Paper Cranes (Fairytale Twist #1)

by Jordan Ford

  Helena perched her chin on his shoulder, her breath tickling the side of his neck. “Apparently my father caught her staring and stopped in his tracks. His face washed with a look of wonder and he stepped towards her and said, ‘Hear my soul speak. The very instant I saw you, did my heart fly to your service.’”

  “And she bought that?” Tristan made a face, his cynical chuckle breathy and dry.

  Helena shot back, her mouth agape, “For certain! Any man who says something that romantic owns your heart immediately.” She squeezed his hand. “Poetry is made from love. It inspires love, and my parents are proof of that. Their hearts were fused that day and their souls will live together forever…in paradise.”

  Tristan swallowed, holding back his true thoughts on the matter. Love wasn’t always made to last forever. There was no paradise for his parents. Maybe his father should have had some poetry up his sleeve.

  Tristan skimmed his finger down the curve of her cheek. “So, that line your father said, what’s that from?”

  “Shakespeare, of course.” Helena grinned and nestled her head back on his shoulder. “It’s from The Tempest. My father’s favorite play.”

  “You really are a thespian family, aren’t you?”

  “I know it must seem odd sometimes, like we’ve never really fit into this world. But there’s magic in words and storytelling. I’d be lost without books, Tristan. They’ve kept me afloat through my darkest days. Escaping into another world full of love, enchantment…heroes. It keeps me breathing.”

  Lifting his shoulder, he gently encouraged Helena to move. She turned to look at him and he cupped her cheek. “The real world is full of those things too.”

  “But the good guys don’t always win.” Helena’s forehead bunched, her mouth looking small and childlike when she frowned.

  Tristan traced his thumb across her lower lip. “Sometimes they do.”

  She looked straight into his eyes, a dancing wonder making her own sparkle like emeralds. Sitting straight, she reached for her paper crane and collected a pen out of her stationery container.

  “Tristan made his first paper crane today,” Helena murmured as she wrote, “and made me believe that maybe fairytales can come true.”

  Tristan chuckled, his shoulders shaking. Popping the lid on, she went to put the pen back, but he snatched it out of her hand before she could. Taking off the lid, he pulled his own crane towards himself and wrote on the wing.

  “I folded my first paper crane today,” he said, “and Helena made me believe that poetry can win a girl’s heart. Must learn some poetry.”

  Helena’s laughter tinkled in the air. Placing the pen back, she flicked her hair over her shoulder and leaned her cheek against her hand, gazing at Tristan with unchecked affection.

  “Oh, but you know so much already. You’ve been studying Shakespeare. You have a full armada of poetry up your sleeve. Now you just need to use it.” She winked.

  Clearing his throat, he straightened, puffing out his chest and lifting his chin.

  “Sweet Helena, this bud of love, by summer’s…something about breath and then a flower?”

  Helena tipped back her head, laughter ringing true. Sitting forward, she rested her hand on his cheek, ready to say something, but then she paused. Her eyes searched his, her thumb caressing the corner of his left eye.

  “Oh, Tristan, your eyes are a brilliant blue today.”

  Resting his hand on her waist, he trailed it down to her hip and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “Because of you,” he whispered, leaning forward and kissing her.

  19

  An Excellent Tutor

  Tristan adjusted his jeans, yanking them down at the knee and sticking out his foot while he waited for Miss Warren to hand back their Shakespeare assignments. He felt nervous for reasons he couldn’t fathom. Maybe it was because he actually tried pretty hard on it, something he hadn’t done for a long time, or maybe it was the fact that Helena had helped him and he wanted to make her proud.

  The rustle of papers being flipped and turned followed by beaming smiles, frowns, and indifferent shrugs waffled through the classroom.

  Placing the assignment on his desk, Miss Warren rested her hand on his shoulder and murmured in his ear, “See me after class, please.”

  Her voice was slightly chilly and a rock-hard stone dropped into his stomach. With a disappointed tut, he lifted the pages and thumbed through to the final grading page.

  A+ was written in red on the top right corner.

  His mouth popped open, his face bunching with confusion. Glancing over at Miss Warren, she caught his gaping stare and had to bite back her smile.

  “Okay, class, let’s go over what you’ll need to prepare for your test on Monday.” She clapped her hands and drew all eyes her way.

  At the end of the lesson, Tristan packed up slowly, shuffling towards the front desk and waiting until the final student had walked out the door before raising his eyebrows at Miss. Warren. She sat at her desk, her slender arms folded and resting against the shiny black edge.

  “Congratulations on such a great assignment.”

  “Thank you,” he murmured, finding her stern look disconcerting.

  “You know, for a guy who hates Shakespeare, you did surprisingly well. Is the work actually yours?”

  Tristan’s eyes bulged, his head bobbing before words could reach his mouth. “Yeah, yeah, of course it is.”

  She leaned back in her seat, looking skeptical. Her high cheekbones protruded while her eyes narrowed with scrutiny.

  He scratched the back of his neck and gave it a squeeze.

  “Cheating is not tolerated at this school, Mr. Parker. Now I’m not accusing you of plagiarism, but I find it very hard to believe that a student with your lack of enthusiasm can suddenly do so well. Who helped you with this? Did someone do it for you?”

  He clenched his jaw, still gazing at the floor and rubbing the back of his neck.

  “I really don’t want to have to take this to Principal Smyth, but I won’t have dishonesty in my class. It’s not fair to me or your fellow students.”

  Giving in with a sigh, Tristan looked to the ceiling. “I had help. The assignment’s mine, I swear, but I did have someone tutor me through it. She gave me a lot of great ideas and really helped me understand the play.” His lips twitched. “She kind of brought it to life.”

  He glanced at his teacher, pleased with the sudden shift in her demeanor. Her deep brown gaze had softened to a rich nutmeg, her lips curving up at the edges.

  “You’re blushing,” she murmured.

  He cringed, flashing her a strained smile.

  Her chuckle was sweet and melodic. “Is she a student at this school?”

  “No, she’s uh…homeschooled.” Tristan cleared his throat and swallowed.

  “Well, I’d love to meet her sometime.” Miss Warren leaned forward again, threading her fingers together. “If she can get that kind of work out of you, I’d love to see what she could share with your classmates.”

  Tristan’s nose wrinkled. “Yeah, she’s a bit of a homebody.”

  “Ah.” Miss Warren nodded. “The shy type.”

  He nodded, finding that an easier solution than delving into the weird drama of Helena’s life.

  Miss Warren pressed her hands against her desk and slowly stood. “Okay, well, I’m glad you’re not cheating and that you’ve found yourself an inspiring tutor. Maybe she can help you study this weekend.”

  Tristan frowned. “Unfortunately, I’m at my mom’s this weekend.” His shoulder hitched. “She’s picking me up at six.”

  “Then I suggest you make the most of your afternoon.” Miss Warren winked, an amused smile resting on her lips. “See you on Monday, Mr. Parker.”

  “See ya.” He raised his hand and shot out the door, feeling like he’d dodged a bullet. Running through the busy traffic, he skipped his locker and loped down the stairs to his bike, anxious to show Helena his assignment.

  “I li
ke this line,” Helena nudged Tristan’s leg with the toe she had tucked beneath him. “A good explanation of the emotional journey these characters go through. Deep insights and a clear understanding of Shakespeare’s underlying message.”

  Tristan blushed, crossing his arms and nodding. “That was all you. No wonder she thought I was cheating.”

  Helena leaned forward, gripping his arm and shaking her head. “It wasn’t just me. You came up with this too. All I did was steer you in the right direction, and you made all the correct assumptions.” She grinned, leaning back and hugging the assignment to her chest. “I’m so proud of you.”

  He brushed the air with his hand, his cheeks heating with color.

  Helena laid the assignment in her lap and smoothed out the crinkles. Tristan wondered if he should mention the test, but ignored Miss Warren’s advice. He didn’t want to waste the few minutes he had left studying. He just wanted to hang out, bask in Helena’s sunshine.

  “We should write a play, you and me.” Her sweet voice tickled the air, her words taking him by surprise.

  “A play?” His dark eyebrows dipped together.

  “Yes.” She giggled. “Or a story. It could be fun.”

  “What would it be about?”

  Looking up with a sigh, Helena rested her head against the back of the sofa. “Two people, divided by an ocean of green grass and a towering castle. Two lost souls who find themselves in each other.” Her head popped back up. “What do you think?”

  “You are such a romantic.” His voice was dry, but he couldn’t stop his smile in time.

  “Oh, come on, you love that about me.”

  “I do.” He hesitated for only a second before leaning towards her. She met him halfway with a glimmering smile, clutching the front of his shirt as they pressed their lips together.

  Tristan wanted to deepen the kiss, taste the edge of her sweet, red tongue, but he didn’t have the courage to dive in. He didn’t want to scare her off. She was so sweet and innocent, so untouched by the world. He kind of liked that about her.

  “So, what’s your idea, then?” She rested her hand on his neck, searching his face with her dancing eyes.

  “My idea? Hmmm.” He pursed his lips. “How about a girl who is trapped in a tower and a handsome, brave, good-looking knight”—she giggled—“comes to rescue her. They climb out the window and gallop away on his trusty steed to explore the world and all it has to offer.”

  The dancing light in Helena’s eyes died away, replaced with a cool glare. “How many times do we have to have this conversation, Tristan? You know I can never leave with you.”

  The light, airy feeling in the room vanished, snapped away as the serious conversation reared its head again.

  “Your mother needs help. You’re doing her no favors by staying locked up in here.” He ran his hand down her arm.

  “How would I ever get her help?” She swatted his hand away, crossing her arms. “She won’t leave the house. She can barely open the door for the delivery man without having a panic attack.”

  “Hence the reason she needs help.”

  “Tristan.” She closed her eyes. “Please don’t.”

  Not wanting to taint their last few minutes together, Tristan pressed his lips into a straight line and reached for her hand, gently threading their fingers together. “I just hate the idea that we have an expiration date.”

  “One that’s at least a year away. You don’t even know what you want to do with your life anyway. You very well could be here for years to come.”

  “I’m not spending the rest of my life waiting on my father. I’m not…” He sighed. “I can’t stay forever.”

  “Then I guess you better start training him to look after himself.” Her eyebrows rose, making her look like a governess who’d had lemon juice for breakfast.

  “I’m trying,” Tristan muttered darkly. It was a lie. He wasn’t training anyone. It was easier just to do it himself. Helena had a point. It’d only make things difficult when he went to leave, but still. He wasn’t staying with his dad for the rest of eternity. He also couldn’t spend his adult years climbing a tower.

  “You need to stop worrying about the future and live in the now or you’ll miss everything.” Helena spoke softly, glancing at her paper cranes.

  He looked at her with an irritated scowl. “How can you say that to me when you’re not doing that yourself?”

  “How am I not doing it?” She tried to wriggle her fingers free but he tightened his grip.

  “You’re trapped inside a house. You’re not living—you’re existing.”

  “I’ll have you know that I have traveled the world in my mind,” she snapped. “I have seen things that you can’t even imagine. I have lived in every age and I have laughed and smiled and felt more happiness in this house than you probably ever have. What does the world outside have to offer me that I can’t get in the safety of my own home?” Her eyes flared a brilliant green.

  He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. “Let me take you out and show you.”

  With a pinched expression, she wriggled her fingers loose and sighed. “You know I can’t do that. If anything bad happened she wouldn’t survive it.”

  Tristan ran a hand through his hair and sighed, his lungs deflating as he once again lost the battle.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?” He looked at her with a frown.

  She raised her finger, pointing at the open window behind him. “Aren’t you going to get up and storm out that window like you normally do when we have this quarrel?”

  The edge of his mouth twitched, a half smile daring to show. Clearing his throat, he drew in a slow breath, plucked the assignment off her lap, and started rereading Miss Warren’s glowing comments.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Helena’s face rise with a grin, her bottom teeth brushing over her lower lip before she lifted the book off the coffee table and resumed reading.

  Fifteen minutes later, a car horn beeped in Tristan’s driveway. He shot from his seat and peered out the window.

  “She’s early,” he muttered.

  “The sooner you go, the sooner you return.” Helena’s hand rested on his back, between his shoulder blades.

  “I just can’t be bothered doing another weekend, trying to explain why I’m not playing ball anymore. Not to mention putting up with Curtis and his saffron. I should have just put her off.”

  “You promised you wouldn’t. She’s your mother. If she had her way you’d be living with her permanently. As it is, she only gets to see you twice a month. Think how that must make her feel.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” Tristan sighed.

  Helena rested her chin on his shoulder and chuckled in his ear. “Just be honest with her, and remember that I’m only an email away.”

  He spun around, pulling her against him and kissing the side of her head. “I’ll come over as soon as I get back.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you.” Her smile was divine.

  He quickly pecked her lips before scrambling out the window. Glancing at her face one last time, he carefully descended the tower, a light breeze rippling through his clothing as he imagined his return.

  “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” he murmured as he landed on the ground and crossed the ocean of grass with a dreamy smile.

  20

  A Fair Maiden to the Rescue

  His mother’s car had been freshly cleaned. The dashboard was dust-free, the carpets beneath his feet plush from a recent vacuuming. It was a far cry from his dad’s old pickup truck. Shuffling down in his seat, he went to rest his foot on the dash, but a sharp glance from his mother had his foot landing back on the floor.

  A smile brushed his lips as he imagined he was speeding along in a black carriage with the Wicked Witch of the West. She had kidnapped him and was dragging him south to her evil lair where Doctor Curt-bum was preparing a bubbling cauldron of saffron-infused poison.

  He chuckled.

 
“What is it?” His mother’s voice was sharp.

  He shook his head, tugging on his beanie and looking out the window. He caught his mother’s frown and eye roll out of the corner of his eye but ignored it, instead diving back into his imagination and having a blast.

  As soon as they arrived at the house, he mumbled a greeting to Curtis and disappeared into his room, typing up his story in an email to Helena.

  He wasn’t able to check his inbox until after an awkward dinner filled with stilted conversation and painful wedding talk. Curtis wanted Tristan to be a groomsman.

  Was he out of his mind?

  Tristan didn’t even want to go to the wedding.

  As soon as the dishes were rinsed, Tristan made a beeline for his computer. Closing his bedroom door, he turned on the lamp and tapped the space bar as soon as he sat down. The screen came to life. An instant grin popped onto his face when he saw the red little circle on his Mail icon.

  My dear Tristan,

  I adore the premise of your story. Your two villains are quite captivating. I’m also rather fond of the fair maiden who comes to rescue you.

  Hope fluttered in Tristan’s chest, his airways restricting until he read the next paragraph and slumped into his chair.

  Let us give her a flying horse, much like Pegasus, although I want hers to be chocolate brown with a white patch on his left eye. His wingspan will be intimidating and he will fly at the speed of light.

  ~ H xx

  Tristan’s lips twitched as he typed a message back.

  Things have gotten worse for the victim. Come this summer, he will be forced to don a suit that will make him look like a penguin. He will be pranced around in front of lords and ladies—a pet monkey on display—while the evil doctor and his mistress get married.

  Help, my sweet Helena. How will you rescue me?

  ~ T xxx

  I will rescue you by charging in, sword ablaze and demanding (very politely, of course) that the captors hand over my prince or I shall have to slay them both where they stand.