Extraordinary October

by Diana Wagman

  Mom, Dad, Walker, Trevor, Luisa, Jed, and I emerged from the storehouse onto the cracked blacktop of the industrial park. Through the dirty windows in the other building we saw fairy workers wearing gray coveralls delivering sacks of mushrooms to the troll scientists. All of them unhappily doing Madame Gold’s bidding.

  Luisa ran to them and through them. “She’s gone. She’s dead.” She told each one. They looked at her without understanding. “Madame Gold.” They cringed at her name. “She’s dead. October saved you.”

  I shook my head. I had tried to save Madame Gold.

  “My daughter is the one true Queen! She is Queen of the Canopy and of Trolldom!”

  “Dad, please.” I wanted to hush him up. Dads can be so embarrassing.

  “It’s another one of her tests,” a troll called. “Don’t believe her!”

  “Can’t you feel it?” my mother asked them. Her voice was still weak, but clear. “Look!”

  She pointed up. A strip of blue was widening between the grey clouds in the sky. Long fingers of sunshine were spreading across the sky. Workers began to shake their heads, rub their eyes, and stretch as if coming out of a long, deep sleep.

  “Help me,” Luisa said. Together we went around emptying the fairies’ pockets of the stones that had been holding them down. Immediately a girl floated two feet off the ground. She beamed with pleasure.

  “I have to check on Luisa and Green,” Walker said.

  “And Enoki.”

  His eyes narrowed. “She tried to—”

  “We all did things we shouldn’t have,” I said. “All of us.”

  He dropped his head, chagrined. “They’re at the hospital, I guess. This way.” He started to lead me, but I shook my head.

  “I’m taking my folks home.”

  “But this is your home.”

  He gestured to the industrial park. It was changing as if color was slowly fading up on a black and white TV. I saw a flower bloom and others begin to sprout. The roadway turned back into grass. The buildings shone with new paint in bright colors. The muddy mushroom fields and the damaged trees would take time to recover, but I knew the fairies were up to the task. I had to go home.

  “Remember? I’m ordinary.” It hurt like hell to say it, especially looking at his amazing face, but I had to. I didn’t belong in his world. I didn’t really fit in mine, but I was going to try.

  He pushed my hair off my face and I felt the familiar tingle from his touch.

  “I wanted to protect you,” he began. “I thought you’d be safe in The Pits. I thought I could release the fairies and then I could get you and your mom out. I tried to tell you in the car. If you had told me to take you back to school, I would have.”

  “You knew I’d never do that.”

  He hung his head. “I just wanted to keep you safe. I thought I could save the fairies and save you and have it all.”

  “I know.” I had figured that was the case. What upset me the most was that he didn’t think I was strong enough to fight my own battles. I didn’t want a boyfriend who just wanted to ‘keep me safe.’ I wanted to stand on my own two feet. “It’s okay, Walker. I understand now.”

  He was good and smart and if he could get over his fairy superiority complex, he would be a great guy. I smiled at him.

  “You’re the Queen,” he whispered. “They need you.”

  I looked over at my folks. They were greeting people they knew and hugging old friends hello. My dad was six inches off the ground. Flying. My mom had a grin on her face bigger than I’d ever seen. It was obvious they had missed their friends and family and home for all these years.

  I had an idea. I ran over and climbed up a stack of wooden crates. I looked out at what had been the parking lot and was now turning into a lush, green meadow. The fairies and trolls were smiling as they peeled off their coveralls and returned to their multi-colors. I clapped my hands. No one paid any attention. I shouted hello, but they were too busy talking to each other. Finally I thought as hard as I could, Hey! Up here! Every face turned to me.

  “Hi,” I said. “Hello.” I wasn’t sure where to begin, so I just launched right in. “I am October Fetterhoff, daughter of Princess Russula the Troll and Prince Neomarica the Fairy. I am the rightful heir to both the troll and fairy thrones.” There was applause, even a little cheering. They were cheering me. I have to admit that was kind of cool and for a moment I was tempted not to go on. But just for a moment. I took a deep breath. “I have lived my entire life in the human world and frankly, that’s my home.” Boos and groans. “No, seriously. If I belong anywhere, it’s there. But you need a ruler. All of you, trolls and fairies both. So.” I paused dramatically. “I think it’s time you guys got over this rivalry, this competition, this war between trolls and fairies. From where I sit, it’s ridiculous. You’re dying out. You need each other. Solidarity! Unite!” I was trying hard for another cheer—it always worked in the movies—but my audience was grumbling. They’d been adversaries for years; one speech from me wasn’t going to change their minds, but it was way past time something did. I looked over at my parents and continued, “Therefore, I, as your rightful Queen of both lands, do hereby pass the crown to this fairy, Neomarica, and this troll, Russula, as King and Queen in my place. They shall rule both kingdoms together as one.”

  My parents looked up at me in shock. They started to protest, as I knew they would, but I held up my hand. It was the perfect solution; they were trained for this.

  “Long live the Queen and King,” I shouted, “Of Trolldom and the Fairy Canopy. One from each land. Working together for the good of all.”

  Silence. It was a tough crowd. Fairies looked at trolls suspiciously and vice versa. “Come on,” I said. “Try something new.”

  I got a smattering of grudging applause. My parents weren’t going to have an easy time of it. I was really glad it was their problem, not mine. I jumped down from my perch and my parents pushed through the crowd to hug me.

  “Why did you do this?” my mother asked.

  “Tell me it’s not a good idea.”

  My dad kissed my cheek. “It’ll be your turn one day,” he said.

  I shook my head. “This is not my thing. I don’t know what my thing is, but ruling a couple of kingdoms of the wee folk is definitely not it.” The trolls were beginning to chant “Russula” and the fairies “Neomarica,” each group trying to out shout the other. “They’re calling for you,” I told my folks. “Go on.”

  My mom and dad climbed up on the pile of crates and waved. Very refined, very regal, with their hands cupped like a debutante’s in the Rose Bowl parade. Then my dad shouted, “Trolls are the best,” and kissed my mom while his feet left the ground. Everybody laughed and it broke the tension. I knew they’d do a good job.

  Walker was at my side. He took my hand and I felt the energy flow between us. He made me feel peaceful and he made me feel so good. He led me to a quiet spot out of the madness.

  “Look,” he said. “Look what you’ve done.”

  All around us the industrial park was flowering. I saw fairies flying overhead. I saw trolls scampering through the underbrush. There were birds and rabbits. A breeze blew carrying the scent of fresh mown grass and flowers and fertile, clean dirt. It was like a child’s picture book about fairyland.

  “It’s back,” Walker said. “Thanks to you.”

  I smiled. “It even smells good.”

  “October, I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t mean to hurt me.”

  “When I said to you—”

  I cut him off. “Don’t.” I didn’t want him to say it was all just part of his plan. I wanted to remember the things he had said and the kisses we shared as the most romantic moment of my life. So far.

  He gave me a sad, little smile. “Please, please don’t go. I don’t care if you’re a queen. Just stay with me.”

  He was so unbelievably handsome. He opened his arms and I wanted to curl up against his chest and let him take care of everythin
g. It would be so easy. I’d never have to think or worry about anything ever again. My whole body leaned toward him, but I knew I didn’t want to be taken care of. I wanted to live my life the way I wanted, mistakes and all. I wasn’t done being a normal, boring human.

  “I guess I’ll be here for holidays,” I said. “With my folks. And if you need me—you know, to save your ass again—you can text me.”

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out the original necklace. “Take it,” he said. “So I’ll always know where you are.” He dropped it into my palm. It was warm and smooth, just like him.

  “We have a connection,” I said. “Remember? I don’t need a necklace to know where you are.” He leaned forward to kiss me and I pushed him away. “If we start with that, I know I’ll never leave.”

  I walked away from him and I didn’t look back. The sun was shining and the sky was a brilliant, wonderful blue—exactly the color of his eyes.

  Epilogue

  Colorado is the prettiest place I’ve ever been. Snow-capped mountains, crisp cool air, and the golden aspen trees. I love it. And school is okay too.

  I miss my parents, but they’re both fine and healthy and so, so happy to be home—their real home. They stayed in our house with me until I left for college, zipping back and forth to the other world to rule. The last couple months of high school were uneventful, except I went to the senior prom with Jacob. He isn’t such a jerk after all, at least not all the time. He sends me some pretty funny texts from his college in Boston.

  My dad has managed to keep the weight off—now that he’s flying again—and he is back to cracking his terrible jokes. He and Mom are crazy busy doing human government-type things like setting up joint committees and building new troll and fairy schools and solving problems. My mom has quit growing Mycena luxaeterna Duo. My dad says he can smell them when she comes home from work and they stink. But I know she has a stash in case I need them to save the day or something.

  I may have given up the throne, but I still have my “tattoo,” I’m still a couple inches taller, and my hair is curlier, thicker and a shiny, deep red. I still use my mind to send messages to my folks, and so far I’ve resisted using it to convince a professor to give me a better grade. I can still understand the birds and animals and the bugs. No one understands why I’m not bothered by mosquitoes or flies or those ticks that carry Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.

  And sometimes, maybe more than just sometimes, when I smell Chinese food or see a fluffy black dog or watch a Porsche go by, I think about Walker, and sometimes I know he’s thinking about me too.

  “Get your head out of the clouds, Fetterhoff!” Mr. Powers, the intramural track and field coach, yells at me. “Starting line, please!”

  I’m still klutzy and mostly average in every way except one: I can run really fast. Really fast. As I run and leave all the other competitors behind, I touch my silver necklace and send a thought to the other world.

  I’m still here. Plain old ordinary October.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This story was my daughter’s idea and I could not have written it without her. All through elementary school she was ridiculed for believing in things we cannot see. She never capitulated just to make the teasing stop and she never stopped believing. Her courage and conviction are an inspiration to me.

  I want to thank my early readers: Norah Lunsford at 13 came up with a great title and helped me with details. Jen Hunter was enthusiastic and positive and pointed out some places that needed work. Ellen Slezak encouraged me to continue when I was ready to give up. And I thank my late readers: Denise Hamilton for an afternoon of tea and plotting and Heather Dundas who found the special mushrooms the story needed.