I realize that I quite like this girl. It’s not just that she’s so pretty the words fly out of my mind before they can leave my mouth—it’s that when we’re chatting, I feel like I’ve known her all my life. It’s as easy to speak to her as it is to talk to Frump. It’s been a long time, I realize, since I made a good friend.
“Can I ask you something?” I say. “Why do you keep reading this story?”
“I—I don’t really know,” Delilah admits. “Because of that one line, I guess. About growing up without a father.” She looks away. “I liked the idea of someone else knowing what that’s like.”
I feel a twinge as I realize that whatever I’ve experienced in the story pales in comparison to what she’s had to suffer through in real life. After all, I’ve never even met King Maurice; he is just words on a page to me.
Delilah swipes a hand across her eyes. “I mean, I have nothing to complain about. A lot of kids have no one who cares about them. And my mom, she’s great. She loves me like crazy. She’d do anything for me.”
I frown. “But she doesn’t want you to read this book, even though it makes you happy.”
Delilah looks at me, confused. “Oh, no,” she says, shrugging. “She just thinks I read too much, in general. She wants me to get out more.”
“May I ask you something?” I say. “Whydoyou read books, when you could be outside, living a million different adventures every day?”
“Because you can always count on a book to stay the same. Everything else changes when you least expect it,” she replies, bitter. “Families split apart, and nothing’s forever. In books, you always know what’s coming next. There are no surprises.”
“Why is that agoodthing?”
“You of all people ought to understand why I wouldn’t want to take a risk—”
I scowl. “That’s just a role I have to play in the story. If I had the chance, I’d do anything to not know what tomorrow’s going to bring.”
“People in the real world would kill for a happily ever after, and you’re willing to just throw it away?”
I look away from her. “It’s hardly a happily ever after when you wind up right back at the beginning. I’ve never experienced ‘after’ at all.”
Suddenly, I hear another voice in the Otherworld.
Delilah McPhee, what are you doing out of homeroom?
“What is a ‘homeroom’?” I ask.
“Shutup!” she grits out.
Excuse me, Ms. McPhee, did I just hear you tell me to shut up?
“No, Coach Farnsworth. I would never say something like that, Coach Farnsworth….”
“You just did,” I point out, grinning.
Immediately, she slams the book closed.
The dark is complete. It rather catches me off guard this time. Although I hear other characters climbing down from their scenes to mingle with each other and carry on their off-time pursuits, I narrow my eyes and wait.
Sure enough, she opens the book again.
“Now see here,” I command. “It’s downright rude toend a conversation without a proper goodbye. You may apologize. Now.”
She snorts. “Youcan apologize first! What were you trying to do, get me detention?”
I have no idea what detention is. But I do know that never in the course of the story has anyone ever talked back to me like this. After all, I’m a prince. Which doesn’t seem to matter in the least to this girl.
And instead of being angry, I’m intrigued. “What’s detention?”
“It’s… not important,” she says. “Look, I can’t have you speaking when other people are around.”
“Believe me—they won’t hear me. No one ever does.”
