Which it might have been, with Christian. With Will it’s so much more.
I look at him, melting at the way he’s focusing so hard to get his lines right, his glasses slipping down over the bridge of his nose as he scrunches it in concentration. It’s totally adorable, and I have to wonder again how I didn’t see that right away.
I’m fighting the urge to try to kiss him again when Will says, “So, your friends are coming?”
I deflate a tad. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I e-mailed them in town but I haven’t been able to get back and check for a response. Maybe they won’t want to, and I’d totally understand that. I ditched them for this place, you know? So maybe they resent it and would rather just stay home.”
“I doubt that. They sound like they’re too good of friends to be that petty.” Will looks at me, his golden-brown eyes making my stomach do a somersault. “I’d like to meet them.”
“Trust me, they’ll want to meet you, too,” I say. “And I hope you’re right. You know, we’ve been friends since we were in elementary school.”
“Friends like that are the best. Because they remember the times you ate paste in school or peed your pants at a sleepover or blew up your microwave by nuking Peeps until they got big.” Will laughs at himself and adds, “In other words, they’ve seen you at your worst and are still friends with you in spite of yourself. Davis is like that for me.”
“I didn’t know you’d known each other that long.”
“Yeah. His dad used to be the blacksmith here before he left and got a job in the real world. Davis stuck around for some reason. He’s been torturing us with his presence ever since.”
I laugh at that, and notice that Will is watching me instead of painting his mask. We both look away quickly. After a moment of nervous silence, he says, “Hey, you don’t have to teach those Renaissance dances with Suze, do you?”
“No! I narrowly escaped that humiliation somehow. I don’t think Suze wanted the torture of teaching me the dances first, so that I could teach the guests. But Grant wasn’t so lucky. He’s got to dance with Suze all night.”
“Ouch. Painful.” Will’s paintbrush stops moving and he looks at me again. “I could teach you a dance or two if you want . . .”
It’s all I can do not to jump to my feet and give a celebratory shout, but I manage to keep myself planted on the tent floor and tease him some. “You’re risking broken toes.”
“Some things are worth the risk.”
“Yeah, I’m learning that,” I tell him. The air around us has suddenly become far too warm and too thick, and I’m a little afraid I’ll try to kiss him again. So I give his mask a very obvious glance and say, “Are you a zebra?”
“Not even close, Rainbow Ro.”
As I approach the Mulligan wagon, a mere two hours before the Revel, the box in my hands is shaking because I’m so nervous. Not because of the dance, or seeing Kyle, or dancing with Will, but because I’m about to present Phase One of the Thank the Mulligans Project, and I’m not sure they’ll like the masks.
Lindy sees me coming from the tiny side window of the wagon and flings the front door open, welcoming me in. Before I enter, because I just can’t stand it anymore, I thrust the box at her and squeak out a pathetic, “I finished the masks.”
So much for presentation.
As Lindy fumbles with opening the box while balancing it in her hands, I ramble on. “If you don’t like them you don’t have to use them. You’re probably used to your other ones, but I just thought I’d try. You really don’t have to wear them.”
But then Lindy opens the box and breathes, “Oh, Ro. These are just gorgeous. Just gorgeous. Of course we’ll use these. Peter, come and look!” and all the anxiety drains away.
Lindy carries the box inside and I follow a few beats later. The whole family is bent over the box in the kitchen, and Lindy pulls out hers and holds it up in the light. Hers is a light shade of gray with sloping streaks of black that combine with streaks of yellow on the nose to create a dove’s face and beak. I’ve added accents of silver throughout the paint, not in a particular pattern, just enough to give the idea of feathers. Peter’s mask is very similar, but with the brown, red, and white of a hawk. His has gold accents the same way, giving an impression of a hundred shimmering feathers.
Suze’s is the best of all, and the one I had the most fun making. Instead of a beak for her, I altered one of my face painting designs. The whole mask is rich turquoise, with a set of peacock feathers that wind around the mask’s right eye. Each plume is intricately drawn; I used my smallest paintbrush to make that happen, and each sparkles with a hint of glitter underneath each stroke. The eyes are outlined thickly, like Cleopatra, and I’ve drawn in eyelashes for a bit of drama. It’s so beautiful that I had a hard time giving it away, but it was the least I could do for my newest friend.
My own mask is beautiful as well, and I’m proud of the work I’ve done on it. Lindy didn’t give me much to work with, wanting my costume to be a total surprise, but she did tell me the basic color scheme: red and gold.
With only those two colors to go on, I knew exactly the kind of feeling I wanted to evoke: passion. I painted the whole mask blood red, and then, with a lighter shade of red and gold glitter, I created a curving pattern all around my eyes that looked like dancing flames. It’s tucked under my arm, and when Lindy’s done admiring her own mask, I hold mine out to her.
“Will this work for me?”
Lindy doesn’t answer, but pulls me in for a crushing hug. She keeps me like that, pressed against her and jostling me from side to side, and when she finally releases her grip she looks like she’s only a step away from crying. “Wait until you see your dress,” she says. “We were on the same wavelength.”
She pulls out a gown from the single closet in the Mulligan wagon and hands it to me, laying it in my arms, and I have to blink back tears. Lindy and I certainly were on the same wavelength, and the dress is perfect—not just because it’s lovely and because of the design, but because of what it represents.
“Look at us, sniffling like complete fools when there’s a Revel to get to,” Lindy says, wiping her eyes and then straightening with new determination. “Try it on, Ro. We need to make sure it fits.”
As it turns out, it fits. It fits almost too well. The corset-like top is certainly doing its job. When I check myself out in the mirror, I gape and immediately cross my arms over my chest.
Lindy stands behind me and winks at my reflection in the mirror. “Just a little help, dear.”
“Thank you,” I squeak out. I still have my manners to fall back on, even if my exact sentiments are somewhere closer to Oh my god, my fairy godmother just gave me boobs.
Then Suze grabs my hand, pulling me toward the door, and I have to leave my self-consciousness behind.
“Come on. It’s going to take forever to get our hair right.”
We scurry across the campground to our tent, laughing as we run awkwardly in our full skirts. She’s painted her toenails green, and I’ve painted mine red, and we’re both wearing flip-flops. Sure, it’s not exactly a classy look, but we’re going to ditch our shoes the minute we get on the dance floor, anyway. Besides, as Suze said, it’s our final screw-you to Jeff. As I watch her run in her flip-flopped feet, I have to admit: There’s no one I’d rather be breaking the rules with.
It takes a full hour for Suze to do my hair and her own, and then it’s time. We walk together toward the tavern, following the paths of lights and garland through the village. A tent has been set up in the open field across from the tavern, and it glows with soft white and purple lights, blending seamlessly into the other lights around us and the stars over our heads. Though it’s one of those tents designed for events like weddings, with several peaks instead of one big one like a big top, it could be something straight out of a circus. It’s striped, alternating green, purple, and gold, and with the glow of the lights, it looks whimsical, even enchanted.
Suze and I pause a
t the main opening, taking it all in with a big breath. People turn, stopping mid-conversation or mid-drink to look at us, and a flush works its way from my face to my neck to my chest.
“They’re staring at us,” I whisper to Suze, but she shakes her head.
“Yes, they are. How awesome is that? Come on, let’s go!”
Suze pulls me into the tent, out onto the wooden dance floor in the middle of the tables, and holds our joined hands up high. It’s so like her introduction of me that first night at the campfire that I get choked up, and the crowd around me blurs.
“Lords and ladies, the peacock and phoenix have arrived!” Suze proclaims. “Now the Fairie Queen’s Revel can officially begin!”
That gets a lot of laughs and quite a few people clapping. Suze and I do a short dance, turning each other once to show off our dresses. Her peacock dress is gorgeous, with a tight black bodice that flares out into a full skirt of layers of green, turquoise, and blue, making it look like feathers. Lindy’s put some iridescent beads here and there, giving the dress a shimmering, crystalized look. It’s breathtaking but, I have to admit, mine is even better.
My dress is bright crimson. One of my shoulders is bare while the other has a thick strap covered with feathers in gold and all shades of red and orange. The feathers continue, with a smattering of gold beads, across my body and down to my opposite hip, where my dress is gathered to the side. The pattern of feathers and beads continues across my body again, down to my opposite foot, where the feathers and beads suddenly expand to cover the entire bottom of the dress. The dress flares out from my knees, mermaid style, so that as I spin it looks as if I’m standing right inside a fire, being reborn from the ashes.
Reborn. Transformed. Ignited. Those words are the closest I’ll ever get to describing what happened to me this summer—my love of art, my friends, and Will.
When Suze spins me under her arm, several people whistle and clap, and as we’re turning she spots Grant, who is looking dapper in a doublet and cape of black and white. It takes me a minute to realize that the pattern in his clothes is the stripes of a badger, his knightly mascot.
“I’m going to go, okay?” she says, and just then the music starts up from the band of faire musicians in the corner: lutes and fiddles, drums and sackbuts. “We’ve got to start teaching dances. Do you see him?”
It takes me a moment to realize she’s talking about Kyle, when at first I thought she meant Will. I give a cursory glance around the tent, and I see Kyle and Lacey. He’s in a suit I saw him wear to a lacrosse awards banquet, and Lacey looks great in a bright pink dress. They’re holding hands. What’s surprising is how much it doesn’t hurt to see. I continue my search, finally finding the person I’m really looking for. Suze follows my gaze and her pretty face breaks into a grin.
“Good luck,” she says, nodding in Will’s direction.
“See you on the dance floor,” I say, and we give each other’s hand a squeeze before I start toward the cute whip cracker who stole my heart without me noticing.
“Ro!”
Before I can get to Will, a familiar voice makes me turn, and I have just enough time to hold my arms out before Kara flies into them. She squeezes me hard, and then shoves me toward Meg, who hugs me just as crushingly. When she releases me, I stand back, admiring their dresses. Kara obviously outfitted them from the place she works at in the mall; I remember seeing both their dresses there and drooling over them. Kara’s in a teal color that makes her eyes really pop, and the dress shows off her long legs. Meg’s in a sparkly coral dress that clings to her thin waist and shows off her beach tan nicely. Brian stands behind them, looking uncomfortable, either because he doesn’t know what to say to me or because he’s wearing a tie. He gives me a slight wave.
“I didn’t think you were coming!” I exclaim to them. The music has started, all of the faire musicians playing a dancing song at once, and we have to raise our voices. “I was afraid maybe you didn’t want to come.”
“Of course we wanted to come!” Kara says. “We had to see how awesome this place was.”
“Ha!” Meg says. “Just tell her the truth, Kara. We wanted to see the hot knight.”
“Oh.” It’s clearly been too long since I talked to them last if they don’t know that Christian’s a jerk. “Well, there’s some news on that end. Seems I can’t help but fall for no-good cheaters.” I glance at Brian. “Sorry. No offense. I know Kyle’s your friend.”
“None taken.”
My friends look crestfallen, and Meg all but says so. “Damn. We were hoping the hot knight worked out for you and that you’d be totally over Kyle.”
“Oh, I am,” I assure them. “But it’s not the hot knight I want. There’s um . . . there’s this other guy now. He does this show with a whip.”
Meg blinks. “A whip? Right on. That could be super sexy.”
Kara’s shaking her head at me. “Only our friend Ro could find a job at a Renaissance faire and hook up with a dude who does whip tricks.”
“And . . . ,” I say, pausing for suspense, “I’ve decided I want to major in art.”
“Wow,” Meg says, breathless. “How awesome. We have an artist friend, Kara! We’re totally the cool people who hang out with eccentric artists and whip people now. We’ve definitely moved up a notch in the social ladder.”
“Agreed. All cool people have to have artist friends, right? Or at least a hipster friend.”
“Yeah. I mean, the only way we could get any cooler is if we had a British friend, too. Or a celebrity friend.”
I watch them, amused and a little flattered. They called me their artist friend, their eccentric friend. And I can’t help myself: I love it.
Suze appears at my side, pulling Grant behind her and introducing herself without preamble. “You must be Meg and Kara. Wait, don’t tell me. You’re Kara and you’re Meg.”
She points to the correct friend with each name, and totally earns brownie points for me with Meg and Kara in the process, because now they know I haven’t been able to shut up about my friends while I’ve been away. Suze chats with them as if she’s known them forever, and while they talk, I scan the room for Will. He’s moved, and now he’s standing by the bar, a glass of ale in his hand (it pays to be friends with the bartender, I suppose), and he’s searching the room as well. His gaze lands on me and stays there, steady, and my heart thuds hard against my ribcage. He was looking for me.
“Suze?” I say to my friend. She stops explaining how we get by without electricity to Meg and Kara and leans close so I can talk into her ear. “Can you entertain them for a while? I’ve got to take care of something.”
“Sure thing.”
Dodging around the gathering crowd, I make off toward the bar. Will sees me coming toward him and smiles, and some of my nerves die down.
“Looking for someone?”
A wolf steps into my path, and even though there’s a mask and a whole lot of fur involved in the costume, it’s still elegant and somehow fashionable, and I’d certainly know those broad shoulders anywhere.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes,” I huff. “Who are you here with? Cassie or your girlfriend?”
“I’m here alone,” Christian says, removing his mask. His crystal blue eyes dart about the room. “Exploring my options.”
He eyes me then, glancing overly long at my chest. “You know . . . if you still wanted to have a little fun before summer’s over—”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say. I’m so disgusted that I actually taste it in my mouth, and it tastes a whole lot like orange juice that’s way past its expiration date. “Just because you’re good-looking you think you can treat girls like crap.”
“I treat girls how they ask to be treated,” he counters. “So before you go name calling, look at yourself. You said you wanted a fling. All I did was take you up on it.”
“Yeah. While you had a girlfriend. You’re a liar.”
“I may not have told you about my girlf
riend, but I didn’t spend the night in someone else’s tent and then claim to be just friends after.”
I suck in a breath. “I wasn’t lying about that. I told you. Will and I are just friends.”
“Oh yeah? Is that why you were looking for him just now?” Unbelievably, Christian makes a tsking sound and shakes his head as if he’s disappointed in my behavior. My behavior. “Three guys in one summer. Sounds like a slut to me.”
I want to slap him. My hand twitches like it wants to, too, and it’s just waiting on the order. But he’s not worth it. Christian isn’t worth the scene it would make, or any other words I could spit at him, and he most certainly isn’t worth the ache I’d get in my hand when I smacked his thick skull.
I push past him, making sure I push hard enough that he stumbles back, and head toward the exit. I need to get outside, into the cool night air. I make for the tavern, plopping myself down on the back stairs by the kitchen with a loud thunk. Inside, Ramón’s barking out orders to the wait staff and dishes and glasses clink together; out here with me is the whirring of the ventilation system and the smell of rotting food from the Dumpsters. It all somehow perfectly fits my mood.
As angry as I am, there’s something far worse bubbling up beneath it. Hot tears fall down my cheeks, and though I wipe them away, they keep coming.
I know I’m not a slut. If anything, Christian’s the slut, but that word still stings. I’ve never been called that before, at least to my face, but I’ve certainly used that word about others. I wonder if they felt like this, like they’d been hit with a stun gun and had no way of defending themselves. I wonder if Lacey felt that way when the whole school was talking about her and Kyle.
But maybe she wasn’t either, really. Maybe Kyle hadn’t told her about me. Or maybe she just really liked him and couldn’t help herself. After all, Kyle was cute and charming, and maybe he fell for her, too. They seemed so happy that day when they came into the tavern. They seemed to have a lot more of a connection than we ever did.
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