Between the lines

OLIVER

MY ARM IS ACHING. AS DELILAH HAS BEEN TYPING, I’ve written the entire story by hand with a small lump of coal on the rock wall, committing it to memory. Not that this is very difficult. After all, I’ve been living it.

When at last we’re finished, Delilah leans in to the page. “Good luck,” she whispers. “See you on the outside.”

We’ve talked about it, and I know I’m on my own for this part: she has to stop reading the book and close it, so that I can gather all the characters together and tell them the new story. I see the sky spread and darken as Delilah shuts the cover. Then I take a deep breath and run a finger along the sentences I’ve scratched into the rock.

I climb down from the ledge on page 43 and start hopping the gaps between the edges of the pages, crossing through the Enchanted Forest and the unicorn meadow. I will find Frump and ask him for his help. He’s the only one who can rally the masses as quickly as I need it to be done, and I know I can count on him for his support.

But first, there’s one more person I need to see. I find Queen Maureen in the rose garden behind the castle, pruning her beloved bushes. For a moment I hang back, watching the way she gently lifts the heavy head of a rose and strokes the petals. She was never really my mother, but she was the closest thing I had to one, and I’ll miss that tenderness that comes so easily to her.

Taking a deep breath-it’s now or never-I untuck my shirt, let it hang from beneath my tunic, and muss up my hair. Then I stumble into the queen’s line of sight.

“Oliver?” she says. “What happened to you?”

I collapse in front of her, pretending to catch my breath. “The Creator,” I gasp. “The one who made our world? She summoned me.”

Her eyes widen. “She summoned you?”

“Yes.”

“Goodness.”

“I know.”

She hesitates. “Is that why you started to disappear on the beach?”

“Exactly,” I say. “She sent me back here with a message for everyone in the kingdom. Apparently the story we’ve been living-it’s not the real story. Just part of a larger one.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Queen Maureen says.

“I have to leave,” I tell her.

“But you just got here!”

“No-I mean, I have to leave the book. It’s the way the ending goes, in the bigger story.”

She thinks about this. “But you’ll come back again, every time the book is opened?”

God, I hope not. Did Delilah even consider that? “It’s complicated. I’m going to explain it to everyone, on the beach. Frump is going to round them up for me.”

“Then why did you come to talk to me privately?”

“Because,” I confess, “you’re one of the people I’m going to miss the most.”

Her eyes shine with tears, and she opens her arms so that I can step into her embrace. I hold her tight, finding it hard to imagine that this might be the last time I ever do so.

Queen Maureen pulls back a little bit and looks me in the eye. “If I’d ever had a real son, Oliver,” she says, “I would have wanted him to be just like you.”

As we walk toward Everafter Beach, we are joined by others responding to Frump’s call: the flitting fairies, who buzz in my ears, filling my head with questions; the trolls, stomping with each footstep. Rapscullio comes out of his lair with a piece of embroidery in hand; Seraphima is still wearing a robe and slippers.

The last to arrive are the mermaids, who swim up to the shore and lie in the shallows with their hair floating out behind them like colored capes. “Why the big rush, Frump?” Marina asks.

Beside the sailors, Pyro is blowing smoke rings that Orville waves away from his face.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Frump announces. “And mythical creatures. I’ve called you here at the request of Prince Oliver, who has a very important announcement to make.” He wags his tail, turning the floor over to me. “Good luck, Ollie,” he says quietly, for my ears alone.

I stand up, suddenly nervous. “Perhaps you all were a bit confused by what happened the last time the book was opened,” I begin.

“Ye started disappearin’!” Captain Crabbe says. “We all noticed!”

“Yes, well, it was sort of a surprise to me too,” I lie. “I was being pulled into the Otherworld.”

A collective gasp rises from the crowd. “You mean,” Sparks says, “the audience?”

“Even more important,” I reply. “The Creator. The person who dreamed up the world we live in.”

“Is it a man or a woman?” Ondine asks.

“A woman,” I reply.

She smirks at her sisters. “Told you so.”

“Is she beautiful? I bet she’s beautiful,” Ember says with a sigh.

I think of Jessamyn Jacobs. “I didn’t really notice. I was too busy memorizing the new script.” I pause for dramatic effect. “The one I’m supposed to tell to all of you.”

“I don’t understand,” Biggle mutters. “We have new lines to memorize?”

“Well, only to some extent.” I look over the crowd. “It turns out that our whole story has been a piece of a larger one. The real story is about a prince in a fairy tale-”

“That’s you!” Seraphima gasps.

I force a smile. “Good guess! As I was saying-a prince in a fairy tale who is trying to escape.”

“From the kingdom?” Scuttle says, scratching his head. “I’m not sure I understand…”

“No, from the book. Into the Otherworld.”

“But that’s impossible,” Orville insists. “This is the only world that was given to us.”

“Yet we all agree that someone, somewhere else, was living in a totally different place and time when she wrote this world for us to inhabit, right?” I say. “After all, we’ve never met her, and yet we’re all here. That proves that there always has been a second world. It’s where everyone who reads the book is, while they’re reading.”

I watch the crowd as they process this theory. Frump, assessing their reactions, interrupts the uneasy quiet. “I say that we let Oliver tell us the new story!”

Others nod. Even those who are still reluctant to believe that they haven’t known the whole truth all along are drawn in by the power of words, by the thought that there’s a new tale to be told. “I second the motion,” Queen Maureen says.

With everyone’s eyes upon me, waiting to hear their future, I start to speak. “Just so you know,” I begin, “when they say ‘Once upon a time’… they’re lying. It’s not once upon a time. It’s not even twice upon a time. It’s hundreds of times, over and over, every time someone opens up the pages of this dusty old book.”

When I am done, there is absolute silence.

And then, everyone starts clapping. “Bravo!” Frump howls. “Bravo!”

Even the mermaids look a bit teary. “I guess not all men are squids,” Kyrie murmurs.

Seraphima stares down at the sand between her feet, puzzled. “So, the whole time, I’ve actually been falling for Frump?”

I nod. “But you were too afraid to show it, because you didn’t want to hurt Prince Oliver’s feelings.”

Seraphima smiles brightly and reaches out to pull Frump onto her lap. “I think I knew it all along,” she says shyly.

“Are there any other questions?” I ask.

Socks paws at the ground with his hoof to get my attention.

“Yes, Socks?”

“Oliver, when you said I was a mighty steed in this new version-does that mean I’m maybe a little thinner?”

“You’re the best-looking horse in the kingdom,” I say. “You’re the horse all other horses aspire to become.”

He whinnies and tosses his mane, delighted.

Pyro raises one stubby arm. “I’m just not clear… What’s my motivation?”

“You want to channel all the pain and rage you’ve felt from being misunderstood as a destructive beast, and pour that into your performance,” I suggest.

The dragon hiccups. “I can work with that.”

“Great!” I clap my hands together. “So if we’re all set, why don’t we go off and practice so that we’re ready the minute the book opens again-”

“Just a moment.” Rapscullio stands up, tall and foreboding, his black hair falling over his forehead and casting a shadow on his scar. “What happens to you, Oliver?”

I grin. “Well, I guess I leave the book, and live happily ever after.”

“But are you only the same size in the Otherworld that you are in this one?” Ember asks. “Then you’d be as tiny as a fairy.”

“Are you going to look like they do, or are you going to be flat?” Walleye chimes in.

My stomach turns. Actually, I don’t know the answers. I won’t until we see whether or not this works. “I suppose it’s all a mystery,” I reply. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”

There’s a soft whine, and I turn to see Frump clearing his throat. “Can we visit?” he asks quietly.

I meet my best friend’s gaze. I can’t imagine not seeing him again. “I’m not sure,” I say honestly. He ducks his snout, disappointed, and I step forward to rub him between the ears and comfort him, but before I do, Seraphima reaches out and strokes his back. This much I know: Frump will be in good hands.

Suddenly the sand begins to spit and swirl as the edges of the beach curl upward. “Places!” Frump barks. “Everybody!”

I fall page after page, coming to an abrupt halt against the stone floor of the castle. I lift my head in time to see Queen Maureen smack into her throne so hard her crown goes flying. Frump catches it in his teeth like a Frisbee. “Your Majesty,” he says, returning it.

The story starts like it always does, with me telling my mother I am headed off to find my true love. The difference is that this time, my true love isn’t waiting for me on Everafter Beach. She’s much farther away. “Wish me luck,” I murmur under my breath, hoping that Delilah is listening, and I speak my lines.

For the next hour, I go through the pages: being attacked by the fairies, falling into the ocean to be captured by the mermaids, tricking the trolls. I get kidnapped by Captain Crabbe, battle Pyro, and visit Orville to find Seraphima’s location. The other characters do their part as well. I am particularly impressed by Socks, who suddenly presents himself as a stamping, snorting white stallion. It’s as if confidence alone has made him grow a foot in height. From the corner of my eye, I watch Seraphima giving longing looks to Frump after every one of our scenes together.

At one point, just like always, I scale the rock wall-but here, I pause and give a speech.

While she was writing the new story, Delilah realized she still needed a spot where I was alone, so that she could always find me on a certain page if necessary. But now, instead of climbing the rock wall on page 43, I talk about Delilah. About this girl who, against all odds, noticed that I am real.

And then, before I know it, we are all gathered again for the final illustration on Everafter Beach. Here I am with Frump by my side, a wedding ring tied to his collar. Here’s Seraphima, walking down the crushed shell aisle. But this time, I don’t kiss the bride.

“I object,” I say, my new line.

Captain Crabbe, who is officiating at the wedding, looks up. “I don’t think you can object to your own wedding, son.”

“But you can if it’s not true love,” I reply.

“I object too,” Seraphima announces. “I’m in love with someone else.” She looks down at Frump. “Something else.”

She leans down and plants a kiss on Frump’s slightly damp snout.

There is a shower of sparks, and before our eyes, Frump transforms into a human again. A clothed one, this time. When Delilah wrote the scene, I made sure of it.

Frump feels his arms and his legs, and tosses me the widest of smiles. “True love,” he says, “can break the most powerful curse.”

The fact that Frump has morphed means that the book is allowing some of the changes we’ve made. I can only hope it’s a sign of what’s left to come. This is our loophole: we’re not changing the story, we’re adding to it. There’s nothing to be fixed, only more to be done by its characters.

I take Seraphima’s hand and carefully place it in Frump’s. “I wouldn’t want you to miss out on a lifetime of love any more than you’d want me to miss out on the same,” I tell her. “Everyone deserves a happy ending… and mine is somewhere outside these pages.”

I’ve read Delilah’s final paragraph a dozen times; I know it by heart. So I start moving. One foot in front of the other, down the beach, along the edge of the water. The mermaids wave, but I don’t look back at them. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll already start missing everyone I have to leave behind.

I am approaching the edge of the illustration, the part where the colors bleed to white space. Taking a deep breath, I jump.

And smack my face into something hard, stiff, unyielding.

For a moment, all I can see are silver stars, and white space.

I feel something licking my face and look up to find Frump, reverted once again to dog form. Then Seraphima’s voice floats over me. “Oliver?” she says. “Maybe this book doesn’t want to let you go.”

We are on page 43. Well, we’re on different sides of it, anyway. Delilah has propped the book up against her pillow, and we are speaking through the darkness.

Once it became clear that our latest plan wasn’t going to work either, Delilah politely said good night to Edgar and carried the book into the guest room. She managed to keep herself from crying until we were alone, but she hasn’t stopped since.

“It’s okay,” I try to tell her, lying. “It’s not so bad.”

“You hate it there,” she sobs. “And I can’t stand it here without you.”

I reach up to her, trying to remember what it felt like when I was holding her hand, walking down the roads of this kingdom. “I’m here whenever you need me,” I say. “I think it’s pretty clear I’m not going anywhere.”

It turns out that there’s something even harder than not being able to be with the person you love when you’re happy: not being able to comfort her when she’s sad. “Delilah Eve McPhee,” I say, “even if I never leave these pages… I would do this a thousand times over again, just to have the chance to meet you.”

“Oh, Oliver,” she whispers. “I love you too.”

Delilah falls asleep with the book open, which means I can watch her. You may think there’s nothing very interesting about seeing someone sleep, but that probably means you’ve never found the girl of your dreams. With each breath, she stirs a lock of hair that’s fallen in front of her face. Sometimes she clutches the pillow and sighs.

Now that I know I can’t be with her forever, I don’t want to waste the minutes I’ve got. For this reason, I haven’t closed my own eyes to get a good night’s rest. I’m afraid that if I do, she might disappear.

That’s why I’m awake when the door to the bedroom where Delilah is staying creaks open. Immediately I leap upright, clinging to the rock wall the way I’m supposed to on page 43 when the book is wide open. But the face that peers down at me is one I recognize. “Shhh,” Edgar says, and he carefully lifts the fairy tale from Delilah’s loose grasp.

I start to panic. What if he’s come to destroy the story? He never really liked it, by his own admission. What if he’s jealous and wants Delilah to himself? What if he’s sleepwalking and throws me out with the rubbish?

But instead, Edgar brings me into his own bedroom and closes the door. He sits down on the bed and bends his knees, resting the book along the slope of his legs so that I can see him while he speaks to me. “I know why it didn’t work,” he says. “You can’t take a character out of a story. Every time the book gets opened again, he’s right back where he started. What you need-what the story needs-isn’t an escape but a twist at the end.”

I shake my head. “I don’t see the point, if it means I’m still stuck here-”

“But what if it wasn’t you?” Edgar says. “What if you told the wrong story? What if, at the end, everyone finds out that you were an impostor all along?”

“Not a prince?” I ask.

“Not even Oliver,” he says. “Just someone who looks, well, remarkably similar.”

I am stunned into silence for a moment. “You would do that? For us?”

“No, but I’d do it for me,” Edgar says. “You don’t realize how much alike we actually are. We’re both stuck in worlds we don’t really fit into. We both lost our dads. We both wish we could be someone we’re not. I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat.”

But if I have learned anything, it’s that saying goodbye to the people you love isn’t easy. And when I wrote Delilah into the book, she was desperate to come home to her mother. I haven’t had one myself, but if I did, I can’t imagine leaving her behind forever. “What about your mom?” I ask him.

“She created everyone in there. She’d be all around me. Besides, she always wanted a son like you. And after all, if I can hear you in there, you’ll most likely be able to hear me. If I want out, I’ll find a way to let you know.” He shrugs. “What have you got to lose, Oliver? For once, you get the right girl, and for once, I get to be a hero.”

He lifts a stack of papers I haven’t noticed before. Only now do I see how red his eyes are, how tired Edgar seems to be. Whatever he’s been doing, he’s been up all night. “I’m not much of a writer,” he says, “but this is a story I could live with.”

I wish I could shake his hand. I wish I could thank him properly. This may not work, but it’s certainly worth a try. Lifting my face, I nod at Edgar. “Well then,” I say. “Let’s hear it.”

Delilah

WHEN I WAKE UP, I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE I AM.

The sheets aren’t the ones on my bed at home; the walls of this room are painted a different color. I can’t hear my mother singing off-key as she fries bacon downstairs in the kitchen.

Then it all comes rushing back to me.

Running away from home.

Being grounded till I die.

Jessamyn Jacobs.

Edgar.

The revised story.

Failure feels like a punch. All I have to look forward to today is four hours of What the heck were you thinking? from my mother during a long, painful car ride back home, and the knowledge that I finally found someone who understands who I am and likes me for it-only to realize that he’s a figment of my imagination.

I pull the covers over my head, wishing I didn’t have to wake up. At least in my dreams I can be with Oliver.

Oliver.

I feel around under the pillows, but the book is missing. Jumping out of bed, I look beneath its frame, and on the dresser. I rip the blankets and sheets off. I know I fell asleep with the fairy tale in my arms last night. I just know it.

“Where is it?” I mutter, and at that moment there is a knock at the door.

It swings open, and Edgar is standing on the threshold, book in hand. “Looking for this?” he asks, grinning.

“Yes!” I grab it out of his hands, angry. “You shouldn’t steal other people’s property.”

“Well, it’s not technically yours, is it? You stole it from your school library.”

“I’m the only person who ever checked this book out of-” I break off, my eyes narrowing. “How do you know that?”

“Because I listen,” Edgar says, coming closer. He takes the book from me and sets it on the bed, then holds my hands. “I listen to everything you say, Delilah.”

He’s staring at me as if he can see right inside me, and that’s creepy, because this is Edgar, after all-Edgar, who locks himself in his room to play video games all day. Except his eyes are different. I can’t really describe it, but they look softer around the edges. Wiser. And maybe, a little amazed.

“Delilah,” he whispers. “It’s me.”

“Of course it’s you, Edgar. Who else would it be?”

“Oliver. It worked, Delilah. It actually worked.” He smiles, and for a moment, I almost believe him. The way his mouth tips up on one side. The way his voice has the gentlest hint of a British accent.

But it didn’t work. I saw that with my own eyes. I take a step backward, shaking my head.

“I can prove it,” Edgar says, and he picks up the book. Pinching one page with two fingers, he slides his palm across the sharp edge, giving himself an inch-long paper cut.

“Stop that!” I grab his hand, but it’s too late. The book drops to the bed again, closed, as I turn his palm over to see how deep the cut is.

He’s bleeding, but the blood isn’t red.

It’s black as ink.