by Karole Cozzo
“I mean, forgive me for being harsh, but there’s a reason I find the princesses to be foolish and inane. All they seem to want out of life is Prince Charming.” She gestures toward me with her hand. “And look. A lot of good romance does. Oh, the elation!”
“I know there’s more to life than Prince Charming.” I shake my head. “And I’m not saying relationships are the be-all and end-all,” I clarify. “But you don’t just give up on them because they bring with them some element of sadness.” I shrug. “Without rain, no rainbows.”
Camila turns toward me, her expression a combination of amused and disbelieving. Mostly disbelieving. “Did you really just say that?”
“Yeah. I did.” I can’t help but smile a little, for real. Me and Camila … trying to have a conversation about romance … it’s like watching polar ends of magnets fight their instinct to repel each other.
But I wish she understood.
“I love him, Camila,” I whisper. “God, I really, really love him, regardless of this stupid, inexplicable distance between us. And I just want love to be enough to fix this. Love should be enough to fix this.”
“Sure,” she answers sarcastically. “Love and lacy lingerie.”
“What?”
“I mean, clearly, Chrissi’s grand plan to make his eyes pop out of his head wasn’t a cure-all.” Camila rolls her eyes. “Shocker.”
“What do you mean?”
Finally, she hesitates. “I should probably stop. I feel like I’m getting to the point where people start finding me offensive.” She stands up.
Getting to the point? I think.
“No,” I say instead. I narrow my eyes. “I want to hear what you think. Truly.”
Maybe a different perspective would be helpful.
“Fine. But you asked for it.” She crosses her arms over her chest and stares down at me. “The notion of you parading in front of your boyfriend in new lingerie as a means of relationship salvation is antiquated, demeaning, shallow, and quite frankly, downright laughable.”
I wince. Well, boom. There you have it.
“Honest to God, Alyssa. What have you done to impress him from the inside out?” she demands, voice rising in the empty room. “Did you even consider catching his attention with conversation, or discussion about the news, or a lively debate?”
A lively debate?
“I’m not sure I’m exactly debate team material…,” I mumble.
The one time I’d tried to connect with Jake’s intellectual side … I’d fallen asleep after too much Patrón.
And then I’d fallen back on my sexy lingerie.
My shoulders collapse with a sigh.
It’s easy to see how Jake’s misreading everything. Maybe he really had gotten the message I didn’t care about his dreams, or was actively against them, when really I just didn’t like the idea of more distance between us. I mean, it impresses me to no end that Jake has the fortitude and wherewithal to work with gravely ill children.
I guess it intimidates me, too, his line of work. I could never do it, and I know it.
Camila is still staring down at me, waiting for a response. It feels like being in the front of a lecture hall before a scary professor, honestly.
I take my ponytail out, run my hands through my hair, then resecure it.
“That part of his world scares me,” I admit. “Working with terminally ill kids. Beyond it being something that takes Jake away. It’s sad … and it’s hard, and I don’t think I could involve myself in it even if I wanted to. I haven’t really actively tried.”
“So make yourself.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
Camila raises an eyebrow and regards me coolly. “I got fives on eight different AP tests, a perfect score on the SAT, and graduated from Yale in five semesters.”
Her message is clear. She thinks “I don’t know if I can” is bullshit.
“My sister … Chrissi … you … you all like to try to push me out of my comfort zone, right?” she says, quieter than she’s been. “I’m not trying to be harsh, but if things are no longer so great within yours, it might be time to step outside it.”
I sit there, silent, considering.
“Here.” Camila extends a hand to help pull me to my feet and offers me a smile, just a small one. “You know what? Forget the test scores and expedited degree. If I can survive playing princess for an entire year, I’m confident you can push yourself to do anything.”
chapter 9
When the e-mail comes through the next day, I take it as a sign that Camila’s words, although biting, were full of wisdom. I mean, it’s a sign, dropped right into my in-box, complete with a little red flag notifying me of its importance. I can’t ignore it, even though these particular e-mails … in the past, I’ve deleted them as quickly as possible. Without even thinking about scrolling down to actually look at the pictures of the sick children who would be showing up at the park.
I’ve never participated in a Make-A-Wish Foundation event before.
The mere thought of it was too much sadness for me to take. I’m sorry, I’d thought, but I’m not your girl. I knew many of the kids had terminal diagnoses. Their needs eluded my positivity, my optimism. I didn’t think I had anything to contribute. And I didn’t think I could handle it, anyway.
I really respected the girls who routinely played princess at the events. But I knew better than to think I was one of them.
Today, I take a deep breath and open the e-mail. HR is pleading for someone to step in for Kathryn, who had to go home for a funeral. A little girl named Kayla had specifically asked for Cinderella, so the list of e-mail recipients was short. Not any princess would do. They needed a Cinderella.
I see Camila’s unsympathetic expression and hear her words. “So make yourself.”
Before giving it any kind of actual thought, I open a “reply” window, fire off a quick response with my availability, and hit send.
Then, I panic immediately. Oh God, Alyssa … what have you gotten yourself into?
* * *
THURSDAY MORNING WHEN I get dressed inside the Palace basement dressing room, I’m the only person down there, and it’s a little bit creepy, the changing room illuminated by dim fluorescents on timers. It’s deathly silent, and I shiver. I change quickly into Cinderella’s breakaway costume. It’s one I’ve never worn before, because typically it’s reserved for a stage production I’m not involved in due to the intricate dance routines. When I’m done, I glance in the mirror. I’m wearing Cinderella’s patchwork rag dress, and my updo is covered with another rag.
It’s still incredibly early when I ascend the stairs and open the hidden door that leads into the park—the gates haven’t opened yet and the majority of the maintenance and custodial staff aren’t present yet. Glancing skyward, I swear a somber gray cloud is hanging low over the castle, rendering its mirrored panels dark, even though it’s probably only my imagination. The sun will soon be high enough to outshine the daybreak clouds, and the familiar sights of the park are sure to be as cheerful as ever. The Diamond Palace will sparkle. But without the usual scores of people surrounding me, it’s easy to get lost inside my own mind, and I realize the truth of the matter is that … I’m scared.
What if I fail at this? What if I fall apart entirely? I’ll let everyone down.
It’s too late to turn back now. I pause outside the Palace. But if I could, I might.
I glance at my watch. You really should’ve thought about it for five seconds before signing up. I’m supposed to be there in eight minutes, and I have no choice but to keep moving forward with the plan.
Besides, I remind myself. Jake will be there. You’re not actually going to be alone.
I’m pretty sure it was the opportunity to attend Make-A-Wish events that was the actual draw for him to come to the Enchanted Dominion last year. It’s consistently one of the most popular requests with the organization, so beyond his aunt’s needling about having some fun, Jake knew he’d be a
ble to gain experience within his area of focus by working at the park. Even though he’s not a face character, there are plenty of ways for him to support MAW events at the park and interact with the kids and their families. He volunteers whenever the events fit within his schedule.
I smile a bit. He’d been surprised as hell when I told him last night on the phone that I’d be joining him today.
“So I’ll see you tomorrow night?” he’d asked, when we were about to say good-bye.
“Actually…” I took a deep breath. “You’ll see me first thing in the morning. They needed someone to fill in as Cinderella at the event, and … I said I would.”
“Oh.” He was definitely surprised. Then a moment later, “Why?”
“It’s a good thing to do. I’ve always been scared of the idea, but … I want to. I’m long overdue to volunteer.” I nod decisively, trying to bolster my courage. My voice is softer when I speak up again. “And … I respect what you’re choosing to do with your life. I want to understand it, firsthand. Beyond a video.”
“Oh,” he says again. Then I can hear him smiling. “That’s nice, Lys. I appreciate that,” he says warmly.
IQ scores don’t lie, I think. Camila really is a genius.
I settle back against my couch cushions. “I could definitely use some advice, though.” I never bite my nails but find myself gnawing on a thumbnail. “I have no idea how to mentally prepare for this.”
“I won’t lie to you. The first day, first time, whatever, it’s tough.”
My stomach drops. “Okay, not what I wanted to hear.”
“But you have to get that first time out of the way,” he continues. “Over time, it gets easier. You get desensitized. You’re doing a job. You remind yourself, ‘I’m doing a job.’ That’s how you keep from breaking. Remove your feelings from the equation; focus on the task at hand.”
I consider. It’s a weird concept to me. I put so much heart into being Cinderella. For the kids. To make their experience as authentic and magical as possible. The idea of working with kids and just being … clinical … it’s very much at odds with how I do my job.
But Jake’s work is very, very different. It’s not all sunshine and unicorns in his world. And what he’s saying, I guess it makes sense.
“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind,” I say. “It will be good to have … I don’t know … a little mantra. Focus on the job.”
At the other end of the line, he hesitates in responding. “You sure you wanna do this? It’s not easy.”
“I’m sure,” I lie.
“Okay, well, good for you,” he finally says. “I’m proud of you.”
Bolstered by his advice and his pride, I was hopeful I’d survive.
But now the moment is actually, really here, and walking through the dark and somber castle tunnel, my hands shake at my sides. There are no other princesses on the scene to help shoulder the responsibility. After the early morning carousel ride, where I’ll find the rest of the MAW volunteers, I’ll join them in the dining hall at the Palace, where we’ll greet the guests as a group. But for now … it’s just me. And I have to get myself to that merry-go-round.
The carousel is only about a hundred yards away when I freeze in place, dropping to the base of the life-size Cinderella statue in a last-minute attempt to both hide and collect myself. I stare up at this portrayal of my idol. She boasts a calm, assured smile. She’s looking bright-eyed out over the park. Her expression never changes regardless of what comes her way, thunder and lightning, snowstorms, hurricanes. I rub my hand over her bronze apron for good luck. I wish I was as resilient as you are. Stay with me today.
Her presence is comforting, and I know I’ll still be able to see her from the carousel once I climb aboard to ride with the children. I feel ready to stand, but as soon as I do, I realize a crowd has started to gather around the carousel. I spot wheelchairs and other heavy-looking medical equipment. I think I see an oxygen tank. I inhale a quick, panicked breath and drop down to the base of the statue again. Oh God.
Suddenly a hand is on my shoulder, causing me to startle. I whirl around and look up in surprise, finding Miller behind me. Either he approached silently or I was too caught up in worrying to hear him.
My hand goes to my chest. I study him standing there, looking more put together than I’m used to seeing him, short beard neatly trimmed, wearing a gray polo shirt with the park’s insignia tucked into a pair of neat khakis. “What are you doing here so early?”
I ran into him last night, when I was on my way to get my nails done and he was walking home from a pickup basketball game. I know I didn’t mention my morning plans, because I’d been trying not to think about them. And he hadn’t mentioned a reason for getting to the park this early, either.
“I always do a few of these a year.” He winks at me. “My presence causes nowhere near the stir that yours will, but they always need a bunch of volunteers on hand to make sure everything goes smoothly and that the families get everything they could possibly need or want.” He shrugs. “I don’t mind helping out with it.”
Of course he doesn’t. I should have known.
I slowly stand up and he nudges me, glancing toward the statue. “What are you doing here, though?” Miller raises an eyebrow at me. “First timer?”
I smooth my damp hands over my threadbare skirt, feeling their heat on my thighs through the thin fabric. “That obvious?” I murmur.
“The first time is the hardest,” he tells me. “When you don’t know what to expect. But at the end of the day, they’re just kids. Back at school, I hung out with the kids at the duPont Hospital for Children every other month or so.” He shrugs. “Guess it was always a little easier when I was able to hide behind YouDee, though.”
I hear the clock start chiming, and my panic reignites. I’m supposed to be there. Now. “Oh God,” I inhale.
Miller chuckles. He squeezes my shoulders once, twice, like a trainer prepping a boxer for the fight of his life. “You got this, Princess.” Then he gestures toward the crowd. “I’m late. I gotta run. You do, too. Star of the show and all that.”
“Right…”
He’s already turned to go but glances back at me one last time. “Just be human, Lys. And remember they’re human, too. Look them in the eye.”
I don’t say anything, and he gives me a final thumbs-up before jogging off. “And you’ll be okay. You will.”
I watch Miller as he joins the group, finding someone with a clipboard who appears to be in charge, standing in the center of the families, and whispers something in her ear. She nods, looking over her shoulder in my direction, and points Miller and two other volunteers toward a stack of cardboard boxes.
Stealthily, hiding beneath awnings and sticking close to shop walls, I follow his path, so I’m within hearing range and can observe what’s going on.
I see them passing out sparkling magic wands with long, colorful streamers. Miller appears entirely comfortable as he greets the children, offering high fives and smiles, and seeing him so at ease allows me to feel slightly less panicked.
I crane my neck, searching for Jake. He has a frown of concentration on his face as he examines levels on some type of oxygen tank or something. I stare at him, sending him a mental message to look up so he’ll meet my eye and smile, but all his attention is focused on the equipment.
When every last child and sibling present has been given a wand, the coordinator begins speaking into a microphone. “Helllllo, everyone! We’ve got a wonderful morning ahead. Who here’s ready?”
Not me, I think at first. But then I smile slowly as I realize several kids are bouncing in their wheelchair seats, several others grinning behind oxygen tubes. It surprises me how happy they seem, how much energy they exude. I expected much worse.
The woman glances at her watch. “I’ve just received notice that Cinderella should be here any moment.”
A hush falls over the crowd.
“And when she appears, do we all know the magic
words to change her from peasant to princess?”
“YE-ES!” they all shout in unison, already waving their wands.
“Oh, Cinderella…,” the woman trills. “Will you join us? Will you make our wishes come true?”
My stomach drops to my feet. That’s my cue. I take a final glance in Jake’s direction, he finally looks up, and I run out, forcing a huge smile on my face, to the front of the carousel. Then I freeze in position, expectant smile on my face, waiting for what’s to come next. Oh God, please let it work. I’ve never handled the breakaway dress, and this could be disastrous.
“Abracadabra, fiddle-dee-dee!” the coordinator shouts.
“Abracadabra, fiddle-dee-dee!” they echo, waving wands and in some cases stomping feet.
I tilt onto my tiptoes. I spin in a pirouette, frantically tugging on the cord that causes my peasant skirt to drop to my feet and the full skirt of my chiffon gown to puff out once it’s free. Using some sleight of hand when I’m turned away from them, I quickly tear the bandanna from my head and my curls spring free.
By the time I’m facing them again, I’ve become a princess, glittery and shiny and grinning from ear to ear. They gasp their excitement and appreciation of the spectacle.
Now my smile is 100 percent genuine, not only because I pulled it off and the transformation was a success, but because their smiles are so huge I can’t help but smile, too. I dance among them, waving and blowing kisses. “Good morning, my friends. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Who would like to ride the carousel with me on this beautiful morning?”
Their response is a resounding yes. I throw a quick, triumphant smile in Jake’s direction before saying, “Well, c’mon, then!” and ushering the group toward the entrance to the merry-go-round. I wait long enough to see him smile in return.
Getting them all settled on the carousel takes a long time. My heart threatens to break in half as I watch parents transport some of the children, those with fragile, skeletal limbs, as if they’re made of glass. There are wheelchairs that need to be secured to the base of the ride. Jake helps with a lot of the heavy lifting, while I watch from my perch atop a shiny white stallion adorned with pink roses.