How I Found the Perfect Dress

by Maryrose Wood

  “Awesome color.”

  “Love the barrettes.”

  “Oh my God, are those really glass slippers?”

  The swirl of tuxedos and dresses was dizzying. I shifted the gym bag to my other shoulder and felt the weight of Colin’s new boots. Every minute I stood there sopping up my new princess-for-a-day status was another minute poor Colin was stuck squiring real faery princesses around the dance floor. Enough of this, I thought. I need to find the entrance to my real prom.

  Please enter by the lobby fountain, the invitation to the Faery Ball read. Finding the fountain was a cinch. Right in the center of the lobby, lit by a thousand tiny halogen pinspots, was the pride and joy of the East Norwich Country Club—the Kappock Fountain, donated by Kar-Krazy Kappock himself, according to the brass plaque mounted on the fountain’s base.

  Above, two life-sized, arching dolphins squirted water high in the air. The area around the fountain was bathed in cool mist, which meant all the newly fussed-over hairdos were being kept at a safe distance.

  I walked in a wide, slow circle around the fountain, looking for a crack, a seam, a knob, a trapdoor in the carpet—anything that might be an entrance.

  “Everything okay?” Mike asked. “You’re, like, orbiting.”

  “Fine, fine,” I said absently. “I was just wondering—you know, where does the water come from? Where does it go?”

  “It’s called plumbing,” Mike said, giving me a puzzled look. “Pipes. Drains. Like in the bathroom.”

  “Drains, right,” I said, smiling dumbly. “Duh. I think I must have inhaled too much hairspray.”

  “If that’s the case, why don’t you stay here and detox while I go pick up our seating assignment?”

  On the other side of the lobby were tables staffed by parent volunteers. They were giving out the place cards that told everyone where to sit at dinner. At the moment, there were long lines at every table. Perfect, I thought. That’ll keep Mike out of my hair while I figure this out.

  “Thanks, Mike,” I said. “You are an excellent prom date.”

  “This is just practice—wait until next year.” He nodded at my heavy gym bag. “You want me to check that?”

  “No!” It came out a little sharply, but I followed it up with a sweet, princessy smile. Mike shrugged and went off to stand in line.

  Twice more I circumnavigated the fountain. Come on, Morganne, I urged my goddess half. Open your eyes and see what’s in front of you. It’s got to be here somewhere.

  When I passed the Kar-Krazy Kappock plaque for the third time, that’s when the dolphins piped up.

  “Welcome!” one of them said, briefly interrupting the jet of water spraying from its blowhole. “May we direct you to the Spring Faery Ball?”

  “Yes, please!” I said, barely hiding my surprise. “Where exactly is the entrance? I can’t seem to find it.”

  “You’re already here,” the other dolphin explained. “Proceed straight through the fountain, yield at the yellow light, check all mirrors for oncoming traffic, then carefully merge into the Faery Ball.”

  “Through the fountain?” I exclaimed. “Are you kidding me? I just did my hair!”

  They nodded their great smooth heads, just like the performing dolphins at SeaWorld do when the trainer waves a delicious fish treat in front of their noses. Then they honked and chirped and squeaked some encouragement, in their own strange and beautiful language.

  Without daring to glance over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching, I clutched the gym bag holding Colin’s magic boots to my pink-taffeta-wrapped chest, and stepped into the spray.

  twentЧ-two

  ... a wet, pink rat...

  ... a pink cotton candy on a stick that got caught in the rain . . .

  . . . a strawberry-iced cupcake that somebody spilled a carton of milk on . . .

  Images of what my utterly destroyed outfit would look like when I stepped out of the fountain swirled in my mind, pink and disgusting, like an artificially flavored and colored raspberry milkshake going down, down, down the drain.

  It doesn’t matter, I thought, as the water hit me like a cold blast from a garden hose. I am here to save Colin. Not to dazzle him with my ironic fashionista prom outfit.

  Inside the fountain, the dolphins were swimming corkscrews around me and smiling their wide, head-enveloping grins. The water was so full of bubbles and froth it was hard to see. It felt like we were spinning and sinking at the same time, but I wasn’t sure which way was up anymore. Finally the dolphins stopped and chirped in unison.

  “Jump!”

  How was I supposed to jump, with nothing to push off of?

  “Jump!” they repeated. “Like this!” With powerful swipes of their broad tails, they shot upward.

  “Yield at the yellow light!” one of them called in a familiar, parental way, its squeaky voice fading as it soared and breached the surface. “Don’t forget to check your mirrors!”

  The water spun me around in the wake of the dolphins’ sudden exit. Still holding the gym bag, I flutter-kicked my high-heeled feet as fast as I could, and followed.

  yield at the yellow light....

  Check all mirrors. . . .

  Merge carefully into the Faery Ball. . . .

  There was dry land beneath my feet. Dry marble, to be exact, in a luscious swirl of cream and yellow, like clouds passing over a lemon sky. The stone was worn smooth by centuries of dancing feet, and I noticed that the yellow markings formed a subtle dashed pattern, just like a merge lane onto the highway.

  How gross it would be to drip a puddle of water onto this lovely floor, I thought. I hiked up the bottom of my dress and wondered if there was any chance of finding a towel somewhere, but the fabric of my dress was not dripping.

  It wasn’t even wet.

  It wasn’t even pink.

  “Mor?” The voice I most wanted to hear rang out, echoing off the stone and straight into my heart. “Bloody hell, girl, is that really you? Or are these mischief-makers playing magical tricks upon me eyes?”

  It was Colin, looking completely ridiculous in a powder blue tux, with a hugely ruffled shirt and tight bell-bottom trousers.

  My Colin, staring at me in openmouthed surprise and pimped out in the top-of-the-line kitsch of seventies disco prom finery. It was the second most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life.

  The first most beautiful thing, if you could believe the silver-framed, full-length mirror propped against the wall near where I was standing, was me. I was in the beige dress from Strohman’s, except it was ten times as gorgeous as before and fully goddess-worthy—bedazzled with jewels, bedecked with flowers, trailing a gossamer train that floated as I walked. My hair, a yard long and shiny as polished copper, was piled like a princess’s on top of my head, with the softest red-gold ringlets cascading around my ears.

  And, okay. My boobs seemed a tad bigger than normal too.

  Caution. My eyes followed my reflection down and saw the words inscribed in small letters at the bottom of the mirror. Objects in mirror are foxier than they appear.

  The gym bag was still in my arms, and it was perfectly dry. I held it out to Colin.

  “No time to explain,” I said. “Would you put these on? Please?”

  Looking confused, Colin unzipped the bag and gazed with horror upon its contents.

  “Ugh! These’ve been beat with an ugly stick, for sure,” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think this outfit of mine could be made any more hideous, but clearly I was wrong.”

  “It would be totally excellent,” I said, glancing around for any sign of an evil faery queen approaching, “if you could just put those boots on without us having a big conversation about it.”

  “Why’s that?” he said. “And, pardon me language—but what the fek are we both doin’ here in these fancy getups?” He looked me up and down. “I have to say, lass, I think you take the prize for best frock. My wardrobe’s more in the ironic vein.”

  “Put on the boots,” I begged, “and
let’s dance. Now.”

  He laughed bitterly. “No offense, Mor, but dancing’s the last thing I’d do voluntarily at the moment.”

  “Finally!” A high, shrill voice snaked out like a lasso and caught us in midconversation. “The guest of honor is here!”

  For the first time since emerging from the fountain, I looked around. Where Colin and I stood, the cool marble floor and stately stone walls shimmered under the flickering light of candelabra chandeliers (the kind with real candles, not those dumb flame-shaped light bulbs you see in East Norwich dining rooms). This medieval charm lasted for about fifty feet or so, then abruptly gave way to a dance floor that looked much more hard rock than medieval stone. A disco ball hung ironically above, like a mirrored, glittering moon, throwing rainbows of light across the dancers as it turned.

  Walking toward us was Queen Titania, dressed in black leather pants, cuff bracelets and a band T-shirt that read “Faeries rock!” Her head was shaved on both sides and the center was glued up into a massive, liberty-spiked Mohawk. When she opened her mouth to speak, I saw a big silver stud pierced through the tip of her tongue.

  “Happy birthday, darling!” She was lisping a little because of the stud. “I hope you like your party!”

  “I—I thought this was the Spring Faery Ball.” The fast, regular bass thump and shrieking guitar sound of heavy metal music started pounding from the dance floor.

  “Oh, it’s that too, I suppose.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Same old ball every spring, pretty dresses and tiaras, ho, hum, yawn! This year I decided we should do something different! More youthful! In honor of your birthday! I just thought of it this morning.” She twirled and showed off the back of her T-shirt, which read, “Who are you calling a faery?” in blood-soaked letters. “Do you like it? Do you think it’s ‘hip’?”

  “It’s, uh—hard core,” I said, while thinking, just get him in the shoes, that’s all you need to do. “Maybe Colin and I should go someplace and change into more appropriate outfits.”

  “No, you mustn’t; you look adorable,” she lisped. “We knew you’d be dressed for your silly human prom, and we wanted to make sure you and Colin matched, so we provided him with this scrumptious tuxedo. And, Colin, may I say—yum yum! That shade of pastel blue is your color.” She patted her Mohawk delicately. “Now, come get a drink and have fun. The bartender is serving—I believe they’re called Long Island Iced Teas.” Her eyes flitted to the gym bag in Colin’s arms. “But why don’t we check your bag first? You don’t want to lug that monstrosity around all night.”

  “It’s mine. I’ll hang on to it.” I reached for it.

  Before I could get the bag away from Colin, the queen grabbed it and looked inside.

  “What exquisite boots,” she cooed. “Are they yours?”

  “Morgan just gave ’em to me,” Colin said politely.

  “How generous. I imagine you’re eager to try them on, then.” She glanced at me, and then at Colin. “But no no no, they don’t match your tuxedo at all! You can try them on later. After the ball. I’m sure Morganne won’t mind.” She turned back to me, and her eyes shone like broken glass. “After all, there isn’t anything special about those boots, is there, Morganne?”

  Jolly Dan’s warning played in my head—if you tell him that they’re magic, they won’t work. I gulped. “Nope,” I said, “they’re just boots.”

  “I’ll put them away for now, then,” she said, taking the bag away from Colin. “You should never break in new shoes at a dance, you know! It causes the most excruciating blisters.”

  adorable or not, Colin and i didn’t blend in verЧ well with the other partygoers. I was stunning in my goddess outfit and he looked like an outtake from Dumb and Dumber, but all the other guests were dressed in various styles and eras of punk and heavy metal gear, just like Queen Titania.

  Of course it couldn’t be that simple, I thought to myself in frustration. But just wait. There will be a way, some way, to get those boots on his feet.

  “Sorry I didn’t say happy birthday!” Colin shouted over the music. “I’ve no sense at all what day it is. The music’s brilliant, innit?”

  It was, but the place was so packed I couldn’t get a look at the band. It wasn’t until they launched into a deafening rendition of “Rock and Roll All Nite” that Colin dragged me by the hand to a less-crowded spot at the edge of the dance floor, where we could actually see the stage.

  “Bloody hell!” he cried. “That’s Gene Simmons! The Bat Lizard himself!”

  I looked, then blinked my eyes and looked again.

  This was no tribute band. It was the genuine, ear-splitting, tongue-waggling thing.

  Kiss was playing at my birthday ball.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but Colin was in heaven. “In the normal scheme of reality,” he yelled in my ear, “those boys are a bunch of senior citizens now. To see them young, still together, in their prime . . . it’s quite a treat, quite a treat.” He sounded reverent. “Twenty-three consecutive gold records! Did ye know that? Only the Rolling Stones and the Beatles had more.”

  “That’s great, Colin—hey!” Jolly Dan and Taffy were maneuvering hand-in-hand through the maze of dancing legs. Now they’d spotted me and were waving like mad. Jolly Dan was in black, except for a red-and-white striped Dr. Seuss hat that was as tall as he was, and Taffy had artfully distressed what looked like one of Tammy’s old Cinderella costumes into a tattered, vampire-princess gown. Very Disneygoth.

  The tiny couple found their way to us and I introduced them to Colin with care—after all, the first meeting between a skeptical Irishman and a pair of leprechauns was not a moment to be taken lightly.

  “Son of a gun!” Colin sputtered. “First Gene Simmons and now this! Wait’ll I tell me grandpap!”

  “You both look awesome,” I said to them. “Are you having fun?”

  “The most fun I’ve ever had,” Jolly Dan replied, his eyes crinkling with gratitude. “Did you check out the gnome sisters?”

  He jerked his head and I looked in the direction his hat pointed to. Glenwyn and Drenwyn were standing on each other’s shoulders, but even added together they still weren’t nearly as tall as their arrogant elf-date.

  “They’ve been taking turns being on top,” Jolly Dan scoffed. “So far he doesn’t seem to have noticed the difference.”

  “Who knew?” I shrugged. “I guess they’re stackable.”

  “I tried to talk to them,” Taffy said. “To tell them my, uh, news. They didn’t care.” She shook her head. “I always thought those two were kind of plastic.”

  Jolly Dan was staring at Colin’s feet. “Surely,” he said in a low voice, “a handsome gentleman like you could find some better-looking footwear than that?”

  Colin looked down at the glitter-encrusted platform shoes that came with his tux. “Ye think these are bad?” he said, laughing. “Ye should’ve seen the ones that Mor—”

  “Colin!” I shrieked, just to shut him up.

  “What?”

  “I. Um. I. Um.” My making-up-lame-excuses powers seemed to have deserted me, so I settled for a distraction instead and pointed at the stage. “Look!”

  Queen Titania was grabbing the microphone from Gene Simmons, right in the middle of a song. “Birthday cake!” she screamed into the mike. The drummer punctuated her announcement with an explosive riff. Rivers of smoke poured onto the dance floor, and there was a burst of flame.

  Everyone screamed, but the fire turned out to be poor Finnbar, tottering under the weight of a huge birthday cake that was covered with hundreds of blazing candles.

  “Whew,” he panted, putting the cake down on the edge of the stage. “This is getting hot!”

  Queen Titania saw the questioning look on my face. “In faery years,” she explained, “you’re quite a bit older than seventeen. In fact, you’re vastly older than young Colin here.” She frowned at the cake. “Next year we’ll do one candle per century, I think. It’s starting to get very clutte
red, and I can’t abide clutter!”

  Clutter? I looked at the queen, and in a sickening flash I realized what felt so familiar about her. It wasn’t just that she was the spitting image of Mrs. Blainsvoort. There was something else—something that should have been obvious—

  “Oh fek!” I choked out. “Are you my faery goddess-mother?”

  She smiled. “Silly Morganne! I knew you’d remember eventually!”

  “See?” Finnbar grinned. “We really are brother and sister! Now blow out your candles and make a wish.”

  A wish? Figuring out my family tree would have to wait. “If I make a wish, will it definitely come true?” I asked the queen.

  “My dear daughter,” she said, not seeming the least bit worried, “a half-goddess’s birthday wish always comes true.”

  Then I wish for Colin to not dance at the faery balls anymore, I almost blurted, but I caught myself.

  It’s too easy. Magical faery-mommy or not, Queen Titania was not what I would consider a nice person. She could make my no-more-dancing wish come true by turning Colin into something without legs, like an earthworm or a slug.

  I wish—

  I wish for—

  I thought so hard my head hurt. It’s a trick, I realized in despair. Any wish I came up with would be far too easy for the queen to twist into something awful.

  I looked around at the sea of punk and goth and heavy metal faeries staring at me impatiently. Colin watched me too. His cornflower-blue eyes were nearly the same color as his tux. I had to admit, he seemed quite at home among the faery folk by now. Had things gone too far for me to put them right?

  Even Gene Simmons was looking at me. The black-and-white demon paint on his face was harmlessly clownlike, now that he was just another musician on a gig, milling about between sets as if playing a faery ball was all in a day’s work. Though maybe it was, to him.

  That’s what gave me the answer.