Fairy Tale (9 page)

"So, I guess you guys know about this," I say when she pulls back.

Her lower lip trembles. She can't bring herself to speak. I exhale with relief. At least someone else knows how I feel.

Finally, she says, "It's terrible, isn't it?"

I nod. "How is Mr. Browne?"

"He wants to sue the hospital. As if anyone would believe that fairies came in the day our son was born and switched him." She sighs. "He's obviously not thinking straight. What we should be thinking about is how to help our sons through this."

"Our sons." It sounds strange, but I knew Mrs. Browne would be so diplomatic. "There has to be a way we can keep Cam here."

She looks away, tears in her eyes, "I don't think there is. But if you think of something, let me know." She gnaws on her bottom lip. "I can't believe Cameron will be gone in only a few days."

She's about to start sobbing again, so I say, "Pip is your real son."

"Yes. He has Mr. Browne's laugh," she adds with a sad smile. "And that's another thing entirely. To know that I couldn't be with him when he was growing up... I asked him if they took good care of him in Otherworld, but the poor child didn't want to talk about it."

"Really?" I ask, surprised. I'd had a hard time getting Pip to shut up about the fairies. "I'm sure he doesn't blame you."

She nods absently, then shakes herself back into reality. She almost sounds like the old Mrs. Browne when she says, "I know you're not here to cry with me all night. Cam is upstairs."

I'm climbing the stairs to his room when his door opens a couple of inches. Cam slides out sideways, then carefully closes the door, so that it barely clicks behind him. He's startled when he sees me, but then relaxes. "Hey, you. I was just coming to see you."

"You were?" I'm happy he didn't forget all about me, which I thought might happen with the Blond Bombshell in the way. I point to his room. "What's going on in there?"

He sighs. "Dawn has this fairy tutorial thing going on. She's a pocket-sized Hitler."

I grin. Same old Cam. Of course he didn't forget about me.

"I'm ditching lesson nine. It's all about humans and how to interact with them, and I think I know enough about that."

" Why even do it at all?" I mutter.

"I'm wondering the same thing. I've spent all afternoon on this... and for what?"

"All afternoon? What happened to football practice?"

His face turns grim. "I tried. All my passes were falling short. I couldn't complete a single throw. Coach said I needed to take some time off and rest my arm, so he told me to pack it in early. I feel different... weak."

"Oh." He slides his arms under mine and pulls me close. I lean in, pull him to me. I can feel the bandages, those damn bandages, and know that from now on, every embrace will remind me of our inevitable parting; And when I bury my face in his chest, I know that's not the only reminder. I pull away quickly. Something is wrong. His normal, natural scent-half-woodsy, like wet grass, half-spicy, like barbershop aftershave-is gone. "You... smell different."

He pulls me in again, and I feel his breath on my hair. "I'm not surprised. A lot about me is different."

I gulp. If the fairies have the power to strip him of his yummy, human smell, can they change the way he feels about me, too? "Like what?"

"I can barely bench-press one eighty now. Last week I was up to two twenty-five. But I think I can see better...And hear better. It's..." He stops when he sees the expression on my face. "That won't change, Boo."

"Huh?"

He points up to the ceiling, then puts his finger to his mouth in a "shh" gesture.

I look up, a prickling sensation running up my spine. I squint through the minimal light coming from the kitchen, searching for the pink glob, but I can't see anything. "What? You mean she's here?"

He shrugs. "I know what you're thinking."

I blush, wondering if it's that obvious that I'm a total wuss, scared to death of getting my ass kicked again by a fairy.

"Fairies have heightened awareness of everything around them." Then he leans in and whispers, "That will
never
change. Got that?"

Oh, he's talking about us. The way he feels about me. As much of a relief as it is, I can't help wanting to follow it up with a million questions to solidify those feelings. But I can't. Not here. I'm frozen in place, wondering if my next words will unwittingly force me into life as a quadruped. I whisper, "Isn't there a way we can be alone?"

"Yeah." He takes me by the wrist and leads me across the hall, into the bathroom. He shuts the door behind me, turns on the faucet, then cranks up the shower. "Get in."

I stare at him "Um, I said 'alone,' not 'wet.'"

He matches my stare with a look so commanding, I never would have thought he had it in him. He has always been an easygoing guy, so this "'fairy royal'' stuff must be doing
mucho
for his leadership skills. I lean over and pull off my ballet flats, then slip behind the curtain, into the water. Pellets of ice sting my shoulders. "Hello! Freezing!"

"Sorry." His hand fumbles in and turns up the metal handle with the H on
it. I cross my arms over my chest as the water soaks my white shirt through to near transparency. Leaning over to avoid hitting the curtain rod with his forehead, he steps in, his faded jeans immediately splattered with dark indigo. As I'm thinking this has to be a ploy to get me in his own private wet T-shirt contest, he says, "I guess I'm not enough of a fairy yet. If a fairy comes into contact with running water, they can die. So we're safe here."

"I didn't know fairies could die," I say, hiding my excitement over this discovery. "But that's what Pip had said. About your brother?"

"Supposedly he was killed in a war. He was Massifs elder son, and heir to the throne. Until they remembered me. When I turn sixteen, they say I can be king. Can you believe that?" There's disgust in his face. "I can't. This so freaking warped"

"And don't forget the part about Dawn," I say, wrapping my arms around me.

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Don't remind me."

"She's a witch. She threatened me," I blurt out. It feels good to finally feel safe enough to say it.

"She what?"

"I think she might hurt me even worse than before if I interfere."

"No, she won't. She wouldn't do that to me. I had a talk with her. She knows I'd kill her first."

"But you're supposed to get"-and I nearly choke on this next word-"married."

"Marriage there is not like it is here. It's not about love. It's about uniting two powerful kingdoms," he says, to calm me down.

"She said something about fairies not being capable of love. Is that true?"

He shakes his head. "No way. If it is, then I guess I'm not a fairy."

I smile at him, since that was exactly the reaction I'd hoped for. "Okay, so what do we do? Flush Dawn down the toilet?"

"No, Dawn isn't the problem. It's Massif. He is the one who arranged this marriage."

"Is he as reasonable as she is?

"Dawn is only following his orders. But I told you. If I
go
with them, it's forever. I won't be able to see you again. And I'm not leaving you."

His T-shirt is getting wet now, matting against his chest, his back. His chest, while once firmly defined, looks less so, but the mound on his back seems larger. He is changing, and there is nothing he can do to stop it. "How are your wings coming along?" I ask softly.

He looks disgustedly over his shoulder. "I don't care if they put me in the Smithsonian Institution and make me the world's first fairy lab rat. I'm not going."

His eyes blaze with intensity, and so I feel the need to lean in and hold him. The water is warmer now, nice when it mixes with our lingering good-night kiss. When we say our "One, two, three," I'm haIf-dazed.

I slosh back to my bedroom after the rain has stopped. Luckily, my parents are engrossed in an episode of
Law and Order,
so I'm spared the third degree over looking like an extra from
Titanic.
I quickly slip upstairs, thankful to feel the heat of the blow-dryer on me. While I'm standing there, absently running the brush though my hair, I catch a glimpse of something on the nightstand reflected in the mirror. It's the picture of Cam and me on the roller coaster.

I shake my head and turn off the dryer. The only thing I know is that they aren't as good as they could be.

Afterward, I look for some boxers and a tank to sleep in, but my mother must not have done this week's laundry, because my dressers are half-empty. I reach into my night-table drawer and find one of Cam's glossy number 10 jerseys, then pull it over my head. The scent of grass and barbershop cologne soothes me. I fall asleep clutching the fabric to my face and letting it mop up my tears.

THE FLUORESCENT-ORANGE paper on the bulletin board in the library says, BE SOMEBODY! NATIONAL HONOR SOCIETY APPLICATIONS DUE MONDAY, OCTOBER 11. I'm by no means interested, but I have nothing better to do. Nobody goes to the library on Friday, so I figured I could spend my first-period study hall here, alone, with the hopes that by second period, the swelling in my face will have subsided. A night of crying, coupled with the beating I took from that little gnat, has given me the ugliest, reddest cheeks on the planet. With five minutes left in the period, I catch my reflection in the chrome of the water fountain across the hall and realize it's not going to happen. Even a glob of hair gel is more appealing than I am.

Cam doesn't want to go. That fact in itself should be enough, but because these demented fairies have absolutely no sense, we have to resort to plan B. And, since Dawn is constantly around Cam, surveying his every move, it's up to me. I need to come up with a plan.

But my head feels like it's cracking open. My mind is blank.

As I'm packing up my books, Eden pokes her head in, then smiles big and bounds over to me. She's wearing a T-shirt that says LOVE UNIVERSITY in big, black letters and pink flip-flops that make an obnoxious smacking noise as she hurries through the silent library. She doesn't seem to notice. "What up, girl?"

Eden's efforts to sound like a homegirl always miss the mark, but I can't help but grin. Eden, my port in the storm. My beacon in the cold, dark night. The peanut butter to my jelly. My-

"Wow, you look terrible! What happened to your head?"

"Urn, nothing. I-"

"Your face looks blotchy." She looks up at the bulletin board and says, "What? Are you thinking of applying for NHS?"

"No, not really."

"Didn't think you would."

I glare at her. "What do you mean? I could. I have a four-oh."

She shrugs. "You never do any of that stuff. And for NHS, you need to have some extracurricular activities. Remember when cheerleading tryouts were coming up? I told you. It looks good on your college app. But you were busy."

I vaguely remember the conversation. I always space when she brings up cheerleading, since it happens every day, so I probably told her "no way in hell" without batting an eyelash. Yes, cheerleaders go to all the football games, but they have to cheer at the basketball games, too, and what fun would it be if Cam wasn't there? There had been other opportunities-the school paper, the yearbook, the Key Club-but I'd nixed them all. Because none of them could promise as much fun as kicking back, goofing off with Cam. My Cam.

I know it must sound pathetic, but everything about my life is woven to Cam's. Our interests, our circle of friends, our futures... everything is intertwined. We are two sides of a coin. And when one side ceases to exist, what happens to the other one?

I throw my books on a table and bury my face in my hands, just as the waterworks start up again.

"Morgan?" I feel Eden's arms around me. I lean into her and let out a muffled sob on her shoulder. "Oh, hon. It's okay. The honor society would be lucky to have you."

Honor society? Who can think of the honor society at a time like this? The bell rings, signaling the end of the period. I straighten and wipe a tear from my eye as nonchalantly as possible and inspect the pad of my finger, hoping to make this recent breakdown appear to be nothing more than a fleck of dust caught in my eye. I cannot go around weeping all day. People will think I've lost it. "I'm fine."

"This isn't about Cam again, is it? About that vision you had?" she asks, shaking her head at me pitifully. "He's been acting different."

"What isn't different about him?" I mutter.

The hallways are packed with kids moving to class, but I spot a lanky form shuffling past the library, almost as if he's crosscountry skiing. He's wearing lame old-style green sweatpants so big that the fabric pools over the elastic ankle bands, past his feet. He peers in for a moment but keeps moving, his hands out in front of him, limp, as if playing the piano. I immediately feel bad for him. No, he doesn't fit in. And maybe, with Cam gone, I won't fit in, either. He's lost something dear to him, too, so maybe he would understand the way I feel. Maybe we could be friends.

Eden catches me staring at him and her voice becomes serious. "Did you hear what happened?"

"No, what?" I say offhandedly, checking the disaster that is my face in my pocket mirror. Eden has a way of following the most world-coming-to-an-end warning with, "I spilled raspberry sauce on my Sevens!" or, "There's a new episode of
Lost
on tonight!" Snore.

"With that Pip guy?"

Hookup. "What?"

"He was wearing these really funny cords today. You know?"

I nod. I know. God, I wish I didn't, but I know.

"Well, Scab tried to give him a wedgie, but couldn't because they were so tight. And so a bunch of the guys tackled him to the ground and stole his pants."