The Princess and the Page

by Christina Farley

  For a brief second I hesitate, swallowing away the doubt lumped in my throat. Because when I write something, things don’t always work out as I expect them to. Like the piranhas and the sea serpent.

  “Please work, please work,” I say in a whispered breath.

  I touch the pen to the paper and stroke out the word the, but the page remains blank. Frowning, I shake the pen a little, waiting for the “magic” to spark from it. To feel the rush and the power that this pen evokes. But there are no streams of blue or whooshes of wind. I grit my teeth and scratch out the word the again. Still nothing.

  I drop my head in my hands and groan. This isn’t the time for writer’s block.

  Why won’t the pen work? It’s so not fair.

  There must be something wrong with the ink, I think. Maybe it’s run out. I open the desk to find a drawer full of writing supplies. Pencils, papers, notepads, ink pads, inkwells, quills. The options are endless. I think about Monsieur telling me he created the library and ordered this desk just for me. He probably planted all of these writing materials here, too. Sneaky man.

  I pull out the inkwell, unscrew the top, and dip my finger into the ink bottle. My fingertip is now black. I smear the ink off my finger and onto the paper, leaving behind a black trail. Satisfied the ink works, I dip my magical pen into it.

  I don’t care if my pen is ruined. All I care about is Mom and Bella and all the people who are being affected by my fairy tale.

  Once the pen has ink on it, I draw a sweeping line across the journal. But not even a smear of ink spills onto the paper. It’s as if the pen is purposely soaking up the ink. Not even a scratch marks the paper. I bang my fist against the desk and then furiously scribble all over the table with the pen. Not that it matters.

  Because the pen doesn’t leave a single mark.

  “This can’t be happening to me!” I yell. “I won’t allow it to happen.”

  But deep down, I feel—no, I know—that my fairy tale is real and Mom’s warning how it can’t be changed is the truth. My scalp tingles as reality sinks in even deeper. An evil ghost who locks people away forever was created by yours truly.

  I stare at the silver pen, which at this moment looks like an ordinary calligraphy pen. But every time this pen works, I don’t get writer’s block. The story comes to me like—like magic.

  That thought settles into the pit of my stomach, and everything tumbles into place. When I wrote that unhappily ever after fairy tale, I created a magic world. Once made, it couldn’t be unmade. This is what Mom had meant. Maybe that’s why every time I entered my fairy-tale realm, the creatures kept telling me I didn’t belong there. A painter doesn’t live in her own painting. A sculptor doesn’t become his statue. And a writer isn’t supposed to live in her own books.

  Everyone told me this except Pegasus. The memory of seeing myself in the room in the attic of the castle prickles at my mind. I had been writing in a large book on a floating desk with the words flying into the air like golden dust.

  Madame must be lying. That secret room and book exists. And I need to find it.

  Rock Climbing Performance Tip: Keep your center of

  gravity close to the wall you are climbing.

  It’s more than an hour before I find Chet. He’s climbing out of the fireplace from the secret passageway in the library. Cobwebs are strung across his chest, and his shirt looks more gray than black.

  “There you are,” I say. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  “You have?” Chet’s eyes brighten. “You don’t hate me anymore?”

  “When you’re being my friend, you’re actually a pretty cool guy. I need your help. I need to go through the secret passageways and see if I can find one that leads to the secret room in the attic. But you have to promise me you won’t tell your dad about this.”

  “Promise. But I just got out of the passageways.” Chet shakes his head. “Went back in with a flashlight. There’s no passageway that leads to the attic. But I was able to retrace my steps to find the one that goes to your room!”

  “Don’t you dare ever use that entrance again! Understood?”

  “Uh, yeah. Absolutely. Never again.”

  “There has to be a way to get to that secret room.” I pace the floor. “We just haven’t thought of it yet.”

  Chet sticks his hands into his jeans pockets and stares off at the bookshelf. Then he grins. “There is one way.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like your idea?”

  “You won’t. But if you really want to get to that room, you’ll do it.”

  * * *

  We dart past the film crew that’s piling into the castle’s main hall, sneak past Ms. Teppernat, who is yelling at the new caterer about incompetence, and then skirt past the butler, who does in fact see us but as usual says nothing.

  Chet leads me to the right of the entrance, finally stopping at a long rope that streams down from the roof to my feet.

  I turn to face Chet. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Hey, you said you wanted to get to that window. Yesterday, I already did the hard part by scaling to the roof and securing the ropes. This is what I’ve been doing in my spare time. All you need to do is climb up. Think of it as rock climbing.”

  “I’ve never rock climbed. I’m scared of heights. What if I fall?”

  “You won’t because I’m going to tie you in and then I’m going to belay you. If you fall, the rope will catch you.”

  “You want me to trust an eleven-year-old boy with my life?”

  He cocks his head to the side, thinking, and then says, “Pretty much.”

  “Oh my stars.” I shake my head as I realize I’m really going to do this. I’m that desperate. Annoyed, I snatch the harness Chet’s holding out for me. “I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”

  The harness cinches tight around my thighs and waist like an awkward seat belt. Chet hooks the rope through a belay and then clips the rope to his own harness.

  “Will this really hold me?” I try to keep my voice steady, which is pretty much impossible.

  “Yep,” Chet says. “You’re actually wearing my dad’s harness. I was bummed he was going to be too busy to use it, but it’s come in handy after all.”

  After we’re all hooked in, Chet gives me a quick lesson on how to step into the crevices within the stones and how to press my body closer to the rock to keep my center of balance.

  “Don’t sweat it, though, if you fall,” Chet says. “I’ll catch you with the rope.”

  “I’m going to fall?” I gulp and stare up at the distance between the ground and the tower window. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I even should do this.”

  “Sure you should.” Chet grins. “This is going to be awesome.”

  I press my palms to the castle wall and close my eyes. Faces flash through my mind: Gabrielle, Monsieur, and Mom.

  It’s through these images I gain the confidence to take the first step up onto the castle’s brick. I pause, hovering maybe a foot off the ground. I didn’t fall! So I lift my left leg and step into another crevice. One after the next, I climb higher until I’m dangling from the top of the windows of the first floor.

  “You’re rocking it, Keira!” Chet encourages me. “Keep going.”

  But then I slip. My fingernails scratch across the castle surface, and I feel myself falling. I scream. Suddenly, the rope snags and I stop falling. I’m dangling and bouncing off the side of the castle like a string puppet.

  “See,” Chet says. “I got ya!”

  My breath heaves in and out so strongly I’m frozen. What a silly idea this was! There has to be a better way.

  “Let me down,” I call to Chet. “I can’t do this.”

  “Sure you can. Just focus on the window.”

  I roll my eyes but grip the side of the castle and start climbing again. I follow Chet’s advice and keep my eyes on the prize. Soon I’m nearly at the third floor. I am almost there! />
  Below, voices are yelling and screaming. I know I need to keep my eyes up, but I decide to check out what the commotion on the ground is about.

  A group of people have formed where Chet is belaying me. It’s easy to spot the flaming red hair of Ms. Teppernat. But then I also make out Bella, Cheryl, the Joneses, and Mr. Parker. Even a group of photographers who came to shoot tonight’s ball are there. I squint against the sun’s rays. It looks like they’re taking pictures of me right now. And filming me, too!

  Dizziness washes over me now that I’m looking down. The ground swirls. My fingers loosen their hold, and once again I slip. I drop a foot or so before the rope tightens, keeping me from falling. My heart still nose-dives.

  Below, Bella screams and Ms. Teppernat screams at Chet, “Let Keira down this instant!”

  I bite my lip. I don’t have much time before Chet might break under the pressure he’s getting. Focusing on the rounded lip in front of me, I grab hold of it and scamper onto the small edge until I’m able to stand up. I’m nearly at the window ledge!

  One more climb up onto the next ledge and I’ll be there.

  Grunting, my palms slap against the windowsill’s flat surface, and I haul myself up so that I’m sitting on the window ledge. A light wind blows my hair. I dare a glance out at the world beyond the castle. The view steals my breath away. The geometric-design gardens stretch out in a rainbow of colors, the river flows lazily beneath the castle, and the woods roll out in never-ending greenery.

  But as I stare back into the window, my heart sinks.

  Just on the other side of the glass is a stone wall. The same color as the ones on the outside of the castle. Madame was right. There’s no room inside. It’s a false window.

  Survival Tip: If you end up locked in a tower, it’s

  handy to bring a rope along.

  “That was the most ridiculous, irresponsible thing you could ever possibly do!” Ms. Teppernat says the moment my feet touch the ground.

  I don’t have anything to say. In part because I’m too busy trying to stop my hands from shaking so I can unclip myself from the ropes. But mainly because all I feel right now is defeat. The window had been my last hope. I have no ideas left.

  “You are grounded from rock climbing indefinitely,” Mr. Parker tells Chet, and then takes the harnesses from him. “Don’t even dare think of touching a rope until you can prove you are able to do it.”

  “But you saw her,” Chet says. “I taught her to climb a castle. That’s pretty cool, if you ask me. And look, she survived without any injuries!”

  “Thanks, Chet, for helping me,” I say. “You were a great teacher.”

  “It’s private property,” Ms. Teppernat says. “If Monsieur found out, we’d be kicked off immediately! Come along. The sun is setting and it’s past time for you to get dressed.”

  We all turn to head back inside, only to find Monsieur there, twirling his mustache with his blazer flapping in the wind.

  “Bonjour, mademoiselles and monsieurs,” he says. “I see you have taken up a new hobby, Keira. Quite an impressive feat, if I do say so myself. But personally, I think you should stick to writing. It’s far more exciting than climbing castles, is it not?”

  “Huh?” Chet says. “He has no idea.”

  “Where’s my mom?” I say, sick of his pleasantries. I wish I could write that grin off his face in my next story. “I know you’ve done something with her!”

  “I haven’t the slightest notion what you are speaking of.” Monsieur shrugs and then clucks his tongue as if I’m some naughty child. “But perhaps your little story can help us solve this problem. Let me see here.”

  He whips out a copy of my fairy tale from his pocket. Slowly he unfolds it and holds it tight to keep the wind from snatching it away. “Ah, yes,” he says. “Here is the line:

  “On the night of the ball, the queen discovered the truth about the stepsister and confronted her. But the stepsister was too clever, even for the queen. With a swish of her magic, she vanished the queen to the tallest and loneliest tower. Nothing would stop the stepsister from fulfilling her destiny tonight at the ball. She would make the prince see that they were destined to be together. No matter what it took.

  “Perhaps your mom and the queen have something in common, yes?”

  “We don’t have time to sit around and read Keira’s fairy tale,” Ms. Teppernat snaps with a scathing glare. I’m amazed fire didn’t burst from her mouth. “The ball begins in less than an hour and she still isn’t ready. So if you’ll please excuse us.”

  But I can’t move. Is Monsieur right? Had my fairy tale somehow intertwined with my real life and taken my own mother? Suddenly, it’s too hard to breathe. It’s too much to take.

  “Wow,” Chet says. “That stepsister sounds like pretty bad news.”

  “That’s the whole point.” Bella rolls her eyes. “It’s supposed to be a parody of fairy tales, right, Keira? Keira? Are you okay?”

  “I think she’s going to faint.” Chet squats down in front of me, peering intently at my face.

  Hands direct me toward the front of the castle, but all I can see is Monsieur standing there, holding my fairy tale, a grin plastered on his thin face.

  Party Planning for Pros by Sleeping Beauty: When

  planning a ball, do be careful whom you invite and,

  more important, whom you don’t invite.

  “Now, don’t worry your pretty little head about a thing,” Cheryl tells me as we start inside. “Your mom is perfectly okay. I just saw her earlier. She said she had to work on your departure plans.”

  “She did?” I grip Cheryl’s arm tightly, and she begins nodding vigorously. I want to believe Cheryl’s telling me the truth. She has no reason to lie to me, right? “That would be something she’d say.”

  “That’s right.” Cheryl’s face brightens as my steps grow stronger. “Come along, and hurry so we can get dressed for the ball. Your mom will be there, I’m sure of it.”

  Encouraged, I rush with Bella to our room to change. I’m sure that I completely overreacted with Monsieur. I’ve been so uptight ever since those burglars ransacked our house that I’m making this issue bigger than it really is.

  After Bella and I bathe, Cheryl presents our dresses to us. I press my hands to my cheeks. It’s so beautiful. The strapless gown brushes the floor as I walk. The pale gold material shimmers like a blanket of diamonds. Once Cheryl finishes my hair and jewelry, she allows me to look at myself in the mirror. I’ve never put much thought into my looks before, but tonight I am beautiful. My skin glows in the setting sun, and my blue eyes sparkle. Then I spin in a circle, and my dress puffs into the air like sunbeams. Cheryl has tamed my brown curls to ringlets that cascade over my shoulders. A diamond tiara glitters on top of my head. A smile creeps over my face. There’s no doubt. Cheryl really converted the two of us into princesses.

  “Be careful with your crowns,” Cheryl tells Bella and me. But Bella is so busy squealing and spinning around that I’m not sure she hears Cheryl. “They are on loan from the local jewelry store.”

  But even as beautiful as the dress and the crown are, it’s hard to let myself be whisked away in what should’ve been the most amazing moment for me.

  Tonight the ghost is supposed to return and take another person. The Joneses are planning on spiking the punch with poison, and my mom still hasn’t shown up. The biggest problem is that everyone is too busy to care about any of this. Except me.

  My heart beats faster. Somehow, I have to fix all this, I think as I play with the soft folds of the dress. I’ve never been so nervous in my life—even when I tried out for the soccer team.

  Cheryl ties a large golden bow around my waist and flounces up the skirt of the dress one final time. “There. Now, don’t you look just like a princess?”

  “It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen,” I say. “Thank you.”

  If only I had written my fairy tale with a happy ending. Sure, I had been mad at Mom, b
ut I never wanted anything bad to happen to her.

  Bella practically floats over to me in a dress that reminds me of puffy blue clouds. Her brown skin glistens with jeweled undertones. “Isn’t this heavenly?” she says, humming softly. “It’s like a dream.”

  Or nightmare, I want to say, thinking of what tonight may hold. But I don’t, because this is the moment Bella has been dreaming of her entire life.

  Instead, I hug my best friend, saying, “Bells, you look like a fairy.” Then I frown, remembering the fairies that bit me on the forest path. “No, actually, you look far prettier than any fairy.”

  “Really?” Bella smiles. “You, too. I know you’re worried about tonight, but will you try to have fun for me, please? All of my work will be showcased and photographed for the world to see. It’s a big deal.”

  “Of course,” I say, feeling guilty for nearly forgetting about Bella’s big project. “From the parts that I saw, it will be amazing. Maybe you’ll even get attention from some of the big design colleges.”

  “Put these on, Keira.” Cheryl hands me a pair of sparkling white heels.

  “Heels? I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll trip for sure.”

  Cheryl insists, but when her back is turned, I slip on my indoor soccer shoes for good luck. We step into the hall, and Cheryl turns off the light. From the corner of my eye, a blue glow emanates from under the mattress of the bed.

  The pen.

  I want to turn my back on it. To leave it behind and glide down the stairs to enjoy a fairy-tale ball. But a trickle of sweat pours down the sides of my face. My hands shake. And I know I can’t. I can’t leave the pen behind. I need to hold it. Keep it safe.

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell Cheryl and Bella. Then I pick up my skirts and dash into the room. I clip the pen inside the sash of my dress. An electric spark courses along my palm from the pen. Maybe this pen isn’t totally bad, and it’s giving me good luck. I could use all the luck I can get.

  * * *

  I lift my dress and practically float downstairs, feeling like a true princess. Music and the sounds of laughter waft up the stairs, and a sliver of nervousness cuts into me. Standing in front of the ballroom doors, I find Cheryl, still wearing her apron over her purple sequined ball gown; Bella; and Ms. Teppernat.