She turns it over in her hands, like a small glowing bone.
“I’m worried about my mom.” I look away. “I miss her. I mean, I see little bits of her everywhere. Queen Maureen uses her scone recipe. Her favorite flowers—daisies—are the only ones that grow in the unicorn meadow. And . . .” I point to the coral in Jules’s hand. “Well. That. But it’s not the same, you know?”
Jules hugs her knees to her chest. “It’s kind of like that with my sister.”
“You have a sister?”
“Had,” Jules says. “Her name was Sofia. I’m an expert at death.” She rolls the coral between her palms. “I was six when my mom got pregnant, and I was so excited about having a sister that I asked, like, a hundred times a day when she was going to get here. Finally my dream came true. Sofia came—four months early. She only lived a couple of hours. I know it wasn’t my fault, but sometimes I still think . . . if I hadn’t wanted her here so badly . . . if I hadn’t wished quite so hard . . . would she be alive?” Jules dashes her hand across her eyes. “This is so stupid. I don’t even know why I’m telling you.”
“No . . . I’m glad you did,” I say. “It’s kind of nice to know I’m not the only one who’s messed up.”
Jules laughs. “You’re more messed up than I am.”
“You’re right,” I agree. “Because I’m actually kind of psyched that we didn’t find a portal in the pirate ship.”
“You are?”
“Yeah.” I turn, meeting her gaze. Her eyes are as dark as the night. “All I could think, when the key turned in that lock, was that you were about to go . . . and I wasn’t ready to give you up yet.”
Gathering every shred of courage I have, I reach for Jules’s hand.
Just like the last time I touched her, in the unicorn meadow, she instantly pulls away. “No!” she yelps. “Edgar—I’m sorry. . . . I just . . . can’t.”
I feel my cheeks burn. Jeez, how repulsiveamI?
“I mean, you’re really hot and everything . . . but it seems so weird and wrong. I mean, you lookidenticalto my best friend’s boyfriend.”
My jaw drops. “You think I’m hot?”
Her mouth tips up in a half smile. “Don’t be getting all cocky, now.”
“So the problem here is that I look like Oliver?” She nods. “Then close your eyes.”
Her lashes drift shut, and I lean forward.
I am pretty sure I am about to throw up. My heart is literally rattling my rib cage, it’s beating so hard. What if I do this wrong? What if my nose winds up in the wrong place? What if I miss her mouth? Why didn’t I think about Googling this, or steal my mom’sCosmopolitanmagazine when I had the chance?
Enough, Edgar,I tell myself, an internal pep talk.Don’t think. Just do.
And then wonderfully, miraculously, I’m kissing her.
Jules melts against me and my arms go around her. I’m afraid to move, because if I do, I’m going to wake up. So instead I just keep my lips on hers until I start to see stars in the corners of my eyes, because I’m running out of air.
She breaks away from me, gasping. “It’s always the quiet ones,” she murmurs.
I wonder if I ever would have met Jules if I’d stayed in the real world. If the magic between us has to do with fiction, or if it would have happened no matter where we were introduced.
I wonder if she’s wondering the same thing.
I lie down on the sand, looking up at the stars, Jules’s head pillowed on my arm, smiling so hard I think my skin is going to crack.
This has been a good day.
“I used to be able to find the Big Dipper,” I say, “but I’m pretty sure my mom knew nothing about astronomy, since these stars look totally random. Do you know any constellations?”
Jules freezes. “I, um . . . someone recently tried to show me a few, but I can’t remember them exactly.”
I shrug. “Then let’s make up our own.” I point to the sky. “That one there? It’s called the Rocker. See how it looks like a chair?”
