Once Upon Now

by Danielle Banas

  Wingman. I’m his wingman. The guy of my dreams has not only friend-zoned me, he’s made me his flipping wingman! How do I end up in these situations?

  She makes her way to the main door of the North House wing and starts scanning the crowd. She doesn’t see a teal skirt and white half-jean jacket anywhere.

  Well, I tried, she consoles her conscience.

  Suddenly from the side door comes a gang of giggling girls. The tallest, a redhead, fits the description Trevor gave her, down to the pink-painted fingernails. Mallory goes toward the girls and ends up smack-dab in front of them, blocking their way. She stares at Jessica, and her mind goes completely blank. Jessica makes eye contact and does a head-to-toe, scrunching up her face as if she is about to be asked for a handout. Mallory instantly wishes she hadn’t found her.

  “Umm, Jessica?”

  The redhead frowns and her almond-brown eyes come to a slit. She glares like a viper about to strike and instinctively Mallory takes a small step backward.

  “Yes?” She spits the word as if her whole day has been interrupted by a bird pooping on her shoulder.

  “My name is Mallory. I’m a friend of Trevor’s and he asked if you would take just a minute and meet him in the auditorium. It’s important, obviously, or I wouldn’t have chased you down . . .”

  Mallory hates herself for feeling inferior. She should have just snubbed the girl back and walked off, but this means a lot to Trevor. Besides, being looked down on wasn’t exactly a new experience for her; she could take it.

  “Oh, this should be good.” Jessica looks at her Barbie friends and smiles, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Trevor’s the googly-eyed boy I was telling you about, girls. Let’s go. This could be fun.” The girls giggle and follow Jessica down the walkway like ducks following their mother.

  Mallory wishes there were a back route. Trevor is about to make a huge mistake. Still, if she messes this up, he will hate her. And that’s something she just can’t take. She follows the girls at a distance. One small runty duck following the pack. When they get to the auditorium her eyes instantly find Kyle in the wing with his iPhone in hand and a huge smile on his face. Mallory hides in the very back and off to the side to watch the show unfold.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Promposal

  JESSICA STRUTS UP the auditorium toward the stage at full speed. The walkway and stage are draped with soft twinkling lights and it does seem almost enchanted. She pauses halfway down the aisle and Trevor swaggers out from behind the curtain. He’s wearing the costume, which is about two sizes too small, holding a mini red satin pillow with a tiara on it. His face is bright red; the pillow shakes as he trembles. Mallory’s heart rips when her friend’s goofy grin disappears as soon as he realizes Jessica has brought a built-in audience.

  Just once make me a wizard, just this once and I’ll never ask again. Give me a wand, a chant, a spell, a hex, I’ll even take a few bolts of lightning. Mallory’s head swims with pleas to the universe to stop the show.

  “Jessica, I know you’re new here, and it’s only a week before prom, but I was hoping you would do me the honor of being my date.”

  He takes it one step further and gets on his knee, pillow extended. Tiara trembling and teetering as if it wants to float into her hands.

  No, Trevor! Abort! Not the knee. Don’t do it. It’s too much. The costume was enough.

  Jessica swaggers the rest of the way up to the stage. The rest of the pack hangs back, laughing and whispering as if watching a wreck in progress. Mallory wishes she could disappear. She uses her brain to will Jessica to be nice. Trevor’s entire ego is hanging by a thread. Surely Jessica is human. She could hope, at least.

  Rats, plague, pestilence. A distraction of any kind would work. Run, Trevor, run.

  Jessica climbs the stairs and offers Trevor her hand. She grabs the back of his head and kisses him. The pillow tilts to the side and the tiara rolls slowly across the stage. Mallory looks over and sees Kyle, iPhone pointed at center stage, capturing the magic. His smile reaches from ear to ear and he glances at Mallory and gives her the thumbs-up sign.

  The floor spins. She nods back at Kyle and runs out of the auditorium silently, her vision blocked with tears. Being a wingman sucks. As much as she worries about Trevor getting hurt, she never imagined how much pain she could feel seeing him kiss someone else.

  Alone in the bathroom, she washes her face, dries her hands, and punches the stall door. It swings back and forth on the hinges but the act has done nothing to relieve her pain. Curses fill her thoughts for believing in love, acting like a wimp, and ever liking Trevor. They were still, and always had been, friends. She was his wingman. Why did she believe anything else?!

  Pinching her cheeks, she puts on her perfected daily happy face. “This,” she tells her broken reflection in the mirror, “this is your moment to be a true best friend. You will tell Trevor how happy you are for him and tuck these feelings deep down with the rest.”

  She sets her mind to stone. Just like she does every day as she walks through the hallways being no one, unseen. Just like she has since second grade when Jenna C. informed her in no uncertain terms that a girl with a birthmark across her cheek would never fit in.

  MALLORY FORCES HERSELF to walk back to Trevor’s car. Waiting in the warm sun, she can’t help but feel envious of Jessica. Right now Trevor is probably still making a complete fool of himself just to ask her to a dance. Mallory imagines herself on the dance floor in Trevor’s arms.

  Her dream, however, is quickly interrupted by the sound of one of the car doors slamming.

  Mallory hadn’t noticed Trevor coming up, but she gets in and sees his red face and slouched posture, telling her that things had not gone the way they were supposed to. She searches her mind for anything that might lighten the mood, but her heart doesn’t find it that easily.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  He starts the car and screeches out of the parking lot. After a moment of torturous silence he slaps the dashboard, hard.

  “She said no! After all that. The worrying, the stupid tiara, getting Kyle to record it, and wearing a stupid costume, she said she was ‘flattered’ but that she has a boyfriend at her old school—‘wouldn’t want to make him think I’m dating someone else,’ she said. Man, this blows. I’m out. No prom for me. It’s stupid anyway.”

  Mallory is torn between being ecstatic at not having to see him and Jessica suck face ever again, and feeling heartbreak that he’s hurting. He gave it a try. Shy, quiet Trevor. Hockey player extraordinaire, best friend of an invisible princess, and always her bodyguard. He tried. She needed to help. She didn’t want him suffering from a new complex that might go on for years.

  Say something comforting. Cheer later. Make this easier for him.

  “Her loss. She’s an idiot.” Mallory could have stopped there, but consoling wasn’t her strong suit, and the words kept coming. “I’ll go with you. You should go. It’s your senior prom. You only get one. How disappointed would your mom be if she didn’t get to fuss over you in a tux.”

  Once the words flew Mallory wished she could reel them back in.

  “I’ll go.” Smooth, Mallory, real smooth. What the heck are you thinking? Did you just invite yourself to prom with Trevor? Abort mission. Abort mission! Her mind swam and silence enveloped the stench-filled air.

  Trevor looked over at her. “Really, Mal? You’d do that for me? I mean, I know how much your silent-ninja status means to you. But you’re right. My mom would freak if I wasn’t going, and I should go—I kinda really wanted to go. It’s senior prom! Screw Jessica. You and I have always had a riot, and prom is just a big party, right? Let’s do it!”

  Mallory smiles and nods, but inside her heart slams into her chest. Did she just volunteer as tribute for a prom gown, heels, and spending a night being one of the guys as they snort sugar and make fun of girls? What is she thinking?

  At her house, she gets out of the car without a word. Her mind spinning and h
er heart racing. Is she seriously going to prom with Trevor? Is there a way out? An easy button? A rewind? It’s four days away and she doesn’t own nor have any ability to operate heels. She’s going to have to consort with the enemy, her mother, who will blow the whole thing out of proportion and make it a “thing.”

  Heading straight to her room, she slams the door behind her. This is an emergency. She places the buds in her ears and blasts the soundtrack to Hamilton at maximum volume. Curse those crossed fingers!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Day Before Prom

  MALLORY’S MOM PULLS HER from school at lunch. It’s crunch time and she still doesn’t have a thing to wear. Three days in a row they had tried several outlet stores and a bridal shop without finding anything remotely acceptable.

  Today they’re going on a trip to a local prom designer whom Mallory’s mom had called; they had sworn they still had dresses in her size and price range. Mallory walks into the store eyes down and palms sweating. She heads directly to the clearance rack and looks for something that would blend in with a crowd. Nothing fits her idea of what a prom dress should be. Comfortable, stylish, and classically beautiful.

  Her mom pulls a few dresses off the racks and Mallory sulks her way to the dressing room with a promise to be open-minded. The very first dress fits like it was made for her. Mallory stares in the mirror, and a tear falls from her eye. The dress is white with a metallic-type sheen, a small amount of beading, and the illusion of feathers ingrained in the fabric. It’s floor-length but doesn’t scrape when she walks. With a small heel she could totally pull it off. She twirls and frowns at herself.

  She’s being a total girl. This is a friend-zone date. No more, no less. She scolds her stained reflection in the tripaneled mirror.

  Cool your jets, invisible princess—it’s a dress, not a magic wand.

  She removes the dress without showing it to her mom. She can’t take the gushing and the look on her mom’s face; she thinks this is a real date. On the way home they grab shoes and a bag and Mallory scours the shelves for basic coverage makeup. Tonight would be a YouTube tutorial binge. She can’t seem to help the giddiness creeping in below the surface. The more she tries to stifle it, the more she imagines her and Trevor dancing arm in arm. Even if it is the friend zone, it’s a fairy tale come true for a girl who lives in the shadows.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Prom Day!

  MALLORY HANDS HER MOM another tissue and tries to focus her vision, which is now a series of flashing circles from the thousand camera flashes that her dad has sent her way. She’s finished her hair and makeup and been in her dress for an hour. It’s time for Trevor to pick her up.

  Doubt eats away at her. What if he forgets? What if he thinks she looks horrible? What if Jessica is there and decides she was wrong for turning him down? Her feet begin to lead her back up the stairs, seeking the safety of her bedroom, when the doorbell rings.

  Trevor and his parents come in like a tornado, his mom squealing and gushing with Mallory’s. Together they’re like a pep squad on caffeine. Trevor groans and Mallory races down the stairs to save him from being alone in the torment.

  When she enters the room, silence settles like a blanket. All eyes in the room settle on her and she finds it unnerving. Her eyes scan the room and settle on Trevor, who looks amazing! His tux is black and white, classic, with a bow tie and cummerbund in emerald. His face is bright red and he stands with one foot aimed toward the door, as if ready to bolt. When he looks her way his jaw moves its way southward.

  He steps toward her and shuts his mouth only to open it again as if trying to remember how to speak.

  “Whoa, Mal. You’re beautiful. I mean, you look so, well, I . . .” Trevor stumbles with his words but his face speaks volumes.

  Mallory crosses the room and holds his open hand. She’s amazed that his palm is as warm and moist as her own. He trembles as he tenderly places on her wrist the corsage he’d brought. She smiles up at him. “Not bad for an invisible princess, aye?”

  Trevor leans in and softly kisses her lips. The air fills with electricity. She knows in that moment what a real-life fairy tale is. This. This is it.

  They pose for more pictures than should be legally permitted and finally relax in the newly cleaned, fresh-smelling Black Beauty. Trevor starts the car and pauses to tuck a curl behind Mallory’s ear before planting a soft kiss on the hand he hasn’t let go of since she stood at his side for the pictures. He whispers in her ear the words she had dreamt of all year.

  “You’ve never been invisible, Mallory. You were just hiding. You aren’t the invisible princess, you’re the swan. I’ve been blind, and stupid. You’ve been my best friend this whole time, and I’ve been chasing ghosts.”

  Mallory closes her eyes and smiles. Fairy tales are so underrated, she thinks, but totally worth believing in.

  Of Sirens and Beasts

  mikaela bender

  AS COACH MATSON’S WORDS SINK in, an image of me sporting a tutu and scoring a touchdown appears in my mind. The picture isn’t bidding adieu anytime soon. In an office with twelve teenage football players, silence never happens. Except now. Coach dropped the news that we’ll be taking ballet.

  “Why?” I’m the first to get the word out. The image in my head changes so my cleats are now ballet slippers.

  “It will help with your coordination,” he says, leaning back in his seat, the springs squeaking in protest of his weight. There is no way I am squeezing into tights or a unitard, and somehow forcing my size-fourteen feet into ballet slippers. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t make it happen.

  His eyes zero in on me. “With the Beasts losing every game this season, we need to try something new. Do you understand, Cal?”

  I duck my head. “Yes, Coach.”

  Coach types something out on his phone before laying it down as a paperweight on the purple construction paper cards from his daughter. “The girls who suggested this to me said they could only take twelve of you to start with. If it goes well for the twelve of you, they’ll have the rest of the team join in.”

  Breck shoots his hand up in the air.

  “Yes?” Coach’s phone lights up, and his eyes flick to the screen.

  “Are we going to have to dance in a show? If so, excuse me as I go break my ankle now.” Out in the hall someone knocks on the door.

  Coach stands, sighing. “No. I expect you to be at every class.” He opens the door, and twelve teenage girls walk into the room in single file. They face us, staring at us with green and blue eyes. Each of them has hair colored in unnaturally bright hues. Two have even bleached their hair white. This gives the impression more of a bizarre police lineup than an introduction of dance teachers to their students.

  Next to me, Reed nudges my shoulder. When I look at him, he wriggles his eyebrows. I roll my eyes.

  The girl on the far left steps forward. “I’m Amaryllis and these are my sisters. We’re the ones who will be teaching you. Every weekday evening you’ll come to our house for lessons. Your coach will text you our address.”

  “Your house?” Reed asks.

  She smiles graciously. “That’s where we typically teach.”

  Breck crosses his arms. “We don’t have to perform in some froofy recital or something?”

  Reed snorts. “Did he really just say froofy?” he whispers to me.

  I nod, smirking. “We’re not going to let him live that down, right?”

  “Absolutely, we aren’t.”

  Amaryllis clears her throat. Her gaze meets ours, and we mumble a quick apology.

  Without an order from their sister or a word from Coach, Amaryllis’s sisters exit the office, never having uttered a sound.

  “We’ll see you all tonight then,” she says. “Wear something comfortable, unless of course you wish to wear tights.” She brushes her arm across the door, closing it behind her.

  What kind of conniving, half-baked scheme has Coach gotten us into?

  I PARK MOM’S CAR out
side a two-story house that looks like it belongs in a Spanish port from a pirate movie rather than in this particular neighborhood of the Gulf town of Saint Petersburg, Florida. It’s the wide variety of architecture from different time periods all mashing up against each other that makes me love this town. The houses on either side of it are pitch black. Not even a porch light glows, nor is there a car in either driveway. This is borderline creepy.

  Once everyone is here, I walk up the driveway with the eleven other chosen members of my football team, the Beasts.

  “Cal”—Reed steps beside me—“you ready to show us all those killer moves?”

  “Moves? Dude, I haven’t danced a day in my life.”

  Bending his tennis shoes, Reed tries to walk on them like they’re those toe shoes that actual ballerinas wear. “Well, I’m going to be the best student and win over the hand of one of those very lovely sisters.”

  I slap him on the back, and he stumbles from his precarious position on his toes. “Good luck with that.”

  He shoves me back and continues on past me.

  Eli, our lead quarterback, knocks on the door, and one of the sisters answers.

  Her eyes move from left to right, taking us in. “Hey.” She steps back to allow us to enter. “I’m Calla.”

  Gawking at the interior of the house, I step inside and hear her shut and lock the door.

  This is the type of house one shouldn’t throw a football in. “My sisters are already outside waiting,” she explains.

  “Outside?” Ryann raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you ballerinas need special flooring?”

  I never cared much for him. He came to my fifth birthday party and whined because it wasn’t fair I was the only one getting presents.