Off the Page Read online

  When I reach my room, I slam the door and open to page 43. Oliver is still shimmying into position on the rock wall, clutching at his chest. When he sees me, he lets go of his tunic, and several rolls of bright-colored streamers fall from the folds of velvet, unrolling to the edges of the page. “Why are you interrupting me?” he asks. “I’m in the middle of planning my own birthday party.”

  “I know,” I tell him. “I just wanted to make sure everything was going all right.”

  “Well, it rather was. Until you interrupted me.” He smiles as he’s saying this, though, so I know he’s not really upset to see me. “And your preparations?”

  “They were going fine until I temporarily lost you,” I say. “My mother moved the book.”

  “Ah, right. I forgot to tell you, with all that’s been happening and Jessamyn’s illness—but your mother, she read us the other day.”

  “She what?”

  “It was when you were at school, presumably. I thought it was you, opening the book as usual—except it wasn’t.”

  “Are you serious? What is she doing in my room? Snooping?”

  “Maybe she just wanted a good story to read.” Oliver looks up. “We are a book, you know. Believe it or not, we do have day jobs. It’s been so long since we were able to act the fairy tale out; everyone was quite delighted. Everyone except me,” he confesses.

  “But what if something went wrong? What if she recognized you?”

  “I did the best I could to keep her from seeing my face,” Oliver admits. “She didn’t seem to think anything was amiss.”

  “This time,” I point out.

  “Well,” Oliver says, “if it all goes well tonight . . . perhaps there won’t be a next time.” He grins up at me broadly. “I truly do adore talking to you, Delilah, but I can’t leave this page unless you’re gone.” He holds up two rolls of streamers. “And I have an entire kingdom to decorate.”

  I hide a smile. “I love you too,” I say, and very gently, I close the book.

  It takes a considerable amount of planning and effort to get dressed in my costume. The first layer is a hoop skirt and a corset, followed by a petticoat that gets tied—and knotted—around my waist. After that comes the gown, draped with satin and lace. The cherry on top is a tiara, a little comb that gets wired into my hair and twinkles with fake gems.

  I keep my Converse sneakers on underneath, because no one will see them.

  Then I step up to the dreaded full-length mirror inside my closet door, where I usually take one last glance at myself before I leave for school, always finding something to criticize—my hair, my hips, my freckles.

  But this time, I just stop and stare.

  I look . . . pretty.

  The pink gown makes my cheeks look rosy, and the way the waist nips in makes me seem like I actually have a figure. My hair, for once, doesn’t look like a bird’s nest. It’s twisted up partway to hold the little crown, and the rest cascades in curls, thanks to the humidity of Hurricane Harvey.

  I wonder what Oliver will think when he sees me.

  If he sees me.

  Shaking my head clear, I force myself to think positively. “When,” I say firmly out loud.

  If Jessamyn is right—if wishes are all it takes for a dream to come true—then it’s at least worth trying. So although I feel silly, although I am not in the habit of talking to myself, I close my eyes, clasp my hands, and hope.

  “Please,” I whisper. “Bring him back to me.”

  At that moment, there is a crack of thunder so loud it rattles the house, and a flash of lightning fills the room. The next moment, the power goes out, and everything goes dark.

  It just doesn’t seem like a great omen.

  If any party were suited to a lack of electricity, it would be a Halloween bash. My mother and I have set candles all over the house, on every available saucer we own—so many that I suggested inviting the fire department, just so they wouldn’t have to make an extra trip. The flames flicker and cast shadows on the walls, making everything look ten times creepier. The raindrops that race down the glass panes of the windows are illuminated by the candlelight, and maybe because there’s nothing else to do—no TV or computer—the turnout is huge.

  There are kids dressed as pirates and cowboys and cops. James and his boyfriend are salt-and-pepper shakers. Raj is wearing a milk carton on his head with the face cut out of it, and the word MISSING across the top.

  “Really?” I ask, when he first comes inside.

  “It’s clever,” he tells me. “Chicks dig clever.”

  “But . . . really?”

  “Brains over body,” Raj insists. “So, where are the hot girls?”

  I watch him scan the crowd, his eyes lighting on Claire, who is trying to channel “sexy nerd” with her costume but seems to simply be wearing what she had on yesterday, with a pair of hipster glasses. “Score,” Raj says, and he moves off in her direction.

  Everyone seems to be having a decent time—except Chris, who’s moping by himself in a corner. I sidle up to him, as best as someone can sidle wearing a giant petticoat. “Hey,” I say.

  He glances down at me from beneath the brim of his red Super Mario hat. His lips twist beneath his fake mustache. “I’m guessing you heard.”

  I reach up and pat his shoulder. “I’m really sorry it didn’t work out. But seriously, you’re not going to have any trouble finding someone else.”

  He tries to smile but doesn’t quite manage. “Did she tell you why?” Chris asks. “Was it something I did?”

  “Trust me, it’s not you. It’s just . . . really bad timing right now.”

  He looks down at me, his expression pained. “I don’t want things to get weird now, you know? I mean, you being Jules’s best friend and all . . . ?”

  “It’s only weird if you make it that way,” I promise.

  Just then a car drives up, its headlights cutting across the room as it pulls up to the curb. I’m expecting Jules with the guest of honor and his mom—but to my absolute shock, when I open the door, there stands Allie McAndrews and her entourage.

  Her minions are all dressed like sexy cats.

  And Allie? She’s wearing a gown that looks identical to mine.

  “I didn’t expect you to come,” I say.

  Allie raises a brow. “Please. I’m the one who’s going to make this party. You should be honored.”

  I am not going to let Allie spoil this night. “Well, clearly you have good taste in costumes,” I say amiably, gesturing at our matching dresses and trying to make a lame joke. “Two princesses in a pod . . .”

  Allie looks horrified. “I am not just some stupid Disney princess,” she says. “I’m—”

  “Princess Peach!” Chris finishes, grabbing her hand and bowing over it, in his blue overalls.

  Allie beams. “Thank you for rescuing me, Mario!” she twitters.

  Chris laughs. “I didn’t peg you as a Super Mario fan.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Allie says, animated, in a way I’ve never seen her before. “It’s the best game ever. What else would I do while waiting for my toes to dry?”

  I stifle a laugh, wishing Jules were here to see this. The cats standing behind Allie look at each other, completely confused. I guess that makes sense. It’s not every day you learn that your Queen Bee is a gamer.

  Allie turns on them. “Oh, please. Brittany, we all know you still watch My Little Pony. And, Chloe, your hairdresser’s not the only one who knows you’re not a natural blonde.”

  She sounds like Allie—mean, that is—but there’s something different about it. She seems annoyed, as if she’s sick of having to live up to an audience 24/7.

  It’s almost as if she’s . . . well, human.

  “Thank God Super Mario 3D World upgraded Peach,” Allie adds. “I mean, how lame was it that when New Super Mario Brothers came out for the Wii, Nintendo couldn’t afford the extra programming for her dress, so she wasn’t a playable character?”

  Chris’