Into the Wild

  Zel was already behind, and today was the day she’d persuaded her mother to leave the Wishing Well Motel in the hands (or paws, actually) of one of the guests and come for a haircut. The extra appointment would make Zel even later.

  Maybe she should take Gretel’s suggestion and ask Julie to help out after school.

  At the thought of her daughter, Zel swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. Her baby girl. Lately, it felt like shouting across the Grand Canyon to even try to talk to her. At least she had made her laugh this morning. That was rare these days.

  Zel sighed. Sometimes she understood why her own adoptive mother had locked her in a tower. It was hard to watch the person she loved more than her own life grow distant. Each time her daughter rolled her eyes at her, Zel felt her heart twist. She didn’t want to wait nine or ten years for Julie to like her again.

  The lamb baa-ed vigorously as Mary dragged it into the manicure room, and Zel winced. She really should insist Julie come work. She could use the help, plus it would mean extra mother-daughter time—and, Zel thought wryly, I won’t have to find a spare tower in the suburbs.

  Closing the appointment book, Zel went to finish trimming Linda’s hair. “Did I hear a sheep out there?” Linda asked.

  “Sick dog,” Zel said. “Now, bend your head down.” Linda obeyed and Zel ran her fingers through the back of her hair to check for evenness. All she needed to do was think of a way to make Julie come without Julie immediately assuming her mother was trying to ruin her life. Not an easy task. “You have any books on handling teenage daughters?” she asked lightly.

  “Dozens,” Linda said. “Self-help books fly off the shelves these days, but that’s not what people need.” She waved her arm for emphasis, and Zel hopped out of the way. “What people really need are more good, old-fashioned stories. A dozen stories can teach people more about how to live their lives than a hundred Ph.D. studies.”

  “Uh-huh,” Zel said. She knew stories—firsthand—and even though she could joke about it, a tower wasn’t going to help her with Julie any more than the perfect porridge was going to make Goldie like herself more.

  “We’ve lost our roots, lost ourselves in fads,” Linda said. “I tell you, a fresh influx of stories could solve most of the world’s problems.”

  The problem with being a hairdresser, Zel thought, was that you had to listen politely to everyone’s pet theories, right or wrong. She was tempted to tell her how Gretel had battled bulimia, how Snow White’s marriage had crumbled (her prince hadn’t wanted a wife with a personality), how Sleeping Beauty . . . No, stories hadn’t helped Zel’s friends, but Zel let Linda prattle on.

  Moving to the waiting chairs, Goldie paraded her magazines in front of Mary. “What do you think of that one?” she said. “Or, ooh, how about this one?”

  Mary’s own hair was dyed purple. “I like that one.”

  “That’s a man.”

  “Oops, my bad,” Mary said. Goldie grumbled to herself as Mary eyed her critically. “But seriously, Goldie, have you thought about trying bald?”

  Goldie was still shrieking when Rapunzel’s adoptive mother, Dame Gothel Marchen, walked in. “Oh, my,” Gothel said mildly. “One of those days, is it?”

  Goldie blanched, instantly silent, and Zel grinned. Her mom had that effect on people. In a purple sweat suit, Gothel looked like someone’s sweet grandma, fresh from the Northcourt Pool Shuffleboard League. She had a face as wrinkled as a walnut and hair as frizzed as a gone-to-seed dandelion. She looked like an innocent elderly lady—and, in point of fact, she hadn’t boiled a child in years. But when she smiled at Goldilocks and said, “Goldie, dear, you look lovely. Now, why don’t you run along home?”—Goldie bolted out the door.

  Zel was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to smack her head against the wall. “Mother, please! You can’t do that to customers!” Behind Gothel, Zel saw Mary inch across the chairs toward the doors—preparing to flee. No customers was not better than too many customers. “Mother.”

  Without glancing at Mary, Gothel said, “No, you stay, dear. You need it.” Mary froze. From the manicure room, the lamb baa-ed and kicked frantically at the door. “Sheep?” Gothel asked.

  “Sick dog,” Linda said.

  “Would you like me to take a look?” Gothel offered.

  Instant silence from the manicure room.

  Gothel’s cheek twitched, and for a second, Zel thought she saw . . . No, her mother couldn’t be bothered by people fearing her. “Pity,” Gothel murmured. “It would have made a lovely shish kebob.”

  Mary paled.

  “She’s kidding,” Zel said.

  “Of course I am.” Gothel smiled sweetly. “I wouldn’t hurt a lamb.”

  Zel rolled her eyes. She had clearly imagined that flicker of emotion—her mother enjoyed feeding her reputation. “Oh, Mother.” Shaking her head, Zel put down her shears and went to hug her. It was time for her mother to quit the wicked witch routine. She didn’t even use her powers anymore. Of course, there were a few frogs around Gothel’s motel that Zel had her suspicions about, but everyone needed a hobby. So long as it didn’t cause the Wild to grow too fast, she wasn’t going to ask. She guided her mother to the shampoo chair and fastened the nylon smock around her neck. “You’d have better social skills if you got out more,” Zel said. “You spend too much time at that motel.”

  “Are you nagging me, Rapunzel?” Gothel asked with an edge to her voice.

  “Yes,” Zel said sternly.

  Gothel cackled. Mary flinched at the sound, but Zel couldn’t help smiling. She loved her mother’s laugh. In the years since they’d escaped the Wild, Gothel’s laugh had changed from overtly evil to delicious and free.

  In the shampoo chair, Gothel leaned backward. Running warm water, Zel wet her hair. “So what am I missing that’s so special?” Gothel asked.

  “Well, I don’t know.” A single mother with her own business to run, Zel wasn’t an expert on Northboro’s social scene. She added shampoo to Gothel’s hair and worked it into a lather. “But you should get out more. Not just for haircuts.” She shouldn’t be so tied to her responsibilities all the time. She was sacrificing her freedom in her efforts to protect her freedom.

  “Saw Ruby doing stand-up at the Dew Drop Inn on Friday night,” Mary offered tentatively. “She did her Princess Who Never Laughed routine. And Saturday’s karaoke. Harp can hold a tune, if you don’t mind six renditions of ‘Giants in the Sky.’”

  Gothel humphed as Zel rinsed.

  “We’ll continue this in one second,” Zel said. “I have to put Linda under the dryer.” She led Linda to a dryer and switched on the heat. “Just a couple of minutes,” she told Linda, “and then I’ll even out the ends.”

  She returned to Gothel and towel-dried her hair. “I mean it. You work too hard.” She brought her mother to one of the cutting chairs. “You never take a night off.” Separating clumps of hair, she flattened one between her fingers and clipped the ends.

  Gothel smiled affectionately at Zel’s reflection in the salon mirror. “You’re a sweet girl, you know that?”

  Zel smiled back. Years ago, they weren’t so close. Of course, years ago, Gothel had her locked in a tower, but regardless . . . If Zel and Gothel could become close, there was hope for Zel and Julie, wasn’t there? Maybe Gothel could talk to Julie. Maybe she could convince Julie to come work at the salon after school.

  Zel realized she had the perfect solution to both her problems. “Why don’t you come to dinner with Julie and me tonight? We’re having Snow’s seven, so adding another plate’s not a problem.”

  Gothel sighed and said, “It’s not a good time. Dances and midterms and so forth. Kids start sneaking in wanting to make wishes.” In a nasal voice, she imitated, “‘I wish for Bobby Who-si-whats-it to ask me to the dance.’ ‘I wish for Susie Q to notice me.’”

  Zel glanced at Linda. The blow dryer was on, and chances were good the librarian couldn’t hear her. It’s fine that Mother’s talking fr
eely, Zel thought. She made a mental note that sometime she should check how loud the dryer really was.

  “As soon as the sun sets, I have to keep the well under constant watch. Even barbed wire doesn’t keep the little toads out.” Gothel sighed again, and for a moment, she looked her age—all the many centuries. Zel’s heart ached for her. She had to be able to give her mother one night of rest.

  “Can’t someone else watch for you?” Zel asked. There were plenty of their kind in Northboro who understood how important it was to keep the well inactive. One of them could guard it for an evening.

  Gothel shook her head. “I don’t need a night out.”

  Zel flicked Gothel’s shoulder with her finger. “Don’t move your head. Yes, you do. You look tired.” It was too bad, Zel thought, that the well had proved indestructible. Dismantling it would have saved her mother a lot of worry.

  The mirror in front of them said, “Oh, I have to agree. Those bags under your eyes . . . Not the fairest, most definitely not.”

  Zel shot another look at Linda. To her relief, Linda didn’t seem alarmed by the talking mirror. Surely the dryer was too loud for her to hear. Linda patted her bangs. “Another minute,” Zel shouted to her.

  “I can’t do it,” Gothel said firmly.

  Zel played her trump card: “Julie would be thrilled to see you.”

  Gothel hesitated, and Zel began to hope. “Ursa has been doing some maid work at the motel recently,” Gothel said slowly. “She’s very good at making beds, and she has a knack for noticing things out of place. I suppose I could ask her.”

  “Her husband and son could watch with her,” Zel persisted. “No one will mess with the three of them.” Julie would be so pleased to have her grandmother come to dinner. It would help make up for Snow’s seven being there.

  Gothel chuckled. “You always get what you want, don’t you?”

  With a sharp and sudden pain, Zel thought of her husband, lost so long ago. For an instant, she couldn’t breathe. She smiled weakly. “Nearly always.”

  Chapter Three

  After School

  Waiting for the bus with Gillian at the end of the school day, Julie saw the orange Subaru speed into the school parking lot. “Oh, no,” she said. Hadn’t her day been bad enough? She wished she could melt into the sidewalk.

  Gillian saw it too. “Maybe the bus will get here first?”

  No such luck. Julie watched the car swing into two parking spaces. “Don’t get out of the car. Don’t get out of the car,” Julie said under her breath. But her mom’s friend Cindy got out of her orange car and waved cheerily at Julie.

  “At least you don’t have to take the bus,” Gillian said.

  “You want a ride?” Julie said.

  “Uh, no, thanks.”

  Bangle bracelets sparkled on her arm as Cindy waved. “It’s like a car accident,” Kristen March said loudly, behind Julie. “You don’t want to look, but you can’t help it.” Cindy’s chosen outfit of the day was a yellow taffeta top, pink Lycra pants, and clear plastic ’80s jelly shoes. “Yoo-hoo, Joo-lie!” Cindy called. “Over here!”

  All the kids on the sidewalk turned to look at Julie. Behind her, she heard Kristen sputter in laugher. “Joo-lie,” Kristen cooed, “I think she stole your Halloween costume.” Knowing her face was flushed tomato red, Julie speed-walked across the parking lot. She felt dozens of eyes boring into her back.

  “Darling, how are you?” Cindy said. “How was your day? Ooh, I think that boy is looking at you!” She pointed at a sandy-haired eighth grader.

  Julie slunk into the car. “Please. Just drive.”

  “All-righty-roo!” Cindy jumped into the driver’s seat, threw the stick into reverse, and flew back out of the parking spaces. She squealed the brakes. “Sorry!” Cindy called out the window.

  Julie looked over her shoulder at Gillian and mouthed, “Help me.”

  Gillian held her hand to her ear like a phone and mouthed back, “Call me.”

  Switching on the radio, Cindy bopped to an old Britney Spears song as she peeled out of the parking lot. Soon, the school was out of sight behind them—Julie wished it was out of sight, out of mind. She leaned her head against the window and watched the Northboro landmarks zoom by: the Dairy Hut, Agway’s ten-foot rooster, Bigelow Nurseries. Ever since Kristen had mentioned her weekend with her dad, Julie hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her own father. In English, she’d been singled out twice for not paying attention. In math, she’d messed up problems. In history . . . The history quiz had included the question “How did the Middle Ages end?” All Julie could think of was the truth: the Middle Ages had ended when the Wild was weakened and the fairy-tale characters escaped in some grand, mysterious way that Mom never discussed.

  But she couldn’t write that. She had scrawled an answer about the weight of armor and the problem with plague rats in Hamlin. At the last minute, she had thrown in the word Renaissance.

  As they turned onto Crawford Street, then West, Cindy chattered about her weekend plans—in full, gory detail, to Julie’s acute embarrassment. Trying not to listen to comparisons of kissing styles, Julie focused on the road as they bounced up the hills to her house.

  Mr. Wallace would read her answer out loud in class on Monday. She was sure of it. Maybe she could fake sick and stay home. Maybe she wouldn’t have to fake. She felt nauseous just thinking about it. Or maybe it was Cindy’s driving.

  Cindy swerved into the driveway, and Julie got out quickly. “Um, thanks for the ride,” she said.

  “Anytime, anywhere, kiddo,” Cindy said. “Remember that, next party. I’ll get you home before midnight.” She winked.

  Julie snorted. “I’m not going to any parties. Mom barely lets me sleep over at Gillian’s.” Besides, at this rate, she was never even going to get invited to any.

  Cindy waved her hand, bangles smacking together. “Really, anytime you need a ride, just call and I’ll come. That’s a royal promise. You can’t break a royal promise.” Blowing a kiss, Cindy sped out of the driveway. She disappeared over the hill in a cloud of exhaust.

  “Gross,” Julie said as she inhaled exhaust. That pretty much summed up the whole day. From sneaker to Cindy, this day was horrific. Shouldering her backpack, Julie trudged to the back door.

  How could she explain she’d been distracted from class by thinking about a person who, according to all legal and historical documentation, never existed? If only she knew what had happened to him, maybe his absence wouldn’t hurt so much. Today it felt as if she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  She dumped her backpack and jacket on a kitchen chair. A cat leapt onto the chair and dusted her bag with his tail. She looked at him and raised her eyebrows. A fat, orange cat, he wore a brand-new, doll-sized maid’s outfit. “You went to Toys ‘R’ Us,” she said.

  “Did not,” the cat said. “I found it.”

  “Mom told you not to leave the house.”

  “I have slain ogres!” he said. “I have advised kings! I have frightened robbers with the beauty of my song!” Boots reared onto his back legs, cleared his throat, and swung into an off-pitch rendition of “O Sole Mio.”

  “Very nice,” Julie said. If her father were here, would she have human brothers and sisters in addition to a five-hundred-year-old feline? Not that she didn’t love her adopted brother, Boots, but it would be nice to have a sibling who could go out in public and who she could admit existed.

  Mid-aria, Boots stopped singing. “Day didn’t go well?” he said.

  “Let me put it this way: when Gillian’s mom cooks, she doesn’t have to close the doors to make sure the gingerbread men don’t run outside.” Gillian had no idea how lucky she was.

  “It could be worse,” her brother said. “Look at me—how many girl cats do you think I’m likely to meet with my intelligence, wit, and fashion sense? No one told me I’d be dooming myself to the life of a lonely bachelor when we escaped the Wild. And don’t even say I could date a non-talking cat.” He shudder
ed. “It would be like you dating a chimpanzee.”

  Maybe it will come to that, she thought glumly—by the time Mom allowed her to date, chimpanzees might be the only ones who didn’t think she was a total freak. Julie helped herself to Oreos.

  “Aren’t you going to feed me?” Boots asked, curling around her ankles.

  “It’s not dinnertime,” Julie said. “Mom said no afternoon meals.”

  “You’re eating.”

  “It’s a snack.”

  “I want a salmon snack.”

  “Okay, if you can work the can opener, you can have a salmon snack,” Julie said. Her brother gave her a dirty look and, flicking his tail in the air, stalked out of the room. He ruined his dignified exit by tripping over his maid apron.

  After an hour of Simpsons reruns, the phone rang, and Julie leaned across the couch to answer it. On the other end, Gillian said, “Was it a nightmare?”

  “She didn’t hit anything,” Julie said. “I’d call that an improvement.”

  “You know, you could just borrow an Invisibility Cloak from your linen closet,” Gillian said. “Cindy can’t pick you up if she can’t see you.”

  Julie sighed. She liked that Gillian was okay with the Wild, but she wished she would take it more seriously. Gillian just didn’t get that the Wild was only safe because it was small and weak. “I can’t use any of the items. If I use a fairy-tale item, I could be completing a fairy-tale event. If I complete a fairy-tale event . . .”

  “. . . the Wild will grow,” Gillian finished. “I wasn’t serious. Sheesh. It wouldn’t kill you to lighten up a little.”

  If the Wild were an ounce stronger, Mom would have locked it in the cellar instead of allowing Julie to be its keeper, no matter what happened to their plumbing. It was a responsibility, not a game. But maybe Gillian couldn’t understand that. She wasn’t Rapunzel’s daughter. She didn’t have the essence of fairy tales living under her bed. Julie changed the subject. “How was band?”

  “Nightmare,” Gillian said. “Tryouts for lead trumpet are in three weeks, and I’ve been practicing constantly. Or at least a lot. You know I have. But I made one teeny, tiny mistake, and Mr. Marshall accuses me of not practicing. In front of everyone! With that tone of voice he gets: ‘Ms. Thomas, if you think you are too good to practice, you are sorely mistaken.’”