Chrissy took her sunglasses from her purse and slid them over her eyes again. “I gave the real Cinderella and Snow White lovely vacations in Costa Rica, and everyone thought you were them because the magic made it seem that it was your face that had always been the face of Cinderella or the face of Snow White.” She took the 132/431
wand from her purse and said, “As much as I’d like to stay around chatting about the intricacies of magic, I’ve got to go find your prom date.” She glanced down at her watch, “And get ready for a party.” Glittering lights sparkled up and down her length, then the next moment she’d disappeared altogether and I was alone in my room.
I sat on my bed for a moment longer. The clock on my dresser read 10:00, but it felt like I’d been gone for years. I wanted to find my parents—and even Jane—throw my arms around them, and tell them I’d missed them.
Of course I couldn’t do it, especially not looking like I did. I took off my Snow White dress, grabbed some clothes from my dresser, and darted into the bathroom.
The beautiful, marvelous, completely modern bathroom.
I must have stood in the shower letting the warm water run over me for a good twenty minutes before I even picked up the shampoo bottle. And then I nearly cried when I did. Shampoo instead of that hard, bad-smelling soap. It made bubbles in my hair. Could anything be more wonderful?
As it turned out, I discovered many things that were. I put creamy, soothing hand lotion on my hands that were still chapped and blistered from my days as Cinderella. I found my parents just as they were about to turn in for 133/431
the night and gave them both big hugs. My mother smelled of a mixture of her perfume and hairspray. I’d missed that smell.
My dad’s embrace felt so secure. This more than anything convinced me I was really home. No memories of wicked stepmothers in all their evil glory could bother me while my dad was around. With that one hug they vanished back into the pages of fiction.
Jane was talking on the phone with Hunter, so I didn’t say anything to her, and she averted her eyes when she saw me. I flipped the lights on and off in the kitchen just because I could. Ditto for the water in the sink. My reunion with the refrigerator was especially touching.
I stood in front of it staring at the many contents and felt tears press against my eyes. Cold milk and leftover pizza. Yogurt, jam, oranges, lunchmeat, and little pre-packaged slices of American cheese. I didn’t know what to eat first.
Jane walked into the kitchen to return the phone to its cradle and saw me crying in front of the fridge. “What’s wrong?” she asked in a tentative voice, like she was afraid of the answer.
“Nothing.” I emptied the fridge of several items, putting it all on the table. I caught sight of a loaf of bread and picked it up, cradling it in my hands like it was a 134/431
baby. “Can you believe how light and soft this is?” I asked Jane. “There’s no gritty little hard pieces in it.” She didn’t answer, just watched as I grabbed the ice cream from the freezer. I kissed the carton, set it down on the table, and grabbed a bowl. I served myself two large scoops, which I ate in between nibbling on everything else.
Jane looked at me then said, “I see,” in this prim sort of way like she was psychoanalyzing me, but I didn’t even care.
• • •
The next morning while I poured myself a bowl of cereal, my mom walked by and caught sight of my hands.
She took hold of my wrist and her eyebrows drew together in concern. “What happened? How did your hands get like this?”
“Um . . .” I’d hoped no one would notice them until after they’d healed. I stuttered for another moment then said, “I guess I forgot to wear gloves a few times while I weeded the backyard.”
As soon as I said it, I felt something cold and slippery filling my mouth. How could this be? I thought the whole no-lying rule was only for the Middle Ages, but something was definitely squirming on my tongue and 135/431
Mom was just not going to understand if I upchucked a snake on the kitchen floor.
I sprinted past her to the guest bathroom, slammed the door shut, leaned over the countertop, and spit out a toad. There is nothing as repulsive as having a live toad sitting in your mouth. I’ve heard they’re not really as slimy as they look, but tell that to my tongue. I spent the next few minutes spitting into the sink and trying to wash the amphibian taste out of my mouth. The toad hopped around the counter and repeatedly tried to jump through the mirror.
My mom knocked softly on the door. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
From the kitchen I heard Jane say, “Well, what did she expect after she ate all of that junk last night? No one can fill up on pastrami and ice cream and not have it take its toll.”
Thank you for those words of advice, Jane.
I cupped the toad in my hands—and even this was gross— rushed past my mother to the back door, and then before she could follow me to see what I was doing, I dropped it on the lawn.
It sat there blinking up at me. I hurried back inside and went into the bathroom to wash my hands. While I 136/431
did this, Mom and Jane peered in through the doorway at me.
“Why did you just run outside?” Jane asked.
I didn’t answer her question.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Mom asked.
“Yeah.” I wiped my hands on a towel. “I’m just going to go upstairs and brush my teeth.” Multiple times.
My mother let the subject drop, but Jane kept sending me sharp glances like she thought I was plotting some sort of revenge.
To tell you the truth, though, I wasn’t thinking about the whole Jane and Hunter drama even though she was with me again—a constant reminder of her betrayal. It seemed like I’d dated Hunter so long ago. When my mind turned from the wonder and comforts of my world—and I was seeing everything around me like I’d never seen it before—it was only to think about the fact that magic still existed here too. I’d proved that when I’d spit up a toad.
The fairy spell was still on me and would be until Chrissy fulfilled her part of the bargain and got some princely guy to ask me to prom. In between working on my homework, I daydreamed about this mystery guy.
Maybe tomorrow as I walked to school some sleek Trans Am would pull up and the studly young driver 137/431
would ask me for directions to the high school because he was going to start school there.
At 4:30 Emily called me. “Did you hear about Tristan?”
Tristan. I hadn’t thought about him or the swimsuit incident in so long. It was odd to think that in this world it had just happened yesterday. “No. What’s up with Tristan?”
“He disappeared last night. He was in his room and when his parents went to tell him to turn off the light he was gone. Vanished. Just like that—from his own house.”
“Disappeared?” A sick, horrible feeling gnawed at my stomach.
“His parents have called all his friends and no one knows what happened to him. Tristan’s room is on the second floor and his parents were downstairs in their living room the whole time with the doors locked. So the police say he must have climbed out the window on his own—I guess it would have been hard for a kidnapper to scale the wall and carry him off that way, but still—can you imagine Tristan running away?” No, Tristan wasn’t the type to run away. I’d never heard that he didn’t get along with his family. In fact, they came to every track meet to cheer him on. And Tristan was so responsible. He cared about his grades.
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Did a person who’d put that much effort into school just take off without explanation?
It didn’t make sense.
Then I remembered that Chrissy had volunteered to turn Hunter into a frog. She hadn’t said the same about Tristan, had she? Had I even told her about Tristan and the swimsuit thing? I couldn’t remember.