Why I Let My Hair Grow Out (23 page)

Patty handed her a certificate. “Thank you! I am loving the English!” exclaimed Heidi. “And the Irish slang, it is a bloody fekkin' wonder!”

“Easy on the language, dear,” Patty said. “To Johannes,” she continued. “
The Tireless Steed Award,
for cheerfully providing horsy rides to the children even after a long day on the bike.”

“Neigh!” whinnied Johannes, as Sophie and Derek clapped in delight. That neigh sounded awfully familiar.

“To Carrie Pippin:
The Golden Hoop Award,
in honor of her passion for—what does this say, Colin?”

“Bling.” Colin rolled his eyes.

“That's not a word, is it?” asked Patty, puzzled.

“Aye, 'tis,” said Colin, exasperated. “Just read it, Pat, before everyone realizes how out of touch ye are with the modern world.”

“Fine then. In honor of her passion for ‘bling.' ” She handed Carrie her certificate.

“Did you see the Claddagh ring Stuart bought me?” Carrie gushed. She held out her hand for all to admire. “Isn't it pretty? And it's so
Irish
!”

Everyone leaned close to admire the ring, but I already knew what it looked like—two hands clasped around a heart, with a crown on top.

“Just like on
Buffy
.” Carrie sighed romantically. “God, I would have been great in that part.”

“Which brings us to Stuart!” said Patty. “To him we bestow
The Best and Final Offer Award
. I think we've all learned something about—”

“Sorry, hold that thought—” Stuart said, raising a hand. “Got a call coming in.” He held the BlackBerry to his ear.

“Hey-hey, Stevie!” he said. “This isn't a great time; can I call you—hello? Hello? Can you hear me? Ow!” A big spark exploded next to his ear and made him jump back.

“That Spielberg,” he joked nervously, staring at the smoking carcass of his BlackBerry. “Always with the special effects.”

“You'll be needing a new one of those, I reckon,” Patty remarked. “To our dear Lucy Faraday:
The Happily Ever After Award
, because we know there is much joy awaiting you in life.” Lucia's certificate came with a big hug from Patty. When she sat down again, I hugged her too.

“Although Mrs. Billingsley cannot be with us tonight due to her medical situation, in absentia we present her with
The Aching Gut Award
, for bravery under duress.”

The Billingsley children laughed heartily at this and clutched their sides with dramatic groans.

I'd found a note from Mrs. Billingsley slipped under the door of my room this morning.

 
“A few more awards!” announced Patty. “To Mr. Billingsley:
The King of his Castle Award
, for gracefully managing a family under severe pressure, without resorting to violence, heh heh!”

 
“To young Sophie:
The Disappearing Act Award
, for her superlative skills in games of hide-and-seek! We almost left you in Killarney, you little minx!”

 
“To Derek:
The Future Rugby Star Award!”

“You've got a mean kick there, pal—keep practicing!” said Colin, giving Derek a friendly clap on the back.

 
“And last, but certainly not least. To Morgan.” The room got quiet.

“The Changeling Award,”
said Patty. “ 'Tis an old Irish myth that the faeries will sometimes come and steal a sweet baby from its cradle, leaving a foul-tempered changeling in its place.”

Colin buried his head in his hands and stamped his feet in frustration. “Oh, not the old Irish myths again, Patty!”

She shot him a look that could flame broil a Whopper. “Some say,” she went on, “in order to be rid of a changeling, you must trick it into revealing its true age.”

I had to cover my mouth to squelch a sudden fit of hysteria. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Colin was in a similar state.

Patty ignored our bad manners. “However it happened, we salute Morgan for the changes she made this week. Frankly I wasn't too sure you wanted to be here at first.” My face was turning purple from the effort not to laugh, and Colin's fingernails were digging into my jeans. “But after a rough start you became a wonderful playmate for the children, a kind and cheerful companion for Lucia, a patient English tutor for Heidi and Johannes—”

“She saved my
ass
by finding that earring!” added Carrie.

“And she's a wicked good dancer,” added Colin. “Remember Durty Nellie's, nudge nudge, wink wink?”

Durty Nellie's was the one thing I really couldn't remember about this trip, but so what? Nobody remembers everything about themselves, anyway.

“I can say truly,” Patty intoned, sounding very regal, “none of us would have had such an enjoyable trip without you.”

“Particularly the children,” said Mr. Billingsley warmly, as Patty handed me my award.

“Which reminds me!” Patty put away her clipboard and stood up straight, her formidable chest on queenly display. “Repeat customers get a ten-percent discount, so do call us again! There are so many wonderful parts of Ireland left to explore. The Burren, the Ring of Kerry, the Dingle Peninsula . . .”

“The Dingle is my favorite,” Colin whispered to me. “And it's the closest bit of Ireland to Connecticut, so now I like it even more. You come back for that one, all right?”

“Dingle,” I said. “I always liked that name.”

twenty-two

the next morning Colin drove me to the airport, and he even sprung for the short-term car park so he could walk me inside.

Much too soon we arrived at the spot where I would proceed to the gate with all the ticketed passengers, and he had to stand there watching me go. The Leaving Point, they should have called it. He kissed me good-bye, but not the way we'd kissed on the beach. He pressed those magic lips against my cheek and let them linger there just long enough for us both to remember. Long enough to make a promise too.

“I have a wee present for you,” he said.

“It better be wee,” I said. “My carry-on already won't zip.”

“Is it my fault you're a pack rat?” He grinned. “Here. Don't get your hopes up; it didn't cost me a penny.”

It was a book, an old one. The corners were frayed and there were deep creases in the spine. The letters on the cover were stamped, with only a few dull flecks left to show they'd once been embossed in gold.

“ The Magical Tales of Ireland,”
I read.

“That's the book my grandparents used to read to me from when I was a boy-o.” He sounded embarrassed. “I thought you might enjoy it. You seem to have developed an interest in all that faery claptrap.”

The book was heavy with the weight of being read a thousand times. “Colin—this is part of your childhood,” I said. “You shouldn't give it away.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I want you to have it,” he said sheepishly. “Hang onto it for me, anyway. Time to clear off the dusty shelves and make room for the new! I got a whole pile of books I'll be reading for school next year, UNIX programming and human interface design, virtual communities, viral marketing, all dry as dust.”

“I love it,” I said. “Thank you. I'll read it on the plane.”

“Only if the film's a bust,” he said, deadpan. “Anything from the eighties with Chevy Chase in it, you can feel free to skip. Bye luv.”

With a wink and a tip of his imaginary hat, he was gone.

 
 
that colin. he almost got me, but Of course aer Lingus didn't show movies from the eighties. The “in-flight entertainment” was a recent film that starred one of those stand-up comics from Comedy Central playing all the parts, most of them involving fake boobs and wigs and bad accents. I decided to skip it anyway.

The Magical Tales of Ireland
. I turned the yellowed pages until I found the table of contents. “How Cúchulainn Got His Name,” was one story. “The Enchantress Morganne, Protector of the Realm of Ulster,” was another.

I put the book away. I'd read it later, but not now. For what could be more magical than to fly across the sea? To get on a plane and then off again, a world away and back in time from where you began?

 
 
even With the difference between greenwich mean Time and Greenwich, Connecticut, time, my plane didn't arrive till late. My dad picked me up at the airport, and he and Mom were so overjoyed to see me you'd think I'd been gone for thousands of years.

Tammy was already asleep when I got home, but the next day at breakfast when the four of us were finally together (my dad even took the morning off from work in honor of my homecoming), my parents said they had something to show me. They were pretty excited about it.

“It's Riverdance!” Dad said, pushing the Arts section of the
Connecticut Post
in front of me. “The famous Irish dance troupe. They're performing in Stamford tonight. Would you like to go?”

I stared at the ad.

The dancers were in pairs. Each couple stood cheek to cheek, one set of arms extended, hands tightly clasped, bodies arched together in a deep, sexy dip.

Oh
fek.
Riverdance was doing the
tango
.

But then I looked at the photo of the tangoing Irish dancers, and the more I stared at it the less strange it seemed, until finally it didn't seem strange at all.

“No thanks,” I said, handing the paper back. “I was kinda planning to stay home and tell Tammy a bedtime story tonight.”

“You
are
?” Tammy couldn't believe her luck. “What is it about? Is it a long one? Make it about a princess, please!”

“It's about a magic faery mermaid princess,” I said, smiling at her. “With long, strawberry-blond hair and a very pretty dress. And she's brave and clever and has magic powers, only she doesn't know it at first.”

“Yay!” said Tammy, bouncing around the room like a rubber ball. “Yay!”

I felt like saying it too, so I did.

“Yay!”

I was so glad to have someone to tell.

about the author

Maryrose Wood owns a pair of padded bike shorts but you will be hard-pressed to find a photograph of her wearing them. However, she always dons a helmet when riding her bike, and you should as well. Helmet-hair is no reason to take chances with your skull.

 
Maryrose wrote
Sex Kittens and Horn Dawgs Fall in Love,
which was hailed as “an uproarisously funny debut” by
ALA Booklist
. Other nice things have been said about Maryrose and her work; you can see for yourself by visiting
www.maryrosewood.com
.

 
She lives in New York with her two children and a feisty little redheaded dog.