Queen Maureen pats my arm as she passes. “I’ll get supper started, dear.”
Orville is the last to leave. “I know this may not be what you wanted, Oliver,” he says, “but we’re glad to have you home.”
But home, to me, is Delilah. Without her here beside me, the world is just the place where I take up space.
I sit on the beach by myself long enough for Queen Maureen to finish cooking dinner and the air to grow cold. I sit long enough for the sky to turn black and the moonlight to dance on the ocean. The stars overhead look ragged, knocked out of position by the removal of the wishing biscuit. There’s a giant dark space in the heavens where something seems to be missing.
As I watch, a new star is born. It flickers twice and then burns more steadily, bright and effervescent, outshining all the others around it. The smaller stars are tugged into order by its gravitational pull, forming a constellation I’ve seen before.
Chris called it Canis Major, and he pointed to the brightest beacon in the night sky: Sirius. The Dog Star.
I smile, having underestimated Frump’s loyalty to me. “Welcome back, old friend.”
I am fairly certain he winks at me.
From my pocket I pull the photograph of Delilah that I stole weeks ago: that Halloween picture, where she is young, dressed in a princess’s gown, with a crooked tiara balanced on her head. “We all made it back here,” I say to her. “Me, Seraphima, and even Frump. You’re the only one who’s missing.”
I wait for her response, but of course, it’s no longer that easy. With a sigh, I get to my feet and go to slip the photograph back into my pocket, only to find that my sweatshirt and jeans have already become a green velvet tunic and hose, that my sneakers have given way to black leather boots.
In the distance, I can make out the buttery lights of the castle.
And just like that, I’m merely a prince again.
DELILAH
I’ve made a terrible mistake.
It hits me when it’s too late, when Oliver grabs my shoulders and tells me to forget him: I just pushed away the best thing that has ever happened to me.
Before Oliver, I was just the strange kid with her nose stuck in a book, and a life so small it could fit in a thimble. But then we met, and he made the impossible happen. I experienced the world, instead of simply reading about it. I was no longer alone. I was loved.
And now I’ve pretty much done everything I could to ruin that.
I grab his shoulders tightly, but the fabric of his sweatshirt slips through my fingers. “Wait!” I cry. “Don’t leave me!”
But he’s already gone.
Behind me, I hear a crash and a muffled swear, but I don’t even turn around. I can’t tear my eyes away from the book,where Seraphima and Oliver have landed. They’re surrounded by the other characters, being embraced and welcomed back into the fold. Oliver, I realize, looks just as lost as I feel. He staggers forward, pushing away from the pack, and stares up at me, his hands balled into fists at his sides.
He swallows, but he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. I don’t think there’s a word in the English language big enough to describe what it feels like to lose your other half.
“Holy crap,” Jules says. “Thatactuallyworked?”
I lift the edge of the fairy tale’s cover as gently as if it’s made of glass, and close the book.
At that moment, I’m tackled from behind as Jules throws herself at me. “I never thought I’d say this,” she admits with a sigh, “but I am so glad to be back in this hellhole of a town.”
Edgar gets to his feet, brushing himself off. “What townisthis, anyway?”
I realize that when Edgar left, we were in Wellfleet, not here in New Hampshire. I’m about to answer, but when I turn to look at him, his face makes me stop short. I know it’s not Oliver. But his eyes are the same green as Oliver’s; his black hair is disheveled; the curve of his jaw is one I know by touch. It’s not Oliver, but it might as well be.
I haven’t said a word, but Jules watches me carefully, then sidles closer to Edgar, slipping her hand into his. “So how’sthisgonna work?” she asks pointedly.
It is enough to snap me out of my trance. Horrified, I realize that everyone at school thinks Edgar is my boyfriend . . . and it’s not going to look good if my best friend is hitting on him.
I groan. “I don’t know. I didn’t exactly think this through.”
“I need to get home to my mom,” Edgar says, then hesitates. “I don’t even know where Ilive.”
