by Karole Cozzo
On my way, I do, however, run smack into Rose. Literally, our shoulders bump, and when she looks over her shoulder to offer a quick apology she stops in her tracks and instantly causes a ten-person pileup.
Before I can disappear into the masses, I feel her hand closing around my forearm and she drags me out of harm’s way, right into a cluster of artistically trimmed shrubs.
“Hey, stranger.” She looks at me pointedly. “Long time no see.”
“Hey, Rose.” I glance toward her shirt, a gauzy white top printed with vines and tea roses. “Your shirt is sweet. Does it have a name?”
I knew it. She can’t resist. “Yes,” she tells me, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “The rose less traveled.”
I grin. “Très apropos.”
She doesn’t smile back. “Nice try. But you’re not going to dodge this conversation.”
I hem. I haw. I look at the ground. Finally I sigh. “It’s awkward,” I admit. “The whole situation … it’s just too awkward.”
“Get past it,” she tells me bluntly. “The summer’s more than half over, and to hell if I’m going to let you ignore us for the rest of it. We’re friends,” she reminds me. “Chrissi’s a wreck. She thinks you’re mad at her.”
I look away, feeling guilty for the first time about my behavior toward the girls. “I’m not mad. And I wasn’t ignoring you. I just … wasn’t ready to be cheered up.”
“Next time I call you, answer the damn phone.”
“Okay.” I nod. “I will.”
She reaches out, her pinkie finger raised. “Pinkie promise.”
I giggle. “You don’t have to make me pinkie promise.”
“Do it,” she orders.
I roll my eyes and oblige her, intertwining my finger with hers. “I pinkie promise that I will pick up the phone next time you call.”
“Good. I gotta go.” She wags her finger at me before moving on. “Answer your phone!”
She disappears into the madness in seconds, and I continue on my course toward the cast member tent. People are spilling out of it—hundreds of employees are on-site—and again I consider how unlikely it will be that Miller and I are here in the same area at the same time. Then two seconds later I find him, front and center, holding a bullhorn.
“Get up here!” he bellows over the crowd when he spots me. “I was saving a spot for you.”
Smiling, I grab a bunch of rainbow-colored balloons from the helium tank and push my way through the bodies to Miller.
And no wonder he was able to secure the spot he did. His energy is as high as I’ve ever seen it, and his enthusiasm never fades. He cheers the loudest when runners cross the line. He approaches those who seemed to struggle the most in the homestretch, putting a hand on their backs and personally congratulating them. He makes a point of thanking active military personnel for their service.
Sometimes I have to stop and watch him. His excitement is so genuine, and it’s impressive. It’s impossible not to get caught up in his spirit. A few runners even move me to tears with their tears, at what an accomplishment this is for them, or the person they’re running in memory of, a photo on their shirts.
The finish line of the marathon is alive with triumph and joy and emotion. I love being a part of it, love that it’s one more wonderful aspect of being a cast member at the Enchanted Dominion.
Around ten forty-five, in the middle of the pack, a runner crossing the finish line catches my attention. Hands poised midclap, they fall still, and the smile slides off my face.
It’s Harper. I take a step back, even though there’s little chance of her seeing me anyway, as caught up as she is in finishing. She collapses to her knees in the soft grass and pumps her hands in the air as someone comes over and places a medal around her neck. It’s one of the specially designed ones, honoring EE employees who actively participate in the marathon.
I rub my throat, trying to swallow back the bitter taste in my mouth. Harper just successfully completed a marathon, and I’m merely standing on the sidelines, playing cheerleader. I was so proud to be here, had been feeling so proud about finishing my stupid boxing classes, and now …
Insult is promptly added to injury. As soon as she gets back on her feet, Jake appears. He wraps her up in a hug, lifting her off the ground.
I watch them, for no other reason than it’s impossible to turn away. It’s numbing, watching them, the idea that I ever felt like I knew either one of them.
They’re moving on. They’re happy. I was merely a bump in the road to their future together.
I find myself backpedaling, away from the finish line, the cheers, the time clock. I work my way to the outskirts of the crowd and lean against a low wall. But I can’t get far enough away, and I still see them.
Miller appears in my peripheral vision a few moments later. He’s bounding toward me, still pumped, huge smile on his face. It falters as soon as he sees the look on mine.
“Whoa, what’s up, Ali?” he asks me. “Where’d your spirit go?”
I’m not in the mood to joke around. I point toward Jake and Harper. “It went right over there.”
If they’re not hiding it anymore, then I’m not going to hide it for them.
Jake bends down to kiss Harper.
Miller seems to pale a bit. “Holy shit,” he mutters. He looks at me worriedly. “Did you know about that? Or…”
I nod quickly. “That’s the reason he broke up with me. Her. But … I wasn’t really expecting to see that today.” I shrug. “Really, it’s nothing more than the final nail, seeing them together, but still”—I screw my face up—“not my idea of a good time.”
Miller doesn’t hesitate. “Do you want to go?”
If I stay, running into them, directly, seems almost inevitable. They, too, have access to the cast-only areas.
“Yes,” I decide at once.
Miller nods, drops his bullhorn on a table, and looks around. He takes my hand and leads me through the crowded pavilion to an open area of the parking lot beyond it. He drops my hand when we’ve cleared the crowd, and we walk in silence around the perimeter of the lot until we’ve looped back to the shuttle depot, the huge, red blood bank tent set up beside it.
Miller looks hesitant as he broaches the subject. “Did you still want to donate or … just bail?”
I stare at the tent for a long minute. Honestly, I just want to get out of there.
But man, I hate feeling weak these days. Leaving feels like such a cop-out.
Chin up, Princess, or the crown slips.
I actually lift my chin. I came here with the intent to donate, and I still should.
I make a face at Miller. “Oh, why not? I just had my heart crushed … the blood should be plentiful.”
“And you need to get your shirt.”
“Right. I do need my shirt. They are in fact supercute this year.”
I lead the way into the tent, where we stand in line to register and show ID, and move on to answer some questions about our medical and travel histories and have our pulse and temperature taken. After some volunteers take a small blood sample to test our hemoglobin levels, we’re directed to semicomfortable chairs for the actual donation. The insertion of the needle isn’t that bad—just a quick prick—and then we’re told to relax for about ten minutes until they’ve collected what they need.
Miller and I sit side by side during the draw, lost in our own thoughts, until the nurses reappear to remove the needles and take away the full blood bags. I never like to watch that part. One nurse places a piece of gauze over the red spot on my arm and tells me to hold it in place. I do as she says, collapsing against the chair back and applying pressure with my fingers.
“You wanna grab some lunch when we get out of here?” Miller asks. He deftly removes the gauze and slaps a small Band-Aid on to his arm.
“Yeah, sure.”
“You look worn out,” he says with a smile. “You should eat something so you don’t pass out.”
I exhale sl
owly. “Not sure if it’s so much the blood donation or…”
He scoots his chair over and slings an arm over my shoulder. “You’ll be okay,” he says.
I allow myself to feel comforted, for a few seconds, before I feel the need to refocus. To stop wallowing and redirect.
“You were a real great cheerleader out there,” I tell him, standing up. “I’m sorry I pulled you away.”
Miller rises, too. “It’s cool. I was there for a few hours before you showed up, anyway.” He smirks at me. “The cheering comes naturally. You do know I actually won the UCA National Mascot Championship this year?”
I stop in my tracks. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious. I was down here, in Daytona, in January for the competition. The cheerleading squad as a whole placed second. But in the mascot competition? I took top honors.”
I slap his forearm. “Why didn’t you let me know you were down here in January? I wouldn’t have missed that.” I consider the missed opportunity of seeing Miller run around in front of thousands in a giant chicken costume. “Man, I am bummed.”
“No worries. There’s video evidence, obviously.”
“Can I watch it? I have to know what it takes to win a national giant chicken award. Is it on YouTube?”
“No need for YouTube. I have the DVD at my apartment. Come over now.” He shrugs. “We can just order pizza instead of going out.”
* * *
FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER I’m back at Miller’s apartment and a pizza’s on its way. I’m sitting on his couch, staring at his television screen in fascination. The segment is from ESPN, and I recognize the commentator hosting the championship. The crowds fill a huge stadium, divided into segments by school colors, and the energy is palpable.
Then Miller’s front and center, turning backflips and leaping from trampolines, all while dressed in a six-foot-tall bird costume with a huge plumage behind him.
“OMG,” I proclaim, accepting a cold bottle of water from Miller, who comes to sit down beside me. “This is no joke. I can’t believe that’s you.”
“Cheerleading is in fact a sport,” he jokes. “And YouDee has a very proud history. He’s been a national champion several times over and is only one of seven college mascots inducted into the Mascot Hall of Fame.”
“The Mascot Hall of Fame?”
He provides no further explanation. “Several guys who have been YouDee went on to be mascots for NFL teams. The guy who turned over the feathers to me is now Swoop for the Philadelphia Eagles.”
I giggle. “You didn’t share that aspiration?”
“Yeah, no,” he says, taking a drink from his water bottle. “Even I knew that was taking it a bit too far.” He rolls his eyes. “My parents would’ve been happy, though. I would’ve been just across the bridge instead of a coastline away.”
He glances at his watch, which I notice is authentic Enchanted gear, with a hand drawing of Drako on its face. “Speaking of … shit.” Reaching below the coffee table, he produces an iPad. “I’m supposed to FaceTime with them in about five minutes. It’s my brother’s birthday.”
I start to stand. “Should I step out or something?”
Miller waves the idea off. “No, stay. It’s all good. Trust me, you’ll probably get a kick out of them.”
He’s right, and the members of Miller’s family are every bit as entertaining as he is. They’re loud and boisterous, all talking over one another and physically pushing into the frame. His mom inadvertently disconnects the call three times, proclaiming, “I hate technology!” each time she reappears.
His brothers are smaller, nonbearded versions of Miller who tumble off the couches and pummel one another between snippets of conversation.
“Wait, Ry wants to talk to you before you hang up!” his mother calls when Miller starts saying good-byes.
“Who’s Ry?” I whisper.
“Ryder. She’s my little sister. She’s eight.” He grins. “And now that you’ve seen my brothers, you’ll understand why she’s the way she is.”
“How is she?”
“Tomboy and a half.”
Seconds later, a fierce-looking, unsmiling little girl appears on the screen. At first I don’t know what to make out of her expression, but then I realize she’s in costume, dressed as Rey from the latest Star Wars movie. She’s even brandishing a lightsaber.
“Hi, Ry!” Miller greets the screen with a friendly wave. He blows her a kiss. Then he gestures toward me with his thumb. “This is my friend Alyssa.”
She doesn’t bother to greet me. She just points the lightsaber at the screen.
“I like your costume, Ryder,” I tell her, leaning toward the screen. “Very cool. Are you coming from a party?”
“No,” she answers me blankly.
“She wears that every day,” Miller says. He looks back at the screen. “Alyssa likes to dress up, too,” he tells his sister. “She’s Cinderella at the park.”
I smile, waiting for the inevitable oohing and aahing that will follow.
“Princesses SUCK!” Ryder shouts. She swings her lightsaber over her head and down and across in a fierce slashing motion. “Prepare to suffer, Princess!”
I scoot away, somewhat concerned, and Miller can barely end the conversation his face is so red from trying not to laugh at my reaction.
When he finally says good-bye, I look over at him, wide-eyed. “I never thought I’d say this about a little girl…,” I begin slowly, “… but oh my God. I think your sister might be my mortal enemy!”
Miller, who was finishing off his water, starts laughing so hard I think he’s choking.
And I can’t do anything but join in. I start laughing so hard my sides hurt and I collapse against the arm of the couch. My abs are still sore from yesterday’s class, and it really hurts.
“I think she just tried to smite me with a lightsaber!”
This only makes him laugh harder.
I’m laughing so hard, so long, that I have no idea when it is that he stops laughing, until I look over and catch him regarding me seriously. I sit up straight and wipe my eyes. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s good to see you laughing again.” He pauses. “It sucks when you’re sad.”
“Well, duh. Being sad sucks.”
“No. I mean it sucks when you’re sad.” Miller scratches at his beard. “Admittedly, I was fairly wasted that night I ran into you with your sorority sisters. But I did have a point.”
“A point about what?”
“When I told you you’re like them but you’re not.”
He stares at the blank TV screen; he taps his fingers on his thighs.
“You have this … light about you, all right? You’re nice. Below the surface, you’re nice.” He shakes his head. “Most girls, especially ones who look like you do, it’s not like that.”
I glance down, embarrassed at the compliment.
“So from a third party’s perspective? It’d be a damn shame to see that … I don’t know … go out. A little moping, that’s understandable. But…” He struggles, at a loss for words. “It’s just good to see you laughing again.”
The doorbell rings, and Miller stands to go retrieve our pizza.
chapter 18
Rose wastes no time in cashing in on my promise. She texts me at eight o’clock the next morning.
Are u working today?
I’m still lying in bed as I text her back. I have to be in at 1:30.
Prrrfect. She includes three cat-with-heart-eyes emoticons. We’ll stop by to pick you up in an hour.
I smile and shake my head. She’s sweet, trying to leave it at that, but … I dial her number.
“Hello?”
“I’m going to need a few more details.”
“Chrissi, Camila, and I are working today. They need to start prepping by noon, and I’m in at two. So before that, we’re crashing breakfast at the Diamond Palace and stopping by wardrobe for a preliminary search. The Character Ball is only a couple weeks away. Come wi
th us.”
I hesitate. The Character Ball means little to me anymore, but there’s no way I’m passing up a meal at the Palace. Rose was probably well aware of this in making her invite. Sneaky, that one. But ultimately, a pinkie promise is a pinkie promise, and I’m still upset that Chrissi’s been thinking I’m mad at her. And even though I’ve been avoiding them … I’m glad they still think of me as the fourth member of their party.
“Okay,” I agree. “I’ll be ready in an hour.”
“Yes, I know,” Rose says coolly, before hanging up.
Because we’re having breakfast at the Palace, I dress in a sundress and cardigan before packing my bag of things I’ll need for my afternoon shift. Then I wait for the girls.
When my doorbell rings a few minutes later and I open it to reveal the twins, at first glance I realize how much I’ve missed them, this incongruous pair. Camila’s hair is parted down the middle, her face is free of makeup, and she’s wearing a drab green dress. Rose is wearing a wild floral-print sundress. She has perfectly painted red lips, and her hair is arranged into two curly pigtails. Rose’s look screams for attention, while Camila’s begs to fade into the background. I smile widely. “Morning, sisters. Thanks for letting me crash with you. Where’s Chrissi?”
“I’m right here!” I hear her before I see her, and then she’s pushing her way between Rose and Camila, using her elbows, trying to reach me. “I mean, I know I’m short, but I didn’t realize I was completely invisible.” She raises her eyebrow; it gets lost beneath her messy bangs.
Then she wraps her arms around me in a vise grip. “Thank you for coming out.” She steps back and squeezes my hand, staring at me intently. “We miss you.”
Rose links her elbow through mine and hauls me out of the apartment. “Yes. More on that later. For now, we’ve got to jet. We have a nine forty-five reservation. If we’re late, you know they’re not letting us in.”
We hurry to the shuttle, and upon arriving at the gates hurry some more, down the main corridor, and over the drawbridge to the entrance of the Palace.