“You’re not supposed to wish on the cookie,” Delilah interjects. “You have to eat it.”
“Why on earth would anyone eat a star?” I ask.
“Haven’t you ever readAlice in Wonderland?” she asks, and glances at both Edgar and Jules, who shrug. “Jeez. You two really need to pay more attention in English class. This is just like the treats Alice eats that make her grow and shrink.”
“Treats?” says Humphrey, nudging Edgar’s tunic. “Can I have one?”
“For heaven’s sake, don’t let him eat that biscuit,” I say. “It will start raining tennis balls.”
Orville takes a step forward. “Oliver has a point,” he muses. “Whoever eats the biscuit should have the purest wish. That’s the only way to be certain that everyone winds up where they need to be.” He glances between Edgar and Jules. “For example, Edgar, you appear to have a newfound conflict of interest.”
Delilah’s eyes widen. “No way.You two?”
“You of all people should understand that he’s hot!” Jules says.
“What about Chris?” Delilah asks.
“Yeah,” Edgar asks pointedly. “WhataboutChris?”
“Can we please talk about this later?” I interrupt. “Orville, you were saying?”
“Whoever is chosen to consume that biscuit must be focused on nothing but getting you and Seraphima back home.”
Queen Maureen clears her throat delicately. “I’ll do it,” she volunteers, breaking through the crowd. “I miss you terribly, Oliver. There’s nothing I’d like more than to have you here again, as selfish as that may be. And to be frank, I’ve never understood the whole Zorg plot anyway.” She glances at Edgar. “No offense, dear.”
“None taken,” he murmurs.
“Shall I do it now?” she asks, reaching for the biscuit.
“No!” I yell, and everyone on the beach freezes. “Erm, I mean, Seraphima isn’t with us. She’s at Delilah’s home. We’ll come back in a few hours and make the switch then.”
Trogg waves to me. “Wait’ll you hear the nocturne I’ve written for the flute, Oliver!”
“You’ll have to see what I’ve done with my cave,” Rapscullio adds. “I’ve completely redecorated.”
“I’ll make your favorite meal,” Queen Maureen promises.
I paste a smile on my face. “I can’t wait,” I tell them, when in reality, I’d rather postpone this forever.
Delilah shuts the book and zips it into her backpack. I hold out my arms, and she settles into them. “We have sevenhours,” she says quietly. “I can’t believe we have to spend them in school.”
I look at her. “Who says we have to?”
We can’t go to Delilah’s house, because Seraphima is there, still sobbing. We can’t stay on the grounds of the school, because we will be caught. So instead we get into Delilah’s car and drive until the road ends. She parks in front of a low wall, over which I can just see the ocean.
This time of year, there is no one on the beach. It’s cold, and we only have each other to keep warm. As we sit on the sand, I hold Delilah’s hand, rubbing my thumb over her knuckles. “How much trouble will you get into for skipping school?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she says, leaning her head against my shoulder. The wind whips her hair around us.
“Do you remember when I told you that you were the biggest adventure of my life?” I ask.
She nods. “Before you left the book.”
“Until you came along, I didn’t think I had a purpose. Why was I written? Why was my existence even necessary? But when you read me, you made me real. And when you fell for me, you made me understand why I’m here.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s to love you, unconditionally.”
Delilah turns, her eyes damp. “I don’t know who to be, without you.”
“You’ll be who you always were. The girl who brought me to life . . . and took my breath away.”
