“I can’t believe this!” Edgar shouts. “Don’t take another bite.”
“I swear,” Socks promises. “The diet starts tomorrow.”
Edgar rips the remainder of the biscuit from Socks’s mouth and hands it to Queen Maureen, who wipes the horse slobber on her velvet robes.
“Half a cookie won’t do,” Orville says. “It’s too risky. The magic might be diluted. Socks will have to be the one to wish you back home.”
Socks looks anxious and holds a hoof up to his chest. “Me?” he asks. “I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t prepare for this. I haven’t practiced a speech. And I’m not wearing the right color saddle oranything.. . .”
“Socks,” I say firmly. “You can do this. I believe in you.”
He looks up at me. “Thanks, Ollie. But what if I mess up?”
“You want me to return, don’t you? You want to be able to take a breathless ride through the unicorn meadow with me on your back. And you want Seraphima there too, so that she can braid daisies into your mane just the way you like.”
Socks thinks about this. “Idolook good in daisies. . . .”
“You see? It’s simple. All you have to do is eat that biscuit, close your eyes, and imagine your dreams coming true.”
He hesitates. “I was going to wrap up the other half and save it for later. . . .”
“Are you kidding?” Delilah says. “Socks, I was actually going to say something to you. You look way too thin. I can even see your ribs. I’m worried you haven’t been eating enough.”
Not only can we not see Socks’s ribs, we can’t even see anything behind him. But Delilah’s tactic works. “Well,” Socks simpers. “Inthatcase . . .”
He leans toward Edgar’s outstretched hand and gobbles the rest of the biscuit in a single bite.
“Now,” Orville coaches, “make a wish.”
Delilah immediately grabs my hand so tightly I can feel her fingernails cutting into my skin. Socks’s eyelids drift shut, and I hold my breath.
Slowly, meticulously, Socks’s bottom begins to shrink inch by cellulite-dimpled inch.
“Socks,” I yell.“Focus!”
The horse’s eyes snap open, and he shakes his head with regret. “Sorry, sorry . . .” He closes his eyes once more, and I start to feel a tingling in my fingers and my toes. I look down at my hand, still in Delilah’s, as it begins to fade.
In that last, horrible second, I realize what Delilah has been trying to explain to me: if you love someone, you have to let them go.
I grab her shoulders while I still can. She is staring at me in terror, her mouth trembling. “Listen to me, Delilah: Live your life. Fall in love again.” I take a deep breath. “Don’t you dare wait for me.”
She is sobbing, wrapped tight in my embrace, and I am kissing her, and then suddenly . . . I’m not.
Becoming two-dimensional again feels like being crushed from head to toe, having the breath forced from one’s lungs, and being rolled out and flattened like a piecrust. I find myself face-down on the beach, the wind knocked out of me. When I try to push myself upright, I fail at first: the muscles I used to movein Delilah’s world do not work as well here; action is executed through thought and intent, not brute physical force.
It’s like learning to ride a stallion again. By the time I manage to flop onto my back and Rapscullio offers me a hand up, Socks is prancing in a circle. “I did it, I did it!” he sings. “Do I get a medal for this? I’m thinking gold goes best with my eyes. . . .”
I am surrounded by well-wishers—the trolls, who clap me hard on the back; the mermaids, who blow me kisses; the fairies, whose excitement shows in small bursts of sparks. Queen Maureen folds me into her arms. “How grand it is to see you again, Oliver,” she says.
Over her shoulder I look around to find others helping Seraphima to her feet. She looks dazed and rattled. Then she catches sight of something behind a boulder and rushes toward it, her eyes wide with wonder and joy. “Oh, Frump! Youarehere,” she cries, and she kneels in front of Humphrey, reaching out to pat him.
The hound wags his tail, happy with the attention. He cocks his head. “Hello, beautiful woman. I am Humphrey, and I would like to sleep at your feet tonight.” Seraphima’s face falls, yet she lets Humphrey lick her face. She looks completely out of place in her jeans and T-shirt, but then again, so do I. I glance down; Delilah’s tears still stain my shirt.
I stumble away from the crowd and crane my neck toward the top of the page. Delilah’s face looms over me, pale and pained. She lets out a small sob and very slowly closes the book.
“All clear!” calls Orville, the same words Frump used to say when the book was closed by a Reader.
The characters begin to wander off the margins. “Does this mean we don’t have to have laser practice anymore?” Biggle asks Snort.
