The Truth About Happily Ever After

by Karole Cozzo

  Her words keep turning over on themselves in my brain.

  Internalize the illusion … internalize the illusion …

  I pour some of the makeup remover onto the cloth and swipe it over the left side of my face. The sexy Jackal disappears at once. She vanishes like that; she was never real. There’s no trace left behind.

  And that’s the thing about illusions.

  I put the cloth down, figuring out why her words got to me.

  Sometimes internalizing an illusion is a good thing.

  And sometimes it’s not.

  Today marks four weeks since Jake broke up with me. But the truth is, our relationship was over a lot longer than that. Because our relationship was an illusion, one that I wanted to believe in, one that I had internalized, because I so badly wanted it to be the real thing.

  I loved the idea of Jake. I loved that we started out as a fairy tale, and that my fairy-tale prince was good looking and stable and on his way to an honorable career. I loved the illusion.

  Beyond it … I stare down at the sink, feeling particularly foolish. Beyond it … I’m hard pressed to remember the last time Jake had made me feel more happy than nervous in his presence, the last time he gave me a sense of security rather than a fear of loss. The last time we felt like pleasure rather than work.

  So I guess … sometimes … Rose is right. An illusion can be empowering. But sometimes an illusion can be debilitating.

  You stare at an illusion for too long, you stop looking for something real. Maybe you stop even remembering what it feels like.

  chapter 19

  I groan, collapsing onto a mat and leaning heavily against the mirrored wall behind me. It’s dirty from handprints, so I’m not concerned about resting my sweaty body against it. Three minutes of heavy breathing later, I extend my arm in Miller’s direction. “Come onnn,” I plead. “Help me up.”

  He shadowboxes in front of me, bouncing from foot to foot. Seriously, where does that energy come from? “Help yourself up, lady.”

  “What is it with you and Jarred?” I wonder aloud, struggling, mightily, to my feet. “You both seem to think a few weeks automatically turns me into a seasoned pro.” I point to myself. “Still struggling here!”

  “I’ll buy you a protein shake, how ’bout that?”

  “That, I will take,” I agree. The chocolate-strawberry ones actually taste like a chocolate-covered strawberry. And I feel like I actually recoup some energy a bit later when I drink them.

  Miller turns around and tosses his arm around Yael’s shoulders. “Ya-ya, you wanna come to the juice bar with us?”

  I glance down at my sneakers. I guess I’m not surprised he has nicknames for her, too. I guess he probably has nicknames for everyone.

  “Nah, I want to do fifteen minutes on the bike to cool down,” she says, zipping up a sweatshirt. “I’ll catch up with you at home.”

  She doesn’t bother to say good-bye to me.

  Miller laughs at me when, in the hallway, I stab mightily at the elevator button. He tugs on my arm and pulls me toward the stairwell instead. “We’re going down! We’re not even going up!”

  “Come baaack!” I call longingly in the direction of the elevator as I see the button turning green.

  I more or less let gravity carry my limp body down the stairs and fall onto the first available stool at the juice bar counter. We order our shakes, then chat over the whirring blender noises in the background.

  Miller studies my face. “You look different today,” he says.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, instantly self-conscious.

  He moves his hand in a circle in front of his face. “I don’t know … just different. Au naturel, or something.”

  “Maybe I’m just glowing from all the sweat,” I say.

  I don’t tell him the complete truth, that I’ve finally given up on wearing full makeup to the gym. Friday power hours just make a complete mess of it. Today, for the first time ever, I skipped the concealer, mascara, and lip gloss. I’m wearing just a dab of foundation and a hint of bronzer.

  Two tall Styrofoam cups are placed before us, and after we both take a long sip of our shakes, Miller asks, “So how’d last night go for you?”

  I roll my eyes at once. “Oh my gosh.”

  Last night was Drako the Dragon’s twenty-fifth birthday celebration. There’d been a huge princess dance party, a sixty-thousand-pound, reptilian-shaped cake, and giant LED birthday candles handed out to guests. There had also been a near riot when guests stormed the blockades that were meant to grant dance party access to guests with tickets only.

  “Consider yourself lucky that you were at one of the satellite parties,” I say. “Did you hear what happened at the Dragon’s Lair?”

  Miller nods.

  “It was absolute insanity. I think it was the first time I actually felt scared inside the park. Chrissi and I got separated, and when the guests broke in, it was just like a tidal wave of people coming toward the stage. Of course security was focused on getting One Direction out of there ASAP, so we were left to our own devices for a few. Finally an attendant just grabbed me and practically carried me over to the next party quadrant.”

  “Chrissi get out okay, too?”

  “Well, my plan was to wait for her,” I tell him, taking another pull on my straw. “But when they dropped me off near the Palace, they didn’t think anything about logistics. I look up, and I see another Cinderella, like, fifty feet away.”

  The panic I felt in that moment had trumped the worry I felt when the crowd had been rushing toward me moments earlier. Because basically, the first cardinal rule of Enchanted Princesses is “Never be seen at the same time in the same place as your Enchanted double.”

  “You would have died if you saw me, Miller. Most people had their heads up because the fireworks were starting, but a few little girls … I was watching their eyes go back and forth between the two of us. Ready to tug on their moms’ shirts and everything.”

  “So what did you do?” he asks.

  I shrug. “I did what I had to do. I dropped onto my belly and basically army crawled to this row of shrubs that wasn’t too far away. I hurled myself into one and hid there for about half an hour.”

  Miller cracks up, shaking his head. “Only you, Alyssa, only you.”

  My eyes go wide. “It’s cardinal rule number one!”

  “Yes. Even in the middle of a near prison riot,” he deadpans.

  “So anyway, then I find out from Rose that things were even wor—”

  I’m interrupted by his phone ringing loudly, and when he pulls it out to see who’s calling, I think I notice his face go a little bit pale. He stands at once. “Uh, I’m sorry, Lys, normally I wouldn’t, but…” He holds up one finger. “Just give me a sec.”

  Then he darts around the corner, and I hear him nervously answer his phone a second later. “Hello?”

  I sit there, nearly dying of curiosity for several minutes. I finish my drink; I consider ordering a to-go wrap.

  Then, when I’ve almost given up on his return, all of a sudden he comes bounding around the corner, jumping up and down, pumping his fist into the air. “I got the internship!” he yells.

  Weary body forgotten, I’m off my stool at once, running to meet him halfway, throwing my arms around him. “Miller! Oh my God! Congratulations!”

  His grin is the definition of cheek splitting, and he’s spitting the story out as fast as he can manage. “They said I was a ‘shoo-in.’ That my portfolio was a standout and had an impressive level of attention to EE detail. Coupled with my devotion to the company, they didn’t think twice after reviewing my application.”

  I laugh. “All that Kangzagoo time paid off.”

  “I can start as early as two weeks. They’re even willing to coordinate with my park schedule if I still want to pick up shifts since the pay isn’t that great.”

  “I’m so happy for you!” I pull back, still holding on to his arms, and study his face. “Seriously, Mill
er, I am so, so happy for you. No one deserves this more than you do. Like, as both a person and an artist.”

  I bring him back in for another hug. I mean every word, and I’m thrilled.

  We linger there for a minute, embracing, and it’s Miller who ultimately steps back.

  His cheeks look a bit red, and despite his excitement he’s suddenly a bit subdued. “And uh, I definitely want to hear the rest of the story.” He glances toward the stairs. “But I promised Yael I’d let her know the second the call came in this week, so…”

  I step away and wave him off. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Of course.” I tighten my ponytail, feeling a bit silly, like maybe I let my enthusiasm get the better of me.

  “I’ll be right back,” he says, already jogging toward the stairwell, wide, excited grin reemerging on his face.

  I sink back onto my stool, my excitement draining quickly, wondering why that’s the case. Of course he’s going to share the news with others; it’s not like I should be feeling … possessive of this moment. Miller has other friends, lots of them, and I just happened to be the one sitting next to him when the news actually came in.

  To busy myself, I pull out my wallet and slip my credit card inside the black bill portfolio, covering his drink and asking the server to put one of the small, gluten-free cupcakes they sell inside a box for him as my official “congratulations.”

  chapter 20

  I work the park the day of the Coldplay concert, so I change into my concert-appropriate tank top and ripped jeggings beneath the Palace and catch a bus downtown. There’s a stop pretty close to the amphitheater, and it’s a short walk to the parking lot. I know Miller, Yael, and her friend are already there, probably already camped out around the small charcoal grill among the rows of cars.

  I text Miller to let him know I’m on my way, and he answers immediately, letting me know where they’re set up in the ginormous parking lot. Section B6. Glancing up at the signs above me, I turn around, and reroute. Eventually section B comes into view.

  As I walk, I realize I’m nervously clenching and unclenching the straps of my shoulder bag as I approach them. It’s kind of a foreign situation—I’m not used to feeling uncertain when making an appearance. I mean, I make grand appearances, every single day, for a living. I’m used to having all eyes on me. I’m used to attracting attention when I’m with my Zeta sisters; I’m used to getting stares when I walk down the street by myself.

  But …

  When Miller had walked away from me at the juice bar, it was like … I don’t know what it was like. It was, like, I hadn’t wanted him to go, some weird sense of loss as he ran off to share his big news with someone else.

  The sensation was unsettling and kind of surprising. These past few weeks, getting used to being alone, without the girls around all the time, without a boyfriend … it was just a weird sense of lingering attachment.

  But despite this weird bit of awkwardness regarding Miller that I can’t quite shake, days later, at least he smiles when he sees me approaching. He waves enthusiastically, friendly as ever, making me feel welcome and like nothing has changed between us.

  Yael … her demeanor isn’t nearly as inviting. I swear her spine stiffens as I walk up, and her lips are moving behind her soda bottle like she’s mumbling something to the girl beside her. I smile in their direction when I join the group, because I don’t want her poor attitude to put a damper on the night. I love outdoor shows.

  “Hey.” I squeeze Miller’s arm in greeting as I approach, finding myself struggling to meet his eye, which bothers me. Why am I being so bashful? I force myself to look at him, but then feel heat infuse my cheeks when my eyes find his.

  I glance away quickly, turning to Yael instead. I say hello, trying to be nice. It takes a lot of effort, because she’s still scowling. Also because she’s wearing one of those loathsome T-shirts with an image that portrays EE’s Little Mermaid covered in tattoos, smoking, wearing hipster glasses and a ripped Jack Daniels T-shirt. In my personal opinion, those T-shirts are sacrilege, but I put my personal opinion aside in an attempt to keep the peace.

  Really, I just want her to know I’m not evil incarnate just because I’m a park princess.

  “Hey, Yael.” I reach into my bag and produce a thin envelope with some cash, which I extend in her direction. “Thanks for offering up the extra ticket. I was superexcited to get it.”

  Her mouth is a flat line as she takes the payment and stuffs it into the back pocket of her denim shorts. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t really me who offered it up,” she says.

  Miller chuckles. “Put your claws away, Yael. We’re all friends here.”

  I tried, I think, then turn toward her friend instead, reaching out to shake her hand. “Hi. I’m Alyssa.”

  “Hey. Daniella.”

  When I get a better look at her, I narrow my eyes, pausing. “I know you,” I say.

  At once I can tell she’s more pleasant than Yael, even if that’s not sayin’ much. There’s amusement in her eyes when she tells me, “Probably. I used to work at the Shimmy ’n’ Shake Shack.”

  It’s a popular smoothie stand, right off the main path near the Diamond Palace. I’m sort of a regular.

  “That’s it! I thought you looked familiar.” I study her for a second longer. “Guess it’s the hair that threw me.”

  It was white blond before. It’s ombre turquoise and indigo now.

  “It threw HR, too.” She laughs, running her hand through her short locks. “I got fired.”

  To say that Enchanted Enterprises has a strict policy about staff member appearance, even for those who don’t portray its characters, is putting it mildly.

  Daniella sticks out her tongue, revealing a piercing in its center. “So I figured might as well put this baby back in, too!”

  Yael sighs. “I love the hair, but I still think it was foolish. Where are you going to find another seasonal job at this point?”

  Daniella shrugs. “It was a job making smoothies. I’m sorry, I just wasn’t willing to be a bland, carbon-copy park employee in the name of family values. It’s antiquated. What kind of message are they sending to all the parents who visit the park with colored hair, or tattoos, or piercings? They’re basically saying they’re unfit parents if they don’t look like Mr. and Mrs. Brady.”

  She ends her soapbox and takes a quick swig of her drink.

  And I see why she and Yael get along. So anti–EE establishment …

  I glance toward Miller for some kind of rescue before Yael starts getting some digs in about how I so wholeheartedly espouse Enchanted dogmas or something, but he’s busy setting up the grill, squirting lighter fluid between the grates.

  Daniella nods in my direction. “Is this your first Coldplay show?”

  “No, I saw them a couple years ago when they toured in the U.S. And last year in London, actually.”

  “London? Did you do a semester abroad or something?”

  “No, umm…” I tuck my hair behind my ear, thinking Yael won’t appreciate a mention of my sorority sisters. “I went with a friend.”

  I leave out the part about the company jet.

  “It was this supersmall venue. It felt like a private performance. It was amazing.”

  “Yeah, but they put on a fantastic show when they go all out, too.”

  “Yeah, they do,” I agree. When I saw them on tour, it was more an experience in color and sound and love than a show.

  Yael crosses her arms over her chest and stares at me defiantly. It’s like any pleasant conversation I’m having with anyone she has to put a damper on. “Didn’t think this would be your scene,” she tells me.

  I just keep smiling and gratefully accept a cold water bottle from Miller when he comes back over. “Well, I adore Coldplay. Do you have a favorite record?”

  “I like their older stuff. Their latest album is too pop for me. I kind of think they’ve sold out, but…” She shrugs.

  “Oh, I think they’ve just evolved.”

&nb
sp; I see Miller from the corner of my eye, his gaze ping-ponging back and forth between me and Yael as we debate the merits, or lack thereof, of the latest album. His grin keeps widening; he’s obviously getting a kick out of us going at it, duking it out like oil and water.

  But when the debate ends and Miller removes a pack of hot dogs from the cooler, I notice the way she subtly steps closer to him, inserting herself between the two of us. And suddenly I remember that there’s another reason why Yael’s not so quick to warm up to me. I don’t know what their status is exactly, but all signs point to something beyond friendship.

  And I don’t particularly like the idea of feeling like a third wheel.

  So when I’m scanning the crowd of tailgaters surrounding us and spot a girl wearing a Coral State T-shirt, I go over and introduce myself, make polite conversation. It’s conversation that comes much easier than my attempts with Yael and Daniella, and we uncover common friends and acquaintances.

  By the time I’ve returned, Yael has set up bottles of ketchup, mustard, and relish atop the cooler, and Miller is doling out dogs.

  “You hungry, Lys?” he asks me.

  “I’m okay. I grabbed something at the park on my way out.”

  He raises an eyebrow at me. “You sure?”

  I nod and smile. “I’m sure.”

  I don’t want him thinking I’m not eating again. Truthfully, I don’t readily eat hot dogs, because the ingredient list kind of creeps me out. But otherwise, I realize I can’t remember the last time I’ve been weird about food in front of Miller. I shared the pizza with him without it even crossing my mind not to. And another day inside the park, I agreed to have lunch with him at the barbecue stand instead of trying to drag him over to the salad station. I hope he’s not still worrying.

  The rest of them eat some dogs and some chips and salsa. I accept a light beer, still trying to drown this lingering sense of unease as Yael keeps managing to insert herself between me and Miller. If I was so unwelcome, why on earth did she agree to let me take the ticket?

  And despite her best efforts, when we finally head inside and find a spot on the grassy hill, Miller sits down beside me on one of the old blankets. He tosses an arm around my shoulders, just as he’s always done. “Having fun?” he asks, smiling down at me.