Between the Lines (12 page)

I sit down on the edge of page 43, already missing her, as Queen Maureen wanders into the edge of the margin. It’s like that when the book is closed—any of us can wander anywhere; there’s no privacy. “Oh, I’m
so
sorry!” she says, backing away. “I didn’t realize anyone was on this page!”

“No, no,” I say, getting to my feet. “It’s quite all right. Really.”

Queen Maureen isn’t really my mother, of course. Technically, the author of this story is the woman who gave life to all of us. But like two actors in any long-running play, Maureen and I have become so comfortable with each other and our roles that she is the closest thing I have to a parent inside the pages of this book. I like the way she always saves me one of her fresh-baked ginger cookies from the castle kitchen when she’s in a cooking mood. And from time to time, I’ve turned to her for advice when Frump and I have had a disagreement, or when Seraphima is so delusional that she’s chasing me nonstop during our time off. I respect Maureen’s
opinions. In this way, I guess, my character has started to blend with the real me.

“Have you got a minute?” I ask.

“Of course.” She walks closer and sits beside me on a stubby boulder. “You look like you want to kick a wall.”

I exhale heavily. “I’m just so
frustrated.
”

“Who spit in your porridge?” she asks, raising a brow.

“If we’re all just make-believe, are the emotions we feel still real?”

“Well,” Maureen says. “Someone’s philosophical today—”

“I’m serious,” I interrupt. “How am I supposed to know what love really feels like?”

“Dear Lord, please tell me you haven’t suddenly become smitten with that ditzy princess—”

“Seraphima?” I shudder. “No.”

Maureen’s eyes light up. “It’s Ember, isn’t it? I’ve seen her looking at you from the corner of her little eye.”

“I’m not in love with a fairy—”

“It’s not Cook, is it?”

“Cook? She’s twice my age—”

Maureen frowns. “One of the mermaids? I should warn you that your dates would be impossibly soggy—”

“She’s not in the book,” I say.

Maureen just blinks. “Ah. Well, my boy, I don’t think I can help you there.”

“She’s not like anyone I’ve ever seen before. When I’m not with her, I want to be. And when she opens the book and I see her face, I can barely remember what I’m supposed to say, much less how to speak at all.” I test the words on my tongue. “I think I might be in love with her. But how can I really know, since the only love I’ve ever experienced was written for me?”

“Oh, darling, that’s what love
is.
It’s some power greater than you and me, that draws us to one special person.”

Maureen sounds like she knows exactly what she’s talking about. As if she’s felt the same way I feel right now.

“I guess you really loved Maurice,” I say.

She laughs. “Sweetheart, he’s just a flashback.”

I press my fingers to my temples. It’s all so confusing—what’s real, and what’s only make-believe. In the story, I fall in love with Seraphima, but the way I feel when I’m with her is far different from what I feel for Delilah. With Seraphima, I’m going through the motions. With Delilah, everything is brand-new, brightly colored, always changing. “Then how do you know what love is?”

“Because so many stories are all about love, written by people who’ve felt it before. Rapscullio’s lair is full of books about characters who aren’t in
this
story but who
are mad about each other. Romeo and Juliet, Beauty and the Beast, Heathcliff and Cathy.”

“Who are
they
?”

Maureen shrugs. “I don’t know, but our author wrote them onto the shelves on the illustration of page thirty-six. I’ve read a few, myself, during our off time. You know that anything that was in the author’s mind might exist in the book, even if it doesn’t show up in the proper story.”

This is true. The world we live in is bigger than just the fairy tale; in fact, it’s as spacious as the imagination of the woman who created us. It’s why Frump and I know how to play chess, and Captain Crabbe has a passion for creating crosswords. It is as if whatever the author was thinking when she created the spaces we are in was richly imagined, three-dimensional. The castle kitchen, for example, is fully stocked with grains and flours and dishes and tableware, even though in the fairy tale, Cook is never actually seen baking. Because of this, during our off time, Maureen pores through recipe books and bakes cakes and pies and biscuits for the rest of us.

“Can I ask you something else?” I say, turning to Maureen. “I know he’s just a flashback to you. But Maurice, he rode off to save you, and wound up leaving you behind forever. Is it really worth dying for the person you love?”

She thinks about this for a moment. “That’s not the real question, Oliver. What you
should
be asking is, Can you live without her?”

*   *   *

Frump has called a meeting of all the characters, so we are gathered on the final page of the story, on Everafter Beach. He stands on his hind legs on a driftwood stump, addressing the masses. “It has come to my attention, friends,” he says—he’s truly the best orator of us all—“that we may be falling down on the job.”

“Falling down
is
my job,” says Pyro the dragon, who I must admit looks rather fetching with new fiery red rubber bands on his upper braces. “It’s on page forty.”

“I meant it more as a metaphor,” Frump says. “None of us have gotten a lot of face time lately, because the Reader seems to be fixated on a particular page.”

From my position, where I am sitting with my back against a palm tree, I freeze.

“Page forty-three,” Frump adds, staring at me.

I give a flat laugh. “Well,” I say. “Go figure.”

“Can you think of any reason, Oliver, that the Reader’s ignoring the rest of the story?”

“I’m, um, certain that it’s only a coincidence,” I stammer. “Perhaps she’s very interested in rock climbing?”

“She?” Rapscullio says, stepping forward with a frown. “How do you know it’s a
she
?”

I swallow hard. “Did I say
she
?” I shrug. “Just a guess. I mean, aren’t most of our Readers little girls?”

“My point exactly,” Frump says. “Which is why I think we need to amp up the action a bit. The next time this book is opened, let’s leap off the page.”

“Good luck with that,”
I mutter.

“What was that, Oliver?”

I cough. “Just a tickle in my throat.”

“Right. As I was saying—mermaids, creepier! I want these kids to have nightmares! And trolls, make sure you slam Oliver to the ground when he crosses the bridge. And Rapscullio, when you’ve got him dangling sixty feet off the ground—”

“Hey, wait a minute!” I interrupt. “What about me?”

“Seems to me you’re doing just fine.” Seraphima sniffs. “Whereas
I
haven’t spoken a single word in
days.
…”

“There’s a silver lining,” I murmur.

“You’re absolutely right,” Frump agrees, so eager to support Seraphima that he yelps. “With a voice as pure as yours, Princess, you should speak constantly….”

But he might as well be talking to thin air. Seraphima completely ignores Frump, instead settling down beside
me on the sand and running her fingers up my arm in a tickle. “Ollie,” she purrs. “I really miss you. How about we go to page sixty and practice the kiss?”

“I promised, uh, to help Maureen in the kitchen,” I say.

She sighs. “Suit yourself.” Then she looks up at Frump. “Are we about done here? Because I really need a nap. Beauty sleep, you know.”

“If you’ll allow me to say so, milady, nothing could make you any more beautiful than you already are,” Frump replies.

Kyrie, the mermaid, rolls her eyes. “For goodness’ sake, Frump, you’re making me seasick.” One of the great ironies of this book is that the mermaids, in real life, don’t have a boy-crazy bone in their bodies.

“All right, then!” Frump barks. “We all know what we’ve got to do to engage the Reader. I highly recommend using this off time to practice, so that we’re in top-notch performance shape by the time the story is in play again.”

He hops down lightly from his stump as the characters scatter. “Oh, Princess? Princess Seraphima? If you need someone to stand in for Oliver on page sixty, I’m happy to volunteer….”

She turns around and points a finger at him. “Stay. Good boy.”

With his tail between his legs, Frump shuffles off the beach. I am about to head after him, to try to lift his
spirits—or at least to get him to abandon a ridiculous crush on a woman with the mental resources of a brick—when Captain Crabbe slaps me hard on the back. “Ahoy, Oliver. Did I hear you say that Maureen’s cooking again? Dare I hope it’s the pineapple upside-down cake? I’m happy to cut it into slices.”

He draws his rapier from its sheath. The steel gleams, but not as brightly as his smile. Guess that’s what happens when you floss daily.

Flossing daily.

Putting braces on dragons.

Moonlighting as a dentist instead of a pirate.

I take one look at Captain Crabbe and realize that this man might actually understand why I so desperately want to get out of the story. “Captain,” I say, “how about you and I take a little walk?”

*   *   *

“Leave the story?” Captain Crabbe says, stopping dead in his tracks. The fairies, which have been accompanying us, swarm about his face like large mosquitoes. “I could never!”

“But imagine—somewhere, in another world, you might have your own orthodontics practice. You could fit retainers all day long, without ever having to stop to rig a mainsail or blow a cannon!” I offer him my widest, most hopeful smile.

He looks, for a moment, like he’s considering this option. Then he says, “You know, that eyetooth on the left is just a little crooked. I can fix that….”

I sigh, frustrated. “What if I told you I’d made contact with… the outside?”

Glint crosses her tiny arms. “Sounds like someone’s been daydreaming again….”

I swat at her. “Who asked you, anyway?”

“Ignore him,” Sparks whispers. “He got up on the wrong side of the royal bed, obviously.”

I ball my hands into fists. “WILL YOU ALL JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?”

“Well, I never,” Ember mutters.

“Honestly!” Glint seconds.

Sparks lifts her chin. “Come on, ladies. We know when we’re not being appreciated.”

They disappear between the branches of the trees in the Enchanted Forest, and Captain Crabbe follows after them.

“Not
you,
” I say. “
You
can stay.”

“Oh. Aye.” He faces me again. “Look, son. Even
if
what you said was possible… that doesn’t mean I’m not happy right where I am.”