“No.” Rapunzel’s answer was expected. It had been the same since she first learned how to find answers herself. Her mother never touched the computer; she felt it was an item that brought evil into their home but had been forced to allow it when she became too busy to spend the time needed teaching Rapunzel. It had been drilled into Rapunzel how important it was to expand her education.
“Well, then, I’ll leave you to it.” She stood, running a hand down Rapunzel’s hair and moved toward the alcove entrance, stopping there to turn back. “I have errands to run that will take me all day. Shall I have a tray sent up for dinner?”
“No, I’ll make my own today.”
“Fine. I’ll be back later tonight, then.”
Rapunzel waved at her, waiting until she heard the outer door close and lock before she pushed her workbook aside and turned excitedly to her computer. She bounced eagerly in her chair while waiting for it to boot up. Finally it came on and she clicked the little icon that brought the world into her little room.
She had accidentally discovered this new site called Facebook when searching for information on facial structure for biology and had hit enter after typing in face. Well, probably not a new site, but definitely new to her. On it, millions of people who existed in the real world connected in ways she could only dream of. She could click on any number of names and read small amounts of information about people who lived a normal life and were not confined to a two-thousand-square-foot world in fear of death by being exposed to any foreign germs. She’d had to create an account, which terrified her. What if her mother found out?
She began her usual clicking, hungrily reading about all their lives. Then she had an idea. She went to the search bar and typed in the name of the local high school. Immediately a long list of names came up beneath. She caught her breath. Here were other kids her age that lived nearby. Kids that she’d be going to school with, be friends with, if it weren’t for her stupid disease.
She slowly scrolled down the list, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as she scanned their names and faces and imagined knowing them. One name in particular caught her attention and she stopped, staring at the face that grinned back at her. The name read Fab Fane Flannigan.
She clicked on his name. His page opened up to reveal a bigger photo grinning at her. His hair was dark, brushing his collar at the back, two loose strands framing golden eyes that laughed, a patch of hair on his chin. Next to that picture lined up a few other photos: Fab Fane Flannigan with various groups of kids, laughing in all of them. Her eyes moved to the Add Friend link. She moved her cursor over, hovering above the button, her mind swirling with the potential consequences of clicking on it. Her gaze was drawn back to the laughing face of Fab Fane Flannigan and, with breath held, she clicked the button.
chapter
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2
.**
Rapunzel paced back and forth in the small kitchen area as she ate her macaroni and cheese. It wasn’t exactly a healthy dinner, but it was quick, hot, and she could carry the bowl while fidgeting. She walked to the alcove entrance and stared at the computer.
Still no answer.
She felt foolish. She shouldn’t have done it. If she knew how to retract the friend request, she would. What would he think? She looked down at the bowl of mac and cheese. It had congealed into a lumpy orange glob. She dropped it into the sink, her appetite gone. Grabbing the edge of the sink, she took deep breaths, trying to calm her frantic pulse. Then she heard it—the small noise telling her she had a message in her email.
She ran to the alcove, dropping into her chair as she read the words. Fab Fane Flannigan has accepted your friend request. She grinned, then shuddered. What now? Almost immediately a second message popped up. You have a message from Fab Fane Flannigan. She stared at it in consternation. What did that mean? She clicked on it and her Facebook page opened to the messages page.
Hi, mysterious friend. There isn’t much info on your page. Who are you, RG?
Rapunzel stilled. Of course he would want to know who she was. She was surprised he’d even said yes to the request, not knowing who she was. She didn’t have any information on her own page that would give away her identity. She was careful of that. Finally, she lifted her fingers to the keyboard.
Hi, Fab Fane Flannigan.
She took a breath then continued.
I don’t mean to be mysterious. You wouldn’t know who I am, but I live in the same city as you. I don’t go to your school.
As she hit the enter button, the message popped up in a small window at the bottom right of her computer, startling her. When he answered, it came up in the same window.
Ahh, the mystery deepens. You say you don’t go to my school, indicating that you are my age, anyway. Are you? Or are you one of those creepy stalkers who hunts down innocent children on the Internet and invites them into the back of your van for some candy?
Rapunzel’s mouth dropped open.
I assure you I am not a stalker!
Just what a stalker would say.
I am NOT a stalker. I am a seventeen-year-old girl.
Well, that makes sense then. All the girls want me.
Rapunzel was offended. What an arrogant—
Just kidding!
Oh. I thought you were serious.
Sorry, I forget sometimes that my sarcasm doesn’t translate well through the written word.
Rapunzel smiled, enjoying the first conversation she’d had outside her mother in . . . ever—if this could be called a conversation.
I’ll keep that in mind for future reference when you say something ridiculous.
So, you’re saying we have a future together?
She laughed.
Like that. Good example, Fab Fane Flannigan.
You’re learning. And you can just call me Fane. Or Fab. I answer to either one. What shall I call you, besides RG? That’s very . . . androgynous.
Her stomach tightened. If there was one thing she was certain of, it was that she couldn’t give away her identity. She decided to try a different tactic and see if he would drop the question.
Big word, Fane (Please note the lack of Fab). Did you have to look that one up?
Har-har. Is that sarcasm from the mysterious RG who is avoiding the question and refusing to tell me her name?
I can’t tell you my name.
Rapunzel held her fingers over the keyboard, debating. Finally she decided she could be honest. She felt protected by the anonymity of the Internet.
My mother doesn’t know I am on this site. I’m trying to stay incognito (do you need to look that up as well?).
Incognito: having one’s identity concealed, as under an assumed name, especially to avoid notice or formal attention.
Very good.
Thanks. If I guess your name, will you confirm (ala Rumplestiltskin)?
She had to give him points for persistence.
Maybe.
I love a firm answer. Let’s see . . . is it Roman Goddess?
Haha.
No? How about Raging Giant?
Closer than the last one.
Regina Gregory?
No.
Rebecca Guillotine?
No.
You wait. I’ll figure it out. Answer me one question, though. Are you hot?
Rapunzel was surprised by the question. Why would he care whether she was hot or cold? Did he think the temperature of her room would give away her location?
No, I’m quite comfortable, thank you. What an odd question.
I don’t know if I should laugh or not. Are you kidding around with me?
Why would he think she was joking about this?
No. Why?
Okay then. *shrugs* Well, G2G. The parental unit is yelling for me to get off the computer.
What is G2G? And what is a parental unit?
Look it up, RG. Same time tomorrow?
She felt a happy warmth spread through her belly at the invitation. She couldn’t remember t
he last time she’d had so much fun. In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever had this kind of fun.
Yes.
TTYL (look that one up also).
Rapunzel laughed, signing off Facebook. She Googled the terms, hoping that her mother wouldn’t discover that she’d used the computer for something other than homework. She smiled when she discovered what the terms meant. With a happy sigh, she put the computer to sleep and leaned back in her chair.
“Rapunzel?” She jerked at her name. She hadn’t realized how much time had passed. She was relieved she’d signed off before the arrival of her mother. She’d have to be more vigilant next time.
“In here, Mother!” she called, going out into the main room.
“Still doing homework?” her mother questioned suspiciously.
“Yes, I was studying for . . . the test. The one I told you about.” She hated lying to her mother but didn’t want to lose the chance to have another conversation with Fab Fane Flannigan.
She looked at Rapunzel for a few long seconds, but she should have no reason to disbelieve her. Finally she said, “Come,” and led the way into Rapunzel’s spacious bedroom. The room was dominated by a large, four-poster bed, a heavy mahogany wardrobe, and matching vanity. Rapunzel sat in the chair at the vanity as her mother picked up the brush. She pulled the brush through Rapunzel’s long tresses, beginning at the crown of her head until she reached the end of the heavy fifteen-foot length. She continued the ritual until Rapunzel’s hair softly gleamed, exactly seventy-two strokes.
“You know how important it is to keep your hair in perfect condition, Rapunzel.”
“Yes, Mother.” Rapunzel barely listened to the words, knowing the expected answers she had learned by rote.
“There are many people depending on it, Rapunzel.”
“I know, Mother.”
“Your own future depends on it. Don’t ever forget that.”
“I won’t, Mother.” She turned to look at her mother, a thought coming to her on the heel of her conversation with Fane. “Mother, what is your name?”
“Why, Rapunzel, what a strange question.” Rapunzel didn’t think the question as strange as the thought that she didn’t know her own mother’s name. “You know my name.”
“No, I don’t. I know you go by Gothel, which is our last name, but I don’t know your first name.”
“Everyone calls me Gothel.”
“Why?”
“Well, Rapunzel, is that important?” Something in her mother’s voice caught her attention and she sat up straighter. The warning tone brooked no argument. Rapunzel had learned that at an early age.
“I suppose not,” she answered slowly.
“Of course it’s not. I’m your mother. What else should you need to know?” She soothed her hands down Rapunzel’s hair as she always did before standing. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night . . . Mother,” Rapunzel answered. Why won’t she tell me her name? she wondered, disquieted.
After her mother left, Rapunzel plaited her long tresses into a thick braid. Once she was finished, she lifted the heavy mass and pulled it over her shoulder, looking down at the blonde strands. Her hair held magic. That was something she’d always known and had been drilled into her since her birth. Her mother had told her of the prophecy: that Gothel would give birth to a child with golden hair that would grow at an accelerated rate and that the fate of the world’s future rested in her mane of gold. Gothel had been told the story, seen the proof, and couldn’t deny the truth in what had been foretold. The disease, the one that prevented Rapunzel from leaving the tower, was more proof. She was only grateful that her mother could visit her. Rapunzel was impervious to her mother’s germs.
She moved to her bed and lay down in the luxurious softness. As she closed her eyes, her thoughts returned to the golden-eyed boy who made her laugh. Only twenty more hours until she could converse with him again.
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3
.**
Rafael Grenada? Rambo Greenleaf? Did you look up those terms from last time?
No, no, and yes. Do you have your dictionary at the ready to use more big words?
Ha-ha. I use a thesaurus. Let’s see, maybe it’s not your name. Maybe it’s an acronym (no thesaurus needed for that one). Really Great?
I am really great, but no, that’s not what it stands for. JK (see, I learn too). What classes do you take at school?
Boring ones. Are there any other kind? Romance Greeter?
LOL, what is a romance greeter? What kind of boring ones?
Ugh, please, no LOLs allowed. I HATE that particular slang! With a passion! It makes me want to hurt someone (not really). I don’t know what a romance greeter is. I thought it was you. I take calculus, language arts, history—all the usuals. I’m on the basketball team and wrestling team. Really Gregarious?
Okay, no more LOLs. Any other acronyms I took time to study and learn that I should avoid so as to not offend your acronym-sensibilities? I certainly don’t want to be responsible for someone being hurt. I don’t really know what all the usuals are as I don’t attend school. I also know nothing about basketball and wrestling. Sorry. :o( (is the frown emoticon acceptable?) Not really gregarious, either.
Raggedly Gabled? Emoticons are fine, and I can live with most acronyms without danger of violence, especially as you took the time to learn them. Do you live under a rock? Just curious since you HAD to study all the annoying acronyms, you don’t attend school (how do you get away with that? It seems to support my creepy older stalker theory, BTW), and you don’t know anything about basketball. Wrestling I can understand, I guess—but basketball? Who doesn’t know anything about basketball? Maybe someone named Rushing Gorgonzola?
Haha on the names, and no as well. I don’t live under a rock. I live high above them, in fact. I said I don’t ATTEND school. I didn’t say I am not of school age. I get my schooling at my home. Is it unusual to not know about basketball? I suppose I better do more studying.
Actually, if there were an argument for you really being a teenage girl named Rough Gollum, it’s the fact that you don’t know about them. You are home schooled? Why? Too smart for public school, or . . .
I’m not too smart, no. I can’t
Rapunzel hesitated, taking a bite out of the crisp apple sitting on her desk. How much did she dare tell him?
leave my house. What is a Gollum?
WHAT???? You don’t know who Gollum is? You MUST live under a rock. Haven’t you ever read The Hobbit? Or Lord of the Rings? Or seen the LOTR movies??? Wait . . . what do you mean you can’t leave your house? Grounded for life?
She quickly went to a new window and Googled “grounded.” It took her a few minutes of reading through the various links that came up to finally decide he must be referring to the punishment definition of the word.
Hello?
I’m here. No, I’m not grounded. It’s a long story, and one I’m not ready to share yet. No, I haven’t read those books or seen the movies. Should I?
Asking if you should is like asking if you should breathe. The answer is a resounding yes! Okay, I won’t push for an answer to this new mystery, but I’m begging, PLEASE, for some kind of hint on your name.
How about this: my first name begins with an R and my last name begins with G.
You’re killing me, Smalls.
Smalls. Another character I should know about?
Yes, but I’m not going to tell you where. You’ll have to discover that on your own.
Rapunzel closed her eyes tightly, thinking, debating. Then, before she could change her mind, she quickly typed:
Rapunzel
There was nothing but her flashing cursor, then
Rapunzel? That’s your name?
Yes.
You’re not kidding around?
No.
Unusual. Rapunzel. Never heard of it. I like it.
Please don’t try to guess my last name.
Okay,
you win. For now. Rapunzel. I’ll give you an answer as well. When you’re seeking out the LOTR movies to watch (as I know you will based on my awesome recommendation), then also look for The Sandlot. One of the best movies ever.
It’s now on my list of Awesome Recommendations by Fab Fane Flannigan. Thank you.
You’ll be thanking me even more after you read/watch them all. Rapunzel. We shall then discuss. Rapunzel.
Are you going to keep repeating my name like that?
Yes. Rapunzel. I like your name very much. I like the way it looks. Rapunzel.
Rapunzel cringed. What if he started telling people about her, and word got back to her mother?
But you won’t . . . I mean, remember what I told you about my mother?
I remember. Your secret is safe with me. I haven’t told anyone about my mysterious FB friend. Who would believe me that I have some hot, enigmatic, strange correspondence with you?
Rapunzel blushed. She had since looked up other uses for the word “hot” and suspected she knew which usage he meant each time he said it.
Been hitting the thesaurus again? Just curious: what makes you think I’m hot? I may look like a gargoyle. And . . . thank you for keeping my secret.
Even if you look like a gargoyle (which would mean you’re about 3 feet tall and made of stone) I think your MIND is hot. Even if you find mine so lacking, you think every conversation requires a thesaurus.
I don’t think . . . okay, DID you use a thesaurus?
Maybe. And that’s the only answer you’re getting.
I don’t think your mind is lacking, for the record.
You’re welcome (for keeping your secret).
Rapunzel smiled, then glanced at the little digital clock at the bottom of her computer. She could talk to Fane forever, but unfortunately it was almost six, which meant her mother would soon be coming for dinner.
Rapunzel Untangled Page 2