Off the Page Read online

  “Drama club,” I blurt out. “I joined at school.”

  She seems delighted by this. “Really? That’s incredible, Edgar. I swear, since we’ve moved here, you’ve been an entirely different person.”

  “Go figure,” I murmur.

  “Dinner’s almost ready. Can you set the table?”

  She takes a casserole out of the oven and sets it on the stovetop to cool. I open a cabinet that looks like it might contain plates but find cereals and crackers. I open a different door and find bowls.

  “Seriously, Edgar?” my mother says, pushing past me to open a drawer that has plates in it. “You still haven’t figured out this house yet?”

  “Who keeps their plates in a drawer?” I say under my breath.

  “Just get the glasses.” My mother sighs and walks out of the kitchen, into the vast yonder that must contain a dining room.

  I fling open all the cabinets, trying to memorize everything. Then, armed with two glasses, I follow my mother into the interior of my new home. Not bad, I muse, glancing around. I kind of miss the charm of our little place on Cape Cod, but this house is not too shabby. There are hardwood floors and giant windows, and all the furniture I remember from our old place is distributed in new combinations, making everything feel familiar and different all at once.

  It reminds me of being inside that fairy tale, and seeing bits and pieces of my mother’s life scattered through the pages.

  We sit down and my mother serves me a heaping scoop of lasagna. I breathe in deeply, thinking that even though Queen Maureen was a good cook, she couldn’t live up to my mom’s skill in the kitchen. I’ve wolfed down half of what’s on my plate before I realize she’s staring at me like I have six heads.

  “Hungry?” she asks politely.

  “Starving.” I make an effort to stop eating like an animal. “So, um, did you have a good day?”

  “Not as productive as I wanted it to be,” my mom replies. “I think I napped more than I worked.”

  Oliver mentioned to me that she was tired, and I dismissed it. But what if it’s something more? “Well, don’t you work for yourself? Can’t you just give yourself a vacation . . . or a raise?”

  My mother used to be a pretty famous mystery writer. When my dad died and I was a mess, she wrote the fairy tale to give me hope for a happy ending. Oliver was the boy I was supposed to grow up to be. Except I didn’t. In fact, now I’m a year older than Oliver in this fairy tale, so she’s probably come to terms with the sad truth: I’m just me.

  She stopped writing after she finished Between the Lines. After that, she did freelance editing projects to put food on the table. I suppose she can work anywhere her computer can be plugged in, which is why Oliver was able to convince her to move closer to Delilah.

  “So what are you editing right now?” I ask.

  “It’s a debut novel about time travel.”

  “Does it suck?”

  My mother laughs. “The author wouldn’t know a comma if it hit him between the eyes, but it’s a great premise. I mean, imagine how freeing it would be to wake up in a different world and get to start over.”

  I hesitate. “It’s probably not as awesome as you’d think.”

  She stabs at her lasagna. “This coming from the boy who plays video games 24/7?”

  Instinctively I say, “I do not.”

  “Actually, you’re right,” my mother replies. “You don’t. Not since you’ve started dating Delilah.”

  This conversation has suddenly taken a turn for the worse.

  “You two seem glued at the hip,” she prompts.

  “She’s all right,” I say.

  “All right?” my mother repeats. “Spoken with such intense passion.”

  “She’s amazing,” I correct myself, but then I realize I can’t really go on and on about Delilah, a girl I don’t really know. In fact, there’s only one girl in my life I’d describe as amazing. “She’s fierce—she won’t back down from anything. And she’s totally her own person. She won’t take no for an answer, and she doesn’t care what other people think about her.” Just saying these things makes me wish Jules were here.

  I find my mother staring at me. “I’m glad you have someone like that. Someone who’ll take care of you.”

  “Why?” I joke. “Are you planning to be abducted by aliens anytime soon?”

  My mother tosses me a smile. “My starship leaves tomorrow at noon,” she says.

  It starts the moment I get on the bus.

  Immediately I duck my head and move toward a seat in the back, where nobody will notice me. But before I can make it there, a half-dozen people are calling my name or high-fiving me as I walk down the aisle.

  “Hey, Edgar,” calls a kid in a polka-dotted bow tie. He points to the seat beside him.

  “Uh, thanks.” I slide in, realizing two things at once: I’m super popular here, and these people expect me to know who they are.

  “I had the craziest dream last night,” the boy says. “I was in a production of Peter Pan that was being performed in my grandmother’s driveway, and I felt the urge to run, so I raced into the woods, but after a few minutes, I was starving because of all the exercise, and I looked down and realized my hands were made of cake. So I ate them. And I said to myself, ‘James, now what are you gonna do? You don’t have any hands.’ ”

  James, I note.

  “That’s messed up,” I say. And then I add, “Were they chocolate or vanilla?”

  “Devil’s food all the way,” James says, grinning.

  The bus screeches to a halt in front of the high school. This, at least, looks like every other public school on the planet. Pacing in front of a massive oak tree with gnarled arms is Jules, decked out again in head-to-toe black.

  Maybe being in the real world isn’t so bad after all.

  I say goodbye to James and walk toward her immediately. “You’re the sexiest ninja I’ve ever seen,” I say.

  “First, ninjas are naturally sexy. Second, I’m not sexy. Not to you. You know who’s sexy? Delilah.”

  Another kid walks up, snaking an arm around Jules—my Jules. “Feeling better?” he asks.

  Jules goes beet-red. “Chris,” she says, stepping away. “We’re in public.”

  “So? It’s been like a week since I’ve seen you.”

  She smiles. “Try three days.”

  I’m going to punch him. I’ve never punched anyone before in my life, but this feels like the time to do it.

  I feel a tap on my back just as my fist curls at my side. Delilah stares at me and then at Chris and Jules. “Hey,” she says, then belatedly adds, “honey.”

  Jules’s lips tighten into a thin line. I wind my fingers through Delilah’s and raise my brows at Jules. “Want me to walk you to class, babe?” I ask Delilah.

  As we head into school, I can feel Jules’s eyes burning a hole in my back. I wait till we’re all the way inside the doors, far enough away from them not to be heard. Then I turn to Delilah. “Who the hell is he?”

  “Your best friend,” she says.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I reply.

  She pats my shoulder. “It’s going to be a fun day.” Then Delilah pulls a piece of paper from her backpack. “I’ve written out all your classes,” she says. “And there’s a map, marked up, so you know where to go. My phone number’s on there too; text me if you get lost. Oh, and just so you know, today we have activity block in between third and fourth period. You start with chess and then go to drama club. By the way, you’re starring in Romeo and Juliet.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “I’ll save you a spot in the cafeteria at lunch,” she says.

  I don’t want to live in this world, so close to Jules but unable to be with her. “We should break up.” The words burst out of me, so forceful I didn’t realize how hard I’d been working to hold them inside. “That way Jules and I could be together.”

  Delilah narrows her eyes, and her voice drops. “Do you really think I want