part—that’s the part that matches.
“I wouldn’t even be able to tell my boyfriend, if I had one. Because what if we broke up? I’d have to be sure he’s the One—but you need a fairy godmother for that.” She smiles again, and there’s that same sad light in her eyes. “I’m not allowed to go out with boys until I’m sixteen anyway, so I don’t have to worry about it now. That’s all right with me. It would distract me from my work.” She scoops up more noodles.
“My boyfriend knows I’m an f.g.”
Ariella’s chopsticks freeze in midair, noodles dangling. “You
told
him?”
“He was my client.”
Ariella drops the noodles in the bowl and leans back,incensed on my behalf. “Your boyfriend was in love with somebody else?”
“He wasn’t my boyfriend at the beginning. And I thought he was in love with this cheerleader, Cadie Perez. But it turned out she was in love with somebody else. A girl, Emma, who loved her back.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Flynn’s wish was actually me all along.” I feel a flush of pleasure when I say this. The thought of it transports me to the Ferris wheel again and also makes me believe, right now, that everything really is and always will be okay with us. I
was
his wish, after all.
“Isn’t that weird, though, now that you’re going out, knowing what he’s wishing for all the time? There’s no mystery.”
“That was then. I don’t know what he’s feeling anymore. It’s
all
a mystery now, believe me.”
I take a sip of my root beer. My tongue hasn’t completely recovered from the pepper attack, and the bubbles sting. Next time, I’m ordering milk.
Ariella scoops up the last few noodles in her bowl. “So the beneficiary’s wish was for the fairy godmother.” She chews thoughtfully. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“You’ve never seen an f.g. who looks like me either, right? That’s what you said.”
“That’s true.” Ariella pulls a fistful of candy sticks from her purse and fans them out like cards for me to choose. I pick another green one. I expect it to be lime again, but it’snot. It’s something else, something un-tangy, almost milky. Is this even a fruit?
Ariella unwraps a pink stick and holds it between her index and middle fingers like a cigarette, one arm folded across her stomach, contemplating. “I wonder …”
“Wonder what?” Melon. That’s what flavor it is. Honeydew. Blech. At least it’s not kiwi. That would be even worse. Ariella takes a lick of her grapefruit stick or pomegranate or whatever and her eyes light up, as if an internal switch has been turned on. She definitely runs on sugar. “I’ve got another idea …”
“Don’t you
love
it?” If Ariella had a visible aura, it would be bursting with dancing exclamation points. Pink ones. Pink and purple and honeydew melon green, the colors of pretty much everything in this store.
I am in hell. Hell has a name. It’s called the Princess Shop.
“Are you kidding?” I ask. “Look at me. Do I look like somebody who would
love
this store?”
There are pink dresses. Pink shoes. Necklaces with pink lockets, and bracelets with purple charms. Matching green and pink notebooks and notepads, pink pencil sets and pink and green pens. Pink purses and backpacks, and laptop cases with big purple daisies on them. Desk lamps shaped like ball gowns and clocks with glittering fairy-tale castles etched on their faces. Sparkly hats, sparkly barrettes, sparkly headbands and sparkly tiaras.
Tiaras
.
It’s such a gruesome visual assault, I’m scared I might go blind. Actually, I’m not scared. I
hope
I go blind. Or at least black out. Anything to end the horror.
“That’s why I brought you here! You need to look the part to be the part.” Ariella holds up a pair of twinkly beaded earrings to her ears and studies her reflection in a narrow mirror that runs along the side of the twirling countertop display.
“Um … no way.”
You’d think the customer base would be
“I wouldn’t even be able to tell my boyfriend, if I had one. Because what if we broke up? I’d have to be sure he’s the One—but you need a fairy godmother for that.” She smiles again, and there’s that same sad light in her eyes. “I’m not allowed to go out with boys until I’m sixteen anyway, so I don’t have to worry about it now. That’s all right with me. It would distract me from my work.” She scoops up more noodles.
“My boyfriend knows I’m an f.g.”
Ariella’s chopsticks freeze in midair, noodles dangling. “You
told
him?”
“He was my client.”
Ariella drops the noodles in the bowl and leans back,incensed on my behalf. “Your boyfriend was in love with somebody else?”
“He wasn’t my boyfriend at the beginning. And I thought he was in love with this cheerleader, Cadie Perez. But it turned out she was in love with somebody else. A girl, Emma, who loved her back.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Flynn’s wish was actually me all along.” I feel a flush of pleasure when I say this. The thought of it transports me to the Ferris wheel again and also makes me believe, right now, that everything really is and always will be okay with us. I
was
his wish, after all.
“Isn’t that weird, though, now that you’re going out, knowing what he’s wishing for all the time? There’s no mystery.”
“That was then. I don’t know what he’s feeling anymore. It’s
all
a mystery now, believe me.”
I take a sip of my root beer. My tongue hasn’t completely recovered from the pepper attack, and the bubbles sting. Next time, I’m ordering milk.
Ariella scoops up the last few noodles in her bowl. “So the beneficiary’s wish was for the fairy godmother.” She chews thoughtfully. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“You’ve never seen an f.g. who looks like me either, right? That’s what you said.”
“That’s true.” Ariella pulls a fistful of candy sticks from her purse and fans them out like cards for me to choose. I pick another green one. I expect it to be lime again, but it’snot. It’s something else, something un-tangy, almost milky. Is this even a fruit?
Ariella unwraps a pink stick and holds it between her index and middle fingers like a cigarette, one arm folded across her stomach, contemplating. “I wonder …”
“Wonder what?” Melon. That’s what flavor it is. Honeydew. Blech. At least it’s not kiwi. That would be even worse. Ariella takes a lick of her grapefruit stick or pomegranate or whatever and her eyes light up, as if an internal switch has been turned on. She definitely runs on sugar. “I’ve got another idea …”
“Don’t you
love
it?” If Ariella had a visible aura, it would be bursting with dancing exclamation points. Pink ones. Pink and purple and honeydew melon green, the colors of pretty much everything in this store.
I am in hell. Hell has a name. It’s called the Princess Shop.
“Are you kidding?” I ask. “Look at me. Do I look like somebody who would
love
this store?”
There are pink dresses. Pink shoes. Necklaces with pink lockets, and bracelets with purple charms. Matching green and pink notebooks and notepads, pink pencil sets and pink and green pens. Pink purses and backpacks, and laptop cases with big purple daisies on them. Desk lamps shaped like ball gowns and clocks with glittering fairy-tale castles etched on their faces. Sparkly hats, sparkly barrettes, sparkly headbands and sparkly tiaras.
Tiaras
.
It’s such a gruesome visual assault, I’m scared I might go blind. Actually, I’m not scared. I
hope
I go blind. Or at least black out. Anything to end the horror.
“That’s why I brought you here! You need to look the part to be the part.” Ariella holds up a pair of twinkly beaded earrings to her ears and studies her reflection in a narrow mirror that runs along the side of the twirling countertop display.
“Um … no way.”
You’d think the customer base would be
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