Delilah
Just when I think things couldn’t possibly get more complicated, Harvey happens.
On the day I’m hosting a schoolwide Halloween/birthday party—something I never thought I’d do in my lifetime—a hurricane that’s supposed to blow out to sea in the Carolinas takes an abrupt and unexpected turn and makes its way up the Eastern Seaboard.
Hurricane Harvey goes from a trickle of rain to a hammering on the roof, and the lights flicker as Jules and I sit in my bedroom, crossing off details on a checklist.
“I’ve got a bunch of six-packs of Coke and twelve bags of potato chips,” I say. “And I talked my mom out of bobbing for apples, but she’s still insisting on making vegetables in the shape of a skeleton with dip.”
“This is going to be the worst party in the history of parties,” Jules mutters.
“Well, what am I supposed to do?” I argue. “My mother and Edgar’s mother are going to be there. I didn’t think beer pong would be a viable option.”
It’s totally lame to throw a party at my house for Edgar’s birthday with his own mother there as a guest—but this is the only way our plan is going to succeed.
Besides, it doesn’t matter if my reputation tanks because of this, since if it works, Oliver will be here, and he’s the only one whose opinion matters to me.
It’s been a week since Jessamyn was released from the hospital, a week that we’ve spent plotting with Oliver and the characters in the book, to make sure that this swap is flawless.
Edgar has been mostly out of the loop, consumed with taking care of his mom.
He says the hardest part is how normal Jessamyn seems. With the exception of the antiseizure medication she has to take every day, and a headache that won’t go away, she might as well just be fighting the common cold.
“Has Edgar told Jessamyn why we’re really throwing this party?” I ask. “Does she even know that we’re trying to get her inside the book?”
“No. She still doesn’t believe any of this is real. Edgar thought it would be better if she didn’t know what we’re planning. That way she’s more likely to agree to be here.”
It makes sense. Jessamyn totally didn’t buy Edgar’s secret-portal theory; even seeing Oliver alive and talking was something she managed to dismiss as a hallucination caused by medication.
Since this all hinges on a wish, it won’t do any good for Jessamyn to actively doubt the process.
For all we know, that could be the one thing that makes this go wrong.
Hanging on the back of my closet door is the costume I borrowed from Ms. Pingree and the drama department.
Jules is going as Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas.
She was the one who made the astute observation that if this switch actually did pan out, we were going to end up with a guy in a prince costume in the middle of a high school party.
Since it is only a week away from Halloween, it made perfect sense to dress everyone up—so that if Oliver and Maureen do arrive in the present day, nobody will blink an eye.
“So,” Jules asks, her gaze sliding away from me. “Did you hear from Chris? Is he coming?”
I look up at her. “I had to invite him. He’s Edgar’s best friend. Well, Oliver’s. You know what I mean.”
“It’s going to be so awkward,” Jules says. “I haven’t talked to him…since I ended things. And I didn’t exactly give him a reason.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay with all this? With Edgar leaving?”
“I kind of have to be, right?” She meets my gaze. “Let’s be real. He wouldn’t stay out here with me if the cost is losing his mom.”
“For what it’s worth,” I tell her, “he really did like you. He’s just got much bigger problems to think about right now.”
She forces a smile. “Don’t worry about me. I’m tougher than I look.”
I laugh, glancing at Jules’s ripped black tights, the studded leather cuffs on her wrists, the safety pin she’s wearing as an earring, the thick black eyeliner. “That’s terrifying,” I say. “Remind me to never get in a fight with you.”
Suddenly there’s a crash of thunder, and the lights dim and then buzz back to life. “I cannot believe this,” I mutter. “What if no one shows up?”
“Does it even matter? The only people who have to show up, will. Besides, there’s nothing like a little natural disaster to spice up a party.
” Jules glances at her phone. “I have to go home and change. I told Edgar I’d pick him and his mom up at seven, and my face paint alone takes half an hour.
” We both stand up, and impulsively she hugs me. “It’s gonna work.”
“It has to,” I say.
As soon as I hear Jules’s car pull away, I realize I’ve done all the checks for this party, but I haven’t thought about the preparations on the other side. And if Oliver needs my help, or if something’s going wrong, there’s no way he can even tell me until I open the book.
It’s not on my nightstand, where it usually rests.
Getting on my knees, I scan underneath the bed. I pull back the covers and sheets, searching. I dump the contents of my backpack. I tear my whole room apart, rummaging through every drawer and yanking every book off my shelves, but I can’t find it.
Did I leave it at school? At Edgar’s? Where was I the last time I talked to Oliver?
Last night. Under the covers. Before I went to sleep. And this morning I left the book on my nightstand.
I know I did. But then why isn’t it there?
How could I possibly lose my own boyfriend?
And how could I possibly misplace the book on the one day I need it most?
I fling open the door to my room and run downstairs. “Mom!” I yell, teetering on the edge between shouting and sobbing. “Have you seen my book?”
She turns, in the middle of wiping down the counter. “What book?”
“You know what book. Between the Lines…” I pull open random kitchen drawers, rummaging. “I need it. Right now.”
“Delilah, calm down,” my mother says. “I put it on the bookshelf with the photo albums.”
“Why?” I ask, running into the living room and tracing the spines of the books until I find the one with the gold lettering. I grab it and clutch it to my chest, feeling my heart pound against the cover.
My mother walks up to me, surprised at my outburst. She reaches out to pull the fairy tale from my arms, but I twist away from her, shielding it with my body.
“Delilah,” she asks gently, “what is it about this book? Why are you so attached to it?”
“You wouldn’t get it.”
“Try me. Talk to me. I thought it was just a phase—one that you grew out of when you started dating and making more friends. But now, all of a sudden, you’re right back where you used to be—obsessed with a children’s fairy tale. What happened?”
My throat is jammed with a hundred responses, none of which she would understand. “Stay out of my stuff!” I yell, and I run back upstairs.
When I reach my room, I slam the door and open to page 43.
Oliver is still shimmying into position on the rock wall, clutching at his chest. When he sees me, he lets go of his tunic, and several rolls of bright-colored streamers fall from the folds of velvet, unrolling to the edges of the page.
“Why are you interrupting me?” he asks. “I’m in the middle of planning my own birthday party. ”
“I know,” I tell him. “I just wanted to make sure everything was going all right.”
“Well, it rather was. Until you interrupted me.” He smiles as he’s saying this, though, so I know he’s not really upset to see me. “And your preparations?”
“They were going fine until I temporarily lost you,” I say. “My mother moved the book.”
“Ah, right. I forgot to tell you, with all that’s been happening and Jessamyn’s illness—but your mother, she read us the other day.”
“She what?”
“It was when you were at school, presumably. I thought it was you, opening the book as usual—except it wasn’t.”
“Are you serious? What is she doing in my room? Snooping?”
“Maybe she just wanted a good story to read.” Oliver looks up. “We are a book, you know. Believe it or not, we do have day jobs. It’s been so long since we were able to act the fairy tale out; everyone was quite delighted. Everyone except me,” he confesses.
“But what if something went wrong? What if she recognized you?”
“I did the best I could to keep her from seeing my face,” Oliver admits. “She didn’t seem to think anything was amiss.”
“This time,” I point out.
“Well,” Oliver says, “if it all goes well tonight…perhaps there won’t be a next time.” He grins up at me broadly. “I truly do adore talking to you, Delilah, but I can’t leave this page unless you’re gone.” He holds up two rolls of streamers. “And I have an entire kingdom to decorate.”
I hide a smile. “I love you too,” I say, and very gently, I close the book.
It takes a considerable amount of planning and effort to get dressed in my costume.
The first layer is a hoop skirt and a corset, followed by a petticoat that gets tied—and knotted—around my waist. After that comes the gown, draped with satin and lace.
The cherry on top is a tiara, a little comb that gets wired into my hair and twinkles with fake gems.
I keep my Converse sneakers on underneath, because no one will see them.
Then I step up to the dreaded full-length mirror inside my closet door, where I usually take one last glance at myself before I leave for school, always finding something to criticize—my hair, my hips, my freckles.
But this time, I just stop and stare.
I look…pretty.
The pink gown makes my cheeks look rosy, and the way the waist nips in makes me seem like I actually have a figure. My hair, for once, doesn’t look like a bird’s nest. It’s twisted up partway to hold the little crown, and the rest cascades in curls, thanks to the humidity of Hurricane Harvey.
I wonder what Oliver will think when he sees me.
If he sees me.
Shaking my head clear, I force myself to think positively. “When,” I say firmly out loud.