by Karole Cozzo
Camila stares at me. A slow smile lifts her lips. “You may be my new favorite person. Do it.”
Rose slaps her sister’s wrist. “Don’t encourage her!” She glances upward. “There’s a smoke detector right there.”
“I’ll be careful.” I drag the small metal trash can over from the kitchen and ceremoniously drop the binder inside. “Open the windows, Camila.”
She hurries over to comply.
“This is happening, smoke detector be damned. It burns today.” I inhale a deep breath through my nose and stick my chest out. “And I shall arise like the mighty phoenix from its ashes, cleansed and fairy-tale free. So there, stupid boys.”
Rose comes over and plants herself between me and the can. “You have officially gone batshit crazy.”
“Let me do this, Rose!”
I shift right, she follows me, and I quickly shift back to my left. I just manage to dodge her at the same time as I engage the trigger on the lighter and a small flame appears at its tip. Leaning over the rim of the can, I reach down and touch lighter to binder. There is a millisecond of “oh-my-God-what-have-I-done,” which is instantly replaced by a deep sense of satisfaction as the binder catches fire.
Chrissi, Rose, and Camila gasp collectively and jump back.
“Everybody stay calm,” I say. I peek into the can. “It’s totally contained.”
It is. For about twenty seconds. But all that glue and lace and glitter is surprisingly flammable, and all of a sudden, flames are leaping out of the trash can. A pillar of gray smoke shoots toward the ceiling.
“Where’s your fire extinguisher?” Rose screams.
“I don’t know!”
“You don’t know?”
“No! I don’t know!”
Our exchange is promptly drowned out by the persistent, ear-splitting beeping from the smoke detector.
“At least get some water!” Chrissi screams, hands over her ears to muffle the noise.
“Right!” I sprint toward the kitchen, trying to remember where I put the one big bowl I own.
Before I find it, I’m caught in what feels like a surprise sun shower.
My hair is damp at once, and I lift my face to the streams of water, noticing the sprinkler system in our building for the very first time.
Shocked, I glance toward my friends, who are stunned in place by the surprise soaking. “Umm … did anyone know our building had a sprinkler system? I never noticed,” I add innocently.
At least the fire is out.
Rose snarls and grabs the can without bothering to respond. “Ow!” she screams when her hand touches hot metal. She grabs a dish towel from the counter, tries again, and hurries the can toward my small balcony.
When I see her move toward the railing, I sprint to stop her. “No! Don’t dump the ashes!”
The ashes were the whole point. I need them!
Rose pauses midtoss.
“Wait! Wait!”
I run back into my bedroom, find a prettily decorated jar that once contained one Zeta gift or another, and dart back out to the balcony. I kneel before the can, reaching inside to shovel as many ashes as will fit inside the jar.
“Can I just ask … what you might be planning to do with them?” Chrissi asks.
She and Camila are standing exactly where they were when the sprinklers came to life; they both still seemed too stunned to move. Camila’s damp hair is covering her glasses.
I twist the lid onto the jar, holding it up and examining it with satisfaction. “I plan to march over to Miller’s apartment and dump them on his head.”
No one says anything for a moment.
“Umm, that would be weird,” Camila says.
I lift my chin. “Well. So maybe I won’t dump them over his head. I want to show them to him, at least. Show him that I care about more than the fantasy. And he missed out on what that more was.”
Rose glances at Chrissi. “Do we have any hope of stopping her?”
Chrissi studies me. She looks me in the eye; she seems to be examining the set of my jaw. “I’m not entirely sure we should,” she finally replies.
I nod my appreciation and turn toward the door.
I hear Rose sigh behind me as I walk out. “Godspeed, Princess Phoenix.”
Feet bare, hair wet, clutching a small jar of ashes to my chest, I storm across the Lakeside complex. It’s a good ten-minute walk to Miller’s building, and I amass a pretty impressive collection of stares, gasps, and comments as I make my way. But I’m a woman on a mission, and I’m immune to all of them. My gaze is laser focused, dead ahead, and when Miller’s building comes into sight, I break into a jog to close the distance.
I skip every other step as I make the climb to the third floor, and when I reach his door, I forgo the doorbell entirely. A doorbell seems too meek. I pound with my fist instead.
Finally Yael opens the door. She’s wearing that loathsome hipster princess tee again.
I don’t bother to greet her. “Where’s Miller?” I pant.
“Not here. He’s working.”
I take a tiny step back. “Oh.”
I hadn’t really thought about that. According to my master plan, of course Miller was home.
I stand in the threshold to his apartment, turning the jar of ashes around and around in my hands, limbs shaking from adrenaline.
Yael continues to stare. “Can I help you with something?” she finally asks. “Get you some shoes, or a towel, or a Valium?”
I stare past her, into the interior of their apartment. He’s really not here. The frantic energy drains from my body in a sudden rush, and I lean against the door frame. “I just really needed to talk to Miller,” I mumble.
I rest there for a moment, still feeling my heart pounding in my chest and waiting for it to calm. Then, with a heavy sigh, I push myself off the door frame and turn to go.
“Alyssa.”
I glance over my shoulder, pushing a few damp strands out of the way.
Yael is framed in the doorway, arms folded over her chest like a member of the National Guard or something. “Do you have any clue as to why I wasn’t exactly fond of you?”
My lips part in surprise.
Her right eye twitches with annoyance. “If you’re even standing there thinking it’s because of some stupid princess-fur divide, or because you’re a blond sorority girl, then you’re even more delusional than I thought.”
I shake my head. “I don’t…”
“I didn’t like you because I’m protective of my friends. I watch out for them, especially when they can’t seem to watch out for themselves.” She looks me in the eye. “And that boy’s been in love with you for, like, ever.”
Shock hits my chest like a launched bomb. “What?” I whisper.
“As I expected.” She quirks an eyebrow. “You had no idea, did you? You were so wrapped up in you, chasing after some guy who apparently treated you like crap, you probably never even noticed half of what was going on around you.”
I scan my brain, desperately, trying to find anything from this summer and last that would have suggested what she is alluding to. I come up with nothing.
“He never let on!” I protest. “There was nothing to notice!”
“Yeah, well…” Yael glances away. “He worked really hard to hide it. He still wanted to have you for a friend.”
I can practically hear her unspoken “God knows why.”
“When all this started going down, when you two started hanging out more this summer, I told him he should probably stay away. That it would hurt more to get closer,” Yael says. “He felt so bad for you, though, and cared about you so much.” She shakes her head. “I said, ‘How the hell are you going to put your feelings aside and just be her friend?’ He said he could, but I knew he couldn’t. I knew this would happen.”
I squint, thinking hard about the past month and a half.
Miller never once pushed his own agenda. Even when I was at my most vulnerable, most in need of reassurance, affe
ction, and bolstering, he never took advantage of that. Even when I out-and-out threw myself at him, he didn’t take advantage of that. He never hinted at his feelings until I kissed him; he never once suggested my path back to positivity involved him. He always made it about me—getting me to eat again, getting me to feel strong, reminding me not to lose myself.
Miller did succeed in putting his apparent feelings aside to be my friend. He was selfless about it, actually.
“You’re wrong,” I inform Yael. “He did put his feelings aside. He was a really, really good friend.”
I stare down at the stupid jar of ashes in my hands. I don’t want to dump them on his head. I don’t want to yell at him.
I just want him to look at me the way he used to. Past the princess’s dress to the princess’s heart.
“Turns out he did know how to look out for himself, anyway,” I tell her. “He didn’t need you to do it for him. You’ll be happy to know he walked away.” I struggle to swallow over the lump in my throat. I walk back toward the doorway. I hand the jar to Yael. “Just give these to him. They were supposed to be for him.”
“Okay,” she sighs. “Whatever.”
I stand there for a minute, staring at her. She has always made a point of speaking her mind, but sometimes, she’s wrong. And now I’m going to speak my mind.
“You don’t really know me at all,” I tell her. I lift my chin. “I’m a good friend, too. I’m a good person, blond sorority princess and all. I wouldn’t have hurt him. Not the way you think.”
I make my way to the stairwell, but before I begin my descent, I look back one last time. I just can’t help myself.
“And for the record, those T-shirts are awful.” I meet Yael’s eye and shake my head in disapproval. “Have a little respect.”
chapter 25
In the days leading up to the ball, I don’t hear from Miller.
I can’t risk another run-in with Yael—to be honest, I’m kind of scared of how cutting she might treat me after my little T-shirt comment—so I avoid his apartment and skip boxing class. I could call, or text, but what I really need to do is see Miller face-to-face.
Which means the park is little help, either. That’s the frustrating thing about boys who play fur characters. They’re constantly disguised. I find ways to end up in the sections of the park where the kangaroo usually hangs out, but I have no way of knowing if it’s Miller inside the costume when I do find the marsupial. One time, I swear the kangaroo turns his head and stares, but all I’m really looking back at are the huge plastic eyes of the costume, which reveal nothing about the person inside.
By the night of the ball, I’ve long given up on the hope that a random run-in is going to happen. And even the ball itself doesn’t guarantee that we’ll be in the same place at the same time. I have a sinking feeling that he might just skip it altogether.
I get ready with my friends, trying to push my sadness aside and get swept up in the excitement of the evening. I’ve always loved getting dressed up in a group, and Chrissi is blasting Enchanted music as we change into costume. It’s definitely not the worst time. Harper’s noticeably absent, probably over at Jake’s. The realization doesn’t affect me.
“You outdid yourself,” I tell Rose as she literally slithers into the living room dressed as the evil, conniving Sea Snake from the Little Mermaid movie. Her body is wrapped in midnight blue pleather with neon green accents. Her face makeup is downright frightening, her eyes menacing, a pointed tongue poking from her mouth and coiling onto her cheek. “Where’s your sister?”
“Right here.” Camila comes sweeping into the living room. She’s wearing the Rose Red costume, and it’s kind of freaky how much she looks like Rose’s carbon copy for the first time ever. She smirks. “Since Rose didn’t let me be Rose once this season, tonight was the one night she couldn’t have a say in it.”
“Do you think you’re getting my goat?” Rose asks. “You’re in costume and you’re going to the ball. I win.”
Chrissi flitters into the living room, the yellow butterfly from Enchanted’s Sleeping Beauty story. “Now, now, sisters.”
“You’re just not comfortable without a pair of wings on, are you?” I comment.
She giggles. “Not really. Plus, Aaron, the civilian who’s coming to the ball with me?” She uses the word civilian to refer to the nonemployee she’s taking as her date. “When he introduced himself to me at the park? He just came right over to me and said, ‘Your wings are hot.’”
Camila practically spits out her drink. “That is what passes for a quality pickup line for you? ‘Your wings are hot?’”
“The guy who appreciates a sexy pair of wings is the guy for me,” Chrissi retorts. She waves her wand in my direction. “When the heck are you going to get dressed?”
I stand up from the couch. I already have my hair done, accessorized with feathers, and my heavy makeup applied, but the Swan Queen dress is such a monstrosity, I’ve been waiting till the last minute to actually put it on.
It’s hanging on the back of Rose and Camila’s door, and I get dressed in their room. I don’t bother examining the final result in their mirror before I collect my train and go back to my friends.
Chrissi literally draws in a breath when she sees me. “You look … unbelievably lovely. You’re glowing.”
“Thanks.”
The truth is, I doubt I am. At least, not in the right way.
I know the girl in the dress; I know how to be her. But tonight I feel far from comfortable in her skin. Several months ago I would have felt my best, done up to the nines, hair and makeup perfection, donning the most gorgeous dress in the collection. Tonight … not so much.
We gather our bags and step out into the cool night. It’s eleven thirty, and the shuttles are running a special route, for employees only, for this event only.
It’s a party inside the bus. People sip from smuggled bottles, and music plays loudly. It’s dark, and as lots of people opt to wear masks to the ball, even when going as the princesses, there’s an added element of intrigue to our trip. I’m smiling before I know it, caught up in the spirit of the Character Ball, accepting compliments on my dress, jokingly reminding passengers not to crush my feathers.
But as fun as it is, the atmosphere inside the shuttle is nothing compared to the atmosphere inside the park. The Character Ball is one of my favorite nights of the year, in a way that has nothing to do with the actual dance. Walking into the Enchanted Dominion after midnight feels just like walking into a dream. It gives me chills.
A heavy silence hangs over the park, all the familiar buildings and landmarks cloaked in darkness. It’s eerie and exhilarating as we join a parade of elaborately costumed ball-goers making their way down the dimly lit main pathway to the Palace in the distance. I walk beside princesses, fairies, animals, and favorite villains. It’s like all my favorite movies have come to life around me, all at once.
And in the distance … there is the Palace. Laser beams sweep across its exterior, reflecting brilliant streams of purple, yellow, and pink into the night sky. Tonight, the Palace is the center of the universe, beckoning to us, promising adventure and excitement. Party-goers around us start whooping and actually break into a jog in their attempts to reach the drawbridge as quickly as possible. Torches lit with real fire lead the way across.
But just as my group reaches the foot of the drawbridge, as we are about to cross over from park to party, my feet still.
If there is any chance he is here tonight …
Chrissi turns around and pushes her mask up over her eyes. “What are you doing? C’mon!”
I wave at her. “You guys go ahead. I just need to make a quick detour.”
She starts doubling back. “Potty break? I’ll wait. You’re going to need help with that dress.”
“No, no. Go on.” I look at my watch. “Aaron’s already going to be waiting for you. I’ll be there in, like, two minutes.”
I suspect it’s going to take a bit longe
r than that, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“You sure?” Rose asks. She glances around. “It’s really dark and kind of creepy in the park. We can go with you.”
I laugh. “It’s the Enchanted Dominion. Crime rate of negative five. Go ahead, seriously. I’ll find you inside in a minute.”
After a few more minutes of convincing, Rose, Camila, and Chrissi make their way across the drawbridge and disappear into the castle tunnel. I count to five, turn on my heel, gather my feathered train, and dash back toward the park entrance.
When I reach the building, I pause with my hand on the knob. Please don’t be locked.
By some grace of Drako the Dragon, it’s not. I enter, flip on a single light, and get on with my business. Tonight, I know exactly what I’m looking for. I find it and head toward the dressing room.
Inside, for the first time tonight, I see myself in the Swan Queen dress. I look even better than when I tried it on for Miller. With the makeup, and the mask, and the bejeweled hair … I’m exquisite.
“You are beautiful,” I tell the Swan Queen. “But tonight, you are not the princess for me.”
I reach behind me, tug on the zipper, and let the dress fall in a heavy pile to my feet. I step out of it, pick it up with the utmost care, and return it to its satin hanger.
I turn toward the other hook inside the stall. And shudder.
It’s hideous. Oh God, it’s hideous.
The spiked tail, the bulging eyes, the scales. I step into it. And eww, it smells.
When I have it all the way on, when I’ve put the horrid mask over my head, the possibility of tears seems a bit too real.
Then, words from last summer are back in my head.
“Suck it up, buttercup.”
Suddenly I’m laughing the tears away, and I hurry to put the Swan Queen costume back and get on my way.
If there is any chance he is here tonight … Miller will be taking advantage of the one chance to be Drako the Dragon.