by Cyn Balog
Still, the parents are spending a lot of money on this, so I can't appear ungrateful. I force a smile and say, "I'm fine with either."
My mother's eyes narrow. "Well, you definitely had an opinion last week." Which is true; life seemed a whole lot simp lei then. She takes the book from my hands and says, "You liked the silver. Or the teal. Make a decision."
"I-I can't." Is this what a mental breakdown feels like?
Mrs. Browne, who has not said a word since we left my house, finally pipes up. "You take your time, hon."
I give her a grateful smile. ''Which do you like?"
"They're both very pretty"
Some help she is.
"I like this," Pip says, scraping the bottom of a plate with a fork, oblivious to the napkin upheaval. For the first time, I notice that there are half-full plates of appetizers and desserts in front of us. Half-full, because Pip has already eaten just about everything that is within reaching distance of his chair. There are about five empty paper plates in his lap. Thankfully, he's stopped short of licking them "What is this called?"
"Whipped cream?" the events manager says, giving me an amused, "Is he for real?" look. Her name is Gizelle and she's so completely put together, with her four-inch heels, crisp white blouse, and French twist, that she looks at least thirty. But when she flashes Pip a coy smile, and gnaws on her lower lip, she's reduced to my age. I've seen that look on many a girl's face around Cam. It's subtle, but I've become an expert on it.
She’s flirting with him.
Wait. She's getting all hot and bothered over a guy who gets more food on his mouth than in it?
My mother grins at Pip like he is the son she never had and giggles something about growing boys.
I glare at her, annoyed. It's amazing how a new outfit and a little hair gel can turn grown women into Jell-O. Are we really that shallow? "Um, silver: Okay."
"Silver it is. Oh, but the teal is so… What do you think, Pip?" my mother asks, putting a hand on his knee as I start to groan. "It's always nice to have a man's opinion."
He looks at me and, without missing a beat, says, "I agree with Morgan."
For once, I'm grateful to have him around.
"So, it's settled. Silver it is." She takes the swatch and folds it neatly in front of Gizelle. "Now, you were going to give us a tour of that lovely courtyard? The balcony is beautiful. All that ivy!"
Mrs. Browne is the first to stand. She looks almost as green as the frogs on the wall, so I think she needs some air. Gizelle stands and smooths her hair, then checks to see if Pip is noticing. He isn't; he's busy studying some tribal masks on the wall behind her desk. Though she's a hottie, I get the feeling Pip wouldn't notice her if her hair were on fire. He's so busy trying to navigate this strange new world that he's probably the only sixteen-year-old guy who doesn’t think constantly about sex.
That's probably why I can't help wanting to tell Gizelle to back off. Pip is naive and unsure of himself, and he needs protection from this cruel world.
Pouting, she gives up and turns toward a corridor: "This way.”'
"You know. Mom," I say, standing, "you guys go ahead. I just want to check out the room again."
Gizelle says, "There's a dance class going on in there now, but feel free to look around."
Pip says, "I think I will stay with Morgan."
My mother and Gizelle let out a collective sigh, and I half expect Gizelle to let her hair down and lick her lips as a last-ditch attempt to get him to notice her. She doesn't; they just head off, their heels click-clicking in chorus on the parquet floor.
"What is this event for?" Pip asks me when we're alone.
"Our sixteenth birthday. Turning sixteen is a big deal here," I explain, twisting a lock of my hair.
"It's a big deal where I come from, too."
"Really? Do they have wild parties in Fairy Land?"
"Well, yes, often. But what I mean is that, for a fairy, their sixteenth birthday is their Becoming."
"Oh, right. Becoming."
"Yes, on a fairy's sixteenth birthday, they become a true fairy. Right now, Cameron's a-"
"Larva. I get it. So Dawn is a full fairy. Is she older than sixteen?"
He fiddles with a zipper on the new jacket I bought him. "She is forty-three."
"Wait. What?" I can't help but feel disgusted. "So he's marrying my mother. Gross."
"Fairy life spans are much longer than human lives. A fairy will live a thousand years. So in that way, they are very close in age."
"All right, but if they have such long life spans, why are they in such a rush to take him away from me on my sixteenth birthday? Can't they wait a couple of years? Maybe until I'm eighty and toothless?"
He says, "The only time, other than on the day of his birth, that the portal to cross into Otherworld will be open for Cameron is at midnight on his Becoming. You see, it's easy to come to this world. It's nearly impossible to go back to Otherworld."
"So until then, he's stuck here?"
"The door isn't open."
"And after that…"
"It will never be open again."
"But Dawn-"
"There are some exceptions to the rule. As his chosen guide, only Dawn can transcend the barrier with him. She is the only one with this ability. Very powerful."
"Yes, Dawn is wonderful," I mumble, grabbing him by his sleeve. "Come on."
I lead him down a hallway, to double doors with a placard over them that says TAHITI ROOM. I grasp a gilded handle and push a heavy, ornately carved door open, and we squeeze inside as Sinatra croons, "Just the way you look tonight.”
This is where, in the movies, the needle of the record player would screech off its track. Twelve gray-haired ladies are staring at us. Six pairs of women, standing, midwaltz, in their Sunday best. The smell of Jean Nate, the perfume my grandmother used to have a vat of in her bathroom, bums my nostrils, even from a distance.
A fit, well-endowed lady in a short blond bob, who is considerably younger than the rest and wearing a hot-pink leotard, bounds over to us, her chest doing its own salsa dance. "Oh, wonderful."
"We're here to-"
"Don't be shy. We welcome all ages here."
I'm not exactly sure where "here" is, but I take a step back, because it's definitely not someplace I want to be. "No, we just wanted to-"
"You're just in time." She smiles gratefully, then leans in and whispers, "I was wanting to shake things up a bit. You game?"
Uh-oh. This cannot be good. I look at Pip, who is nodding very cordially at the ladies. They giggle, too, just like my mom. What is this strange effect he has on women?
The fit lady claps her hands. "Tango. And this young couple is going to demonstrate."
Yes, she is pointing at us. I feel the half bite of mini quiche I’d tasted in Gizelle's office trying to force its way up my throat. "We can't-"
She claps again. "Don't tell me you can't. I'll show you. Now, get into position."
I feel her adjusting my limbs like I
'm some life-sized Barbie, placing Pip's arm around my waist. He pulls me in close, and I don't think I've ever been this near to a guy that wasn't Cam, so maybe that's the reason I start to feel hot and feverish. Or maybe it's because if it isn't solo butt-shaking or hug-and-sway, I don't dance. Pip is grinning dumbly at me, so it's obvious he has no idea what he's in for. I feel his arm around my back, pulling me into the curve of his body, his cool, soft hand wrapped perfectly around mine. And he's so close I can smell something of him, something other than the Jean Nate, something familiar, but my mind is racing and I can't concentrate enough to know what it is. All I know is that this is so wrong, and it is time to leave.
"Listen," I mutter, as I realize the old ladies are forming a half circle around us. I think one of them is pointing out to another how my jeans are too tight. "We just came here to check out the room. I don't know how to tango:"
Fit Lady looks deflated for a moment, but only for a moment. She brightens up with, "It's very simple. Just follow my cues and you'll be pros in no time!"
Before I can protest, she jogs over to a little radio and pops in a new CD. Immediately, slow, seductive Latin music fills the air. The drumbeat pulsates with my own heartbeat.
I am going to faint.
"And one, and two, and…"
I decide that the man should have the responsibility of leading, so I won't do anything. I will just stand there and let myself be taken like a rag doll. Then, hopefully, when the two of us have fallen into a disgusting mangled heap of broken limbs, Mrs. I-Can-Conquer-the-World will give up trying to teach us. I clamp my eyes shut and let my mind go blank, bracing for the pain I'll feel when my body hits the parquet floor.
We begin to move. I feel the air on my face, and my limbs are being pulled every which way in what feel like short, jerky movements. It feels like I'm having a convulsion, so I know we can't be doing it right. Can we?
Then I hear Fit Lady cry, "Good. Good!"
So I have to open my eyes. I see Pip, concentrating hard on the instructor's footsteps, and he's following them, pulling me along with him. We're perfectly in beat with the music. Amazingly, I see the mouths of the old ladies curved into mesmerized Os over their dentures. We're doing it right.
When I feel comfortable enough that he's not going to trip me, I manage to look down, and see that his feet are gliding gracefully on the floor in his black loafers. He's even doing this very hot rhythmic figure eight with his hips.
Maybe it's the music that's growing on me, or maybe it's that I'm giddy from not having had anything to eat except half a mini quiche, but after a moment or so, I start to move my hips, too. And suddenly, I'm breathless again, but in a good way.
Once Pip gets into the groove, he stops looking at the instructor and his eyes fasten on mine. So close like this, they're shocking in their brilliance, so light blue as to be almost white. Like silver medallions moving back and forth on a chain, they're hypnotizing. Where did they come from? I swear they weren't so beautiful a day ago, when we were sitting in the food court, talking about ewl and popping sagmints.
"Where did you learn to do this?" I whisper in his ear, still unable to break from his gaze.
"Fairies love to dance. This is similar to one of theirs" he explains as he slows to a near stop. His eyes focus on Fit Lady again, and before I can ask what he's doing, he expertly glides his leg out from underneath his body, dragging his foot on the ground.
"Yours should follow his," Fit Lady says, watching my legs.
"Like how?" I ask, suddenly nervous again. I pull one out from under me and clumsily lean it against his, nearly stepping on his toe. "Like this?"
Then I notice Pip is back to staring at me, and self-consciousness washes over me. And heat stings my cheeks. I'm blushing, something I never, ever do.
"I meant the other one, but okay." Disappointment hangs in her voice.
"Oh, sorry," I mumble, upset that she doesn't have the same faith in my dancing abilities as she has in Pip's.
Then I feel her hand on my leg, pulling it up into the air. I toddle about on one leg like a top that's about to fall, so Pip steadies me, and I hold on so tight to his arms with my sweaty hands as to cut off his circulation. But he doesn't seem to mind. I watch as she grips my leg at the knee and pulls it, higher, higher… almost to Pip's hip level, then forces me to extend and curve it around him. Ow, I am not a pretzel. "What are you doing?'
"Gancho” she says. "Just take your leg up and wrap it around his body."
"Wait. Wh-wh-at?"
He's still staring at me with those amazing eyes as I push him away, falling back onto my elbows with a deafening crack.
Chapter Twenty-three
"I FEEL TERRIBLE," Pip says to me as he helps me up to my bedroom.
That's exactly what I was thinking.
My mother spent most of the ride home from the city hospital complaining about how wearing an Ace bandage on my arm would ruin all of my sweet-sixteen pictures, and as we pulled into the driveway, she was still hurling Italian curses at me loud enough to wake our ancestors in Sicily. She refused to look at me after she turned off the ignition; instead, she wordlessly retired to the living room to catch the end of MacGyver with my dad. The silent treatment is a favorite tool in my mom’s arsenal; however, since she loves talking as much as she loves food, I fully expect her to be chattering away by tomorrow morning.
Until then, peace. Just what I need.
"Leave the door open," I instruct Pip, and then feel the need to explain, as if he has any clue what I mean, "My mother's strict Italian upbringing."
"Oh." He nods with understanding and does exactly as he's told, as usual.
Though I’d only bruised my arm, every part of my body feels like it's been through a meat grinder. My left arm is worse, but both are swollen and purple from wrist to elbow, and my lower spine feels like it might snap apart.
"There's nothing you could have done. It's all my stupid fault," I tell him as he fluffs some pillows on my bed and gingerly lays me down. He's so careful that I know he isn't just saying it; he really does feel terrible about the whole thing.
"No. Cameron told me to look out for you."
"He did?" I stop pulling the covers over my body and sigh. Before I can be overcome with an urge to smother myself with a pillow over losing the best boyfriend in the world, I say, "That's because he knows I'll never be able to make it without him. I’m hopeless."
"He told me he thinks you're the bravest girl he's ever met."
I raise my eyebrows and then sigh. Yes, maybe I used to be. Having the world's yummiest boyfriend and being able to predict the future would boost anyone's confidence. But now that the yummy boyfriend is leaving me forever, and my amazing psychic abilities can't do a thing to stop it… suddenly I feel like I'm walking a tightrope without a net. "Maybe I was, once. Not so much anymore. Sometimes I think I'd rather jump off a cliff than face a day without him."
He looks surprised. "Is
it normal for humans to feel that way when they're in love?"
I shrug and nod, then study him. He really does have no idea. Then I roll over and prop myself up with my good elbow. "Why? Haven't you ever been in love?"
He looks away. "In Otherworld, that love doesn't exist."
"Oh, right. Dawn said something about that before. That Cam couldn't possibly love me. So fairies aren't supposed to fall in love?"
He opens his mouth and closes it again. "In Otherworld a fairy does not love one person above all others."
"Well, talk about horrible." I shake my head, suddenly feeling dreamy and warm and altogether touchy-feely from the medication. I guess that's why I launch into a heart-to-heart with Pip. "But what about you? You're human. You've never been in love?"
He looks away. I can tell I'm making him uncomfortable, treading into that part of Otherworld that he just doesn't seem interested in talking about. I'm about to change the subject, when he softly answers, "I'm not sure if I can be that kind of person. Or if anyone could feel that way about me."
I smile, thinking how oblivious he must be to not have noticed the events manager crushing on him earlier today. And when he danced with me, he could have passed for more than just human… girls would have found him downright droolworthy "Well, I think someone could feel that way about you. I mean, any-thing's possible, right? Cam is a fairy. He isn't supposed to love me. But he does."
He nods but doesn't say anything.
"Why don't you ask a girl to our party next Friday? I bet one would go with you, now," I press on, biting my tongue with the urge to finish that sentence with "that you don't look like a goober."
