Of Giants and Ice (Ever Afters, The) (41 page)

“You are one sweet, brave little girl, did you know that?” Mom stroked my hair. “What did I do to deserve a daughter like you?”

A daughter who lied to her mother and told off her father
. “I’m not very sweet right now,” I said.

Then Mom sighed. She pulled the magazine toward her and opened it to the next page, with a picture of my father by himself. It wasn’t obvious—her mouth didn’t tremble, her eyes didn’t tear—but sadness filled her face.

“I don’t want you thinking that I miss him, or that I wish it was me in that picture,” she said quietly, without looking at me. “But for many years, I dreamed of a life that I could share with your dad—a life I imagined we could build together. I grieve for that as much as anything else, and it doesn’t feel good to know that he’s started his new life before I got a chance to start mine.”

I hesitated, just for a second. “But, Mom, is moving every few months building that new life or running from it?”

She looked up, eyebrows raised, and I knew we would both have to get used to my sudden outspokenness.

Then she smiled, a more subtle version of the too-cheerful look. I had crossed into
Oh-Rory-
I’m-
the-mother
territory. But that was all right. I had still said it.

“Tell me about your trip,” she said, sitting down.

I slid onto the barstool next to her and started constructing a Tale.

y golden harp hath been stolen!” Chase—as the giant—raced across the stage after Lena. I remembered my cue.

“Darling!” I cried in a high-pitched voice, running after Chase, my arms full. My face had turned red even before the skit had started, but that was okay. It kind of suited my character. “You forgot your scarf!”

The audience laughed. I almost stopped in my tracks, but then I remembered that I was
supposed
to be the comic relief.

Lena disappeared offstage. I caught up with Chase and wound the scarf around his neck very carefully as the curtain closed behind us. On the other side, I could hear the triplets putting the wire and papier-mâché beanstalk in place.

“Now your coat,” I said sternly. As I put it around his shoulders with exaggerated care, a few more parents chuckled.

Scowling at me, Chase looked so ridiculous with the green paint on his face that I almost laughed myself. “Woman, none of your silly fussing,” he said, sounding a little less like a robot. “I have to go catch our supper.”

“You’ll wait, or the only thing you’ll catch is a cold,” I said mock-sternly. “Last time you had a runny nose, you kept smelling Englishmen all over the place.”

The audience laughed again, harder this time. Chase gave me a look that plainly said that he resented me having all the good lines.

“There, now.” I patted his shoulders, and we both ran offstage.

Lena stood at the top of the triplets’ beanstalk. Her harp hung from her hand, gasping.

For the yearly parents’ presentation, EAS had voted on a “Jack and the Beanstalk” skit, but some of those parents—like Amy and my mom—didn’t know about the magical aspects of the program. So, the harp couldn’t have any speaking parts. Or even breathe onstage.

“You okay, Melodie?” I asked as Chase climbed to the tippy-top of the beanstalk, very nimbly for someone with a sling and a broken collarbone. I pointed at the cardboard cutout of a harp. “Because we have a stunt double all ready for you.”

Melodie looked outraged at the suggestion. “I’ve waited centuries to be in a play. This could be my big break.”

The triplets pulled the curtains open, and Melodie held her breath again, her cheeks bulging.

It was hard, but I didn’t laugh.

“I’ll get you, Jackie!” Chase shook his green fist.

Lena hurried down the rest of the beanstalk.

“Oh, behold!” Adelaide said to the audience, sounding extremely irritated. She still wasn’t happy about being cast as Jackie’s mother. “My child has returned.”

Lena jumped the rest of the way to the floor. “Mother, mother, an ax!”

Adelaide handed her a cardboard imitation. Lena took one swing, and the papier-mâché beanstalk toppled slowly as Kyle pulled the ropes.

Chase screamed, very enthusiastically. His favorite part.

He landed on the floor a little offstage and then let himself fall to the ground, his eyes closed and his tongue sticking out. Then he opened one eye and whispered, “Is it just me, or should we not let Rumpy write the skits anymore?”

•  •  •

Afterward, searching the crowd for my mom and Amy, I overheard Jack telling Chase, “. . . terrible that you weren’t a Jack. Terrible. But there’s still hope. You could be a Giant-Killer.” He had obviously recovered from his guilt.

Chase scowled fiercely, clearly waiting for Jack to move on to another subject, but he was still standing exactly like his dad—leaning against the courtyard wall, arms crossed, and a hand over his chin. I smirked. Chase noticed and dropped his arms sheepishly.

“Or you could be an Aladdin!” Jack cried happily. “There hasn’t been one in years. I’ll see if I can’t find the magic lamp. The Director keeps hiding it—”

Chase didn’t take his eyes off his father, but he leaned slightly back to whisper, “Refreshment table in ten minutes. Come get me if I can’t get away.”

“Ditto.” I spotted my mom running toward me in her business suit, her arms spread wide.

A bunch of the other parents and some EASers did a double take, recognizing her as she passed them. That secret was definitely out. It didn’t bother me as much as it used to.

We had invited Dad, too, but he said he had a bunch of meetings that day. (Privately, I thought he was still smarting from the talking-to I had given him a couple weeks before.)

Amy followed Mom slowly, throwing wary glances right and left. She gave a particularly sharp look to an older Character with hair down to her knees, leading a line of seven huge white birds.
She hadn’t liked EAS much ever since I had come back from a field trip to the capital with a camera full of pictures I didn’t remember taking. Which made me think that maybe Gretel had only enchanted Mom, not Amy.

“My little actress.” Mom hugged me. “You were so good!”

Even Amy mustered a real smile. “Perfect comic timing.”

“Thanks,” I said, embarrassed but pleased.

“Really, they should’ve given you the lead,” Mom said.

“Mom!” I shot a significant glance toward Lena and her family, just a few feet away.

“It’s in your blood,” Amy pointed out.

“And I’m your mother. I’m supposed to say stuff like that. I could tell embarrassing stories about you as a baby instead. This one time—”

“No, that’s okay,” I said hurriedly. Chase was looking our way, definitely listening.

“Is that your sword?” Amy said, eyeing it with distaste.

It had been a prop too. I had used it to cut a giant-size roll during the performance.

“I didn’t expect it to look so real,” Mom said, surprised. “Can I hold it?”

I hesitated. It was a magic sword after all, but when Mom took it from me, she didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. Instead, she started to swing it, making lightsaber sounds.

“Mom,”
I said in a pained voice.

“I know that look.” Mom sighed and passed the sword back. “That’s the look that tells me you’re going to be a teenager soon.”

“You ready to go?” Amy asked, obviously hopeful.

A few weeks ago, I would’ve hesitated to mention it. “Chase and Lena and I were going to grab some food.”

Mom’s face fell. “Rory, you’ve made such good friends here. That’s wonderful.”

“Uh-oh.” I knew this day was coming. I’d been expecting it. “We’re moving,” I said flatly. I sheathed the sword and wondered if I had to give it back, if this would be the last time I would ever hold it.

“The shoot finished yesterday,” Amy said, “and we have to be in Colorado for another one on Tuesday.”

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Mom said. “I know you were really happy here.”

I nodded, numbly. I had been happy. I had been scared for my life and so mad at Chase that I wanted to hit him and sometimes really confused, but I had also been happy.

“Rory!” Chase waved to me, halfway to the refreshment table. Lena stood just behind him, waiting. “Chow time?”

They didn’t know I was leaving. I hadn’t told them yet. I hadn’t meant to keep it from them, but with all the excitement of Lena’s Tale, and the upcoming skit, the right time hadn’t arrived.

“Go say good-bye,” my mom said. “And get their e-mails! Maybe we can ask them to come on vacation with us.”

I trudged off. It wouldn’t be the same as seeing each other every day and going on adventures together.

As I crossed the courtyard, a few EASers pointed me out to their parents. Like with their fingers, so I noticed. Those parents must have known about magic, because as I passed them, I caught a few bits of their conversation: “the golden harp” and “the Snow Queen,” Lena’s name, Chase’s, and mine.

Even though I didn’t turn to look, my face heated, but there had been a lot of talk like this in the past couple weeks.

This was why it didn’t bother me so much when EASers found out about my famous parents.

The Director had asked us to not talk about it at all. So, at first, I’d assumed that Chase couldn’t resist bragging. But he had been insulted at the thought. “It wasn’t me. Not all the fainters stayed fainted.” And once the story was out,
everyone
knew.

When I was close enough, Lena grabbed my arm. I smiled a little when I noticed Melodie in the bag hanging over her shoulder. I hadn’t seen Lena without the harp since we’d come down the beanstalk. I was pretty sure Melodie even went to school with her.

“Did you have to bring
her
with you?” Chase asked Lena.

“I’m not taking any chances,” Lena said stoutly.

“I may just be a musical instrument,” Melodie said in a wounded voice, “but I still have feelings, you know.”

“He’s teasing
me
, not you,” Lena told her harp absently.

I smiled again, and a wave of sadness hit me. I would even miss the bickering.

“You’re a thousand years old,” Chase said. “Shouldn’t you grow a thicker skin?”

“There are plenty of Fey even older than me,” Melodie told Chase. “
They’re
still touchy.”

“Oh, Rory. They have Fey fudge!” Lena cried happily. “We couldn’t use the Table of Never Ending Refills, because the refill part might freak out the parents. So, Gretel buys most of the food, and she always gets this big tub of Fey fudge.”

I wasn’t particularly hungry, but I let Lena hand me a plate and load it up with fudge.

Searching for a place to sit, we passed Adelaide and Daisy, the new sixth grader who’d joined EAS while we’d been up the beanstalk—and Adelaide’s new fan club. She had a chubby face on top of a really skinny body, which made me think of a chipmunk every time I looked at her.

Adelaide watched Chase as we walked by. I was pretty sure she still missed him.

I hadn’t known what to expect after the Beanstalk, as far as Chase went. But that Monday, he had slid into a seat at Lena’s regular table and stuffed himself with snacks, like it was something he did every day.

When he’d noticed me and Lena staring at him, he’d said, “What? Adelaide and Daisy won’t stop talking about what color they should paint their toenails. You really can’t expect me to suffer through that.” He looked at me and Lena fearfully, like girl talk was a contagious disease, and he was worried it would spread across the courtyard.

“What about the triplets?” Lena asked, flabbergasted.

“Geez, Lena—way to make him feel unwanted,” I said, mainly because I was afraid he would leave if he felt that way.

Chase just shrugged. “They’re brothers. They spend all their time together. They don’t really have room for a fourth wheel.”

Then Rapunzel had been right. Chase did need more friends.

I’d once overheard Kevin talking about how the three of us were all buddy-buddy now (at least until Kyle noticed me and punched his brother in the shoulder to shut him up). But nobody really questioned it. Apparently, jumping off a beanstalk together did that to old enemies.

When we neared the Tree of Hope, some fifth graders stopped talking and scurried away, looking over their shoulders at us anxiously. They tended to do this a lot when they saw me, Chase, and Lena together—as if now that we’d escaped the Glass Mountain and slayed some dragonets, we were on the prowl to bully younger kids. It was kind of annoying, actually.