“What are you doing?” I walked over to them, hands in the air.
“Do you know how expensive windows are? You could have just opened it.”
Robin Hood sent me a half smile and bowed slightly. “Though we appreciate your hospitality, we must be on our way.” Friar Tuck heaved himself out of the window. I was so agitated I made little steps toward it, then toward Robin Hood, then back to the window. “You can’t leave. You have nowhere to go.” 63/356
Robin Hood remained unworried. “We shall live off the land. It is our way.”
“You’re in the middle of a neighborhood,” I protested. “There’s no land to live off of.” I motioned for the men outside to come in. Not only did they ignore me, but more climbed out. “You won’t find any deer,” I told them. “We don’t have wild animals roaming around unless you count stray cats.” The men kept going out the window without regarding me. As I watched them leave, frustration rose in my throat.
“Robin,” I said, “don’t go.”
He smiled and tucked one of my ringlets behind my ear. His voice took on a silky tone. “I regret I cannot stay and fulfill your wishes in that regard.”
His men chuckled, and a few made comments about my wishes.
I flushed in embarrassment.
“ ’Tis true your beau, Bo, has failed you,” Robin Hood said, stroking my cheek, “but I’m unready to stand up with any woman, even one as beautiful as yourself.”
“That wasn’t why I … I’m not …,” I sputtered. “Don’t you want to go back to Sherwood Forest?”
Robin Hood’s hand slid from my cheek to my shoulder. “You brought us to a new land—a fortuitous event, indeed. The sheriff’s men have death warrants on our heads, and they recently took to setting dogs on our trail. So, no, returning to Sherwood is not a pressing matter.” He took one of my hands in his, then lifted it to his lips and gave it a brief kiss. “And now I must bid you farewell.” After dropping my hand, he gestured to Little John. The big man left his place guarding my bedroom door and climbed out the window with more agility than I expected.
I blinked at Robin Hood, unbelieving. “But what about the poor villagers who depend on you?”
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He laughed, which surprised me, then held up The Adventures of Robin Hood for me to see. “You are as amusing as your history.” With the book still in his hand, he swung himself out the window and onto the rocks that bordered our lawn. The first few Merry Men were already running down the street.
I watched them disappear and sighed. I supposed they would come back when they realized what the world had become. They weren’t going to be able to forage for food. Once you left town, the only things around were cacti and a bunch of scrub brushes that were waiting to dry up and turn into tumbleweeds. I hoped the Merry Men’s survival skills would help them remember which house I lived in. That way, when they had second thoughts about living off the land, they would be able to find their way back.
I took some clothes into the bathroom and changed. Then I picked up the things the Merry Men had thrown around. Thankfully, most of the broken glass was on the outside of the window, so I didn’t have to clean up much of that.
I couldn’t even mutter angrily about them trashing my stuff. Not after I had just been to the police station for trashing city hall. Mr.
Handsome Undercover Policeman would probably find it fitting that I was finishing up the night on my hands, wiping up spit from my carpet.
When I finished, I sat on my bed calling Chrissy. No one showed up except for a few bugs that flew through the broken window. I shut my eyes to rest them, and the next thing I knew, it was Saturday morning.
• • •
Sandra opened my door and called out, “Rise and shine. Time to do your chores.” My dad usually woke me up on Saturday mornings, so 65/356
the fact that Sandra had done it meant he was still mad at me. I was probably in for something horrendous like scraping pigeon poop off the roof.
I pulled the sheet over my head.
Sandra walked over and sat on my bed. “Come on, look on the bright side: today has to be better than yesterday.” Sandra was one of those optimistic people who not only saw the glass as half full, but figured it was half full of her favorite drink.
I tossed the sheet off and sat up—not from optimism, but because I suddenly remembered the rest of last night. My fairy godmother.
Robin Hood. I didn’t want Sandra to see my astonishment, so I tried to keep my expression calm.
She wasn’t looking at me though. Her gaze zeroed in on the gaping hole in my window and she let out a shrill gasp of alarm. “What happened?”
I didn’t think she’d believe me if I told her a bunch of Merry Men broke it. In fact, I wasn’t sure I believed it myself. Could that stuff have really happened? Fairies and leprechauns didn’t pop into people’s bedrooms. Robin Hood and the Merry Men weren’t real.
But nothing was left of my window except for jagged shards. That part was real enough.
I chose my words carefully. My lies might have magical consequences. “I was in the kitchen, and I heard a crash. When I got back to my room, the window was broken.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“It was late.”
She walked to the window, shaking her head. “You didn’t see who did it?”
“No.” Which was true. I didn’t know which of the Merry Men had shattered it.
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“It must have been Bo.” Sandra’s jaw clamped tight. “Well, he can pay for this window along with the ones he broke at city hall. I’ll call his parents and tell them so.”
“Don’t,” I said. “I’ll pay for it.” I hardly had any money to my name. I would have to find a job. I supposed that didn’t matter, since I wasn’t going to have a social life now.
She put her hands on her hips, watching my curtain flutter in and out of the frame. “I’ll ask your father to put a board across it for now. I doubt anybody will be able to come out to fix it until Monday anyway.” Sandra left, muttering about Bo, and I stood in my room staring at the window. “Chrissy?” I called.
No one came. Had she been a dream—the product of an over-stressed, overemotional brain? I walked to the closet tentatively. Last night I had hung up the long green dress. If it was still there, it would be proof I hadn’t imagined everything.
I opened the closet, but the hanger I’d put the dress on was bare. I flipped through every shirt, dress, and skirt hanging there. No green dress. I threw up my hands. “It’s official. I’ve lost my mind.” That’s how the day started. It didn’t get any better.
My chore list included hauling everything out of the garage, sweeping it out, and hauling everything back. Then I had to clean the bathrooms, mop the floor, and do laundry. Every once in a while, I whispered, “Chrissy?”
No twinkling lights erupted anywhere. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. The more the day wore on, the easier it was to convince myself none of the magical things had happened. I had dreamed it all.
Dad and Nick spent the day doing landscaping and painting the trim on the house, fixing it up for when we had to put it on the market.
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Nick had the radio on and sang along, but Dad worked with a stern expression, his eyes hard as stone.
Fine, I told myself. Let him think about what a disappointment I’ve turned out to be. He had chalked up a lot of points in the disappointment category himself.
It wasn’t until eight o’ clock that night when I was putting away my clean clothes that I saw the pathetic-o-meter sitting on my dresser.
I had completely forgotten about it, and I dropped the clothes on the floor and stared at the disk. The blue area had grown, and a new sentence read: Thinks criminals are cool. 82 percent pathetic.
I did not think criminals were cool, but that was beside the point.