As soon as I hear Jules’s car pull away, I realize I’ve done all the checks forthisparty, but I haven’t thought about the preparations on the other side. And if Oliver needs my help, or if something’s going wrong, there’s no way he can even tell me until I open the book.
It’s not on my nightstand, where it usually rests.
Getting on my knees, I scan underneath the bed. I pull back the covers and sheets, searching. I dump the contents of my backpack. I tear my whole room apart, rummaging through every drawer and yanking every book off my shelves, but I can’t find it.
Did I leave it at school? At Edgar’s? Where was I the last time I talked to Oliver?
Last night. Under the covers. Before I went to sleep. And this morning I left the book on my nightstand.
IknowI did. But then why isn’t it there?
How could I possibly lose my own boyfriend?
And how could I possibly misplace the book on the one day I need it most?
I fling open the door to my room and run downstairs.“Mom!” I yell, teetering on the edge between shouting and sobbing. “Have you seen my book?”
She turns, in the middle of wiping down the counter. “What book?”
“You know what book.Between the Lines. . .” I pull open random kitchen drawers, rummaging. “I need it. Right now.”
“Delilah, calm down,” my mother says. “I put it on the bookshelf with the photo albums.”
“Why?” I ask, running into the living room and tracing the spines of the books until I find the one with the gold lettering. I grab it and clutch it to my chest, feeling my heart pound against the cover.
My mother walks up to me, surprised at my outburst. She reaches out to pull the fairy tale from my arms, but I twist away from her, shielding it with my body.
“Delilah,” she asks gently, “whatisit about this book? Why are you so attached to it?”
“You wouldn’t get it.”
“Try me.Talkto me. I thought it was just a phase—one that you grew out of when you started dating and making more friends. But now, all of a sudden, you’re right back where you used to be—obsessed with a children’s fairy tale. What happened?”
My throat is jammed with a hundred responses, none of which she would understand. “Stay out of my stuff!” I yell, and I run back upstairs.
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.”
“Shewhat?”
“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. “Wearea 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 sherecognizedyou?”
“I did the best I could to keep her from seeing my face,” Oliver admits. “She didn’t seem to think anything was amiss.”
“Thistime,” I point out.
