“You’re leaving!” the prince cried.
“Ah…eh…”
“Without me!”
In that moment, gripping the hair rope for all she was worth, Fiona understood that sometimes princes needed rescuing, too. She hollered up, hoping the wind would swallow most of the sound from her words so no guards would be alerted. “If you’re sure you want to do this, Prince Harry, wait until Lucky and I are safely on the ground, then climb down after us. This rope is strong, but it won’t hold all our weights at once.”
It was then Harry realized the rope hanging out the window, the one attached to the metal handle on the door that had kept him from being able to open it easily, was made from hair—human hair. His human hair. And in that instant, Harry understood that Fiona was clever and resourceful. But was she a true friend? “You’re not going to run off and leave me the moment you touch down. Are you?”
“Of course not, Prince Harry. Why would I do that? Now, let me get Lucky down this thing before he pees on me.”
Prince Harry couldn’t help but laugh.
When Fiona reached the end of the rope, she said a silent prayer, then leapt to the ground. She and Lucky made it. With solid earth beneath her, Fiona didn’t dare breathe. She hoped Lucky had the good sense not to bark, not even to whimper, because if a castle guard got wind of them, it would be the end for sure. In fact, Fiona had an overwhelming urge to run—to get as far away from the castle as she could, under cover of darkness, and wend her way home.
Instead of running, though, Fiona looked up.
She saw Harry’s butt. He was climbing down. And she knew she couldn’t abandon him.
When Harry jumped from the rope and hit bottom with his bottom, he scrambled up quickly. “This way,” he whispered. “I know how to get across the moat without alerting the guards. It’s how I escaped last time.” There was a mischievous twinkle in his green eyes.
Fiona followed closely, quietly.
Prince Harry laid a series of planks across the moat.
Fiona thought he was quite a clever boy.
They ran across the planks and into the woods, but Fiona didn’t feel safe until they’d put an hour’s worth of desperate running between the castle and themselves, when the only sounds they heard were night noises in the forest and their own heavy breathing.
“Are you frightened?” Fiona asked.
Prince Harry puffed out his chest. “Of course not.”
But Fiona could tell he was. “It’ll be okay. It’s a long way off, but we’ll make it together. Right, Lucky?”
Lucky wagged his tail.
And the trio tromped through forest and field until they came upon Fiona’s home.
It was full daylight now.
Fiona’s father was wandering along a row of cabbages, looking dazed.
“Father!” Fiona called. She ran to him swift and sure, the way an arrow flies to its target.
He looked startled and shocked, then relieved. He scooped up his daughter and pressed his face into her hair. “Oh, my precious girl. I thought I’d lost you, too.” He wept openly.
Fiona wiped his tears with the bottom of her filthy, raggedy apron. “Father, I’ve brought a friend to stay with us.”
“A friend?”
“Yes. This is, um, Harry. He has no place else to go.”
Fiona glanced at Prince Harry to make sure this was okay to say.
He gave a quick nod.
“Well then,” Fiona’s father said to the prince. “Let this be your humble home and may we be your family.”
And they were—laughing and working and eating and playing together for years and years to come.
Even though Prince Harry thought someone might (maybe hoped someone might), no one from the castle ever came looking for him. And when all his hair grew back the way it was before, he let it be, because he knew Fiona, her father and Lucky loved him just as he was.
He was right, of course.
And they all lived hairily, er, happily ever after.
The End
That was Amy’s favorite part of the story, the happily-ever-after before the end.
Three weeks later, Miles climbed into the passenger seat of the orange Buckington Bowl van. His mom was driving. His dad was back at the lanes, cooking the special menu Miles created. Even his sister had come home to help out. Mercedes was behind the desk at that moment, thumbing through one of Mom’s magazines.
Everything had been set up. Everything was ready.
Except Miles. He’d never been more nervous, but he knew this was exactly the right thing. He looked up, took a breath and silently thanked his grandpop, because if Pop hadn’t said no to the Bowling Hall of Fame trip, this wouldn’t have happened.
The first stop for the Buckington Bowl van was Eternal Peace Funeral Home.
Miles rang the doorbell.
Two men came to the door. Miles recognized them from the funeral and had to swallow hard. “Is, um, Amy home?”
“Ames!” her father shouted.
“Hello, Miles,” her uncle Matt said.
Miles nodded. “Hi.”
Amy was wearing jeans, a Chicago Cubs sweatshirt that used to belong to her mom, and her sneakers as she came barreling down the stairs. “Yeah?”
“Someone here to see you,” her dad said.
“Miles?” Amy could see the Buckington Bowl van outside. Miles was wearing a dapper navy suit and a tie, along with his bowling shoes.
Miles took one look at Amy and blurted out the whole thing: “I’m sorry I couldn’t take you to the dance because of what happened to Randall but I made another dance and I want to take you there right now okay?”
Amy stepped back. “Excuse me?”
“Just come with me.” Miles pointed to the van, which Amy thought looked like a giant pumpkin. “Please.”
Amy looked at her dad. “Okay if I go?”
Her dad nodded. “Of course, Ames.”
“Do I need to bring anything?” Amy asked Miles. “Should I change?”
“Nope. It’s all been taken care of.”
“Hmm. Okay. Bye, Dad. Bye, Uncle Matt.”
“Have fun,” Uncle Matt said.
“Don’t be home too late,” her dad warned. “Make sure you’re back at a reasonable time.”
Just be home by midnight, sweets. Her mom’s voice floated into her mind.
“I will.” Amy smiled and followed Miles outside into the warm spring air.
Settled in the van, Amy felt her phone vibrate. She glanced at a new message from Kat.
Can’t believe I’ll be visiting you next week!!!
Amy texted quickly.
It’s going to be so great!
As soon as Amy put her phone away, it vibrated again.
This time, it was a funny picture of Ernest in a baby pool filled with colorful plastic balls. Their old neighbor Pam had texted:
Having a ball with Ernest. Ha ha. Wish you were here.
Amy let out a breath. Ernest wasn’t with her anymore, but he was with someone who was taking good care of him. He was with someone who enjoyed him and appreciated him. He was with someone who still sent photos and updates regularly.
Amy started to text Wish I were there, too, but then she looked over at Miles and deleted those words. They weren’t the right ones anymore. Instead, she texted something different:
Looks like fun. Give Ernest a hug for me.
“Everything okay?” Miles asked.
“Actually,” Amy said, putting her phone away, “everything’s pretty terrific.”
Amy saw the tips of Miles’s ears turn bright pink.
On the next stop, they picked up Tate. She was wearing the blu
e dress she was supposed to wear for the school dance and a pair of sparkly blue Converse sneakers. She’d left her penguin hat at home.
When Tate got into the van, she said hello to Miles’s mom, then winked at Miles. “Oh, hi, Amy,” she said.
“Hey there,” Amy replied. Then she turned to Miles. “I’m definitely underdressed for whatever we’re going to do.”
Miles grinned. “Don’t worry. You’re perfect.”
Amy shivered from her forehead to her feet from Miles’s compliment.
They picked up Randall from his house.
“How’re you feeling?” Miles’s mom asked Randall as soon as he climbed in.
“Really good,” Randall said, then patted his pocket. “But I carry two inhalers now…just in case.”
The kids joked and laughed the whole way to Buckington Bowl.
Miles hopped from the van first and held his hand out to help Amy.
She took his hand and whispered, “My Prince Charming.”
“Huh?” Miles said
“N-nothing,” she stammered. “Never mind.”
Miles led Amy toward Buckington Bowl.
There was a sign on the automatic glass doors: “Closed tonight for a private event.”
Inside the bowling center, Miles let go of Amy’s hand. She stood there with Miles beside her, and her jaw dropped.
Buckington Bowl had been transformed.
The place was dim, so the new carpet sparkled like a starry night sky. A disco ball overhead cast rainbow bits of light. Music played through crisp, clear speakers.
“What is this?” Amy asked, turning in a circle.
“It’s for you,” Miles said.
“Me?”
“Yes,” Miles said. “You deserve to have a dance, Amy Silverman. So I made one for you.” Then Miles looked over at his mom and sister, who were behind the counter. “The box, please.”
Mercedes handed a shoe box to Miles.
He took it. “Come with me, Amy.”
The pair, followed closely by Tate and Randall and Mercedes and Miles’s mom, walked to the snack bar. Miles’s dad was already there. So was Stick. He had a big white box with a giant red bow sitting on his lap.
Amy gripped Miles’s fingers like Tate might grip a barbell. “Miles, what’s going on?”
“You’ll see,” Miles said. “Stick, please do the honors.”
Stick rolled close to Amy. “I, Farley G. Mathers, aka Stick, present to you, dearest Amy, this handmade gift from my tailor shop. I hope it fits. Amen.”
Everyone laughed.
Amy’s hands trembled as she accepted the box.
Inside was a dress lovelier than the one Cinderella wore to the ball.
“You made this?” Amy asked, pressing the dress’s silky silver fabric to her cheek.
“I did,” Stick said.
“For me?”
“None other,” he replied.
Amy blinked back tears. “It’s…it’s…beautiful!”
“Now, now,” Stick said. “It ain’t nothing but a dress, is all. Go on and change into it so we can all admire you.”
Tate joined Amy in the bathroom to help her into the new dress.
“Oh my gosh, it’s amazing,” Tate said. “See all this lacework? And the sequins?”
“I know,” Amy said. “It’s just like in the fairy tale.” Then Amy looked down at her feet. Her black-and-lime-green sneakers did not go with the fabulous dress. “I can’t walk out there wearing these.”
Tate grinned.
“What?”
“What what?” Tate pressed her fingers to her lips, as though to keep from saying something she shouldn’t.
“Oooh, pretty. What color is that on your nails?” Amy asked.
Tate smiled. “It’s called ‘I Danced the Night Away Gray.’ ”
Amy nodded, wishing she’d polished her nails.
“Come on, Ames.” Tate grabbed her elbow. “Everyone’s waiting.”
“But…” Amy allowed Tate to pull her out of the bathroom, even though she felt a bit self-conscious about her sneakers.
Everyone oohed and aahed at Amy’s new dress.
“Wow,” Miles said. “You look…” He shook his head. “Come on. Let’s go.” He led her to lane 48. “Please have a seat.”
Amy sat carefully, so as not to ruin her new dress.
Miles sat on a chair facing her, and everyone crowded close by.
“Here.” Miles put the shoe box on Amy’s lap.
“Another gift?”
Miles nodded.
Amy took the lid off the box and pulled out two bowling shoes—size 8-1/2. The right shoe had a heel lift built in. A heel lift!
A tear slipped down Amy’s cheek, then another.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
Amy shook her head. “You didn’t, Miles.” She held the shoe with the heel lift to her heart. “Oh, you didn’t.”
“I, um, noticed how your hip looked like it hurt when you bowled with house shoes, and—”
“Stop,” Amy said.
“Stop?”
“They’re perfect, Miles.” Tears dripped off Amy’s chin. She took off her sneakers and slipped her feet into the new bowling shoes. A tingle zinged from her feet to her forehead.
Miles helped her tie them. Then she held up her feet, and everyone cheered.
Then Amy and Miles, dressed in their finest, bowled a game together on lane 48.
No, Dear Reader, Miles did not bowl his perfect game. Not yet, anyway. Because even made-up stories need some truth to their spines.
Don’t you agree?
Besides, “perfect” is highly overrated. We can enjoy our messy, imperfect lives so much more when we simply live in the moment, filled with gratitude for exactly what is.
Now, shall we see how this all ends?
When the bowling was done and snacks had been eaten, the lights in the bowling center got even dimmer and the disco ball seemed to grow brighter. Miles’s dad put a slow dance song on to play through the crisp new speakers.
Miles held his hand out to Amy. “May I have this dance?” He hoped he remembered all the things Mercedes had taught him about dancing.
“Why, of course,” Amy said, feeling like Cinderella. She was glad to be wearing bowling shoes, though, instead of glass slippers.
Amy and Miles danced together under the glittering disco ball.
Miles looked up. “You don’t think that thing could fall on us and crush us to death, do you?”
Amy pulled Miles closer.
He stopped talking. Stopped worrying. Miles realized that since he and Amy had been hanging out more, he’d been worrying less. It was almost like Amy helped rescue him from himself.
They got into a rhythm of moving from one side to the other, perfectly aligned.
Amy thought back to the Unitarian Universalist church, where her father had given a wonderful sermon about enjoying each moment in life. At the end of the service, her dad led the congregation in singing “Let It Be a Dance.”
Let it be a dance we do.
May I have this dance with you?
Through the good times and the bad times, too,
Let it be a dance.
Amy remembered the congregation swaying and smiling. She’d looked over at her mom, who had her eyes closed. Moving to the music, she looked so happy.
That was how Amy felt now, dancing in Miles’s arms, enjoying every single thing about the moment.
The whirring of a camera startled her.
Amy and Miles looked over and saw Tate with her instant camera, waving a photo. “Oh, this’ll be a good one.”
“They’re almost as cute as us.” Randall wrapped an arm around Tate’s waist.
“Almost.” Tate leaned her head on Randall’s shoulder.
When the photo developed, Tate showed Miles and Amy how happy they looked dancing together. Then she passed the photo around. Mercedes was the last person to see it.
“I know exactly where this belongs,” Mercedes said. “If it’s okay with you, Tate.”
Tate nodded. Then everyone followed Mercedes to the “Greatest Stories Ever Bowled” bulletin board, where she grabbed a pushpin from the edge and put the photo of Miles and Amy right in the center, filling up the empty space.
Stick raised his drink. “Hear, hear!”
“Hear, hear!” everyone cheered.
“To Miles and Amy,” Miles’s dad said, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders and pulling her close.
“To Miles and Amy!” everyone shouted.
And they all lived (and bowled) happily ever after.
“Louise?”
“Right here, Billy.”
“You look…you look—”
“I look like you remember me from that first day, Billy. The day I walked into Buckington Bowl with my girlfriends.”
“Yes. Yes!” Billy said, marveling at what he was seeing.
“Billy, this is Mary Jane—that dear girl Amy’s mom. She likes to be called Jane.”
Billy blinked, blinked, blinked. “You’re Amy’s mom?”
She held out a hand to him. “Yes. It’s so nice to meet you, Billy.”
He shook Jane’s hand. Then he looked down at the scene below and then back up at Louise. “The kids—they’re getting along just fine without us. Aren’t they?”
Louise smiled and nodded. “Yes, Billy. But we still need to keep an eye on things.”
“Oh, don’t we, though,” Jane said.
“Louise,” Billy said. “Do you hear that music?” He looked over at Jane and saw her with her eyes closed, swaying. “Louise, they’re playing our song.”
“Why, Billy Spagoski, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were asking me to dance.”
A wild grin spread across Billy’s face. “May I have the honor, my darling?”
In Your Shoes Page 17