by Mari Mancusi
“Oh? Do you not have one?”
He sighed. “My old one completely burned out on me, and my parents refused to buy me a new one. I think somehow they believe I was careless with my old one, which I totally wasn’t.” He shot me a sheepish look. “Though I may have played it too much. . . .”
“Is that even possible?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “In any case, it’s dumb. And nothing compared to what you’re saving up for. But I was right in the middle of the new Fields of Fantasy single-player game when it happened. My poor character probably thinks I abandoned him in that tavern forever.”
“You play Fields of Fantasy?” I cried, before I could stop myself.
“You know Fields of Fantasy?” he countered, raising an eyebrow.
I frowned. “I happen to be a level-ninety fury warrior, thank you very much.”
“That’s . . . awesome,” he declared, looking extremely impressed. (As well he should have been—it was quite an accomplishment, not to brag or anything.) “And I’m sorry. It’s just, most girls look at me like I’m speaking a foreign language when I talk about video games.”
“Well, lucky for you, I happen to speak fluent gamer. In fact . . .” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, then scrolled through my photos until I found the ones from last Halloween. “Check it out.”
He peered down at my phone and let out a low whistle. “That’s you?” he asked. “Where did you get that costume? I’ve never seen anything from Fields of Fantasy in the stores. And that armor is totally sweet.”
I grinned. “I made it.”
“What?” He looked up, amazement clear in his eyes. I felt my cheeks heat a little. “You made it?”
“Yeah. My friends and I are really into cosplay. That’s one of the reasons we decided to do the babysitting thing to begin with. We figured we could put our costuming talents to good use and make some money.”
“I don’t suppose you’re looking for more babysitters, are you?”
“You want to be a pirate?” I asked, surprised.
“I was thinking princess, actually. I happen to look ah-MAZ-ing in a pair of stilettos.” He grinned. “And you should see the way I rock a petticoat.”
I burst out laughing. “Mm-hm. I bet.”
“Okay, fine.” He waved his hand. “If I must be a pirate, then I guess I could do that, too.”
He looked at me. He looked so hopeful it made me feel bad. I didn’t want to disappoint him—after all, I could only imagine how much it would stink to have your favorite game console break down. But my friends would kill me if I added a random person to our little company. We needed all the money we could get by the end of the school year. Bringing on Brody would turn our four-way split into a five.
“Sorry,” I said. “We’re kind of full up at the moment.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I figured. Though for the record, I really would put on a dress in exchange for a new PlayStation.”
I laughed. “And I’m sure you’d look marvelous in it,” I teased. “But in the meantime, you’re welcome to come over and play mine, if you ever find yourself in need of a fix.”
He looked up. “Really?”
“Um, sure. If you wanted to. At some point. And, uh, I could show you how to make some of that armor, too, if you were interested.”
Even as the words came from my mouth, I couldn’t believe I was saying them. Had I really just gone and invited a cute boy over to my house to play video games and see my cosplay? I mean, what if he thought it was like a date? Did I want it to be like a date? Could playing video games even be considered a date? I had never been on one, of course, so I had no idea how these things worked, except what I’d seen on TV. And you never saw people playing video games on dates on TV. Never mind making armor.
His eyes met mine. And I noticed, for the first time, how blue they were. Like, not just the watery, washed-out blue of most eyes. But this crazy navy color, like he’d just walked out of my favorite anime.
“That’d be awesome, actually,” he said. “If you’re sure it’d be okay.”
Gulp. Swallow. “Sure. I’m sure it would be great! Really great.”
Ohmigosh. Ohmigosh.
As I stood there, pretty much frozen in place, wild butterflies doing the conga in my stomach, he reached out and plucked a few more flyers from my hand.
“I have to pass the pool on my way home,” he said. “I can hang up a few over there if you want. Save you the trip.”
“Oh. Great. That would be . . . great.”
Seriously, Hailey. How many times are you going to use the word “great”?
“Um, thank you.”
“Arr . . . It be my pleasure, me matey!” he growled, giving me a roguish wink. Then he laughed, holding up his hands in innocence. “Sorry. Not trying to change your mind or anything,” he said, taking a step backward. He grinned. “Well, maybe just a little . . .”
And with that, before I could find the words to reply, he got back on his bike and rode down the street.
6
“WHOA! IT’S A LITTLE DUSTY up here, isn’t it?”
Kalani sneezed loudly three times as we climbed the steps into Sarah’s grandmother’s attic the next afternoon, prompting Sarah to shoot her an annoyed look.
“It’s an attic,” she snapped. “What did you expect? Be lucky there’s no ghosts.”
Madison grinned at Kalani. “At least none that we know of . . .”
She cackled maniacally as Sarah pushed open the door that led into the attic, and Kalani scurried behind me, as if I’d be able to protect her from any random wandering spirits. She’d been deathly afraid of ghosts ever since her parents took her to Disney World and forced her to ride the Haunted Mansion ride when she was an impressionable three-year-old. (Which was ridiculous, since that ride is not even remotely scary.)
This attic, on the other hand, I had to admit, was pretty creepy. Cobwebs hung from the rafters, and there was no real floor, only crisscrossed wooden beams. A whistling noise purred from a darkened corner, which I told myself was, of course, the wind.
Even though it was not, actually, that windy a day . . .
“So, uh, dresses!” I suggested in my most cheerful voice as my eyes darted around the space. “Let’s get those dresses!”
From the corner of my eye I could see Madison stifling her own sneeze into her sleeve, clearly not wanting to offend Sarah further. Sarah was very protective of her mee-maw, who had evidently been some big actress in the 1960s, though none of us had ever heard of her or any of her movies. Not that we would admit that to Sarah, of course—she probably would have forced us to sit through some kind of movie marathon in retaliation for not recognizing Mee-Maw’s obvious celebrity.
In any case, right now we needed dresses. And if the woman was willing to lend her wardrobe to our cause, I was fully prepared to become a Mee-Maw superfan for life.
“Here we are!” Sarah declared, sweeping her hand across the space. “The legendary attic of the legendary actress and songwriter Patty Greenberg.”
I squinted a few times, trying to get my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting as I prepared to ooh and aah over all the beautiful princess dresses that would soon be revealed.
Except . . . there were no beautiful princess dresses—at least not at first glance. In fact, the attic seemed almost as empty as it was spooky.
“So, uh . . .” Kalani peeked out from behind me. “Where is everything?”
Sarah frowned, looking around. “Um . . .” she said.
“Maybe your mee-maw downsized her dresses over the years and then forgot she did?”
“Or maybe they were stolen by the ghosts,” Madison suggested with a smirk, giving Kalani an evil stare. She gave a small eep and sank back behind me.
I rolled my eyes. “Or maybe they’re all in that chest.” I pointed to the large leather-bound monstrosity at the very far end of the attic.
Sarah looked relieved. “Yes,” she said. “I’m sure th
at’s it! Come on.” She stepped onto a thin wooden board and started making her way precariously to the chest. She looked like a gymnast crossing on a balance beam, and I wondered what would happen if she slipped. Would she crash through the floor like people always did when crossing attics in the movies?
“Be careful,” I called to her. The last thing we needed was a princess babysitter with a broken leg.
“I got it. Don’t worry.”
I watched as she reached the chest and dropped to her knees, positioning her hands to yank on the handle. Unfortunately, it didn’t budge.
“Maybe a ghost is sitting on it!” Madison suggested. Kalani whimpered.
“Can I get some help over here?” Sarah grunted.
It took a few minutes for us all to make the trip over, and at one point I was positive I was going to slip and fall, causing this adventure to be over before it ever really began. But somehow we managed to make it to the large piece of plywood that served as flooring at the end of the attic and positioned ourselves to help Sarah with the chest.
“On the count of three,” she said. “One, two . . .”
On three we pushed hard, working together to inch open the rusty lid. It wasn’t easy—clearly whatever was inside this chest hadn’t seen the light of day in quite a few years. But at last it gave way, creaking loudly as it swung open. (The sound caused Kalani to almost jump out of her skin.) I dropped my hands, wriggling my shoulders to stretch them out after the workout I’d just put them through, then prepared, once again, to ooh and aah over the treasure inside.
We all peered into the chest. Which, it turned out, was nearly empty. Oh dear.
“Um, that’s it?” Kalani asked.
“Maybe there’s, like, a key at the bottom that will unlock a real dress closet somewhere else in the house?” Madison suggested. “I read something like that in a mystery novel once. Of course, the killer was also hiding inside and—”
I shot her a warning look before she set Kalani off again. Not to mention, Sarah’s face was quite pinched at this point.
“It’s the quality, not the quantity,” she muttered, rummaging through the box.
Madison grabbed a dark blue dress and held it up. “The quality of being eaten by moths?”
As if in response, a few moths fluttered out from one of the holey sleeves. Kalani shrieked and dropped the dress she had picked up like it was a hot potato, diving behind me again.
Sarah scowled. “It’s just a few holes,” she protested. “No one’s even going to notice.”
“No one’s going to notice the princess they hired to watch their children looks like a homeless person?” Madison demanded, reaching in to pull a second dress from the chest. This one had some kind of tacky gold fringe that had come half unstitched dangling from the collar, and it was missing at least six buttons.
Sarah grabbed it from her, ripping off the fringe angrily. “As if your grandmother has anything half as nice.”
“Are you kidding me? My grandmother is a vice president of Frost Bank. She wears Chanel suits on casual Friday. She wouldn’t be caught dead in these bag-lady ball gowns.”
Sarah’s face was now approximately the same shade as a rotten eggplant. I jumped in between them before she could say something she was likely to regret.
“Look,” I tried to interject, “these are all really beautiful. And if we had more time, we could totally fix them up to be the best princess dresses ever. But we need dresses now. And, well, that means no time for major alterations.”
“So what do you expect us to do?” demanded Sarah. “We can’t exactly go out and buy new dresses. We’re trying to make money here, not lose money.”
I ran a hand through my hair, my thoughts whirring at a desperate pace. They were all looking at me, expecting me to have some kind of answer.
Then, suddenly, it hit me.
“Thrift shop,” I said.
“What?”
“The other day, when I was talking to my stepmom. She was packing up all these clothes to send to the thrift shop.”
“Um, we need princess dresses. Not mom jeans.”
“Exactly. And what is the one day all moms dress up as princesses?” I asked. When they stared at me with blank faces, I groaned. “Their wedding day!”
“I don’t get it,” Kalani said.
“Have you ever seen a wedding dress?” I asked. “It’s basically a princess dress in white.”
“Right. In white. What, are we supposed to all be princess brides?” Madison asked.
“No. But we can dye the dresses.”
Their eyes widened.
“Can you do that? I mean, is that even legal?” Kalani demanded.
“Why not? If we buy them, they’re ours to do with what we want.”
“Again, the operative term being buy them,” Sarah pointed out. “I thought the idea here is to make money, not spend it.”
“Right. But that’s the best part,” I tried to explain, my mind buzzing with the new plan. “A lot of these stores will buy your old clothes and give you credit to get new ones. I’m sure between all of us we have a whole closet filled with clothes we’ve grown out of, or don’t like anymore, right?”
My friends nodded, considering.
“So we gather everything up,” I continued, now on a roll. “We bring it in and sell it. We use the credit to buy four wedding dresses. Then we dye the wedding dresses, maybe add some bling, and voilà! We are perfect princesses.”
“You know,” Madison said, nodding thoughtfully, “that’s not a bad idea.”
“I’d much rather be a princess bride than a moth maiden,” agreed Kalani.
Sarah scowled. Oh dear.
“You guys go ahead,” she said. “I’m going to use one of these.”
“Are you sure, Sarah?” I asked, feeling bad. “I mean, don’t get us wrong—it was really nice of your mee-maw to offer them. And they’re really very beautiful. But they’re also kind of old and—”
“What’s old can be new again,” she declared stubbornly. She grabbed one of the dresses and started pulling it over her head. We watched, giving each other looks, as she struggled to stuff her arms in the narrow sleeves. “I just have to—argh!”
“Do you need some help?”
“I’m fine!”
“You don’t look fine.”
“It’s just a little . . . tight and . . .”
Sarah struggled, attempting to push her head through the small neck hole in the dress, while her arms seemed to get stuck halfway through the sleeves. As she wiggled and contorted her body, it looked as if she was doing some kind of weird dance around the attic.
“There’s your real ghost,” Madison whispered to Kalani. “The headless corpse bride!”
I glanced over at the spot where the plywood ended and winced as Sarah danced dangerously close to it. “Be careful!” I cried.
But Sarah, still caught in the dress, couldn’t see what she needed to be careful about, and as her foot caught under a beam, she went sprawling, hitting the floor hard. A loud ripping sound echoed through the attic. The dress split at the seams. And finally Sarah’s head poked through.
“Are you okay?” I asked worriedly.
She gave us a desperate look. Her butt was wedged between two beams, and her feet were sticking up in the air. “Um . . . no?”
We all jumped up and helped her to her feet. Then we attempted to get her out of the dress. Unfortunately, it was stuck fast. Which might have been okay if the zipper in the back hadn’t been rusted through. But as it was, the dress clearly wasn’t coming back off—at least in one piece.
Sarah gave the chest a regretful look. “Sorry, Mee-Maw,” she muttered. Then she looked up at us. “Okay,” she said. “On the count of three. One, two . . .”
We each grabbed a piece of the dress, and on three we pulled—tearing it off her body in large strips. Thankfully, the seams gave way easily, and soon Sarah was free . . . with the princess dress nothing more than a pile of shredded fabric o
n the attic floor.
Not even fit for a ghost.
Sarah shook her head, looking down at what had once been the dress. Then she let out a long sigh before looking back up at us.
“So,” she said brightly. “Thrift store, you say?”
7
IT WAS AMAZING WHAT ONE could find in one’s closet if one really dug deep to look. I found jeans I hadn’t worn since I was ten, rolled up in a ball in the back. T-shirts from every sporting event I’d ever attended with my dad. Then there was the pile o’ itchy sweaters my aunt was so fond of gifting me every Christmas—with the price tags still attached. By the time I was finished, I had quite the haul to bring to the thrift store. And, bonus, lots of newfound room in my closet for back-to-school shopping next year.
Kalani talked her brother into taking us down to the thrift store in their parents’ beat-up SUV, and he waited outside, playing on his phone, while we dragged our bags into the store and placed them on the counter. The salesclerk popped her gum loudly as she looked over each and every article of clothing individually, judging it on its merits, style, and overall shape. Then, after banging out some pretty crazy calculations even math ninja Madison didn’t understand, she handed us a credit slip for a hundred dollars, most of which came from Madison’s designer duds. But Madison insisted we just pool the money and buy as much as we could.
“Trust me, I’m just glad to get those hideous things out of my closet,” she declared. “Now when my mom says, ‘Don’t you have anything else to wear?’ I can truthfully tell her no.” She grinned.
And so, credit in hand, we wandered toward the back of the store, where the wedding gowns were located, and started rummaging through the racks. Kalani scored first—with a bridesmaid’s dress that was already a deep purple color and wouldn’t have to be dyed. Madison found her dress next—a rather plain, short wedding dress that she insisted she could use as a pirate princess outfit. Sarah appeared a moment later, grinning from ear to ear as she produced some frilly white lacy thing that looked suspiciously like one of her mee-maw’s costumes, though thankfully in much better shape.
