Into the Wild

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Back to not fitting in. Back to Kristen laughing at her. Back to Mr. Wallace’s history quizzes and Cindy’s car rides and Mom’s dinner parties . . .

  Back to a world where everyone knew she was Rapunzel’s daughter.

  Their secret was out. Who knew what would happen? She could come home to find the media camped on her lawn. The tabloids would eat it up. The U.S. government could even be interested—the Wild had taken down a military helicopter, not to mention whatever else they’d thrown at it since. Scientists might probe and poke and study. She could be walking into a nightmare.

  She could be walking into a world with no father.

  Julie looked over her shoulder at her dad, and she felt her heart lurch into her throat. Dad. Her dad, alive and here. Candlelight behind him, he seemed to glow. But I am offering a gift: the world as it should be, the Wild had said. In here, life is fair. Everyone has a place. Everyone belongs. I am offering you what you’ve always wanted.

  On the other side of this door was the real world, with all its embarrassments, disappointments, and losses. In here was happily ever after. Here was the father she’d always dreamed of having. Yes, he was the Wild’s puppet, but he was here. She had a chance to make up for all those lost years. If she stayed with him, she would always belong. She would always have a role, the prince’s daughter. The future wouldn’t be a scary unknown. The Wild had made her a story of her own, cobbled together from the stories and people it knew she wanted, including a very special incentive: the one character who had not escaped its control. It was offering her a gift, and it was betting that she would take it. It was betting that she would choose to stay here and be forever safe. “Safe inside the Wild,” she murmured.

  And yet . . . five hundred years ago, Mom had chosen the real world over the Wild, and Dad had sacrificed himself to give it to her. Was this how Mom had felt when she looked down the well at her prince and had to make her wish? Julie felt as if she’d swallowed a tornado, and it was churning inside her, tearing her up.

  In the Wild, Julie had gotten to be a hero. She’d flown on a griffin, outwitted an ogre, and danced at a ball. All in all, it was pretty wonderful.

  Had Mom made the right choice? Was it worth it? Julie pictured her mother at home. She remembered how much they laughed together, like the time they’d thrown a surprise party for Gretel at the salon. She and Julie had made a cake, and the lit candles had come to life and cha-cha-ed out the door. They’d made it halfway down Main Street before Mom caught up to them with a fire extinguisher. Somehow, Julie didn’t think moments like that happened in the Wild. Or little times, like movie nights, where Mom and Julie would rent movies, pop microwave popcorn, and make up their own ridiculous dialogue for the dramatic scenes. Or pizza nights, when they ate on the living room rug instead of the table and watched TV.

  I envy them, the dwarf had said. To have always been able to know who you are, to be able to change who you are, to make your own story . . .

  In that moment, Julie understood. It felt as if all the spinning pieces inside her had clicked into place, and she could see clearly now. Even if she was right about what would happen when the world knew about the Wild, it was worth it—it was worth the price. She went to her father and squeezed his hand. Her throat felt clogged, and she swallowed hard. “I understand why you weren’t there while I was growing up,” she told him. It was one of the hardest things she had ever had to say. She felt herself begin to cry again. So many years of blaming him . . . So many years of blaming her mother . . . Mom had to choose because she had to choose.

  This castle, for everything it had, was not life. It wasn’t real.

  “Can you come with me?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  He shook his head. She had guessed right: the Wild owned him. He wasn’t free. His presence here was part of another story, Julie’s story.

  She wished she had a camera. She’d replace those illustrations in her locker with photographs. He didn’t look like any of them. She tried to memorize the crinkle of his eyebrows and the curves of his nose. She released his hand.

  She expected him to ask or command her to stay, but he didn’t. He touched her cheek, wet with tears, and said only one word: “Julie.” It wasn’t a question or a command. It was everything—it was everything all wrapped up in one word: her name. Julie Marchen, Rapunzel’s daughter.

  Turning away from her father, she twisted the doorknob.

  It didn’t open. She shook it. It was locked. “Dad?” she said, looking over her shoulder. Candles fizzled in their sconces, and the hall darkened. He was gone. “Dad!” She shook the doorknob again. Out of the darkness, she heard wind. It’s coming. The Wild’s coming.

  She reached into her pocket for her wand, and she felt the key: Mom’s special linen closet key. She pulled it out and shoved it into the lock. It melted in her hand to fit. She turned it and opened the door to the Wishing Well Motel.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The Wishing Well Motel

  Lifting up a veil of vines, Julie stooped under the leaves. She was at the front of the Wishing Well Motel beside the dry and cracked swimming pool. The Wild had not transformed anything here. It had merely grown over it, like the jungle over a lost Mayan temple, as if the growth had been hurried. The motel lay under a thick silence. The crunch of Julie’s feet echoed.

  It was eerie without the sound of TVs in the motel rooms or the Coke machine near the lobby. Grandma always had guests. Julie spotted half of the motel sign through the leaves. She went up to it and cleared the branches so that THE WISHING WELL MOTEL and the dull neon VACANCIES underneath it were visible. Grandma would have liked that. She lingered for an instant more, then realized she was delaying. After all she had gone through, now that she was here, she was afraid.

  Of what? All she had to do now was find the well and make a wish. How hard could that be? She climbed through the tangle of plants that had once been the lawn. The well was behind the motel, and the fastest way there was through the lobby. She cleared vines from the door and opened it.

  The lobby was dark. Covered in vines and leaves, the windows gave off only a dim, sickly green light. It reminded Julie of the magician’s lair. Maybe she should go around. No, she could do this. Just cross through and out the opposite door. Julie stepped inside. She could do this, she repeated.

  There were shapes hunched over the lobby’s main desk. She crept across the room. Closer, she could see the shapes had fur. She knew them! They were the three bears, their heads down on the counter beside bowls of porridge. All three bears snored in unison. Drugged porridge, Julie guessed, or magicked. That explained how someone had been able to get past them to make a wish. Julie shivered. No wonder Goldie hadn’t found them. The only bears who weren’t dancing for Gillian were here, asleep since before the Wild was freed. I’ll get us out of here, she promised silently. It’s almost over.

  In the dim green light, Julie skirted around them. As she passed Little Bear, he lifted his head. “Do you think it is that easy?” he said.

  She froze. That tone of voice . . . she knew that flat, mechanical voice. Oh, no. “Little Bear?” She knew it wasn’t.

  “This one’s too hot, this one’s too cold, and now you will find the one that’s just right?” the Wild said. “You won’t find your happily ever after. Not this way.”

  It couldn’t stop her now, could it? “I beat your games,” Julie said. “I made it here. You have to let me go—your rules.”

  “You will make a foolish wish,” the Wild said. “You will destroy your happiness and the happiness of your family and friends. No one has ever made the wish that was truly their heart’s desire.”

  It was trying to talk her out of it. She had survived the stories. All the Wild had left was talk. Right? As if on cue, the other two bears raised their heads. “Someone has been eating my porridge. Someone has been sleeping in my bed.”

  Julie ran out the lobby door.

  She skidded to a stop. Hip-high bushes and thick
trees clogged the backyard. She shot a look over her shoulder. The bears weren’t following her.

  Maybe they couldn’t—the bears never caught their Goldilocks.

  Putting her hands on her knees, she caught her breath. It was just talk. Just talk. And it couldn’t talk her out of this. She’d find the well, and she’d do what she had to do.

  Julie peered into the vegetation. The well should be right in front of her. Just because she couldn’t see it didn’t mean it wasn’t there. She climbed over vines and roots. She waded through bushes.

  And she found the well. All of a sudden, it was there. There weren’t any fanfares or lightning bolts or anything like that. She almost stumbled over it, in fact—the base of the well jutted out into her path and was hidden by bushes. Julie cleared aside the brambles and stepped onto the base. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling. The well certainly didn’t look like much.

  Under a layer of moss, the wishing well looked as it always had: cracked mortar, dilapidated shingles, chipped stones. The rope that had once held a bucket was frayed. The bucket itself was centuries gone. Julie put both hands on the mossy wall and looked down. She couldn’t see the bottom.

  All right, then. Now what?

  It was time to make a wish. Okay. She was ready. Julie rolled up her sleeves, spread her feet wide, braced herself on the wall, and leaned directly over the middle of the well.

  What wish should she make?

  She hadn’t thought about it. Not specifically. She’d been so caught up in the race to get here that she hadn’t thought about what she’d do when she got here.

  She could wish it all had never happened. No, she couldn’t wish that. She thought of tricking the ogre into using the wand, dancing at the ball, meeting her father. She didn’t want it to have never happened.

  She could wish the Wild was gone. That idea was appealing. Not only could she stop the Wild here, but she could ensure that it never came back. She liked that. It would serve the Wild right for playing puppet master with who knew how many people.

  But what would happen to all those people—not to mention herself—if the Wild disappeared while they were inside it? What if it took everyone with it? Julie shuddered. The Wild was right: she could make things worse if she wasn’t careful. Far, far worse.

  What had her mother wished for? Too bad Mom hadn’t given her a hint. It has to be the wish dearest to your heart, her mother had said. But what was that wish? What did she want? She used to want so many things. Now she just wanted her life back.

  That’s my wish, she thought. I want my life back. But how should she say it so it didn’t come out wrong? How could she guarantee that the wish she made was what she really wanted? It has to be the wish that’s dearest to your heart.

  Julie smiled. She knew what to say. Leaning over the mossy rocks, she whispered into the well, “I wish the wish that is dearest to my heart.”

  Her words fell like pennies into the water.

  For an instant, there was silence. She looked around, peering at the still, dark forest that surrounded the motel like a waiting animal. It didn’t work, she thought. After everything, it didn’t work.

  She turned in a slow circle, looking for some movement, for any movement. Should she make another wish? Was the well broken? Was it all a trick? What if she was trapped here forever? The trees were silent. Blinking, she wiped at her eyes. She was not going to cry. There had to be something else she could do. There had to be . . .

  Her mother walked out of the woods.

  She looked as if she’d been lost in the forest for days. Her face was tired, purple circles under her eyes and gray shadows on her cheeks. Her hair was shorn at odd angles, as if someone had cut it with a hedge trimmer. Her clothes were torn and stained with dirt. Julie thought she’d never looked more beautiful.

  Zel halted. Her eyes widened. “Julie?”

  Julie ran to her and threw her arms around her neck. “Oh, Julie,” Zel said. She hugged her tight.

  When Julie pulled back, both their cheeks were wet. Zel smiled through the tears. “You did it,” Zel said. “You did it!”

  Julie shook her head. “The Wild’s still here. I didn’t do it right.”

  “What did you wish?” her mother asked.

  Julie told her.

  “Oh, pumpkin,” Zel said. She smiled as bright as the noon sun. Why is she smiling? Julie wondered—and then she realized why: Julie had wished for her heart’s desire, and her mother had come. Mom was part of Julie’s dearest wish. “Pumpkin, you did just right,” Mom said. She hugged her again.

  And there was a flash.

  In an instant, Julie, Zel, and Gothel were sitting at the dinner table, leftover quiche on the plates in front of them. All three of them looked at each other. Outside, sirens started to wail. “Uh-oh,” Zel said.

  Gothel stood, knocking a plate of quiche onto the floor. “Rapunzel . . .”

  Zel sprang out of her chair and rushed to the window.

  “Is it the police?” Julie asked. She heard voices outside. Lots of voices. And helicopters. Julie joined her mother at the window. It was the police. And the military. And the media. News vans, cop cars, and army jeeps were zooming down West Street. She saw soldiers jump out of vehicles and knock on the neighbors’ doors. It wouldn’t be long until they came here too. “What do we do?” Julie asked.

  “I will turn them into frogs,” Gothel said. She withdrew a wand from the billows of her cape. “I will . . .” She swayed and then shook her head, as if trying to clear it.

  Julie and Zel turned to her in alarm. Oh, no. Had she forgotten again? Was she the witch, not Grandma? Zel caught Gothel’s arm, steadying her. “You will not,” Zel said. “Mom, listen to me. We’re free. You’re free.”

  “I . . .” The witch stared at Rapunzel, and then Gothel’s face crumbled. “I was the witch,” she said softly. “Again. It was still my role. Oh, Zel, it knew—at my core, I am still the witch. I cannot be free of it.”

  Gently, Zel said, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Julie backed away from the window as her grandmother—her strong, unflappable grandmother—began to cry. Julie had wanted to return to the real world. Her heart’s desire had been to return to her real life. She had known there would be a price. This was the price: their secret was out. And she had lost her father. Again.

  “Take a deep breath, Mother. We need to pull ourselves together and determine who made it out of the Wild,” Zel said. “Did anyone other than the three of us make it?”

  Julie hadn’t thought of that. Had she wished for the wrong thing after all? Had the Wild found a way to make it come out wrong? Had she lost her father for nothing? No, she wouldn’t believe it. Her heart’s desire had to include everyone: Grandma. Boots. Cindy, Goldie, the bears . . . Gillian! What happened after the ball? Had she gotten free of the animals? Had she gotten free of the Wild? Julie had to try to call her. She bolted upstairs.

  She flung open her bedroom door and halted in the doorway. On her bed slept an orange cat in doll-sized pj’s. Beside him, in a baby’s nightgown, was a white, longhaired cat. “Boots?” Julie said.

  He opened one eye. “Hey, sis,” Boots said.

  Suddenly, she felt as if she were brimming inside. Her vision blurred—there were tears in her eyes. He was okay! He’d made it out! She’d done it right!

  Boots said, “Meet my girlfriend.” He nudged the white cat.

  The white cat blinked awake and said, “Oh, yes, nice to meet you. Sorry I was evil before. I’m feeling much better now.”

  Julie yanked up the dust ruffle and saw it, the Wild, as a small tangle of green. It was back. The Wild was home too. Outside, a siren wailed, loud and close, and a green, leafy vine withdrew deeper under the bed.

  She started to laugh and cry at the same time. This— all of it, all of them—was her dearest wish! Still laughing and crying, she scooped both cats into her arms and hugged them.

  “Watch the fur!” they said in unison.

  Releasing th
em, Julie picked up the phone and dialed. Her hands were shaking. Please, she thought, please let everything be back to normal. Gillian answered, “Yes-th?” Gillian! Oh, was she glad to hear that voice! And the trumpet—she couldn’t wait to hear that trumpet! “You okay?” Julie asked.

  “My wips are sore.”

  “What?”

  “My lips are sore.”

  She winced. Gillian must have played for hours. It must have been torture. “Sorry!”

  “S’okay,” Gillian said. “Some parts were terrible, yeah. But Mom says-th I can keep a dancing bear. S’that’s kinda cool. What ’appened to you?”

  “Well . . .” Some parts were terrible, but others . . . She grinned. Yeah, it was kind of cool. Phone to her ear, Julie flopped backward onto the bed. “First, my bike came alive . . .”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Happily Ever After

  Three weeks later . . .

  Julie dove at her backpack. “Oh, no, you don’t!” She grabbed the straps as the Wild attempted to pull her backpack under the bed. “Let go!” She kicked at a vine. “I’ll prune you!” She gave it another solid kick.

  The vines released, and she fell backward onto her butt. Ow. That was totally unnecessary. She glared at the Wild, then she got to her feet and examined the backpack. Part of the transformation had already begun: half of the backpack looked like a vagabond’s pack. The nylon was now patched rags. Great. Just great. She opened it. Luckily, her books were fine. The Wild hadn’t had it long enough to affect them.

  “Julie!” her mom called from downstairs. “Cindy’s here!”

  “Coming!” she yelled back. Julie gave the Wild another glare. “Behave yourself,” she said. She left the room and locked it behind her.

  She passed through the kitchen. On the kitchen table, Grandma had spread a map of Europe. “Don’t nag me, Zel,” she was saying. “I don’t need reservations. Plenty of our kind still live there.”