new and more interesting than the hundreds of other lame guys fawning over her. But what she’s really thinking is that Mercutio is way hotter than Romeo and he’s in college and drives a vintage Mustang!”
I stare at her, speechless. I don’t know if I’m supposed to bow in submission or call the local asylum and have her committed.
“You know what?” Allie shouts. “I can’t work with idiots. I quit.” She hurls her script at a mousy girl wearing a sweatshirt with a glittery cat on it. “Break a leg, losers.” Her high heels click the entire way out of the auditorium as she leaves in a fit of perfume and fury.
Ms. Pingree looks like she’s about to throw up. Her hands flutter at her sides.
“Um, does that mean we can leave?” I ask.
“No, no,” she says after a moment. “The show must go on…. Claire, you’ll be our new Juliet.”
The girl with the cat sweatshirt scrambles to her feet, standing too close to me and breathing heavily. Her braces catch the stage lights when she smiles. “Let’s start at the kiss,” she suggests, and she throws her arms around me and plants a wet, slobbery one on my lips.
He just had to join the drama club, didn’t he.
Last year in school I took a Greek mythology course. There’s a story about Tantalus, a guy who pissed the gods off so much that he was cursed to the deepest level of hell, stuck in a pool of water with a fruit tree hanging overhead. But every time he reached for the fruit, the branch would move out of his grasp. And every time he tried to take a drink, the water receded. So basically, he was surrounded by everything he wanted and needed but couldn’t have.
That’s exactly the hell I’m in on this double date.
I’ve never really been a fan of miniature golf. For some reason the courses always seem to be cracked or sloped weirdly or are full of kids throwing tantrums. Not even Tiger Woods could get a hole in one.
I’m the only person here, though, who even seems to care about the inaccuracies on the course or the fact that the water in the windmill pond at hole number 5 is a frightening, toxic green. Delilah hasn’t smiled once, and is dragging her club around like it’s a ball and chain. Jules, who considers sports to be one of the great downfalls of modern society, is doodling on the scorecard. Chris, on the other hand, seems able to golf below par when he’s not even looking. Which is entirely the case, since his eyes are glued to Jules’s butt.
“I can’t believe we have nine more holes,” Delilah says.
“Your enthusiasm, sweetheart, overwhelms me.” I grab her arm and lower my voice. “You’re the one who said we’re supposed to act like a couple.”
She sighs and holds my hand with about as much romantic intent as a nurse taking a patient’s pulse.
&
nbsp; “I think it’s your turn,” Chris says to Jules.
She steps up to the tee, wiggling her hips as she tries to line up her ball. “Ugh,” she says. “I know I’m never going to get it in.”
“Here…let me help.” Chris puts down his club and walks over, fitting himself tightly behind her and sliding his hands down to her wrists.
“Ouch,” Delilah says, and I realize I’ve got her hand in a death grip.
“It’s all in the swing,” Chris continues, swaying back and forth with Jules in his arms.
Dammit—she giggles.
I can’t stand here and watch this. It feels like my head is going to explode. And it doesn’t really help matters to know that Jules is doing nothing in her power to stop this.
How come she was all over me when we were inside the book, but here, I’m not good enough? Was I different in there than I am out here?
I used to be, that’s for sure. The old Edgar would have looked at competition like Chris and given up, assuming that he had no chance with Jules.
But I’m not the old Edgar.
I pull Delilah into my arms. “Have I told you how beautiful you are today?”
Delilah looks at me, puzzled. Are you on crack? she mouths.
Chris laughs. “Get a room, you two.”
I can feel the heat of Jules’s gaze as if she could set me on fire through sheer force of will. She turns, faking a stumble so that Chris will catch her. “Wow,” she says, feeling his biceps. “How many push-ups can you do, again?”
“How many do you want me to do?” Chris replies, grinning.
“Are you going to take your turn?” I snap at Jules.
“I don’t know,” she says testily. “Chris, I need your help….”
As soon as she bends over, taking her stance, Chris spoons himself around her. “Ready? One…two…”