Bookishly Ever After (21 page)

“It’s really funny how seriously you’re taking this stylist thing. You’d think I was asking for help in chemistry or something.”

Grace laughed, circling me and tugging at the sweater like she was trying to make it fit me better. “I like fixing things. Fashion’s a puzzle, like everything else, and it’s fun finding pieces that fit perfectly together and fit the person wearing them.” She then turned to fluffing my hair, and her expression grew serious again. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked softly. She stopped fluffing and rested her hands
on my shoulders.

“I said I’m fine.” I waved my hand like I was waving away her concerns. I just needed some time away from Dev and Lexie to clear my head, that was all. I hadn’t had a break in ages from the reminders of my complete and utter fail. “In fact,” an idea flashed into my brain and I said it before I could change my mind, “I’m so fine because I’ve decided I’m signing up to help at sixth grade camp. Coach thinks it’ll be a good experience for me.”
If I go to camp, I’m away for the week.

“You’re not just doing this to get away from things, are you? You do realize Dev’s still going to be here when you come back. You can’t use camp as a place to hide.”

I put on my most insulted look. “I’m not going to camp to hide. It sounds like a lot of fun. I like kids and s’mores and stuff.”

“I know we weren’t friends back then, but if I remember right, you hated camp. Didn’t you fake sick and spend the whole time reading in your cabin?”

“I was eleven.”

“And you’re really so excited about it that nothing else bothers you?” She did the whole analytical stare thing again. “Did you just finish a book set at camp or something?”

“No.” I didn’t add that I had finished one about a month ago. Or that Julien was up at the top of my list as my favorite camp book boyfriend.

“Because you know those things are idealized, right? Real life has spiders and kids who like to put spiders in their
counselors’ beds.”

“Just because I like to read doesn’t mean I let fictional characters dictate my life.” Grace looked pointedly at the sweater and I tilted up my chin defiantly.

Grace pulled a piece of lint off my sleeve. “Fine. Just really think about why you’re doing this before you actually sign up, okay?” She checked her reflection one last time, then looked me straight in the eye and said, “If you need to stay here the rest of lunch, I’ll cover for you and take your things to class.”

I smiled a wavery smile at her. “Thanks.”

“My neck is killing me,” I hissed at Alec. At every single one of Em’s plays or musicals, Alec always insisted on us sitting practically front row and far left. But that meant I was praying for act one of “Phantom of the Rock Café” to be over so I could turn my head to the left again.

“Shh. It’s more fun this way, because you could watch the drama on- and off-stage,” he whispered back. “Now, shut up. Em’s about to start that scene where she has to make out with Christian, and I can’t wait to watch Wilhelm turn all Hulk in the wings when he sees that.”

Em wandered out onto the stage, which was set up like a brownstone rooftop in Philadelphia, down to the William Penn statue painted into the backdrop skyline. Her costume was pretty and sparkly, making her look like she was made of starlight. Christian swept onto the set, the preppy investment banker version of Raoul to Em’s backup singer Christine, and they broke into “
All I Ask of You
.”

I saw Dev standing in the wings, waiting for his entrance. For a second, I forgot my pretend-I never-crushed-on-him pact and smiled at his costume. Instead of an opera cape, he was wearing a cool long-sleeved vintage tee, and instead of
a mask, emo-style bangs covered one half of his face.

Grace seemed to notice where I was looking and nudged me, whispering. “What do you think of guyliner?”

“Stupid,” Alec said, overhearing, while at the same time I chimed in,

“Hot on the right guy.” And this rocker zombie version of Dev was definitely, unquestionably right.

And then my heart sunk back into my shoes and I was slapped back into I’m-an-idiot land as Lexie, dressed all in black, came up alongside him. She said something to him, then reached up to fix his hair in a way that was so much more intimate than anything a normal stage manager would do. Just before he stepped on stage, she stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. I couldn’t watch anymore as she pushed Dev onto the stage, the two of them looking so much like Pine Central’s power couple. Romeo and Juliet in zombie makeup.

I shut my eyes, digging my nails into the upholstery of my seat. Apparently, two and a half months of casual noncrushworthy contact wasn’t enough to make my crush go away. But it was hard to just sit there and not react, especially when he started to sing.

I wasn’t the kind of girl who fell for musicians, but it wasn’t fair that Dev had a beautiful singing voice that did
things
to the surface of my skin. I opened my eyes, and there was Lexie again in the wings, staring at Dev like he was an advanced reader copy of the last book in a series.

“Bathroom,” I whispered to Grace. I abruptly stood and
made my way out of the theatre. I’d deal with the possibility of Em killing me later.

Before I knew it, I was back sitting on the floor in the language hallway. I buried my face into my knees and tried to ignore all of the hurt that hit me full-force, filling every pore. Taking a deep breath that helped break up some of the tension in my stomach, I promised myself I wasn’t going to ever repeat this scene again.

“You okay?”

I followed a pair of green and black oxfords up until I saw a familiar face. “Kris?” Any intelligent response flew out of my brain and I floundered for something to say. In my fantasy world, he’d just start spouting Aedan-like things at me and I’d respond with Maeve-ish answers, but instead my brain decided to register that the commercial sweater he was wearing got the Icelandic patterns all wrong.

“Yes,” I said, then scrambled to my feet and tried not to look like I’d just been sitting in the hallway like, well, like a loser. “I mean, yes, I’m fine.” He kept staring and I added, “I just couldn’t deal with any more of the changes they made to the musical. I needed a break.” I tried to push my hair back nonchalantly like Maeve would, but my fingers caught in the curls and I had to shake my hand free.

He smiled at me as if it were something he did every day, like we were in an alternate universe fanfiction of my life. “I know the feeling. Not to mention I had enough of these songs the million times I heard it in practice. Do you want to hang out in the library until right before the end?
I’ve got the code to open up the tech cabinet.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the library doors, which were conveniently located right in front of us. “I can pull out two tablets.”

My eyes grew wide and my heartbeat sped up the tiniest bit. The parts of me that didn’t want to go back into the theater to see more of the Dev and Lexie show and that wanted to bask in the amazingness that was Kris screamed at me to say yes. But the responsible part of me fought back.

“That sounds amazing, but I really should go back inside. Alec picked some seats right in front and Em will notice if I’m not there.” The words tripped reluctantly off my tongue, leaving the tiniest bit of a bitter taste.

To my disappointment, Kris didn’t look too upset. “That sucks. Next time, you need to sit in the back row like the rest of us cool kids so you can avoid actually watching these things like we do.” A brilliant smile spread across his features, lighting them up.

Ohmigosh.
I tried not to break into a little happy dance over his offer and instead tried to return that smile, even though I was seriously contemplating taking back my first answer. “You’re so right. Thanks for offering.”

“Sure.” He turned in the direction of the library. “Have fun in there. Don’t get hit by a chandelier or anything.”

“Right.” I watched him walk away, the hall lights catching the faint golden highlights in his hair, and slumped against the wall again.

I was such an idiot.

“You’re doing it again.”

I slammed my locker door shut and looked at Em. “Doing what?”

“Eye-stalking Kris.” She nodded towards Kris’ locker, where he was talking with a bunch of his friends.

“Eye-stalking? Is that even a word?” I leaned against my closed locker and watched as Kris did the same against his. I could practically melt into the metal and stay that way forever. “I love that he’s got this whole Victorian-Edwardian thing going on with his hair.” The only thing the moment needed was for Kris to look my way so our eyes could meet. Then, I’d just have to drop my eyes, shyly, and look up again, catching his attention again. Then, he’d push off his locker, make his way across the hallway, and…

“You make me ashamed to be a girl.” Em grabbed my arm and started dragging me towards my homeroom, popping me straight out of my daydream. “You’ve been even more obsessed with him since January.”

I tried to shrug free, but that girl had an insane grip. “Have not. I’ve always thought he was cute.”

“Again, unobtainable fictional romance.”

I stopped midstep and pinned Em down with a withering glare. “You mean like Dev and your plan to get us together?”

Em rolled her eyes and broke her grip on my arm. “Please, that was not fictional. The two of you were just too chicken shit to actually admit you liked each other. You know, Kris only noticed you after your makeover—”

“Which was your idea,” I reminded her. “And, by the way, thanks for that.” I straightened the fairy-tale-like top Grace had convinced me to buy and fluffed my still-perfect hair.

She ignored me and kept talking. “—while Dev always looks like he just got a starring role on Broadway every time you walk into a room, no matter what you’re wearing.” I tried to break in, but she stuck her hand up in the air to stop me. “It’s the truth, whether you like it or not. Don’t blame the messenger.”

“Whatever. Just don’t diss the objects of my affection.” I paused at the door of my homeroom and glanced one last time over at Kris. He seemed to finally sense my eyes on him and looked up to give me one of his gorgeous smiles. Real, not like those “I have to pretend to like you” smiles he usually gave to people he didn’t know during election season.

My heart started doing jumping jacks and I ducked behind the door with a wave at Em. “See you at lunch.”

Em shook her head one last time and hurried off to her own homeroom. I wove between the desks to my seat and dropped into it, pulling out
Hiding
.
Found
was coming out in a week and I wanted to reread some of my favorite
parts to prep for the last book in the series. Plus, I wanted that smile still fresh in my head while reading a little more Cyril goodness.

Even though I babied my books, the broken spine of my hardback fell open to the mirrorfall scene and I dove in. I read straight through the Pledge of Allegiance and roll. When Ms. Marin handed a few of us an orange paper, I just slipped it in the back of my book so it stuck out like a flag and vaguely registered that the paper said something about the sixth grade camp info session in Mr. Cooper’s classroom I had to attend instead of first period.

I feel a cloud of cold engulf me, colder than anything I’ve ever felt before. My veins freeze, my breath comes out like dry ice shoved into my lungs. And for the first time since all of this started, I scream.

The bell rang and I stood up, propping my book up in one hand and maneuvering out of the classroom without breaking my attention from the book. Being able to walk and read without bumping into things was a major skill I had developed.

I pull my body up off the floor and find myself in a place that’s familiar and still not. Like I am in a mirror image of somewhere I know. Instead of a familiar greyish tinge, this place is alive, the vibrant colors of the wood and wallpaper and rugs tugging at my memory. Then, it dawns on me. I’m in the mirror world, the place I saw through the house mirrors. “That bastard.”

I flipped the page, dodging a freshman and turning
down the history hallway instead of my usual route. If I read fast enough, I could probably get in another two pages before the bell.

I reach out for the giant gilt Victorian mirror hanging in front of me—my room, or at least a silvery flipped version of it, fills the frame, but when my hands touch the glass, I can’t get through. I splay my palms flat and push. Nothing. “Damnit, Damnit, Damnit.”