Fairy Tale (8 page)

"It did come as a shock to Mr, and Mrs. Browne."

"Well, obviously. But I'm talking about you. It must feel horrible for you."

"I do miss the beauty of the fairy world, and this place is very different and ugly, to me," he concedes. "But they don't want me there anymore. They want Cameron."

"That's a terrible thing to do. To steal you from your parents, then throw you away? Aren't you pissed?"

His eyes narrow, "Pissed?"

"Angry. Upset. They threw Cam away when they thought he was no good, and now they're throwing you away," I collapse back onto the grass and stare up at the clouds again, when I realize I'm more rattled by it than he is. "Don't you care?"

He shrugs. "I wasn't upset when they cast me out because I never really felt like I belonged there. I guess I was hoping that I would fit in better here. But...

From the pathetic look on his face, I know what he is going to say, and I know that he's right. "But you don't fit in here, either."

He nods. "Everybody looks at me just like they did there. I thought it would be different here because I'm one of your kind. But it's not, and now I wonder if it was a mistake, my coming here. At least I understood how things worked in Otherworld."

Otherworld. So that is the name of the world responsible for taking Cam away from me. The source of my wrath. Stupid world.

When the first raindrop smacks me right between the eyes, the answer hits me. "Can't I reason with them?"

"Pardon?" he asks politely, very much like an old Southern lady.

"They want Cam because they think he's more like them, right?"

"Right."

"Well, it's obvious that they're wrong. I just need to explain things."

"Er, Cameron is more like them. He
is
a fairy."

"So? There are other things to being a fairy, I'm sure, than just having wings. I mean. Cam doesn't fit the fairy mold at all. If I saw the two of you together, I would instantly think
you
were the fairy. You have that dainty fairy air going for you. And you know the fairy ways. You said yourself that you think it was a mistake, coming here, and that you
want
to go back. Cam doesn't."

"I don't think it is possible for me to go back there," he says, weaving his long fingers together so tightly that his knobby knuckles turn white. "Cam is the only true heir, and they want him. They want me here. And it isn't wise to tell a fairy she's wrong."

Whatever. Pip seems so weak and mild-mannered that he wouldn't think it was wise to tell his own grandmother she was wrong. "Who do I need to talk to? That Dawn chick?"

He closes his lips tightly. There are goose bumps on his pencil-like arms, and his legs are trembling in his too-tight trousers.
"Yes,
she is Cameron's intended."

"Intended?" My heart protests, beating hard against the wall of my chest. "Intended" as in "intended to be together forever"? Like we once were? Nooo... that is so totally wrong, on so many levels. "What does that mean? I thought she was his guide."

"For now, but when he is back in Otherworld, they will be married."

"Married?" Now I really can't breathe. No, no, no, this cannot be happening. There is no way my boyfriend is going to many that half-invisible skank. I collect myself and say, "We'll just have to see about that. Where can I find her?"

I hadn't noticed that the rain had picked up, and as I struggle to my feet, long whips of wet hair slap my face. It occurs to me that the reason Dawn whopped me upside the head is because she's jealous, because she realizes there's no way Cam would be with her, a gnat, when he could have a real woman like me. And I'm used to dealing with pathetic, jealous girls. I do it every day. So what if this one has wings?

He's up on his elbows. "What are you going to do?"

"Nothing. Just bitch-slap her back to whatever other world she came from. Cam is mine."

He flails about on the grass like a one-winged moth, then finally staggers to his feet. His once-slicked-back hair, dark with rain, is hanging in his eyes, and as he blinks the water from them, for a second he reminds me of Cam on the sidelines during a downpour. "I... don't know if... you should..."

"Spit it out. Where is she?"

I'm so busy sharpening my sword, thinking of just the right words, that I don't realize his cheeks have turned the color of the storm clouds.

''Right behind you."

THE FEAR STARTS in my stomach. As the tingles radiate to my fingers and toes, I decide that maybe bitch-slapping her back to whatever other world would possibly-no, definitely-be taken as an insult. I'm in trouble.

I turn around, thinking how warped my life has become to have sunk to the level of apologizing to a glob of hair fixative. Instead, I come nearly nose to nose with a perfect, glowingly clear complexion that even all the Proactiv-pushing celebs would kill for. Giant, almond-shaped blue eyes, surrounded almost fully by an aura of lush platinum hair, the stuff of Pantene commercials. Her cotton-candy lips are slightly parted, leaking no emotion whatsoever, but I can already tell they're the kind that always speak sex, no matter what she's saying.

This is my boyfriend's "intended."

I feel the overwhelming need to drown my head in the nearest toilet.

When she opens her mouth to speak, I brace myself for war. But she says, "You wanted to see me?" just as innocently as a child.

I take a step back and inspect her, hoping for an ass the size of a Buick or something. Unfortunately, there's nothing to detract from the perfect-ten thing she has going on. She's impossibly skinny, probably into negative sizes. I pause on her jeans-yes, real Seven jeans. Not a dress spun from spiderwebs or corn silk or whatever I'd been expecting. And no pointy shoes with little bells on them; she's wearing high boots with three-inch heels. She looks completely out of place on my front lawn, like she should be parading down a runway or shaking her ass on a dance floor with Paris Hilton.

"You're Dawn?" I ask doubtfully. "Where are your wings?"

"Shape-shifting is easy for we of the Seelie Court, the most powerful fairies in all of Otherworld," she explains, a little too snootily for my taste.

Ah, shape-shifting. Of course. Nobody can look that good naturally. Out of all the human forms she could take on, common sense would dictate choosing a shape like one of America's Next Top Models. I'm certain that as far as fairies go, she probably looks like a megatroll.

"Seelie Court?" I put my hands on my hips to show I'm not swayed by her "power."

Pip whispers into my ear, "The Seelie Court are the most benevolent fairies. They are kind and good to humans."

I whirl around to him. "Oh, yeah, really kind. Let's not forget, she
hit
me."

He shrugs. "Um. Usually."

I think for a moment. "So, you're, like, a fairy godmother?"

She nods, pleased with herself.

"Let me get this straight.
You
are a fairy godmother?" I ask, wondering if the whole motherly-and-chubby thing was only something Disney invented.

"Silence, Dubbleflinger she says to me, then looks at Pip. Dismissing me, just like that. Wench.

I look at Pip, who is fidgeting. I don't think he has made eye contact once with Dawn. "What is a Dubbleflinger?"

He looks at the ground. "I-I am not quite sure."

"Liar," I hiss at him. I know it's something bad. And if she thinks she can hurl insults at me, she'd better be prepared for the bitch-slapping of her young life.

She says to Pip, "The training has been going well, but slowly, due to"-she glares at me-
"some
interruptions. I am sure he's just in shock. This is unusual news, I suppose. But I know he'll eventually come around."

"Hey, look." I snap my fingers in her face. "He's not coming around. He doesn't want to be a fairy."

She rolls her eyes. "Of course he does. He just doesn't know enough about it yet, so he's afraid. It is his birthright to join the Seelie Court."

"What? No, you see, he's in love with me."

She laughs as if I'm a child who just said something amusing but completely misguided. "That is ridiculous. Fairies are not capable of that. And he is more important than you can possibly comprehend. He shall be our king."

"King?" I spit out. "You mean, as in..." I try to find something similar, but my mind is completely blank. "... king?"

What does she know? Cam is very generous in sharing the last Chips Ahoy! in the tray and always buys me pop com when we go to the movies, but he doesn't exactly fit the fairy godmother mold. And, while the idea of his being king is well and good, Cam can't rule a whole kingdom, since he can barely keep his own closet from smelling like feet. "No, believe me, he doesn't want to. He will never want to. So you can just pack up your bibbity-bobbity bags and get the hell..."

My voice trails off when I realize I'm, again, creeping up there on the harsh-o-meter. That's probably not a great idea, considering she's Miss All-Powerful and everything.

She smiles at me, almost warmly, and leans in. Her voice is even, and sweet: "Cameron is coming home with me on his sixteenth birthday. If you interfere, what I did to you this morning will feel like a gentle breeze, compared with what I will do."

I take a step back and look at Pip. He may have just peed his pants. And maybe he has good reason-if the fairy godmother in
Cinderella
could turn mice into horses and an ordinary pumpkin into a pretty pimped-up ride, what could this one do to me?

Something tells me that life as a horse would probably not be all that wonderful.

She's staring at me expectantly, finger on the trigger, ready to cast that spell over me should I say the wrong thing. Though my heart is crying other things, my head says.
Shut up, Morgan.
I am acutely aware now that the rain has soaked me completely, and as the chill overtakes my body, one fact is obvious.

I am going to lose my boyfriend. Forever!

BEN &.JERRY'S S'mores ice cream is low-fat, but it defeats the purpose when you swallow an entire pint in one mouthful. But so what? My perifect boyfriend is a fairy, due to marry next month's
Cosmo
cover, leaving me here with a face full of worry zits and an ever-expanding waistline. Even if I were interested in finding a replacement, there are no other guys at Stevens that even compare. I might as well cancel my Rally's membership and get a frequent-diner card for Burger King.

I've missed all of
General Hospital,
so my father feels it necessary to give me the blow-by-blow of who's having whose baby and which doctors ended up in bed together. As he's babbling on, my mother, thankfully, interrupts. "Are you sure you don't want any meat loaf?"

Oblivious, I'd scooped the entire carton of B&J into my salad bowl and downed it before her latest culinary masterpiece had even come out of the oven. "Um sorry. I'm full."

"I bet," she says, frowning at the dish, which is caked in chocolate. She's Italian, so this is blasphemy. She told me once that her mother chased one of her past boyfriends out of the house with a rolling pin for not liking pot cheese. Another got slammed against a wall for not being able to pronounce
cavatelli
correctly. In her family, there is no such thing as "full." And, since my father tips the scales, he fits right in. Cam used to fit in, too; my mother worshipped his appetite like Eden worships his feats on the field. Though he isn't nearly as big as my dad, his regular workouts leave him famished, so my mother would always get a little weak in the knees whenever I'd announce he'd be eating over, which was once or twice a week. I can just remember him smiling devilishly, asking, "Mrs. Sparks, would you mind if I had thirds on those manicotti?" He even pronounced it correctly,
monny
GOT.

But I guess that won't be happening anymore.

My mother's words stop me before I attempt to slash my wrists with the butter knife. "Did you happen to find out who that handsome young man is?" she asks.

"Who?" I rub my eye, then realize she's talking about Pip. That stud. "Oh. Yeah."

There's this long pause, and then my mother says, "Well?"

I figured my mother would have found out by now, with her amazing abilities of perception, which include peeking in neighbors' windows and popping over to drop off some mail that was accidentally delivered to our address (though the fact is that my mother just "accidentally" got our mail out of the wrong mailbox). I don't feel like launching into the whole explanation, so I just say, "He's a cousin, I think."

My mother asks another question, but I'm not listening. From my seat at the table, I can see the window to Cam's room. The light switches on just as my mother says, "Hon, you okay?"

Cam is home from practice.

I jump from my seat. "Fine!" I shout, a little too desperately, then wipe my mouth with my napkin. "May I be excused?"

We need to talk. If he really, truly is going to be leaving me forever on his sixteenth birthday, that gives us only a week. And I have no idea who I'll be then, because I've never had to define myself without him.

I'VE ALWAYS THOUGHT Mr. and Ms. Browne were from another planet, because they're just too perfect Ms. Browne is always dressed in some smart, accessorized outfit that could easily put her on the cover of
Good Housekeeping,
and Mr. Browne looks like a graying movie star. Really, it's ironic that
Cam
is the one that isn't from this world.

So I'm shocked when the door swings open and a lifeless Mrs. Browne stands there, looking like she hasn't slept in a week. Her hair is out of control, and her designer clothes hang on her slumped shoulders, making her look twice her age. Usually, she'll greet me with a peppy "Hi, Morgan dear!" but instead, she breaks into tears, heavy sobs that shake her small body. She opens the screen door and pulls me into her arms and hugs me so close I almost throw up the ice cream I've just eaten. It's weird, because I've known her forever, and I think this is the first time she's actually cried in front of me. And hugged me. And made me want to vomit.