Fairy Tale (19 page)

Speaking of which, his date with Sara had been in the back of my mind all day, but, with all that had happened today, I couldn't find a clever way to bring it up. Now seems as good a time as any. "So, Pip,'' I begin casually, "how did your date go last night?"

I must be able to pull off "casual,'' because he doesn't appear to detect anything strange. He simply wipes his mouth with a napkin and says, "Just fine. She is a great person."

I should have expected vagueness from Pip, the ultimate gentle man. I was hoping for something a little more informative: (a) places visited, (b) topics conversed about, (c) bodily fluids exchanged. Considering what I know about Pip, the answers to the above are probably: (a) the diner, (b) the weather, (c) zilch. But why does it still bug me? Why should I care about a guy who isn't even going to be around three days from now?

Maybe it's because I know he's my "replacement boyfriend." Like with a spare tire, even though I don't plan on using him, I don't want anyone else using him, either.

"You had a date!" my mother exclaims, as if Pip were her own child. "How nice."

My father leans back in his chair after polishing off his third plate, so that his shirt stretches over his big belly almost to the point of popping. "I want to hear about this fight. The other guy looks worse, right, Pipster?"

"Pipster"? Agh Why not give him a playful punch, ruffle his hair, and call him "son"? Many times during my life, I've been convinced my father wanted me to be a boy. Cam sort of filled the void, but, since he's been gone, my father must be going through withdrawal.

Pip looks confused. "No, I don't believe so."

My father waits for him to elaborate and, when he doesn't, slinks back with disappointment. He was clearly hoping for something out of the soap operas.

Pip finishes four plates of pasta, something I don't think even my father could manage, and helps to clear and wash the dishes. My father joins in to help, allowing my mother to just sit there, something that we haven't allowed her to do since the Clinton administration. She can't stop giggling like a schoolgirl. Pip stands at the sink, towel draped over his shoulder, speaking more Italian, and I find myself wondering for the millionth time today how he acted with Sara when they were out together. Of course he was sweet and chivalrous, but did he act different because it was a date? Did he treat her nicer, give her extra special attention? Did he want to kiss her?

The thought puts a knot in my stomach. I mean, what difference does it make? Cam and I are together, and Pip's going off to Otherworld. Replacement boyfriend not needed, thank you very much. That's the plan. Still, for some reason I swallow and gaze at him, willing him to look back at me so that we can share a knowing, secret glance. But he doesn't.

And only a second passes before I feel guilty for even wanting that.

AFTER SCHOOL ON Wednesday, Cam calls me over to his front porch to see his suit. He'd bought it especially for the party, and when he tried it on for the first time, I nearly melted, because he looked so fantastic. Now, standing there on his front porch, he looks kind of like a little kid trying on his daddy's work clothes.

"This looks pathetic." He groans. "I think I'll just let Pip wear it."

"But what will you wear?" I ask, sitting down on the steps.

He shrugs.

"It doesn't matter, anyway. Nobody can see how you've changed. They'll probably think you look amazing in it."

He flexes his knees and peers down at the fabric pooled at his feet. Not when I trip down the stairs and do a face-plant. These are too big."

"Ohhh-kay, so I am going to be wearing an evening gown, and you are going to be wearing ratty shorts?"

"I'll figure it out."

I eye him suspiciously. "The drill sergeant isn't going to stop you from going to this party, is she? Give you a last-minute assignment?"

"No." He looks out, across the street, and whispers, "The plan is still in effect. I have some tilings to do tomorrow night, but Til be good for Friday."

"Okay." I look down at my hands. "And everything's cool? She still thinks you're..."

He nods. "Yep."

My mind keeps flashing back to the scars on Pips back. "You haven't been having any second thoughts?"

He looks into my eyes. "No. Why?"

I try to appear as unconcerned as possible, even though all I can see are those horrible slashes. But no, if Cam is not having second thoughts, then I'm not, either. After all, he's the one giving up his throne for me, the poor commoner. "Nothing. So, are you going to miss the game tomorrow?"

"Yeah" His face stiffens. "There really isn't any point. Plus, I've got a lot of stuff to finish around here. "

"They'll probably lose big-time without you and Scab. I don't think I'll go, either."

He kicks the ground with his bare toe. "You heard that Pip is quarterback?"

I snap my eyes to meet his. I don't know why this surprises me. He is, after all, supposed to be Cam's replacement, not just on the field but in life. I haven't seen Pip since we walked to school together this morning, and when he left my side in the parking lot, a couple of A-list seniors from the football team surrounded him. At the moment, I'd thought it was strange, but I figured that maybe they just wanted a blow-by-blow of his fight with Scab. Pip is so mild-mannered and unassuming, but I knew the pass I'd made him throw would make the football team drool with envy. I hadn't imagined this, though. "That's crazy."

"Supposedly, he has one hell of an arm. Who knew?" He slips off the suit jacket and lays it over the back of a lounge chair, then loosens his tie. "John told me the guys got him to try out, and the coach wants him in."

"Wow, does he even know the rules?"

"He'll learn fast. He's inside with Sara right now. She'll teach him that... among other things, I am sure." He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

"They are? What does that mean?" I peer into his living room, until I catch a glimpse of my reflection. I look like a demented stalker. I should be happy that Pip and Sara are together for his last days on Earth, but instead, all I'm feeling is jealousy, like the girls who used to drool over Cam. Pathetic. "Pip told me he's supposed to be your replacement. In everything."

This news doesn't surprise him. "I know."

"He was supposed to take your place. As my boyfriend."

I watch for a reaction on his face. Jealousy. Anger. Anything. But there is none. This is clearly something he has known for a while.

"You don't care?"

He looks at the ground, then back at me. "Maybe he was meant to be in my place all along," he says.

I clench my fists. "But he's not. And I love you."

He gives me a slow, sad smile and whispers, "I know, I love you, too. And I'm staying here, so what difference does it make?"

It's just a statement, not a promise. There isn't any resolve in his voice. It frightens me. I catch a glimpse of a bit of wood sticking out from the inside pocket of his suit coat. His chopsti-er, wand. I reach over to grab it and say, "You won't be needing-" The wand falls to the floor and I feel a jolt of electricity run through my fingers. "Ouch!"

"Watch it!" he tells me, a second too late. "Don't touch that."

"I won't, anymore," I say, holding my fingers, which are candy pink and still sizzling. "What the hell?"

He takes the wand and tucks it back into the pocket. "Listen, are you sure you envisioned everything working out?"

"Um, yeah," I lie.

"Okay." He reaches up and pats my head as if he's not substantially shorter than I am, and whispers, "I told her not to hurt you again, but I can't be sure she'll listen to me. So just be good. Okay? Until Friday?"

I heave a sigh and nod. "Whatever."

"No, seriously. I don't want to have to worry about you any more than I already do."

"Okay," I say glumly. "I still don't know why you stick up for her."

He exhales slowly and takes my hand. "I told you. She's not bad. She's just obeying Massif's orders. And she's probably going to catch hell from him if things work out for us. So try to cut her a little slack, okay?"

I throw up my hands. "I know, I know. I am a total brat."

He gives me a quick kiss, and I head across his lawn, through the bushes. As I'm leaving, I see Mrs. Nelson crossing the street, holding the hand of a little platinum-pig-tailed girl. Like my mother had said, she's just as perfect as before-full of life, not frail or pale at all. At first, I think maybe they're coming to see my mother, to thank her once again for the miraculous
sfogliatelle
.
Instead, they head off toward the right, and when they reach the curb, the girl breaks free of her mother and runs up the Brownes' driveway. Straight into Cam's waiting arms.

It's strange how kids have always somehow been inexplicably drawn to Cam. But I didn't think he knew Gracie, or the Nelsons-at least, not very well. Gracie has always been a shy kid, ducking behind her mother's legs whenever I would say hello. But now, she's grinning at him like they're the best of friends. She reaches around his back and feels his shoulder blades, and they both break into laughter.

And meanwhile, Mrs. Nelson stands there in the grass. Smiling and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

She may be smiling, but she's also sobbing.

And that's when I realize what Cam's "assignments" are.

MORGAN! COME ON, I saved you a seat!" Eden calls from the top row of the bleachers. She's standing there in her green and gold Hawks sweatshirt, and she's wearing one of those atrocious giant foam cowboy hats. She turns toward the center of the gym as the marching band belts out the final few notes of our fight song, and screams a seemingly never-ending "Whoooooooo!"

Reluctantly, I climb up to her seat, noticing two more disgusting purple leech bites on her neck before I plop down and stick my fingers in my ears. Two weeks ago I would have killed to have a pep rally last period instead of English. Now, I think I would so much rather dissect
Leaves of Grass
than sit through this. I see Cam sitting a few rows ahead of me, a blank look on his face. The pink aura is surrounding him, as usual. He's not wearing his jersey, so it's almost like he was never part of the team. I fully expect him to break into tears.

Eden grins and points at me. "Scab gave you a scab."

"Funny."

"What a jerk. I can't believe I missed that" she says glumly. "So, has Cam talked to Scab at all since he was suspended?"

I shake my head. As if Cam has nothing else to worry about.

"Wow. That's so sad! They were, like, best friends."

I shrug, tapping my fingers on the bench. I check the clock. It's two. Time to get this show on the road.

Finally, Principal Edwards strolls up to a podium, and the cheering comes to an end. He lectures, seemingly forever, about how this year's Hawks are going to be the best ever, and I know Cam is wincing at the thought, though I can't see him from my seat. Then he begins to announce the team members.

Eden sways back and forth in her seat and says, "Wow, they really did kick Cam off the team, didn't they?"

I glare at her. "Who told you that? He quit."

She shrugs. "It's the rumor that he lost his arm. Is it true Pip is going to take his place?"

He's not taking his place with me, that's for sure,
I think, craning my neck to see the cheerleaders on the sidelines. Sara has her platinum hair in a ponytail and is clapping for a wide receiver. She kicks her pencil-thin leg up so unnaturally high that she can almost kiss her knee. Gross.

"I can't wait for tonight!" she is blabbering as I watch the football players jog out like heroes in their green jerseys, waving and slapping each other on the backside. "You want to meet in the parking lot?"

Eden is obviously so love struck by Mike that, she's experiencing delusions. Like I would ever, ever go to this game. After all, my boyfriend was just disgraced into quitting the team. Or maybe he was, like the rumor goes, kicked off. What difference does it make? For the past few years. Cam has lived and breathed football, and now, it's over for him. He's obviously going through a very traumatic period and probably hates everything that has to do with the game. And I need to show my support by boycotting it. I am sure we both would have boycotted this pep rally, too, if it wouldn't have gotten us detention.

Eden is saying something, but it doesn't register until she's halfway through. "... really sucks that Cam isn't quarterback anymore, but, like you tell everyone when you tell them futures that aren't exactly great, you have to rise above it. Move on."

I turn to her, ready to spew, and then hold my tongue. She's right, of course. I've used the "move on" speech so often, it's permanently ingrained in my head. But it's easier said than done. I'm about to tell her that, when I realize they're about to announce the starting quarterback.

I'd expected all along to hear his name, but when it's finally out there, I instantly rocket out of my seat, fueled by the energy in the crowd. The applause builds to a roar, and Eden lets out a glass-breaking screech. My eyes go into overdrive, focusing in on the door to the boys' locker room. And there he is, in Cam's number 10 jersey, the Gap jeans I bought for him, and a pair of Nikes. He has a football in the crook of his arm. He won't look up at the crowd, so all I can see is the top of his head, all mussed up, like whipped peanut butter. I blink-can that really be Pip?-and when he takes a few steps, I know the answer. Swish-swish-swish.

Dragging his feet, he shuffles to the center of the gym. He gives a slight wave but somehow ends up popping the ball out from the cradle of his arm. It rolls onto the floor awkwardly for a moment, and he chases it about before recovering it. There are a few giggles from the audience, but when he waves again, the crowd grows louder. I still can't see his eyes, though. I can't tell if he's excited or scared to death.