Bookishly Ever After

by Isabel Bandeira

  “You’re terrible.” She swept past me and tugged on my sleeve to pull me away from her things. “And maybe it would do you some good to wait. I spoil you way too much for your own good, baby girl.”

  “Because you love me.”

  Trixie shook her head and dragged me back to the dinner table. “Right. Remember, you owe me a sweater after this.”

  “Hold still.” Trixie jammed another pin into the top layer of my dress, just barely skimming my skin.

  “Careful! You almost stabbed me.”

  My older sister just pulled another pin out of the cushion on her wrist. “I told you not to move.” The second pin actually scraped my waist and I had to fight not to flinch. “I didn’t come down all the way from New York to screw up the fit on this thing.” Between pins, I ran a hand over the incredibly soft green fabric. “This isn’t what I bought.”

  “I used my student discount to pick up some decent stuff in the Garment District. I can’t work with crappy fabric,” She lifted the skirt of the dress and let the green material run over her hands like a waterfall. “Pure silk.” She sniffed a corner of it. “It even still has that real silk smell.”

  I swatted the material out of her hands. “Stop smelling my dress. That’s weird.”

  She went back to pinning. “You smell books and yarn.”

  “That’s different. There’s nothing in the world like brand new book or that sheep-y, wool-y smell.”

  “Except for silk.” Apparently satisfied with sticking enough pins in the dress to make me into a life-sized voodoo doll, she stepped back to check me from a few angles. “Good. Time for the overlay.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a bundle of material that was as delicate as cobwebs. “Arms up, bend over.”

  “Overlay? The description in the book didn’t say anything about an overlay on the dress,” I complained, but at one look from those dark brown eyes, I complied. Never mess with a girl who owns four different kinds of sewing shears.

  She slipped the layers of gossamer fabric over my head, letting it swoosh down my body like a whisper. “Won’t need to alter this,” she murmured, pulling and prodding the fabric into place. A tiny smile slipped across her lips. “I have to say, I thought this was a weird challenge, but this dress will look amazing in my portfolio. I love that they decided to let you wear costumes to Homecoming.” She brushed at imaginary lint on the skirt.

  “That’s because some parents started protesting that our Halloween Fling was satanic or something and the school had to cancel it. This was our only chance to dress up.”

  “It’s almost too pretty for a costume.” We both turned to see Mom leaning against the doorway to our shared bedroom. Since Trixie went away to college, I had taken over most of the room, but we were standing in her still sacred corner of fabric and sewing machines, and sketches that papered the wall so thickly, you couldn’t see the violet paint underneath. “It’s a shame you’re not saving it for your Senior Prom.” Mom stepped inside and came over to inspect Trixie’s work.

  My sister’s smile turned into a full-out grin and she shook her head hard enough for the red and orange tinting the ends of her short brown hair to flutter like flames. “No way. Imagine how much better I’ll be in a year. Feebs’ senior prom dress is going to be epic.”

  “Why do I feel like I’m just one of your experiments?” I teased, faking a pout.

  Trixie added a golden belt to my whole outfit. “Your crazy ideas actually work out. Plus, your body type is a nice challenge.” At my glare, she added, “I’m all straight up and down. You might be practically flat chested, but at least your hips give you some curves.”

  “I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.”

  “Flattered. And you can always pad in some fake boobs.” At my Mom’s frown, she quickly added, “Could. You don’t need to in this dress…” Mom kept frowning at her. “…and, um, because you’re only sixteen and not a prostitute?”

  Even Mom laughed at that one. “You’re beautiful the way you are.” She made a twirly motion with her pointer finger. “Turn around, I want to see the entire thing.”

  As I rotated carefully like a music box ballerina and tried not to stick myself with any of the pins, I said, “I’m using shoes from that Irish dance store and I’ve got temporary color and extensions to give me ‘waves of flowing red hair.’”

  I stopped turning at the dismayed look on Mom’s face. “Oh, Phoebe. You have beautiful hair. Why would you do anything like that?” Leave it to Mom to say that. While Trixie had gotten dad’s straight chestnut hair, I had inherited hers. Our hair was fine, thin, and hovered in this part-curly, part-straight state that was frizzy ninety percent of the time. Mom always kept hers short like Trixie’s and probably never noticed. And our color was brown. Not chestnut. Not auburn, not golden brown. It was a nice, boring shade of dirt brown. People never dyed their hair our color.

  “Because it’s a costume. Maeve is a redhead.” I tugged at my puny braid. “The heroines in practically every book always have long, thick hair that flows down their backs. Well, except for that one character in that knight book, but she cut off her braid so she could fight.”

  Trixie just shook her head at me. “Okay, enough playing. Off with the dress so I can do some alterations.”

  “Wait.” I lifted the skirts and picked my way across the room towards our full-length mirror. “I haven’t seen it yet.”

  I stood in front of the mirror, taking in the dress with more than a little bit of awe. It really was as if Trixie had just pulled it out of the pages of Golden, down to the tiny gold ribbons tying my off-the-shoulder sleeves to the main dress. And instead of looking out of place on me, I looked like I belonged in something this pretty. I looked like Maeve. “The perks of having your own designer,” Trixie said, echoing my thoughts. “In a dress like this, you’re not allowed to hang out on the side of the dance floor like the nerd you are, you know.”

  An image popped into my head of Kris showing up at the dance dressed in a green battle tunic just like Aedan’s. He’d come up beside me and, as if we were the only ones in the room, would sweep me into a waltz. I wouldn’t be invisible dressed like this. A shiver of anticipation rushed through my body and I smiled at the thought.

  “Maybe,” I said, unable to tear my eyes away from the reflection. “Maybe not.”

  3

  I twirled, watching as the layers of sheer material wafted around me in a green cloud. “Trixie did a good job.” Em said, making her way through the school atrium doors. “Now, stop spinning before you hurt yourself.”

  I stopped midturn and the skirts settled in a sigh around my legs. “It really is perfect. I feel just like Maeve in this.” I couldn’t help but swing my arms at my side as I walked so the sheer overskirts brushed my hands and rustled as if there was a breeze in the building. My hair shed glitter that dotted everything.

  “Too bad nobody will have any clue who you’re supposed to be.” She tilted her pirate hat at me as we headed into the gym. “Nobody reads books.”

  “When the movie comes out, all of you will wish you had thought of this.”

  “Doubt it.” She reached over to straighten one of my gold torques. “But you look so pretty tonight. Like something out of a fairytale.” Satisfied with the torque, she fixed my hair so a bunch of it spilled over one shoulder.

  “Thanks.”

  “Pretty enough that maybe Jon will ask you to dance, drag you off to the locker rooms, start making out with you in the showers...” she said with a wink.

  I shook my head. “Right. Only in Em-fantasyland.” We were early and they were just starting to set up the decorations. I craned my neck, checking to see if Kris was there yet. When I didn’t see him, I slumped slightly. “I wish I had half of your flirt-fu.”

  She smiled back at me over her shoulder. “Since I come from cultures that gave the world Aphrodite and Oshun, it’s in my blood, you know? But I can totally teach you. Your sister made you a dress that makes you look li
ke you actually have a little bit of cleavage,” I made a face at her, but she continued, “so use it. Lesson one, work the nonverbal with the verbal. Watch and learn.”

  “Can’t wait, Yoda.” I watched Em make her way over to the DJ stand where Wilhelm, the cute foreign exchange student from Germany, seemed to be struggling with the speakers. She dropped onto his lap like she was already dating him and started pointing at the random cords in his hands.

  “That girl is as subtle as a nuclear bomb.” I glanced up to find Dev standing right behind me. “You’re very…sparkly. What are you supposed to be?” he said, quirking a half smile.

  I took in his jeans and white t-shirt with ‘Ghost’ stamped in faded letters across his chest. So perfectly Dev. One of my torques slid loose and I shoved it back up my arm. “Maeve from Golden.” He stared at me blankly and I added, “It’s a book.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s really good. It’s been on the New York Times series bestseller list already for thirty weeks. And it’s going to be a movie.” In my head, I could practically hear Em telling me to stop right there, but I couldn’t help it. “It’s about a girl who falls in love with a leprechaun.”

  His eyebrows rose. “A leprechaun? Like, the little Irish people leprechauns?”

  Hearing him say it, leprechauns really did sound ridiculous. “Well, kind of. Only they’re not little, they’re warriors. And hot. And Maeve is supposed to use her powers to save the world but she’s almost found out by the evil fae…” My voice drifted off. “Uhm, it’s actually a lot cooler than that, I swear.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. It’s a nice costume, whatever it is.”

  “Thanks. Um, so’s yours.” I watched as he turned back to untangling strings of twinkle lights. “Need help?”

  “Yeah. Just hold this for me.” He dumped a tangled ball in my hands and started walking with the untangled end to stretch the string of lights along the bleachers.

  While he was walking, Em came up alongside me and poked me in the arm. “Arrrrgh, whatcha think you’re doin’, matey?” she said softly in the worst pirate accent on the planet.

  “Helping Dev with the lights.”

  She shook her head at me. “You’re supposed to be sitting your green glittery butt next to Jon, picking out the best lighting gels for tonight. Not playing Tinkerbell to Dev’s Peter Pan.”

  I blinked at her. Sometimes Em made no sense. “What does Peter Pan have to do with lights?”

  “A, you look like a fairy farted on you with all that glitter, b, you’re wearing green, and c, blinky lights.” She shook her head. “This isn’t a book. Guys aren’t going to come after you. You have to get your flirt on.”

  “I know that life isn’t a book—”

  “And that’s why you need to put yourself out there.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a loud yell coming from about a quarter of the way down the gym. “Can the two of you pause for a second in talking about how hot I am and start untangling? This gym isn’t going to light itself up.”

  I stuck my tongue out at Dev and tugged at the cord coming from the ball in my hands, careful to not break any of the bulbs.

  “Oh, and your scintillating presence isn’t light enough?” I said with a smirk before turning to Em. She looked from him to me with an unreadable expression on her face. “What?”

  She shook her head. “‘Scintillating?’ Who says that?”

  “People in AP English. Along with words like ‘limpid’ and ‘epaulets.’”

  “Well, Miss AP English, finish that up quick and then get to work with Jon. I’m getting my remedial English butt back to my English as a Second Language project.” She waved her hook at me and then sauntered across the gym to the DJ booth.

  A sharp tug brought me back to the ball of lights in my hands. “Do I need to crack a whip to get you working?”

  “Bossy,” I called back with a laugh, but continued unraveling.

  The gym did look magical. With the lights dimmed and the twinkle lights in place, you could barely make out the rows of bleachers that lined the two long walls. Floodlights covered in blue gels projected onto the tarps that hung in front of both basketball hoops for a watery effect. And kids in costume, mostly recycled from previous Halloweens or precycled for the coming Halloween, gave the crowd on the dance floor a mostly surreal effect.

  I leaned against the bleachers, my fingers itching to pull out my e-reader. As the gym filled, my dress was too hot, too heavy, too different. More than half of the girls dancing were wearing skimpy outfits that barely passed the school dress code and the other half were in the usual witch, vampire, or fairy types of costumes. No one wore anything close to what I was wearing. Plus, Kris never showed up. This had been a really stupid idea.

  I took a deep breath. Maeve wouldn’t care. Maeve would be proud to stand out. I straightened up, tossing my hair back like she always did right before facing the dark fae.

  “Was that a twitch or something?” Jon stopped beside me and propped himself on a part of the bleacher that we hadn’t been able to push all the way in earlier. He was really tall and lanky and if he hadn’t been sitting, I’d have to crane my neck to look at him. He reached out to touch the thick waves of hair that fell to my waist. “Is that real?”

  “Clip-in extensions.” I tried tossing them again and gave up. “That was supposed to be a really cool shampoo commercial moment,” I informed him, trying to sound flirty-ish and not like I just wanted him to go away so I could go back to being a fly on the wall.

  He laughed, one of those laughs that showed too much of his teeth. “Cute. You really took the costume thing seriously, didn’t you?” I recognized his costume from his project on Socrates in World History. He’d shortened the robe’s sleeves, though, and I could tell Em had totally exaggerated about the ROTC pushup thing.

  “It’s from this book—” I stopped and nodded when I saw his eyes start to glaze over. “Yes. Yes, I did.” Unlike Dev, Jon didn’t seem to want to hear about it.

  “Whatever, it looks good. Em told me to come over here and force you to have fun. Why aren’t you dancing?”

  Of course Em told him I was here. I hoped my shrug was cool and unconcerned. Maeve-like. “I’d rather watch.” After seeing some of the couples on the dance floor, there was no way I was going out there. I think I’d die if someone tried to grind against me. Worse if I got reprimanded by the monitors patrolling the dance.

  “Oh.” His smile dropped from toothy to close-lipped and he looked from me to Em, who was across the room making dance-y twirly motions at us with her arms. “Maybe when they change up the music?”

  I stopped trying to shoot daggers with my eyes at Em and made a noncommittal sound. He apparently wasn’t going away any time soon. Silence fell between us and I shifted from foot to foot. Talk. We should talk. I tried to smile up at him.

  “So, um, did you see the new mascot uniform concepts for next year?”

  He screwed up his face. “How much more can they screw up a muskrat? If we had a decent mascot, it would be one thing, but muskrats?”

  “True. They don’t really strike fear into the hearts of our rival schools.”

  “Yeah.” Another too-long pause filled the air around us. I heard the bleachers squeak as he shifted his balance, then he hopped off. “You want to go get a cupcake? I heard the snack table is actually decent this time.”

  Em was still waving at us while slow dancing with the foreign exchange student. Maybe going to the cupcake table with Jon would make her happy.

  “Sure.” I followed, awkwardly holding onto his sleeve to keep from being separated while we navigated through the crowd.

  Just as we reached the three point line, the music changed abruptly. The twang of a sitar filled the air. “Is that—” We stopped and I laughed as Dev slid out on his knees into the center of the floor and started to sing. “What is he doing?”

  The whole gym froze and stared as, one by one, other people broke
into dance, their voices joining in with his.

  “You’re effin’ kidding me. A flash mob?” Jon laughed and shook his head. “Leave it to the theatre geeks to come up with something like this.”

  “Even better, a Bollywood flash mob. This is awesome.” Some of the girls from the dance team twirled by in matching genie-like outfits. More and more people joined in, mostly theatre, the school choirs, and the dance team. Even some of the chaperones got into the dance until they were a solid formation making patterns across the gym floor. Jon started pulling me towards the cupcakes again, but I swatted at his hand. “I have to see this.”

  “C’mon. This is the best time to go. Everyone’s watching right now.”

  I ignored him. Some of the teachers had jumped into the dance.

  “Look at Mr. Hayashi. I didn’t know he could move that fast,” I said as I tried to ignore Jon’s insistent tugging and kept my focus on the dancing AP History teacher. “I really want to see this.”

  Then Dev was in front of me, dragging me away from Jon and onto the dance floor while still keeping in his character of a crooning Bollywood hero. He twirled me right into the center so my skirts flared around me in an impressive circle of green chiffon. “Uhm, Dev,” I said between my teeth, feeling my face grow supernova-hot, “I can’t dance. And I don’t know—”

  His lips quirked upwards and he winked at me before breaking into the next round of lyrics:

  “Your hair like fire, eyes like embers,” he lip-synced, finger tilting up my chin and amused eyes meeting mine, “soul like a blaze burning through the room.” His arms gestured dramatically at me and the dancers as he sang. He pulled me in, wrapping his and my arms around me, “I am captivated, drawn in, a moth to your flames. Your fire is my doom,” and twirled me out again. My embarrassment melted away and I laughed at his exaggerated and cheesy movements.

  As the chorus broke out again, he squeezed my hand. “Thanks, Phoebe,” he said softly. With another twirl, I fell right into a chair on the edge of the flash mob, as if I had been perfectly choreographed into the dance. Em looked down at me with a grin. “You looked good out there, Pavlova.”