6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Delia
I called in sick. Thankfully, Brigley’s part-time secretary took the message. That’s a win for sure. Now I just have to creep around town and not get caught by the scary murderer. It’s fine, I’m not freaking out at all. Except when I am. I’m hiding it though, for Pearl’s sake.
After we woke up, got ready, had a quick breakfast—we’ve figured out Pearl doesn’t need to eat, but she sure likes snacking—and cleaned out a mysteriously furry microwave, we set out into town for Sheet-y Stationary.
The problem is the store doesn’t stay put.
The building has a tendency to get up and go at any moment.
So, we need to ask the town map. We head to the visitors’ center so I can find Mappy and ask him.
Mappy has the location of every place in town on his body, and it updates in real time. Wherever Sheet-y is, he’ll know.
As suspected, when we turn the corner, he’s standing out front in his little booty shorts, flexing his muscles for all the passersby. I sigh and shake my head as I approach him. You gotta love the town himbo.
“Heya, Mappy. I’m looking for Sheet-y. Any help?”
He raises an eyebrow and inspects his nails. I cross my arms over my chest. We always do this.
“What’s in it for me?” he asks as he shifts back on his bare feet.
“The joy of friendship,” I reply with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
Mappy leans forward and pinches my cheek.
“Such a charmer.” He notices Pearl standing behind me and winks at her. “I do love athletic women.”
“She’s taken, my guy,” I say firmly, as I poke Mappy in the chest.
Okay. I didn’t mean to say she’s taken. Because, I mean, she’s not officially. Right? Fuck. Whatever. Plus, Mappy isn’t serious with his flirting anyway. Chill, Delia.
Pearl giggles and Mappy grins.
“Oh, I like that. Maybe we’ll get to see you out and about more, Delia. Would be nice.” He gently punches me on the shoulder and the smile he gives me is one of genuine happiness. He is my friend, after all. Of course he’s happy I’ve got a girlfriend.
I mean, if she is my girlfriend, that is.
Mappy stands back and stretches his arms. The muscular man unfurls two massive bat-like wings, revealing the rest of the town’s map. He looks over both of them carefully before nodding at the left one.
“Over by Ratcliffe’s. Looks like it’s blocking the center of the Dreadweather Forest bike path. People are gonna be mad about that.” He shakes his head and curls his wings back against his body.
“Better than the time it landed in the middle of the baseball stadium.” I laugh. Brigley was pissed about that.
“Much better.” Mappy laughs.
“Alright.” I turn to Pearl. “Let’s get going before the store moves again. Catch ya later, Mappy!”
We walk toward the store, getting to know one another a little better while I explain things we see that weren’t around in 1946. Which is a whole lot. Even when I used the phrase “catch ya later” with Mappy, that was new to her, I guess, but she likes that one—says it reminds her of baseball.
When we pass by a Pride flag in a shop window, I tell her about some things that have changed for queer folks in the country, and the world—progress we’ve made, things we’re still fighting for—and she has to take a seat on a park bench to process her thoughts.
We sit in front of the Dreadweather Forest, even though it’s not a great idea to sit on the benches on a hot day, especially wearing a tank top.
Everyone knows not to because of the giants and their…
habits . It seems like she’s not really thinking about giants right now, so I’ll take the risk for her—even though I’m wearing my shoulder-baring tank top with the spadefoot toad-print fabric I got at the Spadefoot Toad Museum’s iconic gift shop.
“So, two women can really get married legally outside of Ghostlight Falls now?” Pearl asks, her eyebrows pinched as she waits for my answer.
“Yep, in a bunch of countries, at least. Not everywhere, unfortunately. Here though, yeah.” I pull out my phone and search up a video from a while back. “Watch this. It’s not very long but it’s the speech the president gave when they legalized same-sex marriage.”
Pearl takes the phone in shaking hands and watches with wide eyes. Not very long into the speech she begins to cry and she’s fully sobbing by the end of it.
“That was our President? And he said that? I want to know more about history. Not just for us. For everyone. What else happened?” She starts to poke at the screen, but I gently take the phone away.
“Later. There’s so, so much. Let’s get to Sheet-y first. Is that cool with you?” I stand up and hold my hand out…
…but can’t reach her before something huge grabs me around the waist.
A giant hand wraps around me before I can even register that an arm has burst out of the forest. The buckles on my boots jingle rapidly as I’m tugged toward the tree line. Oh no. I know what’s coming and I’m not happy about it.
“God damn it, you stinking giant! Go to rehab!” I shout right before the tip of a huge, wet tongue pokes out between two pines. “Aww, hell.”
Sluurrrp. The forest giant licks from my lower back all the way up to my hair line. Blech. Sticky slobber residue coats my skin and the entire backside of my top.
“Gross! You messed up my toad tank top!” I yell.
Not that it matters what I say. The forest giants don’t care. They rarely interact with anyone other than licking us to get high. Humans are to them like some toads are to people; lick our backs, get fucked up. They really like it, and it’s super addictive, but that’s about all they’ve told anyone.
The giant sets me down and slinks back to where he came from.
“That’s right! You go home; you jerk!” I pull some foliage off a bush and start wiping as much of the gunk off of me as I can. Yuck.
“Well, some things don’t change, I guess. Darn giants,” Pearl says as she takes my hand and begins to walk again. “It is a nice top. Even if it’s a bit scandalous.”
“Scandalous? You should see what’s under it.” I tug her forward as I spot the entrance to the stationary store.
“I look forward to it, doll.”
My grin is about ten feet wide when I push open the door to Sheet-y. The place is a wreck, loose paper flung everywhere, boxes tipped on their sides, signage lopsided. It’s clear that the store must have picked itself up and walked here not long ago.
“Tillie! Are you around?” I shout toward the back room.
“Coming!” a woman yells back, right before the sound of a cardboard box avalanche. “One more sec! ”
Pearl looks at me questioningly but I just shrug. Tillie’s a bit of a whirlwind. The two of us look at cards and fancy paper for a couple of minutes until she comes out, hair flying out wildly from a messy bun, t-shirt covered in dust.
“How can I help you?” Tillie asks breathlessly.
“I’m wondering if you could print me something on the big printer, please.” I pull up the images on my phone as Tillie leans over the counter to look. “I need these to fit Pearl. Meet Pearl, by the way.”
I point at an enthusiastically waving Pearl.
“Hi, Pearl. You’re, um, flat? Right? Just asking because I’m gonna need measurements and I want to make sure I’m not losing my mind,” Tillie says as she rubs her eyes. “Or maybe it was getting hit in the head by those boxes. Again.”
“Oh, I’m flat, yes. Made of paper. Don’t worry about your head.”
“Well, paper I’m used to. Let’s get going then,” Tillie says with a smile as she pulls a toad-shaped tape measure from a drawer.
About an hour later Tillie walks out from the back room where she’s been altering images, printing them, then fitting them to Pearl, in order to make a new paper wardrobe. Hopefully it’s worked. They’ve refused to let me see during the process. Tillie clears her throat and says:
“Please welcome our very own movie star and baseball bombshell, Pearl Monroe.” She steps aside then out comes Pearl.
My heart skips a beat when I see her there, laughing and doing exaggerated modeling poses, as if this isn’t serious.
As if I haven’t just realized I’ve got it bad for a hundred-something-year-old cursed lady who’s made of paper, filled with bubblegum, and who my evil boss wants to erase from existence.
When I see her smiling in that blue fit and flare shirtwaist dress, with its red poppy pattern matching the adorable red shoes they even managed to craft, it somehow makes everything finally feel real .
She’s not a baseball card; she’s Pearl Monroe . And I want her to be mine.