“Where are all these people going?” I yell to Will over the noise.
“It’s time for the joust,” he says, slowing to make sure I’m right next to him. I elbow my way through the crowd, a salmon swimming upstream.
“Didn’t they already have a joust?”
“There’s one every two hours,” Will explains. “It’s a whole scripted thing about a tournament to find the kingdom’s best knight.”
“Oh, so they know who will win?”
Will puts a hand on my arm and guides me to the side of the street, out of the way of most of the crowd. He keeps his voice low, secretive. “Yeah, it has to be, otherwise someone might get hurt. The whole thing’s fake. Choreographed right down to the lances they use. They only look like they’re getting hit. Kind of like a magician’s sleight of hand.”
I think of Christian and I don’t know whether to be disappointed by this revelation or thankful that no one’s truly in danger.
“You’ll have to see it Tuesday. It’s a good show, even if you know what’s really going on.”
We’re nearing the main gates, which are designed to look like the Tower of London. There are four stone archways with ticket-takers standing under each, and a tall stone tower in the center. It rises almost a full story over the tallest store in the village, and it boasts a huge clock with vine-like, wrought iron hands.
Thank goodness, there’s a clock. Hopefully, I can use it to tell time instead of getting to know the shadows of the buildings intimately.
Will nods to the ticket-taker as we pass through an arch, and even though I can’t tell one row of cars from the next, Will easily finds my vehicle. He opens the door for me with another slight bow.
“Your carriage, my lady.”
I chuckle. “Thank you, Will. And thanks for making sure I didn’t get lost.”
“I’d be happy to show you around more Tuesday, if you’d like,” he says. “The first day can be kind of a culture shock.”
“I can imagine,” I say, and step as gracefully as I can into my car seat.
“Good luck telling your parents,” Will says, his hand on the car door, leaning over to look at me. “And with packing. Remember bug spray.”
“Bug spray. Check.” I smile at him. “Thanks for showing me around.”
He shrugs. “Anytime, Rainbow Ro. See you Tuesday!”
“Can’t wait,” I say, and I’m surprised at how much I mean it. I’m in my car and halfway out of the bumpy parking lot before it dawns on me that Will noticed my toenails.
4
WEEK 1—MONDAY
Kara sucks down half a strawberry-mango smoothie before turning to us and making the same silly face she’s been making since we became friends in fifth grade. It’s her best monkey, complete with the puffed-out cheeks, crossed eyes, and ear tugging, and I laugh. I laugh even harder when Meg uses the distraction to steal her smoothie and take a big, noisy gulp.
We’re at the mall, as promised, and as promised, there’s no Kyle or Lacey in sight. I try not to think about why and keep my bitterness in check, and concentrate on celebrating the last few minutes of summer freedom. Meg starts her first shift at TK’s in under an hour—luckily, my first shift wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow—and Kara’s got to get home and babysit her little sister, but for now we have no responsibilities but sitting here and goofing off.
I haven’t yet told them about the Renaissance Faire—or more importantly, that I’m not going to be spending the summer with them—but I will. As soon as I get the courage.
“So have you heard from him?” Meg asks, and I shake my head. “Well, that’s fine. That’s great, really. You don’t need him or his lame apologies. Anyway, I heard that Jenn Houser broke up with Brady Thomas since she’s going off to Ithaca. Fed him some crap about how long distance relationships don’t work. So . . . Brady’s single, and he’ll be at Brian’s party Saturday. Right, Kara?”
Kara beams at the mention of her boyfriend, Brian. She’s been with him nearly a year and a half, which is the record for longest relationship out of the three of us, and they’re still going strong. In fact, it was Brian who introduced me to Kyle at one of their lacrosse games.
“Brady’s gorgeous, Ro,” Kara says, and she looks to me, hoping I’ll agree.
Brady Thomas is good-looking. He always has been. Even when we were second graders together at Middleton Elementary, he was one of the cutest boys in the class, with his freckles and swoopy, shiny hair.
But he’s nowhere near as gorgeous as my knight in shining armor, Christian.
I take the smoothie out of Meg’s hands and finish it off, as if that will give me the sustenance to deliver my news.
“I don’t think I can come to the party Saturday,” I say to them, and I can’t miss the look of concern that passes between them. My friends have never exactly been stealthy about that sort of thing.
“Ro, you can’t hide in your room forever,” Kara says gently. “Yeah, it totally sucks that Kyle’s a jerk and cheated on you with that stupid freshman who shall remain nameless, but you’ve got to get back out there. And a guy like Brady would totally make Kyle jealous.”
“It would be so awesome—you hook up with Brady Thomas a week after Kyle’s caught cheating. It’s like some sort of celebrity story.” Meg’s eyes get big and distant, like she’s imagining it all, and she holds out her hands, pulling them apart like she’s setting a headline. “Local senior boy realizes karma’s a bitch when ex hooks up with hot guy at a party.”
I have to laugh, even if all of this talk is making me even more nervous about spilling my news. They look at me pleadingly, and I decide I have to tell them now, before they get too carried away.
I clear my throat. “I won’t be around Saturday. I kind of got a new job.”
Meg pouts. “So you won’t be working at TK’s? Ro . . . what am I going to do without you there? Do you know how boring it’ll be with only Julie working with me? Ugh, you know how she goes on about her stupid scrapbooking habit.”
I move the smoothie straw up and down and it makes an annoying sound as plastic rubs against plastic. “I won’t be around much at all, guys. This new job kind of requires me to live on the campgrounds.”
I see Kara’s right eyebrow shoot up. “Campgrounds? Oh, Ro, don’t tell me you’re going to be a camp counselor . . .”
“Hey now,” Meg says. “Let’s reserve judgment. Maybe it’s a Boy Scout camp. Have you seen how hot some of those counselors are? Especially the ones who teach rock climbing.” Meg fans herself and then looks at me. “That’s it, right, Ro? Hot rock climbers?”
I allow myself a chuckle at Meg’s imagination, and then feel awful that I have to crush her dreams. “Not exactly. But there’s a hot guy involved. Or I hope he will be.”
Kara leans across the table, jabbing at me with her straw. “Spill, Duncan.”
I clear my throat. “I’m going to be a face painter at a Renaissance Faire.”
“What?” Meg and Kara exclaim in unison, and so I try to explain.
“It’s really cool, guys. I found this ad in the paper and it was for an artist, and you know I’m kind of good at that, so I thought I would give it a try. It’s this huge place that’s out in the middle of nowhere. It’s crazy. Just right in the middle of a forest there’s this whole village and a jousting arena and these people that talk like they’re from another time. Everyone dresses like they’re from the Renaissance, too. It really does feel like it’s a different world. And, guys, there are actual knights—and I mean full suits of armor, swords, horses, the whole bit—and this one was so hot. The bluest eyes I’ve ever seen and gorgeous, long black hair, and he’s got a body that even Brian would be jealous of, Kara.”
Even with my flattery of her boyfriend and the mention of a hot knight, Kara looks unimpressed. I turn to Meg and she’s no more enthusiastic, looking at me with a slightly curled lip and her eyebrows scrunching together.
“Come on, guys. Be happy for me,” I plead with them. �
��This is a really cool opportunity. I’ll be working on my art all summer and I get free room and board. Plus, you know, hot knights and old English words and pretty dresses.”
“But we were supposed to work here and hang out all the time and go to the beach,” Meg says, her disappointment like a punch to the gut.
I look to Kara, hoping she’ll understand, but she’s narrowed her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re ditching us,” she says.
“I’m not ditching you.”
“Yes, you are,” Kara shoots back. “And this is our last summer together, Ro. Next year we’ll be too busy getting ready for college. This is all we’ve got.”
“We’ll have time next summer. We won’t be that busy,” I try to argue.
“Do you know how early New England College starts? If I get in, I’ll have to move in July, Ro,” Meg says. “That’s barely two months we’ll have together.”
Kara sits back in her chair, arms crossed, her usually alabaster skin pink, eyes locked on mine. “You’re running away from Kyle, aren’t you?”
“No,” I say hastily. “Of course not. I don’t care. Lacey can have him. I deserve someone better.”
“I totally agree with that,” Kara says. “But still, you’re running away from him. Or hiding from him, it sounds like.”
I grip the smoothie cup so tight that it caves in under my fingers. I shove it across our little plastic table. “I’m not hiding. I want to go work on art and have this totally cool experience in the woods.”
“With a bunch of crazy people dressed in costumes who talk funny.” Kara leans back in her chair, arms crossed. “And what did your mom and dad think about this?”
My mind flashes back to last night, when I broke the news to my parents. It was an argument, a dignified and polite one, as they always are in my house, but an argument nonetheless. I finally won them over by promising the experience would provide great anecdotes for college essays and interviews.
“They think it’s a great opportunity,” I say, which is only kind of a lie. “They’re happy for me.”
“I don’t buy it.” Kara rolls her eyes, which makes my temper skyrocket into the atmosphere.
But what makes me angriest is that she’s right, and she shouldn’t buy it. Kara and I have been friends since elementary school, and as my oldest friend, she has the ability to see right through me. I suppose it’s a good quality for a friend to have, but sometimes I wish she’d just shut up and let me lie.
I’m over Kyle. At least, that’s the story I’m sticking to, the only story my pride will let me tell.
I narrow my eyes at her. If she’s going to dish it out, I can lob it right back. “What do you care? You’re so busy with Brian, you won’t even notice I’m gone.”
“That’s not true.”
I’m not listening. “And why you’d want to stay with him when his best friend is a cheating scumbag is beyond me.”
“Ro . . . ,” Meg begins. It’s a warning, a “please stop before you say something you don’t mean” that I ignore completely.
“You like Brian.” Kara frowns. “You’ve always liked Brian. I know you’re upset right now, but I’m just saying, if maybe you think about it for a day or two—”
“I need to go, Kara,” I say. Her frown deepens.
Kara fixes me a look that’s as stern as my mother and twice as accusing. “You don’t. You’re lying to yourself. Listen to me. I’m your best friend.”
“And my best friend should get this, Kara. If you really cared, you would. But I guess you don’t.” I stand and snatch the smoothie cup off the table in an angry, dramatic gesture. “I have to go quit TK’s. Have a nice summer.”
I glance at my best friends’ faces once before I turn away. They’re shocked. Stricken, really, and I walk away quickly so I don’t have to see the effects of my outburst anymore. By the time I’m across the mall, speaking to the manager of TK’s, I’m in tears. He thinks I’m crying because I’m sad to leave my job at his silly Hawaiian restaurant, and he hugs me before I go. I hug him back, slightly embarrassed that I need so much comforting, and then head home. I leave for the faire tomorrow and I have to pack, but mostly I just want to get back to my room and wallow in the misery of my own making.
I stare at my empty suitcase. I’m not quite sure how to go about packing for a summer away at a Renaissance Faire, nor is it the thing weighing most heavily on my mind.
With a sigh, I pick up my phone and glance at the screen. No one’s called; no one’s texted. I can’t blame Meg or Kara for that. What I said was downright awful. We’ve fought before, sure. All friends do at some point. Just last week, Meg and I got into a rather heated discussion about whose fries were better: the diner’s downtown or the cheesy ones from Steak ’n’ Shake. But that was silly, and we knew it was silly, and we certainly didn’t feel like we were in any danger of ruining our friendship over it.
This feels different. Really different. Kara was trying to look out for me in her own sometimes irritating way, and I accused her of not caring about me. Which isn’t true in the slightest, and she was right about me wanting to run away from Kyle. I’m humiliated at the mere thought of running into him with Lacey. I would never even have considered a summer without my two best friends if I wasn’t, and Kara knew that.
I toss my phone aside and try to focus on packing, despite the rising nausea I’m getting with all the guilt and self-loathing. Of course, I’ve never packed for a Renaissance Faire before, which only adds to my mood.
I open up my closet and stare at its contents, hoping something will scream, “Take me with you!” but no dice. All I see are some incredibly trendy clothes Kara picked out for me from the boutique she works at in the mall, some less trendy but still cute clothes I wear to school, a nice collection of Boston College tees and sweatshirts my dad buys me yearly in support of his alma mater, and the staples I wear when no one’s looking: pajamas with cartoons on them and comfy yoga pants for lounging.
With a sigh, I resign myself to being woefully unprepared for a Renaissance Faire, and start to fill my suitcase.
I start with the easy stuff: toiletries, my makeup bag, a sweatshirt for the chilly summer nights, pajamas, and a few pairs of shorts and tank tops. (And if I put in some of my cutest tanks because I want Christian to see me in them, well, who can blame me?) Then, after a brief moment’s consideration, I take out my underwear drawer and shake its entire contents into my suitcase, because packing a ton of underwear can’t hurt. If there’s anything you don’t want to run out of in life, it’s clean underwear, and I have to assume that doesn’t change at a Renaissance Faire.
My mother’s voice carries, muffled, through the door. “Rowena?”
I call to her to come in and plaster a smile on my face. She enters with some fluffy towels, all warm and neatly folded. “Fresh out of the dryer,” she says, and hands them to me. As I add them to my suitcase, she sits on the bed, studying me. Since it’s clear she has no desire to leave any time soon, and I have no desire to make polite conversation, I busy myself with trying to organize the suitcase’s contents.
“When you were little, I used to bury you in all the warm towels out of the dryer,” Mom says, her voice soft and wistful. “You loved it. You’d wrap yourself up in them and giggle. Sometimes you’d get so warm you’d fall asleep, right in that big pile.”
My smile becomes genuine then. I might be seventeen years old, far beyond the neediness of a child, but it’s still great to feel loved. Especially when your friends aren’t speaking to you.
Mom smoothes a wrinkle in my bedspread, then speaks again. “Your dad and I are very proud of you, Ro.”
“Why?” I ask, genuinely puzzled. I haven’t done much to be proud of today.
“You went out and got an exciting job, all on your own, and it’s so much more beneficial than your job at the mall. That shows initiative and leadership. And think about what an experience you’ll have!” My mother’s thick eyebrows raise up with excitement. “At first, I
have to admit, we thought it sounded strange. We still have our reservations, really. But the more I think about it, the more I think you are on to something. Just think about how you’ll stand out in the pack with your college applications! ‘How the Renaissance Faire Changed My Life.’ Who else is going to have that kind of title for their college essay? You’ll get into Boston College for sure with this.”
“Boston,” I say. “Right.”
My mom stands and kisses me on the forehead. Her big hair tickles my cheek. “So proud of you. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
When she’s gone, I sink down onto my bed, heavy and sick with guilt. My parents think I’m going away for the summer to make myself a more well-rounded person so that I can get into a good school, but Kara’s voice keeps ringing in my ear.
I’m running away from Kyle. It’s true. It’s not about being well-rounded, or the adventure, or even about my art.
But it could be.
With new determination, I turn and gather up all the art supplies I can fit into the space I have left in my suitcase: my box of oil paints and watercolors, my tube of brushes, my sketchpad, and my mixing palette.
This summer doesn’t all have to be a lie. Maybe I can have my adventure, become more well-rounded, and devote time to art, all the while staying someplace far away from my jerk of an ex-boyfriend. Maybe I can write that essay my mom proposed.
Going away might be about Kyle now, but if I’m lucky, by the end of the summer it’ll be about much more.
5
WEEK 1—TUESDAY
I pull into the parking lot of King Geoffrey’s Faire, stricken so badly with nerves and jitters that I can’t make even a simple decision, like where I should park my car. It’s early, eight a.m. to be exact, and there’s not a soul or a car in the parking lot, which means there’s no Will to tell me where I should go.
I blow out a breath and order myself to just drive. My car bumps and rattles across the field until I get to where a line of trees meets up with the tall fence that encircles the fairground, and park there. I hoist my gigantic suitcase out of the back and drag it along the ground on its wheels, too nervous and unsure to care about the bottom getting dirty.
My Faire Lady Page 4
