I cried out and pulled at them, kicked. One broke, then the other ripped off. By the time I freed my feet, a dozen more roots emerged from the ground, pushing through the dirt like creaking fingers. Several crept over my thighs. Others took hold of my arms. “Don’t do this!” I called to the queen. “Your trees are growing. Let me go!”
She didn’t respond, just watched the plants twining and twisting around me. They left muddy trails along my dress and skin, dark slashes that looked like dried blood. The roots pinned me on my back, then limb by limb extinguished my thrashing.
Last of all, a thick root slid across my throat. I was trapped, sewn to the earth. Even before the roots stopped moving, sprouts poked up from the ground around me. Green tendrils stalked upward. They thickened as they grew, turning into a tangle of branches.
The queen smiled in satisfaction. I caught one last look of her pale skin and dark flowing hair, then leaves and branches blocked her from my vision. My gaze met only leafy darkness.
The queen’s voice drifted downward. “I’ll come back when I’ve harvested the fruit. We shall have a long talk then.”
“Mercy is part of love,” I called. “Show some. For your trees’ sake, if not for—” Before I finished, a root slid across my mouth, cutting off my words.
If the queen heard me, she made no response. I imagined she’d left, gone to check on her fruit and her son. I struggled against the roots, straining against their grip. They didn’t budge. I couldn’t even shake the leaves on the branches. If the plant tightened its grip on my neck a bit more, it would cut off my air altogether.
The plant won’t kill me, I told myself. The queen wanted to talk to me. She wanted me alive. I’m not sure she successfully conveyed this to the plant, however. Maybe it didn’t have a clear understanding of the nature and purpose of the human throat in the whole breathing process.
The branches around me shifted and settled, waiting for the queen’s return. I shifted my head to make it easier to breathe and tried to calm down. I needed to calmly assess my situation. I was smarter than a plant. Perhaps I could think of a way to free myself.
My assets: a human brain.
My disadvantages: I had no tools, and I couldn’t move or speak.
Not a lot to work with, any way you looked at it.
The bush had small, heart-shaped leaves—the same kind of plant that grew everywhere in the forest. I had the horrifying fear the queen would forget where I was. I also feared she wouldn’t.
Would it be better to die here, forgotten and starving, or to die in whatever creative and no doubt painful way the queen used?
Out in the forest an owl hooted. Branches rustled in the distance. Perhaps from the wind. Another noise. Someone called my name. No, I was imagining that. It was just the wind.
The call came again, low and insistent. “Sadie!”
Donovan. It was his voice. He’d come back. Part of me surged with anger. He was supposed to be in the twenty-first century—out of danger. What was he doing here? Why hadn’t Chrissy done what I asked? My sacrifice was for nothing.
The other part of me wanted to cry with relief. He’d come to help me. I called his name. It choked out of my mouth, no louder than a hoarse whisper.
“Sadie!” he called again, closer now. He was walking nearby. Perhaps on the path. Would he notice a new bush where nothing had grown before? Probably not. What was one more bush in this forest?
“Donovan!” I could still only manage a rustle of sound.
“Sadie!” The sound came from farther away. He’d passed by me, hadn’t heard me.
Tears stung my eyes. I couldn’t do anything to get his attention. “Donovan!” I called, knowing the word would be swallowed in the breezes that rippled through the trees
“Sadie!” He was walking away.
Panic and anger mixed inside of me. It wasn’t fair. “I’m here,” I whispered.
“Sadie!” He stopped, listened, but made no sign he’d heard me. “Sadie,” he said sorrowfully. He was losing hope.
“Find me,” I murmured, and then realized how he could. I turned my head, tilting it in Donovan’s direction.
“I hate singing,” I choked out, and felt the prick of my nose growing. “I hate chocolate, hot showers, and indoor plumbing. I love homework, chores, and being trapped by freaky, magical plants.” Each lie brought a sharper pain to my nose, partially because it grew, partially because it scraped against the plant. As my nose knocked into the branches, they shivered, creaked. Made some noise.
“Sadie?” he called, and there was a question to it. He’d heard something.
“I love the mean girls at school, and I care about their opinions. That’s what friends are: people who want to tear you down and see you fail.”
My nose kept growing. It pushed twigs and leaves out of the way.
“Sadie?” Donovan called, worried. “Where are you?”
“If I get back to my real life, I’m going to obsess about the viral video of myself. Why care just about the mean girls in high school, when I can care about mean people across the nation? Strangers who see a bad moment in my life are in a perfect position to judge me. They’ve never done something stupid. They’ve never made fools of themselves. In fact, everyone’s life out there is perfect except for mine.”
I heard Donovan’s footsteps coming closer. “Sadie, if you can hear me, do something. Let me know where you are.”
“I don’t want you to find me,” I said. “I don’t care if I die here. I don’t love you.”
My voice got choked. This time not from the root, but because I knew the truth. I did love Donovan. I had to, because my nose grew when I said I didn’t. It was real love after all.
Donovan let out an exclamation of surprise. His footsteps hurried closer. The branches above me creaked, parted. At first I saw nothing, and then Donovan pulled the hood off his invisibility cloak.
He peered through the crisscross tangle of leaves. “Well, I’ve got to give you credit. You know how to get a guy’s attention.”
I’d never heard such beautiful words. “Hurry,” I whispered. “The queen is coming back.”
He pulled his sword from its sheath. “Shrink your nose so I don’t accidentally hit it.” He walked around the bush and hacked at the branches entwining my feet.
It was hard to recall all the lies I’d uttered. My opinions had been a jumble of panic. “I love singing, chocolate, and indoor plumbing, clearance sales, cats . . .” I must have hit some of the right things. My nose shrank.
Every time Donovan hit the bush, the whole thing shuddered. Bits of bark and leaves rained down on me. I squeezed my eyes shut. “I hate homework, chores, the song Hotel California, alarm clocks . . . oh, I remember . . . freaky magical plants that trap people.” Each truth made my nose feel less taut, less painful. The scratches were disappearing with the length.
“I hate mean girls, and I don’t care what they think. I’m not wasting my time worrying about their opinions.” I doubt Donovan heard my confessions. His sword sliced through the plant again and again, chopping away the foliage. “I don’t care about that stupid viral video or what anyone thinks of my audition.”
When he’d cleared the branches above me, he slid his sword, flat end down, under the roots that wound around my arms and legs. Using the blade like a letter opener, he cut through them. They popped and broke, releasing their grip.
“I wanted you to find me.” My nose was nearly back to its normal length. “I don’t want to die here.”
Donovan took my hand and pulled me to my feet. “I second that. Let’s go.”
I had one more lie to straighten out. “I love you,” I whispered. With those words my nose shrank the last bit.
He did a double take. For a second, his expression showed nothing but shock, and I contemplated all the ways this moment could turn really awkward. “What did you say?” he asked.