Charmed, I'm Sure Page 9

  It’s short-lived.

  “That’s not the only thing. Genny Krulinski heard Quinn asking you to the Fall Festive,” she bites out through clenched teeth. “How could you flirt with him when you knew we were going together?”

  Omigosh. The Mirror is right. She is jealous, I think. And the irony is that she has absolutely no reason to be. I wouldn’t go out with Quinn Fairchild if you paid me—even if Katie weren’t seeing him.

  “Katie, I never flirted with Quinn. Of course I wouldn’t do that! You’re my best friend!”

  “But you’re not denying that he asked you?” Her voice is angry, but I can see the understandable hurt in her eyes.

  “Well . . . no, but—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Good question.

  I should have told her as soon as it happened. I realize that now, of course. But at the time . . .

  “You were so excited about going with him. You were talking about the roses . . . what color and . . . I just . . . didn’t want to ruin things.”

  It sounds like a lame excuse, even to me. And I know it’s the truth.

  Katie’s skeptical look tells me she doesn’t believe me.

  “So, you decided to keep something this important a secret from your best friend?” she says. “Right. And I suppose you were totally surprised that he asked you too.”

  “I was!” I protest. “It came totally out of the blue. And the first thing I said to him was that I thought he was already going with you!”

  “But you didn’t say no!”

  “Yes, I did!”

  “That’s not what I heard,” Katie says.

  “But it’s the truth,” I say, desperate for her to believe me, because it is the truth.

  “I don’t think you even know what that word means,” Katie snorts. She turns her back on me and walks away as fast as she can, crossing the street to school.

  Tears blur my vision as I watch my best friend disappear into the crowd of students. Ducking into the doorway of a store that still hasn’t opened for the day, I pull a tissue out of my backpack and pull out the Mirror. Looking at my reflection, I blot my eyes so it doesn’t look like I’ve been crying.

  Mirror, Mirror, wise old glass,

  Why have these bad things come to pass?

  My best friend thinks that I’m a liar.

  This Fairest business has misfired.

  The Mirror suddenly feels warm in my fingers.

  Silly Princess, do not weep,

  Friends like this you should not keep.

  Although things might feel out of hand

  It’s worth it to be Fairest in the Land.

  Snapping the compact shut, I shove the Mirror to the bottom of my backpack.

  For the first time I wonder if the Mirror is wrong.

  It sure doesn’t feel worth it being Fairest in the Land right about now.

  I catch Nicole by her locker before school starts, but only because she didn’t see me first. She almost slams the locker door on my fingers when she realizes it’s me.

  “Are you mad at me because Quinn asked me to the Fall Festive too?” I ask.

  “What do you think?” she says. “And you blew us off on Saturday. You’re not exactly killing it in the friendship department.”

  “I know. I feel awful. But I said no to Quinn,” I tell her. “And I wasn’t flirting with him. Katie’s my friend.”

  “A friend would tell her best friend that the guy she thinks she’s going out with is hitting on someone else. Especially when it’s that friend,” Nicole points out.

  “Okay, I messed up big time by not saying anything when it happened,” I admit. “But Katie was so excited about going with him. I didn’t want to rain on her parade.”

  “You’d rather let her go with some jerk who asks out her best friend behind her back?”

  “No, but—”

  “And why did he ask you anyway?” Nicole asks. “He already had a date. Katie. So he’s going to just out of the blue ask you?”

  “I don’t know!” I exclaim. “I’m as surprised and confused about it as you are.”

  “I don’t think you are,” Nicole says.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Nicole half turns to leave, like she can’t wait to get away from me.

  “I mean . . . you’ve been different lately, Rosie,” she says. “And not in a good way.”

  And she takes off down the hall without giving me a chance to defend myself.

  Not that I would have known what to say in my own defense.

  Being the Fairest in the Land sure isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

  I can’t sit with Katie and Nicole at lunch, since they aren’t talking to me. I could do with some Kookie Kindness right about now, but no one’s giving me any. So I buy myself a cookie and take it to the girls’ bathroom to eat.

  I can just imagine the CharmingLifestyles.com sidebar listicle about this:

  3 Reasons Why Bathroom Eating Is a Big No-No!

  1) Germs, Germs, Germs!!

  2) Bathrooms are for relieving yourself, not for nourishment. Multitasking has its place, and it’s not in the restroom!

  3) Eating is a social activity. What you do in the bathroom is private. TMI isn’t Charming, ladies!

  But right now my fear of germs is overcome by the need to be alone so I can think, and a bathroom stall is the only place where solitude is guaranteed.

  I put a book on my lap and spread a paper napkin over it like a tablecloth before unwrapping my cookie. I am my mother’s daughter after all, and I have to give my meal some semblance of Charmingness, despite eating in a bathroom.

  But even the cookie doesn’t make me feel better. Maybe it’s missing the kindness part. Or maybe my problems go beyond anything a cookie can solve.

  After I finish eating, I reach into my backpack and pull out the compact. It’s so ornate and bejeweled it seems even more wrong to open the Mirror in here than it did to eat. But I need answers.

  The Rosie reflected in the Mirror looks sad. Her eyes don’t have their usual light, and that’s not just because we’re in a bathroom stall under unflattering fluorescents.

  Mirror in my family for so long,

  What if maybe you are wrong?

  And this is all a big mistake

  That is just causing me heartache?

  My voice breaks on the last word, and a tear rolls down my cheek. The compact starts vibrating in my hand, so violently that I’m afraid I’m going to drop it and then I’ll have to worry about seven years of bad luck as well as all the disgusting germs on the bathroom floor.

  How dare you doubt me, Princess Rose!

  The future is what the Mirror knows.

  Go fix your face, you look a fright

  And remember—THE MIRROR IS ALWAYS RIGHT!

  The Mirror stills when it finishes speaking.

  Now it’s my fingers that are trembling as I close the compact and put it in my bag.

  I think the Mirror is lying. And I’m going to find out why.

  I can barely think about anything else for the rest of the school day. As soon as the final bell rings, I head for Central Park to seek out Harold the Huntsman. He still hasn’t given in to having a cell phone, but I have the emergency horn. I don’t know if this officially qualifies as a hornworthy emergency, but it sure feels like one. So I stand in the middle of the Great Lawn and sound the thing like Harold taught me all those years ago, feeling like a total dork when people stare. I wonder if I should just put down a hat and pretend I’m a busker. Then nobody would look twice, because this is New York City and anything goes.

  Less than five minutes after the final blast, Harold comes running down the path toward me, his eyes searching for the imminent threat.

  “Why are you standing in such an unprotected spot if you’re in danger?” he scolds. “You should be looking for cover. Come!”

  He shields me under his arm and hastens down the path toward the shelter of the trees, taking
such big strides I have to run to keep up.

  “Wait . . . Harold. It’s not that kind of danger,” I pant between breaths. “Let’s just . . . sit here a minute.” I point to the nearest park bench.

  Harold scopes out the area around the bench and looks up and down the path for anything or anyone he deems a threat to my safety. When he’s convinced that there’s nothing more dangerous than a squirrel nearby, he nods and we sit.

  I pull the jeweled compact out of my backpack and show it to him.

  “Have you ever seen this before?”

  His eyes widen at the sight of all the jewels, but he shakes his head.

  “I recognize the crest, of course—it’s the coat of arms of your mother’s royal line,” Harold says. Rolling up his coat, he points to his leather glove, and the same coat of arms is embossed there. “But I have never laid eyes on that. Where did you get it?”

  “My mother gave it to me,” I tell him. “It’s got this Mirror inside,” I say opening it up. “And it’s really weird because it talks to me.”

  Harold gasps. Actually, it’s more of a choke. It scares me because it sounds like he’s about to keel over.

  “Rosamunde! You must get rid of it right away.”

  I stare at him, shocked by his vehemence. His normally ruddy face is pale. He’s starting to freak me out.

  “Why? What is it?”

  He reaches out one of his large hands, pointing to the Mirror. The steadiest hand in the Wood Beyond the Seven Mountains is trembling like a leaf in an autumn breeze. “Close it.”

  I do as he asks.

  “Rosie, please. Get rid of that. Destroy it. It will bring you no happiness.”

  “But I can’t. My mother gave it to me.”

  His eyes widen, and his skin loses another shade of color. “Snow White gave this to you?”

  I nod slowly, in contrast to the rapid beating of my heart.

  “I don’t understand,” Harold says, rising to his feet and pacing away from me. I hear him muttering: “Why would she . . . What strange evil . . . I thought—”

  He spins and turns back to me.

  “Rosie, I do not understand your mother’s purpose. But if you never believe me on anything, trust me on this: Get rid of that mirror.” He shudders. “I cannot be in its presence any longer. I must go. Mark my words, Rosie. That Mirror is evil.”

  The gold compact is heavy in my hand, but my heart feels even heavier as I watch Harold walk away from me briskly, as if I’m contagious with a deadly plague. I tell myself it’s the Mirror he doesn’t like, not me, but after what happened in school today, I’m starting to wonder.

  I put the compact in my pocket, where it rests like a heavy weight, and walk across the park to West Seventy-Seventh, hoping that the uncles are home. There’s no answer when I ring the bell, and I’m starting back up the steps to walk to catch the crosstown bus back home when Uncle Shrimpy shouts “Rosie! What a fantastic surprise!” from street level.

  “I hope you still think so after I tell you what I came here for,” I say.

  Uncle Shrimpy smiles, taking out his keys and opening the front door. “I always love spending time with you, Rosie.”

  He’s so genuinely happy to see me that I burst out crying.

  Shrimpy puts his arm around my waist (which is a reach for him), brings me inside, and guides me to the sofa to sit.

  “Hey, honey . . . What’s all this about?” he says, climbing up on the seat next to me so he can reach my shoulder to pat it comfortingly. “Still having boy problems?”

  “I’m h-having e-everything p-problems,” I wail.

  Shrimpy passes his handkerchief, which he assures me is clean. Given the stories Mom’s told me about the uncles’ personal hygiene when she met them, I’m not sure I believe him, but I take it anyway, because tears are dripping off my nose and chin.

  “Everything problems are overwhelming,” Shrimpy says, his voice low and gentle. “I can understand why you’re crying.”

  He taps my knee with his finger.

  “I’m not sure I can help with Everything problems,” he sighs. “But how about you start by telling me about one problem? Sometimes I can figure out how to deal with things if I take it one step at a time.”

  A week ago I would have said my biggest problem was not having a date for the Fall Festive. But now that doesn’t even seem like such a big deal when I think about the fact that Katie thinks I would flirt with her boyfriend and Nicole says I’m different in a bad way. Or that I think—and Harold’s behavior seems to have confirmed—that there’s something sinister about the Mirror my mother gave me.

  The jeweled compact is still weighing down my pocket. I pull it out and hand it to Uncle Shrimpy.

  “I don’t know what to do about this,” I tell him. “Mom gave it to me, but Harold the Huntsman says I should get rid of it.”

  Shrimpy’s eyes light up at the sight of the gemstones inlaid in the gold. From under his shirt he draws out a jeweler’s loupe that he wears on a chain around his neck and starts examining the quality of the diamonds.

  “Near colorless and almost flawless—I’d bet you any money that these diamonds came from the Seven Mountains Mine!” he exclaims. “I haven’t seen stones of this quality since we came to New York City.”

  He looks at the rubies, sapphires, and emeralds too.

  “You say Snow White gave this to you?” he asks. “That makes sense. We gave her and Prince Charming a chest of precious gems from the mines as a wedding present. Be careful walking around the city with this. The gems alone are worth a fortune.”

  As if I didn’t have enough to worry about, now I can add Being Mugged to the list.

  “Open it,” I say.

  He opens the compact and sees the Mirror. His reaction is the same as Harold’s. He drops the compact into my lap like it singed his fingers.

  “Where did you get that?” he asks in a tremulous voice.

  “I told you. Mom gave it to me.”

  “Why?” he asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “She said . . . she said she’d been waiting for the right time and now seemed good. Or something like that.”

  “Never would be the right time,” Shrimpy says. “It is a source of great unhappiness.”

  He’s right. I mean, look what’s happened since it’s been in my possession. I might be the Fairest in the Land, but my best friends aren’t speaking to me.

  Still, when I hold it, the weight in my hand is strangely comforting, and I find myself reluctant to part with it.

  “But you just said the jewels alone are worth a fortune,” I argue.

  The compact vibrates in my hand like a purring cat, telling me we belong together.

  “What use is fairness and fortune if you are all alone?” Shrimpy says. “Look what happened to your stepgrandmother, the Queen.”

  How could I forget?

  You’ve probably seen the movie version of The Tale, which is “based on a true story,” but certain pertinent facts were changed so they could have a Hollywood ending, or in this case so they could get a G rating from the Motion Picture Association of America.

  See, the dwarves didn’t really chase Stepgrandma over a cliff. Dad’s parents invited her to Mom and Dad’s wedding, but Stepgrandma didn’t realize the bride was Mom. Before she went, she asked the Mirror the same old question: “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who in this realm is the fairest of all?”

  She wasn’t that worried about the answer, because she thought she’d killed Mom with the poisoned apple, and from what she’d heard from passing travelers, Mom was still firmly ensconced in the glass coffin in the middle of the woods, surrounded by sad little men.

  But then Dad came along and did his creepy kissy thing and lo and behold! True love! So my parents were having this big ole white wedding and before Stepgrandma left, she was primping before the Mirror and expecting the usual answer but instead she got:

  You, my queen, may have a beauty quite rare,

  But Snow
White is a thousand times more fair.

  So Stepgrandma had a conniption and almost didn’t go to the wedding, but curiosity doesn’t just kill cats, apparently. She went, and Dad’s parents had these special iron slippers waiting for her, because Mom and Dad had told them how she’d tried to kill Mom. As soon as she arrived, all dressed in her best party outfit and thinking she was at least the second Fairest in the Land if not the Fairest, they forced her to put on these iron shoes, and they were so hot (because they’d been heated over a fire) that Stepgrandma started dancing, because her feet hurt so much. And she danced and she danced while everyone else stood in a circle and clapped and cheered (because they didn’t realize she was wearing the iron slippers; they just thought she was this attractive woman with some really fly moves), and then all of a sudden she collapsed and died. Heart attack.

  Pretty harsh, right? I was seriously freaked out the first time I heard The Tale, but Mom said at least the shoes were made by Fanolo Branik, a distant ancestor of the famous shoe designer.

  “But Dad’s parents tortured Stepgrandma!” I exclaimed. “Even if it was with red-hot designer shoes!”

  “Can I remind you that Stepgrandma tried to kill me? Not just once but three times? What did you want us to do?” Mom asked.

  “I don’t know—couldn’t you just have put her in the dungeon for thirty to life?” I argued.

  Mom and Dad said I just didn’t understand. Things were different once upon a time.

  “I should probably head home,” I say, getting up to leave instead of giving Shrimpy an answer. Because I don’t have an answer for him. Even if he’s right, I’m not sure I can give up the Mirror.

  “Please, Rosie. Listen to your uncle Shrimpy, not the Mirror.”

  I know Uncle Shrimpy is much smarter than everyone gives him credit for, but the Mirror is vibrating in my pocket, as if to say Keep me. Keep me.

  So I just hug Shrimpy and say, “Thanks for listening.”

  Then I head out to catch the crosstown bus, with the Mirror still safely in my pocket.

  Chapter Eleven

  AT DINNER LAST NIGHT I thought about asking Mom what Harold the Huntsman and Uncle Shrimpy couldn’t understand—why she would give me the compact with the Mirror. From the way they’ve been freaking out, I’m getting a sneaking suspicion that it might be part of the Mirror—the one that belonged to Stepgrandma. There’s that constant urging that I should strive to be the Fairest in the Land, not to mention the Mirror’s insistence that I talk to it in rhyme. The clues are adding up.