Henry slides open the van’s side door from the inside, and when he crouches to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling his eyes are directly in line with my chest. “Um,” he stammers, “welcome, m’lady.” He quickly averts his gaze, and I manage to slide into the first row of seats. Dottie passes back the tunics, and I hear “Wow” and “Awesome” and “Am I really this fat?”
Kent puts his hand on my shoulder from the backseat and says, “Jessie, thanks for making these. They look fantastic. Really.” I beam at a job well done, and then we’re off into the wild nerd yonder.
Henry, Doug, and Kent fight over radio stations the whole ride, while Eddie and Philip play various car games, like Slugbug and I Spy. Dottie helps me with my hair. Hers is in several braids, which she has somehow twisted together into an elaborately regal hairstyle. “Yours should be more plain,” she tells me, “seeing as you are just the help. Do you know how to French braid?” she asks.
I do. French braiding other people’s hair was one of my favorite things to do during fifth-grade recess. Dottie instructed me to part my hair down the middle and give myself two French braids down the back, sort of Ren Fair-y without the flowers. I work on it and notice Henry watching me, although he could just be staring at my boobs. Either way, I’m happy.
When we finally arrive at Fudwhalla, I’m immediately shocked by two things. Number one: There are a lot of people in weird costumes here. And number two: We’re in the middle of nowhere. We pulled off the highway, made a bunch of random turns, and ended up at the edge of a huge field with a few buildings scattered around. It’s as though we’ve pulled into the town from Children of the Corn, except with more trees, less corn, and, well, no children. I grab my bag in a daze and follow the others between what appear to be two of the four buildings in this “town.” Each building is well-labeled with a painted wooden sign: THE INN, THE CASTLE (which pretty much looks the same as The Inn), TOWN HALL, and PRIVIES. I relax a little when I see the last sign, as it means I won’t have to poop in the woods after all (if I have to poop, I mean).
People of all shapes and sizes in elaborate costumes of chain mail and velvet mill about. I see several men in tunics, and note how much more original the ones I made look. We head to the town hall to register. Henry walks up beside me, and the first thing I notice (since I didn’t really get a good look in the car) is the absence of white shoes (maybe it’s the lack of the frightening glow that usually emanates from his feet). Instead, he has some sort of black Doc-esque shoes (thank god he’s not wearing some fringy suede boots) tucked under the legs of his black pants. Unlike the many ponytailers (Philip included), Henry’s curls hang dashingly around his face. His white shirt, even with the puffy-sleeve factor, is thin enough that it shows off his lean, defined arms. The tunic fits him perfectly, and he really does look kind of dashing. Quite manly, actually, but not in a hairy-chest, mustachey way. Just in a really good way.
Registration entails signing in, noting how many guests will be staying in our “house,” and receiving a stack of golden coins, which Dottie takes from me and places inside a felt pouch. She then hands the pouch to me and instructs me to tie the bag to the waist of my skirt. I peek inside and notice that the coins all have the word FUDWHALLA printed on them. “Fudwhalla has its own currency?”
“Yeah,” Kent answers. “Nigel mints them in his house all year. I can’t decide if it’s overkill or really cool.” I’m voting for overkill, but it is kind of fun. Like traveling to another country inhabited by guys in tights and ponytails.
We walk and we walk, past rainbow-colored tents of other Fudwhalla-goers and various stalls of random medieval ware, until we come to where we’ll be parking ourselves for the night. It’s a field filled with what appear to be wooden skeletons of one-room houses. Each house is completely bare, only defined by sporadically placed boards around the outside and a sparse formation of boards on top that give the illusion of a roof. They look like someone started a project and neglected to finish it. Maybe the Children of the Corn got to them first. Throughout the field are Fudwhalla-ites, throwing tarps, sheets, and fabrics over the house skeletons. I get an ug feeling in my gut that this may be closer to camping than I thought. “Where are we going, Dottie?” I call to her, since she is now about twenty feet ahead of me and dragging her long skirt farther and farther into the field.
“That’s Baroness Radcliffe,” she calls back to remind me. “And we’re heading toward our home.” Noooo.
We pass more tents and more skeleton houses and more sheets and bizarre, medieval-type costumes and strange goatees until we end up on the very edge of the very large field. The skeleton house that Dottie tosses her bag into is butted up against the beginnings of a forest. I turn around to gauge the distance from our house to the very beginning of the field. With the zigzagging through tents and houses, it’s at least a good five-minute walk. Plus another five minutes to my most cherished destination—the privies.
“I thought you said we’d be near a bathroom,” I kind of whine.
“We are.” Eddie laughs, and showcases the entirety of our friendly neighborhood forest.
“For you, maybe, but I don’t have the point-and-shoot capabilities of a penis.”
“Don’t worry about it,” the Baroness reassures me. “I’ll teach you how to pee in the woods in a really long skirt.”
I don’t feel the least bit reassured, but things get worse: Our house doesn’t have a floor. “Wait—I thought you said we weren’t just camping on the ground.” I’m really whining now.
“Well, we’re sleeping on the ground, but at least we have the house around us,” Philip says, pulling flowery bedsheets out of his bag. The guys get to work, covering the ceiling with the sheets to give the appearance of a ceiling and walls. If a roof and walls happened to be covered in hideous orange flowers and did little to protect us from the elements (i.e., frightening forest creatures and knife-wielding children). I sit down inside the house as the sheets go up around me. The sunlight shines through the floral fabric on one of the sides and reminds me of laundry hanging out to dry. Not that I’ve ever been around laundry hanging outside, because that’s a pretty impractical concept in the Midwest, but I imagine this is what it would be like. More pleasant than expected. I lie back and look through our nonexistent roof at the cloud wisps. All of a sudden Henry pops into my sight, ethereal with the sun shining through his curls. He’s on a ladder, tossing sheets over the top to create the roof. He waves at me, and I grin back before the flowers float over my view.
I wish I could explain what happened the rest of the day, but I’m a bit confused myself. It seemed like there was some sort of plotline, like the queen was not really a queen and one of the other royals in town was actually the rightful heir. Or something like that. There were all of these messenger types in tights and puffy pants who delivered rolled-up papers from the castle. If we were just sitting around playing D&D, I guess these would have come from the Dungeon Master, but they’re essentially the same thing. Based on the messages, we know what’s going on in town, who we’re supposed to hate, and what it is we should do about it. It was still confusing to me, so mostly I just walked behind the baroness and tended to her needs every time she snapped her fingers. The guys got into their roles, acting like they liked certain people and hated others. I pretend that I am living inside a PBS miniseries (it seems more cultural somehow), but one that isn’t in English. I get the gist of things, but mainly I do a lot of following and nodding.
I manage to get in some quality privy time while we’re in town, although quality is hardly a word I should use around these privies. They are essentially a line of holes in the ground covered by a line of holes to sit on (does anyone really sit on those wooden openings?) divided by a line of weak, wooden walls. But at least I have no trouble with my aim.
Day turns to night, and I’m exhausted from being out in the sun all day and following someone’s snapping orders. The day ends with a “feast” at the Inn of mainly bread and soup
and some corn on the cob (although that ran out quickly and they tried to substitute it with carrots). It is a definite half-assed hodgepodge, but I figure the less I eat, the smaller the chance of a poop in the woods.
By the time our feast is over (should my stomach be growling after a feast?), it’s pitch black out except for the town’s torches. Thankfully Philip remembered to bring our lantern, but we still barely manage to find our house. It takes many stumbles and one close call of me tripping into the fabric of a house and nearly ripping the wall down before we find our place by the edge of the forest. It is way creepier at night. Now I know how the Hogwarts gang feels when they have to enter the Forbidden Forest. Too bad I left my wand at home.
We line our sleeping bags up inside the house and just manage to fit all seven of us. It’s a little too close for comfort, but also slightly comforting to be this close. Who knows what kind of monsters lurk between the trees? (I really should stop with the Stephen King audiobooks.) My sleeping place is next to the “door” on one side and Dottie on the other, with her next to Doug and the rest of the guys down the line. My position is bad for two reasons: One is the fact that there’s no one between me and the door if something wicked this way comes, and two is that a slight breeze keeps blowing through the door directly onto my sleeping bag, which of course makes me cold, and which eventually, I’m sure, will make me have to pee.
We sleep in our clothes (which Dottie claims is historically accurate, but I’m just grateful that I don’t have to worry about changing in front of these guys). Dottie and I take off our corsets, though, because her mom would kill her if the wire boning got bent in our sleep. Plus, I like to be able to breathe while sleeping. Maybe that’s just me, though.
Normally I read or listen to a book in order to fall asleep, but it’s so dark in here (and I’m afraid that I’ll be attacked if I bring out my—gasp!—iPod). I try to think relaxing thoughts, but it’s hard to relax in such a strange place next to such a spooky forest in a tiny fabric house with a group of mainly guys that I’ve only been friends with for a couple of weeks. It doesn’t help that our house is way too quickly filled with the sounds of even breathing (and a little snoring) that lets me know that everyone else is having a perfectly easy time falling asleep.
I wriggle my sleeping bag, and it makes that slithery, crispy sleeping bag sound. The wind blows. I wriggle. Blows. Wriggle. Repeat. And I realize I really have to pee. What am I supposed to do? I don’t have a flashlight, and the lantern is out. Dottie taught me earlier how to pee from a tree: Hug the tree with both arms, plant your feet around the base of the tree, and lean back. Guaranteed not to pee on your feet, she says. But how am I even supposed to find a tree? It’s so dark. Dark and scary and crackly and—
I sit up. My sleeping bag makes a quick, slick noise. I can’t sit here all night without peeing, but I’m petrified of going out into the dark alone. What other choice do I have? Wetting my sleeping bag (and the clothes I have to wear again tomorrow) doesn’t sound like the best plan. I’m going to have to brave the forest.
I quietly unzip my sleeping bag and try to make as little noise as possible when I stand up. It’s so dark that I have to feel around for the door, and even when my hand finds fabric I’m not sure if it will get me out of here or bring the whole building down. I accidentally knock my knuckle on one of the wooden beams and automatically blurt, “Shit!”
“Jessie?” a whisper comes from the other end of the house (i.e., less than ten feet away).
“Yeah? Who’s that?” I whisper back.
“Henry. What are you doing?”
“I have to pee.” I sort of hope that our whisper conversation rouses Dottie so she can go with me. No luck, as I hear her snort, roll over, and snort again.
“Do you need a light?” Henry asks.
“Yes, please. It’s so dark.” I hear him rustle around on the ground, then a wrapper crinkles, a pop, and a green glow hovers in Henry’s hand. “A glow stick? Did they have those in medieval times?” I joke.
“Let’s just say it’s a magic wand,” he whispers.
He gestures like he’s going to toss it, but I stop him with, “No! I don’t want it to hit anyone. I can’t see where my hands are to catch it.”
“Hold on,” he says, and I follow the stick as it unzips Henry’s sleeping bag. I can see the faint glow of his bare chest.
He tucks himself under the fabric flap nearest him, and I hear twigs crack as he makes his way along the outside of our house. I manage to find my way out of the door without pain this time, and I meet him in the green light.
“Will you come with me?” I ask desperately.
“To pee?” He sounds embarrassed.
“You don’t have to watch—or listen, thank you—but I don’t want to go into the forest alone. Please?” I’m making a pathetic, pleading face, but I doubt he can see it.
“All right. But can you do it fast? It’s cold.”
He finds my hand in the dark and leads us into the forest with his glow stick guiding the way. I want to be several trees deep in case someone sees. I spot a perfectly sized tree for the grab-and-lean. “Now go stand over there,” I tell him. He starts to walk away, but the darkness envelops me. “Wait! Come back. You have to stand closer. But you can’t look or listen.”
“Jessie, believe me, I don’t want to watch you pee, but how am I supposed to not hear it?”
“Cover your ears and hum something.”
“Hum what?” he asks, and I’m desperate to start peeing.
“ ‘I’m a Little Teapot!’ Go! Start humming!” Henry turns away, covers his ears and hums. I hike up my skirt, wrap myself around the tree, and go. I hum along with Henry in hopes that it helps cover up the pit-pat sound my pee makes on the forest floor.
When I am absolutely finished, I yell-whisper, “Okay!” but Henry is too in the humming groove to notice. I walk up to him, yank the glow stick out of his hand, and tap him on the head with it. “Poof. You can stop humming now.”
“All done?” he asks.
“No, I’m still going, but I thought I’d let you stop humming. Careful, I might get it on your shoes.”
He smiles a giant, sweet smile, and I know now that I want all of those dreams I’ve been having to come true. At first, the old me doesn’t quite know how to handle the situation, but Imalthia reminds me that I’m not such a wuss after all. I boldly lean in and kiss him. At first Henry tentatively kisses me back, then brings his hands up and cradles my face. We kiss each other in the green glow of the Forbidden Forest.
“Mmmm,” I say as we float apart. “That girl from band camp was right.”
“Hmmm?” he asks, but he kisses me again before I need to answer. If this is what kissing a nerd is like, I don’t know why I ever bothered trying to be cool.
When we are sufficiently kissed out and weak-kneed from standing, I say, “We should probably get some sleep. Who knows what weird stuff we’re going to have to do tomorrow.” He feels for my hand to hold, but I say, “Uh, better not. I think I may have peed on my hand a little earlier.”
“I’m so glad you told me this now.”
“I didn’t touch you with it!”
“I know. I mean, I’m glad you told me now instead of before we kissed. ‘I peed on my hand’ doesn’t really set the mood, you know?”
“For some people it might,” I blather as we make our way back to the house.
“Jessie,” Henry says as we get to the door, “good night,” and he leans in for one more soft kiss.
He holds the door open for me, and I raise the glow stick high in the air as he climbs over bodies and into his sleeping bag. I tuck into mine, clutching the glow stick to my chest until it fades out and I fall asleep.
When I wake up to the welcome light of morning, I don’t remember any of my dreams. But who needs dreams?
chapter 37
SUNDAY IS A WHIR OF WEIRDness, and I find myself involved in a chase after Dottie the Baroness “accidentally” pours porridge onto t
he queen’s head. (I have no idea if this was written on one of our messages, only that Dottie yelled, “Run!” and I am always supposed to do what she says.) We run through the town, past the stalls and tents, then into the field, darting between houses. It’s a little terrifying being chased, even if it is fake, but it’s also a total rush. I’m laughing and screaming the entire way.
We eventually end up in the forest, ducking behind a tree. Just as we hear the drum of footsteps approaching, a bell clangs in the distance. Dottie instantly pops out of hiding and yells (to our pursuers, I assume), “Too slow, bitches! Game over!” I hesitantly stand, but Dottie is already heading out of the forest. I follow her, my skirt hiked up in my hands.
“What’s going on?” I yell after her. “Is it over?”
She turns around and says, “High noon. You can turn back into a pumpkin now.”
“Did we win?” I ask, totally confused.
“No one got hurt, and no one got captured, so I guess so.”
I don’t know if I’ll ever get this, but that’s okay. Maybe I don’t need to get an A in everything.
Back at the house, I’m about to pull the fabric down off the frame when Doug yells, “Wait! We need somewhere to change.” I forgot that we brought regular clothes to change into for the ride home. As uncomfortable and slutty as my costume is, I’m going to miss wearing it. Maybe it’s because it’s uncomfortable and slutty.
Dottie and I head into the house first and change. “Shit,” Dottie sighs, “I forgot a bra.” Thankfully I remembered mine, and I put it on along with a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie. I slip my knee-high boots back on and tuck them under my jeans. It’s the guys’ turn to change, and I meet Henry on his way in. He still looks adorable, his hair a little crazy from the lack of washing, and his pants and shoes dusty. He looks at me in my regular clothes. “You’re back,” he says, and I detect a note of disappointment.
Into the Wild Nerd Yonder Page 17
