We move on to the storage racks, rows of steel shelves that hold thousands upon thousands of glass pieces in every color. At one end of the racks, a heavy yellow ladder leads up to a balcony.
“Ooh, can we climb up there?” Chloe brushes back her bangs. It’s the first smidgen of interest she’s shown since we got here, but Clark seems hesitant to allow it.
“I need to ask the supervisor on duty. Be right back.”
While we wait, Sky and George decide to stage a mini-musical under the balcony. Using the ladder as a support, they fling themselves to and fro while making up silly lyrics that they sing in operatic style. Chloe and Mandy join in the dance action while Zelda and I stomp out a drumbeat from the sidelines.
As Chloe, George, and Mandy all swing around the ladder at the same time, we hear a loud crack, and the ladder separates itself from the balcony and falls toward the first storage rack. All the girls and I back away to a safe distance, which is why none of us gets hurt when the ladder smashes into the shelf. This sets up a chain reaction that topples over the storage racks like dominos.
To our credit, we all hang our heads and cringe, pressing our hands over our ears. Still, the sound of crashing glass will likely follow me to my grave.
I clap Mandy on the shoulder. “Well, maybe Clark will break up with you now.”
Clark rushes over to us. His lower lip wobbles in disbelief.
I brace myself for screaming, but he doesn’t say a word, which is somehow worse. He’s never going to share his plan with us now. Not that I’d blame him.
“We didn’t mean to do it.” Mandy puts out her palms in supplication. “The ladder must have been loose.”
He hugs her and inspects her for cuts. “I’m just happy you’re okay. You’re not hurt, are you?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“We can’t stay here. C’mon.” He grabs Mandy’s hand, and she takes mine, and I hold Zelda’s. The other girls latch on until we are a human chain picking a path through forests of glass.
When we reach the safety of the vestibule, we sit on a wooden bench, and Clark paces back and forth in front of us. “My boss will not be happy about this. He’ll never let me give tours again! Especially not to your kind.”
“We accept this punishment,” Chloe says, slightly too eagerly. I have to bite my lip to keep from snickering.
“Tell us your plan, honey,” Mandy says in a silky tone, “and we’ll be out of here lickety-split.”
He sighs and stops pacing. “Fine. So Mandy says that Nebraska thinks very highly of herself . . .”
“A truer statement was never uttered,” Sky says. “Nebraska is so self-important that she cuts to the front of every line.”
Zelda chimes in. “Nebraska is so stuck-up that when she walks into parties, she makes the host announce her entrance.”
“Oooh!” I say. “I have one. Nebraska is so vain, she probably thinks this conversation is about her.”
Chloe harrumphs. “Nebraska is so vain, she thinks every conversation is about her.”
Mandy puts up her hand. “All true, but let’s let Clark speak, you guys.”
“So I was thinking . . .” Clark rubs his chin with his index finger. “Bragging is boring, right?”
George whoops. “So boring!”
Clark accepts her validation with a curt nod. “All you have to do is convince her to talk about herself. A lot.”
Chapter 37
After marveling at the simple genius of Clark’s plan, we hightail it out of the Industrial District before they can kick us out. Our friends get ready to fan out on a mission to invite TropeTown’s other Manic Pixies to attend the Council meeting. Zelda and I make excuses for why we can’t join them.
“I have to wash my hair,” I claim.
“I . . . Uh . . . I have to wash my neighbor’s hair,” Zelda says. “She’s a Sympathetic Elderly Shut-in . . .”
Mandy gives us a knowing look. “We’ll fill you in on our progress tomorrow. If we make any.”
Once the others are out of sight, Zelda fiddles with her band. “Are you ready to go with me now?”
“Do you mind telling me what this is all about first?”
“I heard a rumor about Reader World. And I want to ask Chet about it.”
“Why can’t you ask him at work?”
“Because this conversation needs to happen Off-Page, and he won’t agree to do it because he doesn’t take me seriously.” Zelda scoots closer to me and puts her hand on my knee. “If I take you with me, he’ll finally understand I mean business.”
I don’t have to remind her that while bringing a guest into a Novel isn’t against the rules, going Off-Page is. Merely suggesting it landed her in therapy. Actually doing it could merit termination. Our Trope is already in trouble. We don’t need to give the Council another reason to retire us all. “Zelda, that’s a huge risk. Are you sure following up on this rumor is worth it?”
Zelda’s expression hardens. “Finn thought so.”
“Wait—what does Finn have to do with this?”
“He’s the source of the rumor.”
And just like that, I’m back in again.
“So what is the rumor?” Apparently Finn confided something to her that he didn’t to me.
She glances around the room nervously, as if she thinks someone may be watching. “Not here. Off-Page.”
“Fine.” I try to hide my annoyance. It’s not Zelda’s fault Finn kept so many secrets from his supposed best friend.
She threads her fingers through mine and pulls a lever on the side of her band. The Author summons light pulses. And we’re off.
We land and immediately rehydrate. Fortunately, the backstage area is the standard format, familiar to me down to the placement of the craft services table and its assortment of pies.
A guy dressed in full-on football gear approaches. “Zelda?”
“Hi, Chet,” Zelda says brightly.
He whips out a clipboard. “You’re not on the schedule today.”
Chet doesn’t look at all like I pictured him. He doesn’t have horns or a pointy tail, just a quizzical expression and brown hair. He carries a helmet. I remember Zelda explaining that she admired him because he wasn’t some dumb jock. That he had aspirations.
“I came to see you.” Zelda throws her arms around him and buries her head in his chest. He lets his free hand tangle her hair, and oh geez, does it hurt to see them like this, even though I know it’s her job, and she’s also buttering him up to get a favor. Maybe she’d hate to see the way I act with Ava, too.
“Who is this guy?” Chet asks. “He’s not on the schedule either.”
Zelda lets go of Chet and moves back to my side. “He wouldn’t be. He’s not a character in this novel. He’s my friend from TropeTown. Riley.”
The word ‘friend’ wounds me further.
Chet looks torn. I recognize the anguish of simultaneously yearning to protect someone you love and yet give them what they want. “Zelda, no. We talked about this. We can’t.”
Zelda takes his helmet from him. “Just give us a few minutes. Please. And I’ll never bring it up again.”
He shakes his head, and I brace myself for his refusal. Instead he relents and turns to lead us through the door marked “Private.” The one that has never opened for me until now.
Chapter 38
I wish I could tell you what we talked about Off-Page. The rumor, if true, changes everything we thought we knew about the choices we have. It shakes the very foundations of TropeTown.
I can’t tell you though. Not yet, at least. You’re reading this, so that means anyone could be.
I can tell you that the rumor is so fantastical, I can’t imagine it being true. And it’s so fantastic, I hope with all my being that it is.
It’s worth noting that Chet doesn’t believe it. And by the end of our conversation, Zelda seems equally skeptical. But I want to believe.
I’m beginning to suspect having this knowledge is what put Finn on
the Termination Train.
And it means I’m even more desperate to get my hands on his letter to Nebraska.
Chapter 39
When I walk out of my apartment the next morning, fretting because we only have three days to prepare our defense, Zelda stands near the tree looking up at Sprite.
“I came to pick you up, and Sprite zipped by me.”
“She’s showing off. Because she likes you so much.”
I show off, too—and for the same reason—by climbing to retrieve Sprite.
Once I deliver Sprite safely back to Crazy Cat Lady Cathy, Zelda and I head off to TropeTown Heights for our un-therapy.
“So,” I say. “That rumor. Do you think . . .”
“Shhhh,” Zelda warns sharply. And her expression says the rest.
We continue the rest of the way in silence, Zelda kicking at a stone. I want to assure her everything will be fine, but I don’t want to be liar, so I keep my mouth shut.
The guard lets us in without incident. He checks our names off the list and waves us through.
We round the corner of Nebraska’s house and climb the steps to the veranda, side by side. We must see Bridget at the same time, because Zelda stumbles and catches herself on my arm so she doesn’t trip. She digs her fingernails in, and I know she’s as terrified as I am, though she’s trying not to show it.
Bridget stares at us with an accusatory expression. “Your stragglers have finally arrived, Angela. And now I can state my business.”
Holy crap. She knows.
Angela smiles through chattering teeth. “Okay, Bridget. Why don’t you have some pie! I baked it myself. Boysenberry.”
“No, thank you,” Bridget says.
“Don’t mind if I do!” Nebraska gets up to serve herself a piece of pie, and Bridget waits patiently for her to finish.
Meanwhile, Zelda and I sit down. George whispers something to Mandy, and Mandy nods, folding her hands in her lap and looking resigned to her fate. The other girls probably think Bridget’s visit has to do with our accident at the glass factory, and not with Zelda’s and my rule breaking.
Maybe it’s neither.
Maybe it’s both.
But Bridget has already threatened our very existence in TropeTown. How much worse can it get?
Bridget clears her throat. “As you all know, our community functions because we follow the rules. And when someone doesn’t follow the rules, it puts our peace in jeopardy. We can’t condone this type of behavior.”
My whole body blares an alert. My muscles tense and I can’t get enough air in my lungs. Why did we have to go Off-Page? Now they will terminate us immediately, and we’ll never know the truth. Zelda’s nails find the tender skin of my arm again.
Bridget pulls a plastic evidence bag out of the pocket of her suit jacket. A charred black mess rests inside the bag.
“Our forensics team determined the fire in the Healing Center started with this item. Does anyone recognize it?”
As Bridget waves the bag in our faces, my rapid breathing slows down a notch. Bridget didn’t come for Zelda and me.
But George gasps. “That’s my friendship bracelet.”
Angela clamps her hand over her mouth so hard, we can hear the smack.
Bridget stalks over to George’s chair. “So, Georgina . . . you confess?”
“No . . . I . . . lost it,” George stammers.
Bridget clicks her tongue. “Witnesses have come forward with statements placing you outside the Healing Center very early on the morning of the fire.”
George whips around to face Nebraska. “Nebraska and I met up for a chat. Go on, tell them!”
Nebraska’s eyes widen in innocence. “Why would I meet you somewhere voluntarily? Everyone knows we avoid each other at all costs.”
When she puts it that way, George’s story does seem unlikely.
“We used to be friends,” George fires back. “Before I told you I was being considered for a promotion. And now you’ve set me up. All because you couldn’t stand someone else sharing your Legacy limelight.”
This, however, seems incredibly likely.
Sky shakes her head like she’s been betrayed. “Why did you never tell me about this, George?”
George opens her mouth to speak, but Angela interrupts. “Stop this right now,” she commands, her voice trembling slightly. “Your Trope is in enough trouble, without you bringing unsubstantiated accusations against your sole Legacy member.”
The sparkle fades from George’s eyes, which tells me she catches Angela’s warning as well as I do. If George takes down Nebraska with her, she leaves us without a Legacy member to speak for us. The Council won’t listen to the rest of us on our own, and we won’t get a chance to prove ourselves.
“I’m so sorry,” she says finally, hanging her head.
Bridget takes this as a confession. “Come with me.”
“But where are you taking her?” Sky demands.
“To the Villain Zone.”
Chapter 40
The Villain Zone, like the Termination Train, is shrouded in mystery and rumors. None of us have ever been there, of course. It’s off-limits to non-Villainous Tropes, with the exception of Council Members and Legacies.
Speaking of Legacies, ours seems to be taking George’s arrest in stride. She is sipping at her sweet tea with a sparkle in her eye. The rest of us, not so much.
Angela dismisses us early due to the circumstances and heads out alone into the trees behind Nebraska’s property. We’re all so upset that we leave without even tasting the boysenberry pie.
It’s only once we’ve reached the border of Nebraska’s property and escaped the heavy film of her gloating that I remember my plan to retrieve Finn’s letter. That’ll have to wait until our next un-therapy session.
Mandy invites us to vent at her apartment.
“Poor George!” Sky flings herself down on Mandy’s aubergine velvet sofa. “Nebraska is the worst!”
“Yeah, but unfortunately we need her,” Mandy says, stating the obvious. She and Chloe join Sky on the sofa, and Zelda and I take the armchairs opposite. If George were here, one of us would have to sit on the floor. It’s a painful realization that we might never get to hang out with her again.
“I don’t understand why George never told any of us about this Legacy thing,” Sky says. “And yet she told Nebraska, of all people.”
Chloe fiddles with the hem of her bright neon green frock. “She probably freaked out and had a lapse in judgment. You know how she gets under pressure.”
Yeah, the same as all of us Manic Pixies get when stressed out—hyper and irrational. We could all use a major dose of Angela telling us to chill.
“George probably told Nebraska in the hopes of getting some advice,” Zelda adds, “but then Nebraska hated the idea of George living next door to her and having all the same privileges.”
“How can we help her?” Mandy asks miserably. She applies a fresh coat of red lipstick, as if that might cheer her up. “She basically sacrificed herself for the good of the Trope. We can’t let her waste away in the VZ.”
“But it’s not as if we can break her out of jail,” I say. “The only people we know who could even get us into the VZ are Bridget and Nebraska.” Neither seems likely to volunteer for such a mission. I suppose I could try to ingratiate myself with Sal the collie, but asking such a self-centered character for a favor doesn’t seem like a promising option either.
Sky raises her hand. “Maybe we can’t help George right now, but we can make sure we do our best at the Pixie-Off.”
“Agreed,” says Zelda. “If we prove our Trope deserves to live on, maybe the Council will be willing to revisit George’s case. But if we can’t convince the Council to spare us, we’ll all be retired, including George.”
Sky nods. “George gave us this chance to make our case to the Council, and it’s what she would want us to do.”
“Well, she’d also want us to upstage Nebraska,” Chloe says. “Where
are we on Clark’s suggestion to ensure Nebraska brags about herself? Any ideas?”
Sky jumps up and windmills like she’s Pete Townshend on guitar. Her headphones bounce against her neck. “I got it! I can collaborate with Nebraska on a song proclaiming her greatness.”
Mandy brightens slightly. “That’s a good idea, but you don’t think Nebraska will be suspicious if you’re suddenly helping her? She’s not stupid.”
“That’s why I need to have a falling out with all of you,” Sky says. “And then I’ll become Nebraska’s biggest fan.”
Chapter 41
We pinkie swear on Sky’s plan, which will go into effect at our next un-therapy session. Outside Mandy’s house, everyone heads off in separate directions except Zelda and me. I quickly try to gauge whether she wants my company. She’s not cozying up to me, but she hasn’t been shutting me out either, so it’s hard to tell.
I offer her my arm, and she smiles and takes it. I start to feel more confident, and I decide we could both use a distraction from all the crud weighing us down.
“Maybe now’s a good time to catch me up on comics,” I suggest. “We could go hang out in the mall, and you can help me decide if I want to commit to the Jazz-Hands Spider-Mouse universe or the Razzle-Dazzle Spider-Mouse universe. I’ll have you know I’m partial to the Razzle-Dazzle.”
She stiffens and unhooks herself from me. “Really, Riley? Our friend has just been wrongly accused and carted off to jail, and our whole Trope is in danger of retirement, and all you care about is pandering to me so that maybe I’ll make out with you?”
I mean, she’s not wrong about the making-out part, but I’m rather offended that she’d accuse me of being so callous. “Hey, I’m just as worried as you are! I’ve spent the last few days thinking about how to help our Trope survive. And I went with you to investigate that rumor—”
“Riley!” she says sharply, before dropping her voice to a whisper. “Never mind the rumor. It’s merely wishful thinking—talking to Chet confirmed that for me. There’s no point in dwelling on it when we have real problems.”
The Manic Pixie Dream Boy Improvement Project Page 13
