THREE
Maybe I was rude.
No, IknowI was rude.
People are rude to me, all the time. Maybe it rubbed off?
Sophie spent the two weeks before pushing herself out of her comfort zone. She abandoned the cocoon of her trusty Civic and walked three-quarters of a mile to escape the borders of campus and “hung around” Ramsey Court and Mila’s Taqueria.
She’d never eaten so many tacos in her life. They were delicious.
Which was good, since she went there every day, eyes roving when they weren’t downcast or closed in cheesy-chipotle-induced bliss.
Antonia was a pretty town, especially since October tried to have one last fling with summer before frosty November rolled around. The sun shone persistently and sunsets were long and bright, bathing the town in picturesque orange and pink hues. Halloween decorations went up all over the dorms and the town itself, including an unsettling number of guillotines and headless dolls in frilly dresses. Thank God she found a mention of it in the local papers that were always free to browse while you waited for your order at Mila’s.
Antonia was first founded in 1793. 1600 acres were procured for French aristocrats escaping the horror of theFrench Revolution. It was rumored that Marie Antoinette herself would join various French nobles at French Azilum, land purchased by sympathetic Philadelphians. Unfortunately, she never arrived on these shores, having faced the guillotine only days before the ship departed France. In the 1800s, an additional ten miles was purchased by the town of Antonia. Today, most of the land is used for farming and the Antonia College Campus. Every year, both Independence Day and Bastille Day are celebrated by residents. Halloween celebrations often include references to the French queen’s tragic fate.
“Order for Sophie?”
Sophie tossed the newspaper down. She paid the last of her cash to the girl with the sweet smile at the counter. Her eyes lingered on the “Help Wanted” sign taped to the register. Hey, the food was good, the people were pretty nice, and she still didn’t have a job. She took a photo of the notice with her phone.
Walking away, she heard the girl remark, “Wow. All she needs is the powdered wig. And no head.”
The boy working the fryer giggled nonstop.
Sophie realized she hated tacos.
And she still didn’t have a job or a job lead.
Andshe was broke.
Andmaybe she wasbroken.
The sunset seemed to burn her skin instead of warm it. She’d tried to push herself from her comfort zone for the merest chance of making a friend. That had burned her, too. She couldn’t wait to get back to her room.
“Time to practice.”
ON OCTOBER 31ST, SOPHIEpulled out her orchestra black, which was different from her standard, everyday black. Thisdress had a wide, flowing, layered handkerchief skirt that allowed her to hold her cello comfortably between her knees. The sleeves were tightly tapered. When her mother picked it out for her, she’d been dubious. When she put it on, she had to admit that just for a second— the princess was back.
No Snow White here, no, this was some night queen, perhaps part of a dark fairytale where the princess has dark, bottomless eyes and a small, knowing smile that never reaches them.
Words likebewitchingandenchantingcame to mind, straight off of the YA fantasy novels she still loved to read, with their normal-girl heroines secretly belonging to races of elves and fairies.
“Okay. Come on.” Sophie slid the dress on and felt the sheer, silky fabric coat her senses as it seduced her skin. “It’s Halloween. The one night of the year when I look like I’m ‘supposed to.’ Tonight, let’s pretend I’m the one with the superpowers.”
A smudge of cherry-black lipstick. Mascara that she never used. One side of her hair was pulled back in a silver clip that accentuated her high cheekbones.
Yes, she looked like someone’s princess, all right.
