“Then why isn’t itcalledthat?”
“Because chemistry’s a whole special circle of hell,” Delilahsays. “Why don’t you come over here and we can figure it out together?”
“Something tells me we wouldn’t get very much accomplished.” I grin. “Which actually sounds rather perfect.”
After Delilah’s overreaction to Allie McAndrews’s writing her phone number on my arm, I’m relieved to know that she still wishes to see me. But all the same, I scrub those numbers off my skin before I leave home. I don’t want to remind her of why she grew angry. I tell Jessamyn that Delilah’s mother has invited me for dinner and take Edgar’s bike from the garage. Delilah’s home is a short ride away, but it’s all uphill. As I huff my way to her house, I think longingly of Socks, my stallion, who used to be the one doing all the work when we traveled.
When I ring the McPhee doorbell, a dog starts barking. Humphrey is a rescue, a gift from Mrs. McPhee’s boyfriend, Dr. Ducharme. He looks enough like Frump to make me homesick every time I see him, and I can’t help talking to him the way I would address my best friend—as if he might actually answer me back. “Good day, Humphrey,” I say as Delilah’s mother answers the door and pulls him away by the collar. I offer my most winning smile. Mrs. McPhee has softened toward me in the months since Delilah fled to Wellfleet, but I get the feeling she doesn’t truly trust me. “Hello,” I say. “So good to see you again. You’re looking radiant.”
She raises one eyebrow, dubious, but I am being honest. Delilah’s mother cleans other people’s houses, and she reminds me a bit of another story from Rapscullio’s shelves, about a young scullery maid who possesses both glass footwear and inner beauty, which makes a prince fall head over heels for her.
“Aren’t you the charmer,” Mrs. McPhee replies, opening the door so I can step inside. “How was your first day of school, Edgar?”
“It’s everything I’d hoped it would be,” I say. “I can’t wait for tomorrow.”
“Maybe some of that joy will rub off on Delilah. I think the last time she enthused about school was when her second-grade class had Willy Wonka Day and they ate candy for eight straight hours.”
Delilah’s feet pound down the stairs, and she gives Humphrey an absent pat on the head. “Okay, thanks, Mom. If you’re done totally humiliating me, Edgar and I have to study.”
“Oh, isthatwhat they’re calling it these days?”
Delilah rolls her eyes and pulls me up to her room. She leaves the door open a crack—that’s her mother’s rule, and the only way I am even allowed upstairs. When I asked her why I couldn’t be trusted, she said it’s because chivalry reallyisdead.
I know every inch of her bedroom, because I had to draw it in excruciating detail during one of our failed attempts to get me out of the book. In the fairy tale, Rapscullio had a magic easel, on which he’d painted an exact replica of his lair. When he sketched a butterfly onto the background scene, it would pop off the canvas, suddenly alive. I tricked him into painting Delilah’s chamber, in the hopes that I could then draw myself onto the easel and reappear, alive, in her world instead of mine. But sadly, even though I materialized in her three-dimensional bedroom, I remained in two dimensions, and we had to start back at square one.
Because my life literally depended on my knowing it so well,Delilah’s bedroom is more familiar to me than anywhere else. Every other object is pink, and she has so many stuffed animals piled on her bed I have no idea where she sleeps. The tops of her bureaus are cluttered with mismatched earrings and hair ties and spare change. Portraits of Delilah—some alone, some with Jules or her mother—are arranged in a mural on the wall behind her headboard.
I flop onto her bed, crushing a stuffed panda beneath me. Delilah stretches out beside me, propping her head on one hand. There are six inches of space between us, and it’s excruciating.
I slip my arm into the curve of her waist and pull her closer, tracing a trail of kisses from her collarbone to her jaw. I bury my face in her hair; she smells of vanilla and cinnamon. “Aren’t we supposed to be working on your chemistry?” Delilah whispers.
“We are,” I say, rolling her on top of me. She flattens her hands on my chest and settles her mouth over mine. Her heart beats against mine, keeping time.
Once, Orville told me that when stars collide, universes are born; galaxies expand. That’s how it feels when I kiss Delilah—like the whole world just doubled in size.
Inside the book, I could run and leap and fall without resistance, and it is still taking a bit of getting used to, to simply exist here with gravity. But in this moment, I’m thankful for it. I can feel her pressing against me from collarbone to toes, a weight that sinks into my bones and grounds me in this brand-new world.
It’s not just a physical gravity I’m still adjusting to—it’s the serious reality of having my dreams come true. Of being free todo what I wish. Of feeling as if I have everything—everyone—that I need.
It’s odd—love in the fairy tale always felt so fast, skipping over the details to get to the happy ending. With Delilah, I’m moving just as quickly, but I don’t miss a single moment. I notice how she chews her pencil when she’s nervous; how when I touch her hand, she jumps a little as if there’s been an electric shock; how when she says my name, it’s softer than any other word in the sentence.
Suddenly Delilah pushes herself away from me and leaps off the bed, her jaw dropping. I sit up quickly, expecting to see Mrs. McPhee in the doorway, but there’s nobody there. “What’s wrong?”
Delilah points behind me, and I turn around.
Hanging in midair are two words I hoped I’d never see:
COME HOME.
EDGAR
How come things are never as awesome as you want them to be?
The first day of kindergarten, my mom told me it would be amazing. I’d have so much fun riding the bus and making new friends, and I’d get to spend the whole day doing exciting things with other kids my age. This was the reality: on the bus, a kid threw up in the seat next to me. We spent two hours tracing the letterAover and over and over. And at recess, a girl tossed sand in my face, nearly blinding me. Oh yeah, those weretotallygoing to be the best days of my life.
I figured that here, it would be different. After all, this was all my idea. This was kindergarten all over again, exceptIwas teaching the class. I made all the decisions, and nothing could happen unless I wanted it to. And yet . . .
Well. I can’t say I’m not disappointed.
