Whatever After #4: Dream On Read online

  On the floor there are piles and piles of copper pots, different sized plates, drinking glasses, and cutlery. So. Many. Piles. It’s like we’re in a garage where people keep their extra stuff.

  It’s damp in here, like a bathroom after a shower. And it smells sweet and kind of floral. Like the time Jonah dropped Mom’s perfume bottle on the floor. Mom was not happy.

  “What fairy tale are we in?” Jonah asks me.

  Hmm. We’re in a tower … which fairy tale is in a tower? Oh! “I bet we’re in Rapunzel!”

  I spot Robin standing on the other side of the room. Her arms are by her side and she’s blinking, clearly confused.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her.

  “Abby? Am I dreaming?” she asks.

  “Not exactly,” I say.

  “Where are we?”

  “Um, it’s kind of a funny story.” I stall. I guess I have to explain.

  “I woke up and you weren’t in your bed,” I tell her. “We followed you to the basement and —”

  “I thought you were a zombie,” Jonah says, holding his arms out rigidly. “It was awesome.”

  Robin covers her face with her hands and groans. “I can’t believe I sleepwalked!”

  I was right! She was sleepwalking.

  “You sleepwalked all the way down two flights of stairs?” I cry. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Yes! I haven’t done it in years,” she explains. “My mom would never have let me sleep over if she thought I was still doing it … and I promised her that I told you and your mom just in case. This is so embarrassing.” She looks around. “But where are we? Is this a room in your house?”

  “No. See, when you went into our basement, you —”

  “I wonder where those stairs go,” Jonah remarks, cutting me off and running to the first step.

  “Wait, Jonah, hold on!” I call out. “We need a plan! We don’t want to scare Rapunzel!”

  “We don’t know for sure we’re in Rapunzel!” he says, already climbing. “Maybe it’s Jack and the Beanstalk!”

  My brother is obsessed.

  “No. I’m pretty sure it’s Rapunzel!” I call. But Robin is on Jonah’s heels, and they are already a few flights up. “Where are you going?” I yell.

  “To the top!” they both shout back. You’d think Robin and Jonah were the ones related.

  “I’m coming! Be careful!” I’ve just realized that the stairs have no railing. I follow my brother and Robin up anyway.

  So. Many. Stairs. They’re stone and partly worn away. I bet they’d hurt to fall on. Good thing Robin isn’t still sleepwalking.

  “Don’t say anything to Rapunzel until I get there!” I call up to Jonah. I steady myself against the wall.

  “Who’s Rapunzel again?” Jonah asks.

  “The one with the long hair. She hangs it out the side window and the prince climbs it like a ladder!” My nana used to read the fairy tales to both Jonah and me when we were younger. I paid attention 95 percent of the time. My brother paid attention 5 percent of the time.

  “I don’t understand,” Robin says. “What does this have to do with Rapunzel?”

  “That’s what I was trying to explain,” I huff as I continue to climb. “You see, we have this mirror in our basement, and this fairy, Maryrose, she kind of —”

  “Someone named Maryrose lives in your basement?” Robin asks.

  “Well, sort of.” Huff, huff. I can’t talk and climb at the same time. “I’ll explain when we get there,” I say, even though I am not entirely sure where there is.

  It’s getting hot. This place could really use an air conditioner.

  “ ’Kay!” Robin calls. “I’m almost at the top!”

  “Be careful!” I warn. I’ve been through the mirror three times already, so I know the drill. But Robin is a novice.

  “Hello,” I hear Robin say in a friendly voice as she reaches the last stair and disappears from view.

  Where did she go? Who is she talking to?

  “Who is she saying hello to?” I ask Jonah, since he’s closer to the threshold than I am. “Who’s there?”

  “I don’t know yet,” he replies, and then he disappears from view, too. “What’s that?” I hear him ask.

  What’s what? Argh! I need to know what’s going on. I push myself up the last few stairs until I’m finally — huff, huff — at the top.

  I step into a bright attic. There’s a small cot covered in a lumpy blanket near the wall. It actually looks more like a burlap sack than a blanket—I feel bad for whoever has to sleep there. Above me, there’s a large skylight in the low ceiling, and the sun is pouring in. In the back of the room a woman is sitting on a bench in front of some sort of contraption. It looks a little like a violin. It has a bunch of strings. And a wheel.

  The woman is wearing black pants and a loose black blouse. She looks about Mom’s age — no, older than Mom. But younger than Nana. Her hair is a mix of blond and gray and is cut short. She is definitely not Rapunzel. She’s smiling, but her eyes look flat and dull.

  I join Robin and Jonah in the center of the room.

  “Which one of you is the princess?” the woman asks. Her fake smile broadens. It looks less natural the wider it gets, like when the wolf smiles in Little Red Riding Hood.

  We’re not in Little Red Riding Hood, are we?

  No. I don’t see any fangs. Or fur.

  “Neither of us is a princess.” I’m careful to keep my tone even. I wish I knew whether this woman was a nice character or a villain. My mind races. I guess I could just ask her. “What’s your name?”

  The woman glares at us. “What’s your name?” she barks back.

  Her very bad manners point to villain. I put my arm around Jonah.

  “I’m Robin, and this is Abby and Jonah,” Robin says, her voice bouncy. She’s still excited about being in a strange tower, I guess.

  The woman looks back and forth between us, clearly confused about what to do. Her confusion makes me relax a little, because villains usually have a clear idea of their own sinister plans.

  “I’m … Lottie,” she finally says.

  I think back to all the fairy tales my nana used to read me. I don’t remember any Lottie. But sometimes the characters’ names are different in real life — make that mirror life — than they are in the original stories.

  Robin points to the violin-like contraption. “What is that?”

  Is it a harp? A cello? A wheelbarrow?

  Why is it glowing?

  All those threads … Is it making a scarf? Is it a sewing machine? What’s that pointy part that looks like a needle?

  Sewing … needles …

  “Oh! Oh! Oh!” I shriek. “We’re in Sleeping Beauty!”

  Yes! The contraption is one of those old-fashioned spinning wheels! It makes yarn or threads or something like that. This is definitely Sleeping Beauty’s fairy tale. Hurray! I love that story.

  Robin is walking toward the sewing contraption.

  “Robin,” I say.

  She keeps walking. She does not notice my warning tone.

  “Robin, stop!” I yell.

  She spins around and bumps the back of her arm into the pointy part. It pricks her right in the elbow.

  She grimaces.

  I cringe. “Are you okay?” I have a bad feeling about this.

  “That stung,” Robin says. She yawns. “I think it’s bleeding. What time is it? It’s so bright in here. Why am I so tired?”

  Oh, no.

  If she’s tired that could mean …

  Robin spots the cot and stumbles toward it. She kind of trips over the edge and flops onto her back. “I’m going to take a nap,” she mumbles, her eyes already half shut.

  Within a second her eyes are closed completely and she’s breathing heavily. She’s fast asleep.

  In the story of Sleeping Beauty, the princess pricks her finger and falls asleep for a hundred years.

  Now Robin pricked her elbow and fell asleep on a lumpy burlap s
ack.

  Oh my goodness. My heart pounds against my chest. This is bad. Really bad.

  Ladies and gentlemen, I am pretty sure Robin just pricked herself right into a sleeping spell.

  I squeeze Robin’s hands again and again. “Robin, wake up! You have to wake up!” I whimper.

  Her eyelids don’t even flicker. Robin is out cold.

  Lottie frowns. “Her fault. She should have been more careful.”

  I can’t help but agree.

  “What’s going on?” Jonah asks, chewing his bottom lip. “Why is she asleep? Where are we?”

  I keep hand-squeezing as I answer. “We’re in the story of Sleeping Beauty. And Robin pricked herself on the pointy part of the sewing contraption! And she’s, obviously, sound asleep.”

  “Does that mean we messed up the story?” Jonah asks.

  “I don’t know,” I snap. Just because Jonah didn’t pay attention to our nana’s stories doesn’t mean I should have to explain everything to him all the time. “Let’s try and wake her up. ROBIN, WAKE UP!” I yell again, an inch from her face.

  “You two better be quiet,” Lottie snaps. “The princess is about to come in here and she needs to prick her finger.”

  I ball my hands into fists. “We need to help our friend! Do you know how to wake her up?”

  “She’s not my problem,” Lottie retorts. “And you need to get out of the way.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” I insist, putting my fists on my hips. No way am I leaving Robin.

  “Then you better hide so the princess doesn’t see you. And be quiet!”

  I grab Jonah by the hand and we crouch between the curved wall and the bed.

  “Who’s Lottie?” he asks.

  Who is Lottie? “If we’re in Sleeping Beauty and Lottie is a villain, then she is probably … the evil fairy?!” I squeeze my brother’s hand. This could be dangerous.

  “What makes the evil fairy evil?” my brother asks. “Can you tell me the whole story, please?”`

  I sigh. “Okay. A king and queen were having trouble having a baby. But eventually a princess was born. They invited twelve fairies to a party to celebrate her birth. All the fairies in the kingdom except for one.”

  He shakes his head solemnly. “That wasn’t very nice.”

  “It certainly wasn’t,” Lottie pipes in. “In fact, it’s extremely rude. And hurtful.”

  Jonah nods in agreement. “At school you can’t just leave one kid off your birthday list. You have to invite the whole class.”

  Lottie squares her shoulders. “That is a very good rule.”

  “They didn’t invite her because they had only twelve sets of gold plates instead of thirteen,” I say. “I don’t know why they couldn’t just use paper plates. But anyway, each fairy gave the princess a magical gift.”

  Jonah’s eyes widen. “Like what? Real crocodiles that know karate?”

  I snort. “No. Useful things like courage and kindness. Intelligence and beauty. The ability to play the piano.”

  “I can already play the piano,” Jonah remarks.

  “‘Chopsticks’ does not count,” I counter.

  He juts out his chin. “Does so.”

  “Enough,” Lottie says. “You guys are way too loud.”

  I tell the rest of the story in whispers close to Jonah’s ear so Lottie can’t hear.

  “The eleventh fairy had just given her gift when the thirteenth fairy — Lottie, I guess — stormed into the party all mad at being overlooked. She said she had a gift for the princess: When the princess turned fifteen, she’d prick her finger on a spindle … and die.” I pause, realizing something. “Oh. Right. That’s what the pointy part is called. The spindle.”

  “That’s the worst birthday present ever,” Jonah whispers. His breath smells like marshmallows. Did he not brush his teeth after the s’mores? Apparently my brother needs a lesson on proper dental hygiene. Where was I? Oh, right.

  “Luckily, the twelfth fairy hadn’t had her turn yet. She said she couldn’t undo the older fairy’s spell — the thirteenth fairy was really old and powerful — but she could soften it. She said that instead of dying when she pricked herself, the princess would fall into a deep sleep. After a hundred years, a prince would wake her up. The king and queen still didn’t want that to happen, though. So they banned all spindles from the kingdom.”

  “Not all of them.” Jonah motions to the one in front of us.

  “Good point,” I whisper back. Then I try to stretch my legs. My feet are tingling. “Seems like this one slipped through their fingers. Anyway. One day when Sleeping Beauty was fifteen, she was exploring the palace. She went into a tower and saw the spindle. She pricked her finger by accident and fell into a deep sleep, and everyone in the castle fell asleep, too. No one took care of the palace and it became overgrown with vines and leaves. A hundred years later a prince cut through them all and found Sleeping Beauty. He kissed her and woke her up. Everyone else in the family woke up, too. And they lived —”

  “Happily ever after,” Jonah said. “I figured. So what do you think is going to happen next? Is Sleeping Beauty going to show up now and accidentally prick her finger and then fall asleep next to Robin? The bed is pretty small.”

  “I guess so.”

  Clomp, clomp, clomp.

  Lottie perks up.

  “Someone’s coming up the stairs!” Jonah exclaims.

  “SHHHH!” Lottie hisses in our direction.

  “So what do we do?” Jonah asks. “Do we let her prick her finger like she’s supposed to?”

  “I guess so,” I say. “She gets a happy ending. Might as well leave it as it is.”

  Clomp, clomp, clomp!

  Jonah and I both duck.

  The door is thrown open and a teenage girl bursts into the room. She has straight blond hair, pale skin, pink cheeks, and big blue eyes. She’s tall but delicate looking. She looks a lot like the Sleeping Beauty on my jewelry box, except here she’s awake. She’s wearing a red dress cinched at the waist with a sparkly gold sash. She’s also wearing a gold crown. She has a determined look on her face.

  “Hello!” Lottie says to the princess super-casually. Her pretend smile returns, looking just as fake as it did before. “You must be the princess. Come on in.”

  Any second now, the princess is going to approach the spindle and accidentally prick her finger. Then the story can go on the way it’s supposed to. We’ll just have to figure out how to wake up Robin.

  The princess opens her mouth to speak.

  I expect her to say something like “Oh! What could that be?” or “I’ve never seen that before. Maybe I should touch it!”

  But instead she says, “Finally! A spindle!”

  “Huh?” Lottie mutters.

  I am thinking the same thing.

  Sleeping Beauty ignores Lottie. She rushes right to the sewing contraption and stops short an inch away.

  “Future life, future prince, here I come,” she says dreamily, reaching her hand out toward the spindle.

  What does she mean? She wants to touch the spindle on purpose? She wants to prick her finger?

  “Ouch!” she cries as the needle pierces her skin. A speck of blood pops up on her finger.

  Here we go! I stay in my hiding spot and wait for her to swoon into a deep sleep. Then we can get back to the task at hand: waking Robin.

  I continue waiting.

  And wait some more.

  Sleeping Beauty just stands there.

  She is not falling asleep. She is not even yawning.

  Uh-oh.

  I know what this means.

  We messed up another fairy tale.

  You’re supposed to fall asleep!” Lottie shouts at the princess. She jumps off her bench and stomps her foot against the hard floor, looking very annoyed.

  Jonah and I exchange a glance. I don’t know what to do. Should I speak up or stay hidden behind the bed?

  “I don’t understand, either,” Sleeping Beauty says, rubbing her foreh
ead. “Since the day I turned fifteen I’ve been searching everywhere for a spindle. Everywhere. Behind chairs. In closets. Under stairs. Now I finally find one, I prick my finger on it, and I don’t fall asleep? How is that possible? I’m supposed to fall asleep for a hundred years and be woken up by my prince in the future!” She shoves her finger back at the spindle and pricks herself again. “Why. Isn’t. This. Working?!”

  I thought she was the clueless princess who wandered into the attic and touched the spindle by accident!

  “Um. Hi,” I finally say, rising from my hiding place. “Don’t be alarmed. We’re just two kids who happen to be in our pajamas. We’re confused about what’s happening here. You know about the curse?”

  “Of course I know about the curse!” she hollers. She’s clearly too upset to be curious about who we are. “My parents are obsessed with the curse! They’ve been warning me about spindles for years. Don’t go near them; don’t touch them; be careful, if you prick your finger you’re going to fall asleep for a hundred years, blah, blah, blah. They won’t stop talking about the dangers of spindles.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “Then why did you touch one?”

  The princess’s face turns even pinker. “Because it’s my destiny! Because living a hundred years from now will be amazing. I bet in a hundred years you won’t have to climb a thousand stairs to get to an attic. You’ll just get inside a small box, press a button, and be pulled to the top!”

  “You mean an elevator,” Jonah says, standing up, too.

  The princess frowns. “I don’t know what that is. And I don’t understand who you two are. Or you,” she says, motioning with her pricked finger to Lottie. “But I do know that a prince is supposed to wake me. And that would just be the beginning. My life was going to be perfect.” She closes her eyes and wears a pained expression.

  “What could be wrong with your life now?” I wonder aloud. “You’re a princess!”

  “A cursed princess,” Jonah adds.

  “Still,” I say. “There are way worse curses.” Then I glance back at Sleeping Beauty. “But you are right. Your prince was going to wake you, and you were going to get married and live happily ever after.”

  She frowns at me. “How do you know?” she asks. “Are you from the future?”