Chapter 10 Not What It Seems #2
The sky clears.
The rain stops.
And the mushroom that turned into an umbrella is now a giant daisy. The handle is now a thick stem. I float through the blue sky, the sun’s warmth like a hug, and—
I’m soaring over the treetops.
I might still be in complete danger of becoming sky-splatter, but—
This is nice.
Somehow, this feels different from being in Sunny’s boat.
No, this is less of a panicked, uncontrolled experience, and more of a smooth sailing.
Ken’s words echo through my mind. He told me to always make time for watching sunsets.
Even though the sky is bright blue now, I know he was telling me to just enjoy the moment I’m in when I’m in it.
You know, this land is strange and dangerous and perplexing—but it is also wondrous. I take a second to marvel at it.
Below, the landscape is cut into pieces like the patches of a quilt, ever-changing. Becoming something different right before my eyes. Rivers turning to ribbons, trees becoming towers, mountains becoming giants.
Even the sky is ever-changing, the weather transforming like this place can’t decide on a single season.
Snow surges around me, and—
I’ve never touched snow before.
I reach out for a snowflake, which quickly melts against my skin as the weather turns to spring again, becoming a drop of rain.
And the daisy turns into a giant dandelion, seeds blowing off until I’m slowly lowering down—
Into a bed of sunflowers. I’m in a grove full of them.
I sit up, then reach toward the dark center of one, full of seeds.
All of a sudden, all those centers become clocks framed in petals, ticking down the time. The pine cones on the trees around the grove become rattles, ringing, ringing, ringing.
Spiderwebs become harp strings, branches become violin bows, and it’s getting too loud, it’s reverberating through my skull—I stumble, trip over a rock, and fall back.
Right through the ground, all the way until I’m standing upright again, this time somewhere completely different.
A giant pink house sits before me
I look down. My necklaces are glowing. So is the shell charm.
A key is near.
Finally.
I race toward the home and knock to be polite, then barge my way in when no one answers. “Hello?” I call out.
No one responds.
I creep through the hall and peer around a corner.
There’s a phone in the kitchen. A phone. I wonder if it could possibly work between lands. I reach for it, desperate to talk to Callie. Maybe she can find a book in the library about this strange world. Maybe she can get a message to Robin.
But the moment I lift it up, it becomes—
“A hair dryer?” I exclaim. It starts blowing in my face. I set it back down.
It’s official. This world is annoying me.
Clearly, the feeling is mutual. I wince at the branches stuck in my hair, the dirt coating my still storm-wet outfit.
Ugh. Maybe I do need that hair dryer…
That’s when I remember I can change my outfits. I grip my necklaces, and—
Better. I’m wearing my favorite pink blazer and pant set, and pink sneakers with a strong tread that will help me traverse these ever-changing forest floors.
Maybe overall too formal for these circumstances, but I feel strong in this.
Confident. I was wearing this outfit in debate class when I gave the speech that earned me a perfect score (so much for that).
I wonder if my mom ever wore this. If some of that confidence I’m feeling was stitched into the clothing, giving some of her strength to me…
My eyes burn, thinking about it. That these clothes are more than just their fabrics. That maybe—
Just then, there’s a shimmering sound outside. I walk toward the kitchen window, nervous to see what the lawn has morphed into in my brief absence.
The glass has a rainbow tinge, making it hard to see through. I lean forward, against the glass—only for it to give way. To pop, really.
I tumble right through it, into the garden outside.
“Bubble window, really?” I say, before realizing what I fell into isn’t a rosebush as I’d thought, but a sticky cloud of cotton candy.
I look around the newly emerged front garden and—of course.
The landscaping isn’t made of nature at all. It’s 100% candy. Licorice instead of stems, peppermint instead of flowers. In the center of a fountain there’s—
Yep. Chocolate.
What even is this land? How do people live here?
Does anyone live here?
I walk down the gumdrop-lined path warily, ready for literally anything to jump out at me. When nothing changes, I narrow my eyes in suspicion. I sink to my haunches. The moment I reach toward a gumdrop, it flips into the ground and pops back up as a regular shrub. I glare at it.
At least let me eat you if you’re going to trick me, I think.
It flips over again, returning as a gumdrop.
Candy-cane trees. Gingerbread hedges. Candied apple trees, and gates made of caramelized sugar. The breeze smells delicious.
I look around, searching for anything glowing pink, to no avail. Yet, my necklace is still glowing. If anything, the pink burns brighter. The key must be near. I look around, not seeing anything—
Until I spot a reflection of pink in a puddle of butterscotch syrup.
I look up.
And there, in the sky, is the key.
It resembles one of the miniature bells from the oak tree, only this one has a pair of tiny wings attached. Perhaps it transformed from a bird. Whatever it was before, there it is.
Now I just have to figure out how to get it.
Think, Barbie. I try to remember everything I’ve learned. This land has been teaching me its rules with every step. Things can become other things, but my emotions can affect their forms. I’ve proven I can change objects in this world, if I just focus hard enough…
I look down at the necklaces again. They’ve gotten me through the mist around Heartland. They’ve channeled the power of Wardrobe without Wardrobe, and they’ve also helped me find the shell in Summerland.
It’s not me… it’s their magic that has been transforming this world.
I grip both charms in my hand, staring up at that floating bell. This land is about transformation and imagination.
I haven’t really… played in a while. Not since I was a kid. The moment I started school, and got my first perfect score, and saw the look of pride on Robin’s face, I put all my energy toward learning.
But before that, I used to love to paint. I would ask for palettes and brushes and canvases, and I would spend hours in my room, painting everything.
Painting didn’t make Robin’s eyes crease with pride. It didn’t make her hold my hand and tell me how proud my mother would be of me.
So I gave up on it.
Now I try to think back to that creativity. I squint at the sky—and those clouds… they kind of look like stairs.
This is ludicrous. It makes no sense. It defies logic.
But maybe that’s what makes this land special.
I look around for a hose. This is a garden, even if it is made of candy.
There. It’s curled like a snake near a bush, but I approach it quickly and calmly, and it doesn’t turn into a serpent.
No, I focus on what I want, and in my hands…
it turns into a rope. I make a lariat loop, spin it around and around, and throw it up into the sky.
I capture a cloud. I pull it toward me, and it’s far heavier than it should be.
Because the cloud is not a cloud at all… it’s a flying sheep. The rest of the clouds-turned-sheep follow the one I’ve herded in.
“Stairs,” I command, feeling ridiculous, but pushing away any doubt.
And responding to the confidence of my tone, the sheep come together… and begin to form an upward incline. All the way to the key.
It… actually worked?
I take a deep breath. And take the first step.
The sheep hold, chomping on spun sugar that has floated up toward the sky. I take step after step, tired legs already straining, but I keep going, following the path to that winged bell like it’s a guiding star.
I made a plan. I executed it. And… it’s working.
The same pride fills me as the sensation I felt when I got on Sandy in Summerland. I was scared… but I took a deep breath. I took a risk.
I was afraid. I did it anyway.
And sure, maybe I didn’t receive a Fate; maybe I could tell myself that all those classes, all that studying, were all for nothing.
But the skills I learned—discipline, focus, practice, consistency—those aren’t a waste.
I’m using them now as I climb higher and higher into the sky.
I don’t look down. I just keep my eyes trained forward.
I just keep stepping upward, from sheep to sheep, the hope within me surging the closer I get.
Until I’m almost there. The charms on my necklaces float upward, emitting their pink glow, reaching toward the bell. The key tilts toward me, as if sensing the charms’ magic.
I reach forward. It’s nearly in my grip.
But the moment my fingers brush the bell, the sheep turn back into clouds.
And I’m falling.
I scream as my body drops, as my stomach flips.
My back hits a rainbow—that becomes a slide, glimmering beneath me in every hue imaginable, and I try to stop myself, try to claw my way back up, but it’s no use.
It arcs down, toward a trench as dark as night.
I slide right into it, all the way toward its depths.
Not even to the ground, but far lower. A hole I can’t possibly climb out of. The darkest pit I can imagine.
When the slide finally ends, I’m spit out onto cold, jagged rock. The necklaces around my neck have gone dark. I roll, bones aching, until I hit a wall.
There’s a sign there, in bold letters.
It says ROCK BOTTOM.