Jonah and I just stand there dumbfounded. What just happened?
Mr. Beast looks down at his plate. “I told you she wouldn’t like me,” he mutters. “She doesn’t even want to play cards with me.”
“She did! She does!” I exclaim. “I don’t know what happened.”
“I’ll play with you,” Jonah says, rushing back to the table. “But can we have the cheesecake first?”
Mr. Beast shrugs.
“I’m going to check on Beauty,” I say. I hurry up the grand staircase and knock on Beauty’s door.
“Come in,” she calls.
“What happened?” I ask as I step inside. She’s lying on her bed in a ball, clutching her stomach.
I gasp. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s the cheese,” she says. “I can’t eat cheese! I’m allergic!”
Huh? “But you ate the goat cheese soup! And the cheese ravioli! Why did you eat so much cheese? I don’t understand.”
She sniffs. “I didn’t want to insult Mr. Beast by not eating his food. He cooked it.”
“But you’re sick!”
“I know. When I eat cheese, I get really dizzy and then I feel like I’m going to throw up. I can’t go back downstairs. I can barely stand up!”
“Do you need to go to the hospital?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “I’ll be okay. I just need to go to sleep.”
I back slowly out of the room and go downstairs. Jonah and Mr. Beast are in the den, playing cards.
“Is she coming down?” Mr. Beast asks when he sees me. “She ran away so fast, it was as though she was allergic to me.”
“It’s not you she’s allergic to,” I say. “It’s cheese.”
He frowns. “She is? Why didn’t she tell me?”
“She didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” I take the opportunity to further my cause. “That’s how much she likes you. She was willing to eat your food even though it made her sick.”
“But I don’t want someone to suffer because of my food. I don’t want someone to suffer at all. Not by eating my food or by being with me.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just stay quiet.
“Maybe I should bring Beauty something to read,” I say eventually. “Can she borrow a book?”
“Of course,” he says, playing a card. “I have a million books in the basement. I’m not much of a reader, but they were my grandfather’s. He always had his nose in a book. I’ve never even looked through them.”
Jonah yawns.
“Jonah, ten more minutes and then you have to go to bed,” I say.
“You’re not my mother, Abby,” he grumbles.
“Maryrose told us that I’m in charge when we’re in fairy tale land. You just don’t remember.”
“She did?”
“Yes,” I lie. “It’s for your own safety.”
“It’s almost time for my aftinner anyway,” Mr. Beast says. “You should get some sleep, Jonah. Breakfast will be served at seven A.M. sharp.”
“What are you making?” I ask.
“A cheeseburger.”
“For breakfast?” Gross.
He laughs. “No. For aftinner. Omelets for breakfast.”
“Cheese-free, I hope,” I say.
“With homemade ketchup?” Jonah asks, licking his lips.
“With homemade ketchup,” Mr. Beast promises.
While they finish up their game, I go downstairs to find the books.
The basement is dark and smells musty. I turn on the lamp and see piles and piles of books all over the floor and scattered around messily on the shelves.
I pick up a few books from the top of a pile and bring them upstairs to Beauty.
“There are stacks and stacks of books in the basement,” I tell her, handing over the ones I chose. “Mr. Beast says you can read whatever you want. I grabbed you a few. I wasn’t sure what kinds you liked.”
“I’m too dizzy to read,” she says, putting the books on her nightstand. “But thanks. I’ll have a look tomorrow.”
“You sure you don’t want to see a doctor?”
“No, no, tomorrow it will be gone. It always is.”
“Always? How often do you eat the thing you’re allergic to?”
“A lot,” she admits sheepishly. “I don’t like to insult anyone.”
“Beauty! You can’t worry so much about insulting people. You have to worry about yourself!”
She sighs. “Can you lecture me tomorrow? I’m not really up for it.”
I pull the covers up to her chin. “Okay, I’ll lecture you tomorrow. Plus we have a fun day planned. You and Mr. Beast are going to get to know each other really well. I’ll bet you’ll even fall in love!”
“I’m not sure about that,” she says. “But I’ll stay longer if it helps you. And he has stacks of books. I love books so much. Books are amazing.”
“So’s Mr. Beast,” I press. “He’s amazing, too. You’ll see.”
She closes her eyes without answering.
I oversleep. The bed is so comfortable. The sheets are silky, and the purple comforter is extra fluffy.
When I open my eyes, the first thing I do is run into the sitting room and check the magic mirror to make sure my parents are still in their bed.
“Snooooooooooooooorrrshhhh —”
This time, the snore belongs to my mom. Their clock says 4:50.
I return to my room, go through the closet, and put on comfy black leggings and a sparkly orange top. Then I go check on Beauty, but she’s not in her room. Neither is my brother. I hurry downstairs and find Jonah, Mr. Beast, and Prince at the table, munching away on blueberry pancakes.
I stretch my arms above my head. “Morning. I thought you were making omelets! Where’s Beauty?”
“She’s in the basement,” Jonah says, his mouth full of pancake. “And you missed the omelets. That was breakfast. This is brunch!”
“Jonah, swallow and then speak,” I order as I sit down at the table.
He sticks his blueberry-covered tongue out at me.
Mr. Beast laughs.
“What’s she doing in the basement?”
“Organizing the books,” Mr. Beast says. “She’s been at it since six.”
“Is she feeling okay?” I wonder.
“Seems so,” Mr. Beast says.
“Did you guys play trump yet?” I ask.
“No,” Mr. Beast says. “She’s been in the basement all morning.”
I need to get her to come up. Maybe we should skip playing trump and go directly to dancing. Yeah. That’s the most romantic of all the dates. This romance needs a kick in the pants.
I shovel down my pancakes and then go ask Mr. Butler for help setting up.
“Dancing!” he squeals. “Mrs. Butler and I love to dance.”
“Great,” I cheer. “Where should we do it?” I enunciate very clearly so he understands.
“In the Great Hall?”
“Perfect!” I say. “Can you set up the music? I’ll get everyone.”
“Splendid!” he cries.
I run down to the basement to find Beauty. “Beauty! Come upstairs! We’re going to dance!”
“Now?” she asks. “I’m kind of busy!”
She is busy. She’s knee-deep in books. “There are so many fantastic reads here,” she says. “You have no idea. But they’re a mess. I’m organizing them by genre.”
“Cool,” I say. “Are you almost done?”
She laughs. “Are you kidding? It’ll take me a week!”
Hmm. At least she’s not running for the hills. “Do you think you can take a quick break for some dancing?”
“I’m not that coordinated,” she says.
“I’m sure you’re fine,” I say. “Come on up! You can organize more afterward.”
“Well, all right,” she says, dropping a pile of books onto a shelf.
She follows me upstairs. She looks beautiful even though she’s all dusty. She’s wearing a simple blue dress and matching
blue heels.
“Come into the Great Hall,” I say.
The Great Hall is a huge room about the size of our house in Smithville. The floor is what I once heard my mom call a harlequin floor — a diamond pattern of white and black.
Mr. Beast, my brother, and Mr. and Mrs. Butler are already waiting for us in the room.
Mr. Beast is grumbling to himself and pretending to stare at the chandelier in the ceiling.
Jonah is playing hopscotch on the tiles.
This is going to work. I know it. Beauty and Mr. Beast will dance, they’ll fall in love, and the story will be saved.
“I brought music,” Mrs. Butler says. “Let me put on the record player!”
“Let me get the lights,” says Mr. Butler.
Mrs. Butler runs off in one direction, Mr. Butler in the other.
Perfect. Some soft music. Romantic lighting … that will do the trick!
I hear a scratching sound and then —
Boom, boom, boom!
It’s dance music. Loud, bouncy, dance music.
“Wahoo!” Mrs. Butler calls out and starts to wave her arms in the air. “Dance party!”
Wait a sec. I didn’t say dance party, did I?
A streak of red blazes across the room. And then a streak of green. And yellow. And blue. Mr. Butler has a disco ball. A multicolored disco ball.
“Party, party, party!” Mr. Butler yells.
“Fun!” Jonah calls out and starts to jump up and down.
“No, no, no,” I say. But no one listens.
Now Mr. Beast starts to wiggle his arms overhead, too.
“This is not what I had in mind,” I say. “Can we put on something slower?”
Mrs. Butler points to her ear. “I can’t hear you! THE MUSIC IS TOO LOUD.”
Crumbs.
I march off to the other side of the room to find the record player myself. The record that’s playing is in fact labeled FAST DANCE.
I spot a stack of records on the table and flip through them quickly.
MEDIUM DANCE. FAST DANCE 2. SLOW DANCE. There we go!
I pull FAST DANCE off the record player with a loud scratch.
“Hey!” Mrs. Butler calls. “What happened?”
“Sorry!” I chirp. “It was a little loud. I thought we’d start off with something slightly softer.”
I put on SLOW DANCE. A soft melody comes out. It sounds like a lullaby.
Mr. Butler bows and Mrs. Butler curtsies. She goes into his arms and they leisurely waltz across the hall.
Beauty and Mr. Beast stare awkwardly at each other. Neither of them seems to want to make the first move.
I clap my hands like a ballet teacher. “Pair up, pair up. Mr. Beast! Would you mind dancing with Beauty, please?”
Even with all his fur, I can see that he’s blushing. “Um, would you like to dance?” he asks her.
She blushes, too. “I guess,” she says.
I wish she’d sound a teeny, tiny bit more enthusiastic.
He takes one of her hands in his. He puts his other arm around her waist.
They stare at each other for a beat.
And then — he shuffles to the right. She shuffles to the right. He shuffles back to the left. She shuffles back to the left. They’re dancing! Hurrah!
Now he’s looking down at her. He’s smiling. She’s looking up at him! She’s smiling! They’re connecting. This is romance!
“Owwwww!” Mr. Beast howls.
They tear apart. Mr. Beast falls to the floor.
“What happened?” I ask, rushing toward him.
“I’m so sorry,” Beauty cries. “I stepped on his foot with my heel! He’s not wearing shoes. Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”
“We’re in my house,” Mr. Beast barks. “Why would I wear shoes in my own house?”
“Because we’re dancing!” she says, biting her thumbnail.
“Easy for you to say; you have human feet,” he retorts. “Shoes don’t fit my beast feet properly. But I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”
“I’m really sorry,” she says, hanging her head. “I told Abby I wasn’t very coordinated.”
“I’m not, either,” he grumbles. “Why are we dancing, anyway?”
I’ve had enough. ENOUGH. I clench my fists and yell, “Because I am trying to make you guys fall in love! I am trying to make you fall in love so you’ll get married! But you’re making it very difficult for me! VERY, VERY DIFFICULT!”
“Get married?” Beauty repeats, her eyes wide. She takes a giant step back.
“Yes,” I say. I draw in a deep breath. I think I spooked her.
“It’s not going to happen,” Mr. Beast snaps. “I told you, Abby. Forget about it. You should just go home. All of you. Abby. Beauty. Jonah.”
“Me?” Jonah asks. “You want me to leave, too?”
“You too,” he says. “I should never have kept you against your will. You have a real home. You should return to it.”
“We’re not going anywhere yet,” I say.
“Yes, you are,” Mr. Beast insists. “Okay, look. I’m hungry and it’s lunchtime and no matter what, I’m a good host, so I will prepare lunch. A cheeseless lunch.” He sighs at the thought. “But then after that, I want you all to vacate the premises.” He hops on his good foot out of the Great Hall.
Mr. and Mrs. Butler follow him out.
Beauty looks at me with a question in her eyes. “Married? You never said anything about our getting married.”
“You’re right,” I admit. “But that was always my plan. I wanted him to fall in love with you and ask you to marry him.”
She bites her thumbnail again. “But I’m not in love with him.”
“Not yet,” I say. “But you will be! You two are a perfect match!”
“How?” she asks. “We don’t have anything in common. Don’t people who get married usually have things in common?”
“Opposites attract,” Jonah exclaims. “Isn’t that an expression Nana sometimes says, Abby?”
“Yes!” I say. “It is. Opposites attract.”
Beauty continues biting her nail. She looks skeptical.
I have to make her come around! But how? What does she like?
The answer comes to me. She likes helping.
“Marrying Mr. Beast would be a really good deed,” I say. And it’s not even a lie. “A REALLY good deed. And you like to do good deeds, right?”
She nods.
“I need him to ask you to marry him. And I need you to say yes. It’s a good deed. A selfless deed! It would be a mitzvah!”
“A what?”
“A really good deed!” Jonah says.
“But I wasn’t planning on staying here forever,” Beauty says. “I have to get to Soup Kitchen. And Grumpy Great-Grandma. And the orphans need me. And my dad will be home soon. Who’s going to help him run the cottage?”
“Don’t you have two sisters?” I ask. “They can help!”
“They never help,” she says. “I have to do everything.”
“Let them do it! And other people can work at the soup kitchen. And help orphans. And Grumpy Great-Grandma. Doesn’t she have great-grandkids? Where are they?”
“They’re not that nice,” Beauty says. “They’re Grumpy Great-Grandkids.”
“Well, it’s time everyone else pulled their weight. We need you here. We appreciate you here. Please say yes. Please say you’ll marry Mr. Beast if he asks. I can’t tell you why, but it is so, so important. And he really, really wants to marry you.”
She hesitates. “Well …”
“Pretty pretty pretty please?” Jonah asks.
“Okay,” she says with a sigh.
I throw my arms around her. “Yay! Thank you!”
One down. One to go.
Anyone want to play flying crocodile before we go?” Jonah asks as we exit the Great Hall.
“We’re not going anywhere yet,” I say. “First we have to fix this. I’m going to help Mr. Beast cook.”
“And I
’m going back downstairs to organize the books.” Beauty turns to Jonah. “Want to help?”
“I don’t really like books,” my brother says.
“Then you haven’t found the right books. I bet I can change your mind,” Beauty says in a singsong voice.
“I bet you can’t,” Jonah sings back.
“I’ll tell you what,” Beauty says, her hands on her hips. “Let me pick out one book for you. You have to read it. If you don’t like it, then you were right. If you do like it, then I was right.”
“What do I get if I’m right?” Jonah asks.
Beauty shrugs. “You don’t have to read anything for the rest of your life.”
What? Huh?
“Deal!” Jonah squeals.
I wave my hand. “Um, hang on. I’m not sure if my parents would agree to that plan.”
“Too late!” Jonah cries. “I already said ‘deal.’ What happens if I lose?”
Beauty smiles. “It’s a surprise.”
Jonah narrows his eyes. “I normally like surprises, but I’m suspicious of this one.”
“Don’t be. Promise.” She winks at me and runs down the stairs. “And you already said ‘deal.’ ”
I let them go, a little worried. I find Mr. Beast in the kitchen, cutting a chicken breast into strips.
It’s one of the biggest kitchens I’ve ever seen. It has two sinks, two ovens, and two oversized fridges. There are spices everywhere. Basil, oregano, cinnamon. Or is it spelled cinamon? Cinnamon? Uch, never mind.
I look into the empty pan. “What are you making?”
“Chicken stir-fry,” he says brusquely.
“Can I help?” I ask. I use my extra-sweet voice.
I wait for him to tell me to go away, but instead he shrugs. “If you want to. The aprons are on the back of the door.”
Hurrah! I’m in. I wash my hands in the sink, pull a long brown apron off the hook, and tie it behind me. It goes past my feet.
“Have you always liked to cook?” I ask, stepping closer and trying not to trip.
He makes some space for me on the counter and hands me a cutting board, a knife, and a carrot. “Chop,” he says. Then he adds, “My dad and I used to cook together.”
“Is he … dead?” I ask while chopping very, very carefully. One birthday gift I know my mother absolutely wouldn’t want is half my finger. Missing a finger wouldn’t help with my painting skills, either.
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