“I can’t help you with your problem if you don’t tell me what it is.”
Frump hesitates. “Things are getting a little hairy.”
I glance at Socks, who shrugs. If a horse can really shrug, that is. “It’s okay. I’ll help you delegate so you don’t feel overwhelmed. Just come out here and let’s talk.”
There’s a rustle of plastic as the dog door opens, and Frump crawls out and gets to his feet. His arms are furry; his face is covered with a beard and muttonchops.
“No, literally,” he says, crestfallen. “Things are getting a little hairy.”
Socks gasps. “Holy Abraham Lincoln.”
“The tail . . . ?” I ask hopefully.
“Still there.”
I digest this information. “This is fixable!” I pronounce. “We can handle this!”
Socks leans forward and drops his voice to a whisper. “Glint the fairy gives the smoothest Brazilian wax.” He averts his eyes. “Not that I’m speaking from personal experience or anything.”
“Look at the bright side,” I suggest. “Your ears haven’t grown in.”
“Give it a day,” Frump says, glum.
“Listen, you have nothing to be embarrassed about, and no one’s going to say anything to you. You’re among friends,” I tell him.
Frump shakes his head. “I don’t want her to see me like this.”
Socks bursts into tears. “This is the most ill-fated love affair ever. It’s like Cleopatra and Mark Antony. Pyramus and Thisbe. Beauty and the Beast.”
I grit my teeth. “You’renothelping, Socks. Pull yourself together, and go tell Orville to meet us in his cottage.”
Socks sniffles. “Okay.” He trots off, his head still hanging.
I put my hand on Frump’s shoulder. “You know, she’s already seen you as a dog.”
“But she never noticed me until I was human,” Frump laments. “I can’t go back to being invisible to her.”
“You won’t have to,” I promise. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Frump scratches behind his ear. “I know Oliver left some pretty big boots to fill. But . . . you’re a good friend, Edgar.”
Before I came into the book, I was more likely to be found alone in my room with a video game controller than in the company of another human. The closest I’ve come to having friends is playing the avatars of strangers in online battles. Having someone who doesn’t just want to hang out with me but seeks me out for help—and believes I can actually make a difference—well, that’s something I’ve never experienced before. It makes me want to do everything I can not to disappoint him.
“You’re a good friend too, Frump,” I reply, and I wonder if he realizes that I need him as much as he needs me.
As it turns out, I never get to Orville’s cabin. I’m halfway there when suddenly the book is vigorously ripped open, and I find myself somersaulting through the pages until I land in a heap on Everafter Beach with a mouth full of sand. All the characters are there, of course, because the book has been opened, but I notice that Frump is hiding behind a giant rock and is wrapped head to toe in one of Rapscullio’s goth cloaks. Brushing myself off, I look up at the watery film at the top of the page to see Oliver and Delilah looming over us.
“I’m still getting used to this,” I say with a scowl. “You could be a little bit gentler.”
Oliver looks furious. “Well, you could perhaps stop interrupting us every time we start to—”
“Oliver!” Delilah cuts him off. She shakes her head just the tiniest bit, trying to shut him up. “We got another message.”
She tips the book again, and the world spins. “For God’s sake,” I mutter. “Some of us are still getting over our whiplash. . . .”
Delilah’s room comes into full view, panning past a dog sprawled on her quilt who looks like a distant relative of Frump. Suspended in the space above her bed is a string of bobbing letters: I NEED YOU.
The book is wrenched back around and Oliver glares down at us, gripping the pages so tightly the world bends in at the corners. “Which one of you is responsible?” he challenges, his voice ringing over the beach.
