The Manic Pixie Dream Boy Improvement Project

by Lenore Appelhans

  Still sitting, she leans forward and gives me an awkward hug that’s all arms. “See you.”

  On my walk home, I go the long way around the park so I can avoid our bridge and our initials. All they are now is a permanent monument to my heartbreak.

  Ava sneaks into my mind again. My belief in her led her to take a giant risk in leaving her novel. And her belief in me may be what saves our Trope from extinction. Don’t I believe in myself enough to give myself the chance to make my own adventures, too?

  When I get home, I sit and face my heart mosaic hanging on the wall. I remember how Clark mourned the loss of his perfectly formed glass lobsters. Maybe I’m like one of those glass lobsters: if I can break out of my restricting mold, I can put the pieces of myself back together in a way that reflects who I’ve grown to be. It might be messier, but it’ll be all mine.

  The more I think about everything, the more convinced I am that the Termination Train is truly is the gateway to Reader World. I decide that I am going to go, whether or not the Pixie-Off saves our Trope. With or without Zelda.

  Because I owe it to myself to be my authentic self.

  Chapter 58

  The first time I visit Zelda’s apartment, it doesn’t feel like it’s hers. Her personality is packed away, with all her comic books stacked in cardboard boxes, her posters fitted snugly into tubes, and her boho furniture wrapped in sheets of plastic. She’s even reverted the walls to their standard white, though she’s done a sloppy job because I can still make out slivers of yellow paint along the baseboards and near the ceiling. I also detect a few dried spaghetti stragglers hanging on for dear life over her stove, and they make me nostalgic for Zelda’s spunk in the early days of our acquaintance.

  “I don’t even know why I bothered packing.” She hands me a broom and a dustpan. “Except that the Council told me to, and I’m ultimately accommodating, apparently.”

  I sweep the wood floor in the living room while she mops the kitchen. I collect the detritus of her life here in my dustpan: graham cracker crumbs, sea green sequins, and torn-up bits of construction paper. I also find one of her silver buttons, Hg-80, otherwise known as mercury, one of the most toxic elements on the periodic table. It’s so strong it has the power to dissolve gold and silver.

  The pin begs me to crush it under my foot. A metaphorical stamping out of the choice she’s making. But if I do that, I’m part of the problem. I’d be another loser guy who thinks of her only as a shiny concept and not as a real person with complicated constellations inside her.

  So I pick it up delicately and set it on her empty table. She can decide what to do with it.

  When she finishes in the kitchen, she takes the full dustpan from me. She raises an eyebrow when she sees the button lying forlornly on the table, but she doesn’t comment. She empties the dustpan into a trash bag, wipes off her hands on her jeans, and goes over to a box and digs around in it.

  She pulls out a container with her button-making machine and supplies, all neatly organized, and hands it to me. “I wanted you to have this. I know you’ll appreciate it.”

  I hug it to my chest and will myself not to cry. I don’t want her last memory of me to be tearstained. “Will I see you again?” I ask, though the chances are slim to absolute zero.

  “You never know.” She pushes me against a wall.

  And she kisses me. On the mouth. And the universe spins like it might explode from the sheer awesomeness of it.

  I slip my hands around her waist and pull her closer to me, and we allow our bodies to communicate all the feelings our minds never found the right words for.

  Why does our first kiss also have to be our last?

  If I don’t open my eyes, can I stay in the moment forever?

  “Don’t forget this.” Zelda slips away from me.

  “Like I ever could.” I think she means the kiss. But when I finally open my eyes, she holds out the button-making kit.

  “Goodbye, Riley. And good luck in the Pixie-Off and beyond.”

  I’m so choked up at this point, I can’t even speak. So I merely take the kit from her. I blow her a half kiss and walk out her door and out of her story.

  On her doorstep, I get a last-ditch idea. I take out one of the silver pieces of cardstock and a black marker. I form ZE in large block letters, but instead of a number, I write: “Be your own element.”

  I stamp all it together in the machine and leave the button on her doormat.

  Chapter 59

  The green room behind the Town Hall auditorium hosts a full-on Pixie Panic. With Zelda out, all the pressure falls on the remaining six of us. And without Angela to help us focus our scattered energy, we’re fractious and flighty.

  Our de-facto dictator primps in the mirror with a treacherous mascara wand. “Pink glitter clumps will be the death of me,” Nebraska wails.

  Nebraska is not one to lose her cool, so her outburst adds to the tension. Chloe dissolves into tears. Sky pats her back like she’s playing a set of bongos, which might make Chloe laugh in less stressful times, but only succeeds in making her cry harder.

  George is sulking because she hasn’t been able to find Angela, and no one has any idea where she is.

  Mandy pays too much attention to the drama and not enough to her curling iron and soon enough it stinks of rotting eggs.

  “Mandy!” I snap my fingers in front of her. “Your hair!”

  A big chunk of blond falls to the floor, leaving singed tendrils over her right ear. “What the felt!” She flings the iron down in horror.

  Personally, I play a loop in my head of Zelda running and jumping into Chet’s waiting arms, probably at this very moment. Each replay makes me more despondent. I also haven’t seen or heard from Ava since Bridget escorted her away. Maybe the Council decided she’s a rabble-rouser and condemned her to the VZ. She’s completely at their mercy.

  In short, we are not even remotely in the mood to scamper around the stage showing off our best sides for the Council.

  Chloe blows her nose on the first flowing fabric she can find, which happens to be the chiffon train of Nebraska’s miniskirt ball gown.

  Nebraska’s gasp echoes through the room, and you could easily hear one of Mandy’s bobby pins drop while we wait for a further reaction.

  Instead, we hear a knock on the door.

  I open it, and Angela slips in, but not before looking both ways down the hall, as if she worries that the Council might prevent her visit.

  The relief in the room is palpable, and George throws herself into Angela’s arms. I turn away to give them some privacy.

  “Hi girls. And Riley.” Angela does her jazz hands greeting, just like old times. “Sorry I haven’t had time to check in. My new assignment is with the Sensitive Nice Guy Trope, and their sessions go on forever.” Having had Clark nearly take up permanent residence on my sofa, I can sympathize.

  With her and George’s permission, we pile on Angela like she’s scored the winning touchdown. Obviously we’ve missed her, too. And we could sure as felt use a pep talk about now.

  Angela senses this, of course, and lines us up in a row, surveying us with her therapist eye. “You know what’s at stake here,” she admonishes softly. “This is not the time to fall apart. So if you can’t help but fall, your best bet is to fall together.”

  “What do you mean?” Mandy asks.

  “She means we need to support each other,” I say, looking meaningfully at each of Nebraska’s potential saboteurs.

  Sky clears her throat. “I wrote a song with Nebraska for her to sing solo, but I think we should all sing it.”

  Sky is on to something. After all, what seems like bragging when an individual does it might be interpreted as confidence when a group does.

  “That’s brilliant!” I throw in my support. Everyone but Nebraska murmurs her assent.

  “Nebraska?” Sky asks tentatively.

  There is a collective intake of breath as we wait for Nebraska’s opinion on the matter.


  “Yes.” She takes a pair of scissors and cuts the ruined train from her dress. “Let’s do that.”

  We gather around the lyrics sheet that Sky wrote out. It’s hilariously over-the-top, and I have to clamp my jaw to keep from laughing.

  Ode to Me

  I’m a Manic Pixie Dream Girl

  Go on, give me a whirl

  Gorgeous as the month of May

  I make your troubles seem far away

  I bake sparkles in cream pie

  Tattooed a unicorn on my thigh

  Witty, wise, and down to skate

  I really am the perfect date

  Never dull, always fun

  I skip and dance but seldom run

  Sing along and you will see

  Every day’s a plus with me

  “Okay,” Angela says diplomatically. “For it to work for the whole group, you’re going to have to revise to include Riley.”

  We throw out a flurry of suggestions, crossing out lines and adding others until we are satisfied we’ve brought the requisite awesome. Sky pulls out her guitar and strums the music part for us. Fortunately, she’s much more talented at it than I am.

  And as we’re rehearsing, it becomes clear that the focus of the song has shifted—in a way that’s deeper than a switch from singular to plural. I’m increasingly amped up for the opportunity to get out there and share this.

  Nebraska watches us silently until we’re done. At last, she reasserts her leadership role: “Individuals who contribute to a whole. That’s who we are. We’ll sing the first and last verses together, and in between, break out. Do our own thing. Mandy, you’ll be up first.”

  There’s another knock on the door. Angela opens it without hesitation.

  Bridget is outside. She raises an eyebrow. “It’s time.”

  Chapter 60

  We file out and head toward the stage. Angela takes a seat in the audience and doesn’t even glance in the Council’s direction. She’s here for us.

  The other 150 Manic Pixies shout out support. They wave homemade banners brimming with positive mantras.

  We face the Council, waiting for the green light.

  Bridget nods. “Proceed.”

  Chloe, Mandy, and George mount the stage with clumsy cartwheels as Sky and I lift Nebraska, and she performs an elegant back handspring from our upraised palms. I raise Sky and her guitar into position and spring up to join my friends and frenemy.

  We’re not your concept

  We’re not here to be your toy

  We have rich inner lives

  All these girls and this one boy . . .

  Thanks to our last-minute revisions, we’re no longer defending our right to continue existing as one-dimensional bundles of quirk. We’re asserting our capacity to be multifaceted, deeper versions of ourselves. Maybe we’ll never be as complicated as Developeds, but we don’t have to be as flat as microfilm either.

  Mandy uses her baby-doll cuteness to her advantage. She skitters to the front of the stage and sings a cappella in a breathy voice. Chloe interprets Mandy’s words with dramatic body movements and silver streamers.

  Once I thought I had to give it all

  and accept nothing in return

  but gratitude for a job well done

  Now I follow my own star

  And if he wants to come along

  He has to bring at least half the fun

  Angela claps from the front row with a huge smile on her face, which emboldens Sky to come out head-banging with her guitar. She doesn’t sing, but she speaks joyfully via the music. It strips away my worries and encourages me to live my best life, no matter what. I do a running leap and slide forward on the stage on my knees. It’s a move that looks cool, but it probably also rips off the top layer of skin. It’s worth it for the cheers that erupt behind me.

  We clear the way for George, who gives an abridged encore performance of her tap dance that broke us out of jail. As she taps her shoes against the stage (spank HEEL shuffle HEEL step), she composes a slam poem on the fly.

  Confined. Far too long.

  Defined. By your expectations.

  Refined. By your exhortations.

  Now I’m free.

  I’m not the girl in the box I used to be.

  You can love me or you can ignore me.

  Doesn’t matter, I’m still me.

  She ends with a shiggy bop, and a curtsy. The rest of us attempt our own shiggy bops, with varying degrees of executional success.

  Next each of the girls spins me in turn until I’m dizzy enough to believe Zelda is bounding toward me, even though that can’t possibly be true because she’s light-years gone by now. Unreachable.

  There’s a popping sound, followed by a burst of yellow smoke and falling gold glitter. I close my eyes and let it cleanse my soul. When I open my eyes, the smoke has cleared and Zelda winks at me, resplendent in a silver bodysuit with the letters ZE painted across the chest.

  She leans over and whispers into my ear, “I finally found my element.”

  I feel like I’m having the happy kind of heart attack. The kind that alerts you in blaring, bleating throbs that you’re still alive and life is freaking amazing.

  I kiss her for courage and begin to belt out our final verse. The other girls sing in harmony, and we link arms across the stage.

  Our manic energy lights up the world

  When our pixie charm unfurls

  Don’t let us become a forgotten dream

  Cuz we jazz up reality

  But of course, Nebraska can’t leave it at that, so after we take our triumphant joint bow, she adds her own coda.

  Sing along and you will see

  Every day’s a plus with . . .

  We all expect her final word to be “me”, and she drags out the “with” extra long, raising the suspense. But when it finally comes, her last word is . . .

  us!

  It may be the sweetest word I’ve ever heard.

  The Council rewards us with a standing ovation, and once all our celebrating winds down, Bridget approaches Nebraska and shakes her hand. Her fussiness has melted away and she actually kicks up her feet in something resembling a jig. If that doesn’t make you believe in Manic Pixie magic, nothing will.

  “Congratulations,” Bridget trills. “In a unanimous, spontaneous decision, we have decided to let your Trope continue. May you spread joy wherever you go.”

  A blur of hugs and happy tears follows. The Council begins distributing balloons, and the multitude of Manic Pixies comes to blow them up with abandon. Where there are balloons, there is also popping, and because I’m well aware from her character trait sheet that balloon popping is Zelda’s Achilles’ heel, I whisk her away to the green room. There will be time enough later to party with my fellow Pixies.

  Chapter 61

  When we’re alone in the green room, Zelda kisses me again. It’s not the goodbye kiss of yesterday, it’s the hello kiss of the future. I want to get lost in it, but I can’t. Because I’m thinking about Ava.

  “Something wrong?” Zelda breaks only a sliver away so that she murmurs her question into my mouth. It’s crazy sexy, but I force myself to put some distance between us.

  “Ummm . . . I’m not sure how to put this . . .”

  “You’re in love with Ava,” she states. She doesn’t look upset about it though, just thoughtful.

  “I don’t know.” Where I feel fluttery and euphoric around Zelda, I feel cozy and carefree around Ava. “There’s so much going on right now, and I guess I need some time to process it all.”

  Zelda winks and slugs me tenderly in the shoulder. “Same. No need to rush into anything. I want the space to figure out who I am beyond the label I’ve been given.”

  The door flings open. “Oh,” Nebraska says innocently. “Am I interrupting a private moment?” Ava stands beside her, looking a little bit lost.

  “Not at all,” Zelda says without a trace of malice. “Come on in, Ava. It’s so awesome to finally meet you.”
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  Ava beams at her and approaches us with pep in her step. “Thank you. It’s been a whirlwind couple of days, hasn’t it?”

  She turns to me with her goofy grin, and I envelop her in my arms. It feels so right to have her back in my life.

  Nebraska wrinkles her nose. “Indeed. Bridget thought I should bid you farewell before I go, so here I am.”

  Wait. Nebraska is leaving? A wild thought occurs to me. “Are you taking the Termination Train after all? To Reader World?”

  “Still on that kick, are you? I already told you—I’m not interested in putting myself at the mercy of reality.”

  Zelda’s eyebrows scrunch together as she looks back and forth between Nebraska and me. “Riley, even if the train really does lead to Reader World . . .”

  “It does,” Nebraska interrupts.

  Zelda pauses and repeats, “If it does . . .”

  “What?” Nebraska protests. “I have no reason to lie to you now.”

  Zelda continues. “Now that our Trope has been saved, there’s no longer any pressure on us to risk so much.”

  “And Bridget is offering everyone in our therapy group promotions to Legacy and big houses in TropeTown Heights,” Nebraska singsongs. “The others already accepted.”

  Legacy. A big house. It sounds like a dream.

  But it’s not my dream. And now that I know Reader World is within my grasp, I could never be satisfied living out other people’s stories. No way.

  “I’m taking the train,” I declare with all the confidence I have stored up. “Because my destiny is to embrace possibility.”

  “Mine, too,” Ava says. I expected nothing less of her.

  I turn to Zelda, and so many of our times together flash through my mind. Stargazing at Winter Lake. Going Off-Page. Breaking out of Jail. Being with her may not turn out to be my destiny after all, but I’m not ready to rule it out yet. “And you?” I ask her.