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To Dad, I love you
To Santa, for always making Christmas morning magical
Still waiting on the puppy though
Garrick
The key to a successful break-in – own the place. I glance over my shoulder, and wink when I meet the wide-eyed stare of my date. Well, if we want to get technical, she was someone else’s date when the night started. What can I say? The lady has excellent taste.
‘I don’t know about this, Bill.’ She twists her phone in her hand, the light she’s providing me to ‘break’ the lock fluttering to the side.
When my buddy Tyrone Boakye and I decided to crash a Halloween party a couple of cities over, we needed adequate alter egos. In my defense, I did actually say my name was Garrick, but there was a huge crowd, and she misheard, so I went with it. I’m used to playing a character. Usually, it’s easier just to continue the charade in the off-hours.
‘Look at me. Do I look like the type of guy who’d get you into trouble?’ I flash my signature grin. The one splashed all over the poster of the theme park I am currently picking the lock of.
OK , truth? I don’t have the slightest clue how to pick a lock. But it’s not necessary when I have the key. Let’s be honest: if
she did happen to see me slip it from my jacket, she’d probably be relieved I wasn’t actually committing a crime. It’s the thrill that she’s after – we both are.
That’s the reason people love theme parks. Why Fairytale Gardens has been shuffling guests through these rusty turnstiles into a magical fantasy land for twenty-five years. All the thrills of danger, but none of the consequences that come with the real thing.
‘You look a lot like trouble.’ Her eyes sparkle, and I know I’m in. I push the side gate open with a dramatic swing. The scraping of metal on cement might scare off the average thief, but I’m not worried. ‘Milady.’
I touch the small of her back, leading her into Fairytale Gardens’ dark, frosty interior. The usually bright pink, blue and sandy-colored Arthurian-style architecture is merely shadows in the background of our evening. I almost prefer FTG (our nickname for the park) in the off-season. The dark rides glisten in the late-October frost. Wait, it’s past midnight now – guess it’s November.
The park will open next week for the first Christmas season ever. A few catering gigs and events won’t keep us afloat, so it’s time for some actual revenue. It’ll save us. At least that’s the spiel Dad and my brother Ivor gave.
Last summer, FTG had a bit of, well, let’s just say, negative press. Dad was accused of creating fake charities and taking donated money for himself – it blew up online. Imogen, my brother Tristian’s girlfriend, was responsible for the whole thing. Seeing the error of her ways, she helped us clear his name, but the damage was already done. People didn’t trust us.
We’ve spent the last five months building it back. We’ve just about gotten there, but we’re still only as steady as a newborn giraffe.
My throat tightens at the idea of the park going under. But I quickly shove that all aside.
‘What if we get caught?’ Jen wraps her arms around mine, leaning further into me.
Wait, was it Jen? Or Jem?
‘Maybe you’ll get to see my sword work.’ I might have forgotten to mention my family owns this park and that everyone is gone for the night. But again, it’s all a pretend thrill.
I flip a switch on the carousel – the poor old guy takes a few minutes to get going, but then he’s up and running. I shudder to think that one day I might say the same about myself. But I’m only seventeen, lots of years ahead of me. Course, I know from experience that all the years you think you’re entitled to aren’t always guaranteed.
I help Jen on to the wooden horse, stepping off to click ‘start’, when a voice pierces through the merry music.
‘Garrick, what are you doing?’ My twin brother, Tristian, being the absolute buzzkill that he is, walks toward us. Luckily, we’re fraternal, so the looks won’t be a dead giveaway we’re related. I got bright blonde hair from our mom, and he got light brown from our dad.
‘Bill?’ Jen – I’m going with Jen – calls from the ride.
I shake my head slowly at Tristian, sliding a hand across my throat in a slashing motion, telling him, without words, to kindly, screw off.
‘Really?’ He doesn’t understand or care that he’s blowing
my cover right now. ‘Do you know what time it is?’ He sounds so much like our older brother.
‘I don’t know, Ivor, what time is it?’ I push a hand through my hair, leaning against the railing. I shoot Jen a quick smile. ‘No worries. I’ll sort it out.’ I turn back to Tristian, lowering my voice. ‘Scram or I’ll tell Imogen you wet the bed until you were ten.’
He scoffs. ‘That was Aldrich.’
‘Who’s to say? Either way, I’ll tell her it was you. Now, go. I’m clearly busy.’
But it’s too late: Jen – dang, actually, I think it was Jem – is off her horse and twisting through the others back to us. ‘Do you know each other?’
‘No,’ I say, as Tristian says, ‘Yes.’
I suppress a growl. I cherish my little bro – by five minutes – love the guy. But right now, I wish he was anywhere but here. He’s killing my chance at a distraction for the night.
‘I’m Tristian, Garrick’s brother.’ He puts his hand out to shake hers, but she keeps them folded in front of her.
‘Garrick, is it?’ Her voice is edged with annoyance.
‘Middle name.’ I sigh, already giving up on this night ending with anything other than a bag of Halloween candy pilfered from my youngest brother, Aldrich. I have to get them while I still can – at fifteen, this is probably his last year going out trick-or-treating.
‘So, you like work here or something?’
‘Or something. Come on, Jen.’ I mumble the name, in case I’m wrong. ‘Does it really matter that I might have told a little white lie? It’s all for fun.’
My hopes rise momentarily when it looks like she’s about to change her mind, but then logic takes over, and I can’t blame her. I lied and brought her to a theme park in the middle of the night. Even with all my privilege of being a guy, I know that’s not a good look.
I scratch the nape of my neck. ‘I’ll take you back to the party.’ I push myself off the railing.
‘No, thanks. I drove. I’ll see myself out.’ She shoves between us and heads back the way we came.
‘Does that usually work?’ Tristian asks as I flip the ride to ‘start’. We both got revved up, so there’s no use in wasting the old boy’s time for nothing.
‘Quite often, actually.’ I jump on as it starts moving, sliding on to my favorite horse – the one with the blue sash and the black mane. The familiar shape of the worn-down seat feels like I’m where I’m supposed to be. I carved my initials into the underbelly when I was six. Every time it gets a paint touch-up, I have to go back and retag it.
‘Why are you here, T? I thought you and Imogen were going to a party. Or handing out candy? What do boring couples do these days?’ I make the joke with ease. They always come that way. But there’s an annoying little twinge in my chest this time. Tristian and Imogen have been dating since last summer – when she tried to destroy our theme park by accusing Dad of the previously mentioned charity fraud. They managed to sort out the drama. While I don’t subscribe to the love thing, they seem happy.
Tristian is on his horse a few feet away. ‘We did hand out candy, but all the kids are asleep by now.’
‘Not if they did trick-or-treating right. They should be on a straight sugar high.’
‘This little stunt doesn’t have anything to do with Dad rejecting your idea about the fencing camp, does it?’ Tristian’s voice is carried away on the wind.
Licking my lips, I shrug – a move I’m pretty sure I perfected in the womb. ‘It was just an idea. I come up with great ones all the time, so it’s no biggie.’ This is my second white lie of the night. The fencing camp was a brilliant idea, and it did sting when Dad turned it down. I wanted to use my skills to teach kids who needed a place to go when things got tough, somewhere they could escape their own brain for an hour or two. I floated the idea of having it at Knight School and offering it free of charge.
Dad said he didn’t have the money or time to fund a nonprofit of this scale at the moment. So, like not a ‘No, never going to happen’, but I’ve been around long enough to know that it might as well have been.
‘So, who was she?’ Tristian pesters after a few rounds of merry music.
As we spin, I can just make out the Christmas decorations we’ve been setting up around the park over the last few weeks. The colorful light bulbs are dark as the festive ribbon blows in the breeze, along with the bells and baubles lining the massive garland strands and oversized wreaths. ‘Jen?’
‘I thought last week it was Tamara?’
I grip the restraint wrapped around my hand. ‘That was last week.’
Tristian lets out a low whistle, and I roll my eyes before he even talks. I don’t know if it’s the twin thing giving me a
telepathic preview of what he’s about to say, or it’s just that he’s so freaking predictable.
‘At this rate, you’ll be alone forever.’
‘Nah, I’ll just pick a new dating app. They have a few for eighteen and under. I heard about one launching in the new year I can’t wait to try.’
‘I’m serious, G. Don’t you want to find love?’ He doesn’t sound judgy, but I grind my teeth all the same.
The carousel stops, and I leap off like it’s on fire. ‘Dude, you’re such an old man. We’re seventeen. Live a little.’
Tristian from last year never would’ve talked like this. But ever since Imogen, he’s all starry-eyed and love-drunk. And look, I’m happy for him. After Mom died two years ago, everything was crappy for a long time – some things still are, probably always will be. I doubt we’ll ever truly get over losing a parent, especially one as great as my mom. I was her little buddy. I used to stand by her in the kitchen and watch everything she did, absorbing it like a sponge. When I’m at the stove now, sometimes I swear I can still feel her beside me, guiding my hands.
So, it’s great to have the old Tristian back, but just because love and happily-ever-after are what he wants, it doesn’t mean the rest of us are on board.
‘You ready for next week?’ I ask him as I shut off the ride and we head home, pushing aside the heavier thoughts so they don’t drag me down.
‘Actually, yeah. I think it’ll be good for the park. Don’t you?’
A hand grips my gut, and I nod. ‘Freaking hope so.’ I need this place to get back on solid ground because it’s the only
plan I have. I’ve never been the guy to have grand visions for the future. Not like Tristian. He wants to see the world and make his own way. I live moment to moment, and I hope when I leap there’s something to catch me. FTG was always supposed to be here. I’m going to play a knight till I die, and I couldn’t be happier.
So, it can’t fail.
It doesn’t take long to get home since our house is on the edge of the property. Dad and Aldrich are already asleep. I snag a few pieces of chocolate from his Halloween candy stash. The kid tried to hide it, but I’m like a bloodhound – I always find it. I head upstairs and crash into bed, ignoring the pile of clothes on the beanbag chair I was supposed to put away and the mountain of homework I’ve been avoiding like the plague.
My bed is shoved against the wall, with a few posters from the park taped to the ceiling. They’re older ones I saved from the trash pile. I like the retro designs. Mom used to help make them: I don’t know if she did these exact ones, but I like to think so.
This was Ivor’s room, but I commandeered it as the new oldest when he got married and moved out. Sometimes, I find myself missing the sounds of Tristian in the bottom bunk. We’d shared a room forever. But, more or less, I’m used to my alone time now. This room does have a great view of the castle spires and doesn’t smell like Tristian’s farts. I was planning on moving into the FTG apartments when I graduated high school, but then freaking Dad dropped the bomb that they’re tearing them all down next year to build an addition to the
park. Apparently, we were wasting valuable real estate – Dad’s words.
It’s fine. I’ll pivot. I’m the guy who never lets anything bother him. Garrick, it’ll just roll off his back – no worries. And sure, usually that’s true. But when I lie here in the dark, just me with my thoughts as company, those worries aren’t so easy to let slide off. I need Fairytale Gardens. I don’t know who I’ll be if I’m not the dashing knight in this dusty old theme park.
Tristian is making college plans, and while campus life does have its appeal, the actual classes do not. Everything is changing, and I just want it to stay the same. Ever since Mom died, it’s been hard to keep my footing. Everywhere I step is a pile of quicksand. My body is constantly on high alert so I don’t fall through a trapdoor.
I just need to make sure this holiday season is freaking amazing. Then at least one thing can stay the same.
2
Ripley
I’m eating baby food for breakfast. Technically, it’s toddler food – little puff cereal balls in pastel colors because they’re made with natural ingredients. And also, it’s not really my breakfast. It’s my niece Molly’s, which she refuses to eat, so I’m trying to show her it’s not that bad.
Spoiler: it’s gag-worthy.
‘No.’ Molly crosses her arms in her chair. Her purple bow clings precariously to her brown curls as she shakes her head.
I glance down at my watch, nerves flaring when I see time slipping away. She’s supposed to be at preschool in ten minutes. I volunteered to drop her off before I head to school. ‘Molly –’ I lean down and whisper so my very pregnant sister, Anna, won’t hear – ‘if you eat this for me, we can get ice cream later. Deal?’
She breaks into a grin that makes her look so much like her mom. ‘Deal.’ She shoves a handful of cereal into her mouth. I remind her to chew before swallowing as I get up to help Anna, who’s spilled her purse contents all over the floor.
‘I got it.’ I squat, grabbing the runaway items. Anna’s house is cozy, with a rustic fireplace in the center of the living room,
accented by wood trim and paneling on most walls. It’s a few steps away from being a full-blown cabin. I’m not a nature person, but this kind I can get behind. It’s like being hugged by a tree.
Huffing, she pushes hair out of her face, the same ink-black color as mine. ‘Thanks, Ripley. Seriously.’ She leans against the couch, hands coming around her huge belly – something I would never voice out loud, obviously. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. With Mike traveling for work, I’m burning the candle at both ends.’
Mike. I curse silently, grinding my molars. Anna’s no-good husband is never around, even when he is home. If Anna hadn’t got pregnant with Molly, I wonder if they’d still be together. They never seemed like they were in love. Then again, most people who say they are usually aren’t. It’s best to avoid the whole thing, if you ask me.
‘Molly,’ I call, rechecking the clock. I loathe being late. Watching time get away from me is like a woodpecker tick, tick, ticking against my skull. ‘Time to scoot. Anna, maybe you need to use Mom’s app to find a husband who’ll be a real partner.’
Again, I don’t believe in that crap. True love, happily ever after, blah, blah, but Anna does, and so does our mom. That’s why Mom runs a dating app and has been married four times – the latest ending a year ago. I haven’t bothered to form a relationship with any of the husbands – my birth father included.
‘Juliet, stop.’ I know my sister is serious when she uses my first name. No one calls me Juliet except Mom and teachers on
the first day of school. I hate it. I refuse to share a name with a tragic chump from a centuries-old play who was so conned by love that it ended up killing several people. If that isn’t a life lesson that infatuation is dangerous, I don’t know what is.
‘Just a suggestion.’ I keep the rest of my opinion to myself. Secretly, I think Anna only stays with Mike because she doesn’t want to end up collecting as many divorces as Mom – got to love generational trauma. It’s like she’s trying to prove that the apple did fall very far from the tree.
I shoulder on my backpack, spine aching from the weight. I’m trying to graduate early, but so far, junior year has been the toughest yet.
My phone rings as I strap Molly into her car seat. ‘Ugh,’ I mutter.
‘Ugh!’ Molly copies me. I need to be careful what I say and do around her. She’s in the mimicking stage.
I bite my thumbnail – a nasty habit I can cope without most times. I debate not answering as Mom’s face stares up at me. But if I don’t, she’ll just call back and then call the police if I don’t pick up that time.
‘Hello?’ I put the phone on speaker as I slip into the driver’s seat. My car is relatively new, a gift from my father on my sixteenth. Probably hoping I’d forget that he wasn’t there most of my life. I didn’t forget, but I accepted the car all the same.
‘Juliet, dear.’ Mom’s voice fills the car and I’m immediately on edge because she’s using her extra-nice tone. ‘I need you to come by the office.’
I pull out of the driveway, Molly singing a song from her favorite cartoon at full volume.
‘Sorry, Mom, I can’t hear you. I’m taking Molly to school.’ I nestle my face into my knitted scarf. The air is crisp this morning, the windows dusted with a light frost. Orange leaves are scattered on the ground, the trees shuddering with their newly empty branches, all signs the winter season is nearly here.
Mom is unfazed by my attempted sidestep. ‘I need you to come by the office before school.’
I use my arm to brush hair off my face where it escaped my ponytail. ‘I don’t have time. I’ll be late.’
I love my mom, really, but she does not take no for an answer. It’s her way or the highway. Apparently, stubborn runs in our family because I’ve been told the same about myself.
I can hear her typing on her computer – ever the multitasker. I remember my ballet recital when I was seven, and I looked into the audience to see Mom on her phone instead of watching me. That’s one of those core memories I don’t think will ever go away, no matter how much therapy I have. At least now I understand that she works tirelessly to ensure that Anna and I are always provided for. It’s hard to be resentful when you think of it that way.
‘I’ll write you a note to skip first period.’
I hate to miss school, but I wouldn’t put it past her to show up and have me pulled from class. No, it’s better just to get it handled now.
I sigh, giving in.
The first thing I notice when I get to Mom’s office is everyone is on their phones.
‘Finally.’ A twenty-something guy I’ve never seen before rises from his desk when I approach. ‘Ms Ripley has been waiting for you.’ I don’t miss the undertones of annoyance.
‘Sorry.’ I offer the usual platitudes we have drilled into us as girls. ‘I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Ripley.’
He doesn’t look at me, just keeps typing on his phone. ‘I’m aware. I’m Brett, head intern. I’ll be interning for the duration of the show.’
Pressing my lips together, I hold in my retort. I’m pretty sure all the interns are on an equal level, but sure, Brett, you go ahead and think that. ‘Is there a problem?’ I ask, noticing the tension vibrating around the room.
‘Where to start?’ Brett rolls his shoulders. ‘First, there was the article about the top-performing dating apps and the ones that have fallen behind. Beeloved is at the bottom of the list. Couldn’t ask for worse timing.’
Mom started Beeloved fourteen years ago, after her divorce from my dad. I was a ‘let’s-save-our-marriage’ baby, which clearly didn’t work because I was three when they split. It was a bitter divorce. Beeloved had wild success in its first five years, but it’s taken a hit with all the new ones coming out.
I know Mom is proud of what she’s created here, but I can’t count how many times reporters have pointed to her divorces as the only reason she came up with the idea. Like without a man, she wouldn’t have been successful. I would hate for people to think that I only made something because
of someone else. That’s why I have decided love, and all its ick, has no place in my plans.
My stomach twists as I glance at Mom pacing in the glass-enclosed boardroom. I know she loves me and Anna, but Beeloved is her baby too. Honestly, I think she’s put more effort into raising it than she has us. Still, I don’t want it to fail. Good thing I was never the jealous type.
‘Then,’ Brett continues, stalking toward the boardroom, ‘our lead dropped out.’
‘Monique?’ My shoulders tense up as I analyze the situation. ‘Really? But she was so excited to be the star.’
‘Cold feet.’ I can tell Brett doesn’t actually know the reason Beeloved just lost the star of their upcoming reality dating show. But guys like him like everyone to think they’re in the loop. I make a mental note to ask Mom for all the details later.
The youth version of Beeloved is launching in the new year and to create buzz they’re airing a reality dating show based on its algorithm. It’s all Mom has been able to talk about. She came up with the idea after she and husband number four split. When she can’t find love for herself, she gets it for others. I use the word love generously. Everyone knows that’s not what these apps are for.
Every seat in the conference room is full, along with interns standing by the windows, tablets in hand. This production isn’t network TV big, but Mom and the team scored a significant investor, giving them a healthy budget to work with. The office has swelled with the addition of ten interns and the twenty
production team members they hired to work alongside the Beeloved crew for the filming.
Someone offers me their seat and I slide into a chair at the back of the boardroom while Mom stands at the front. She’s dressed in her usual business attire, a trouser suit in one of several varying colors. Today, it’s a deep red – war mode. Her outfits are like a mood ring for everyone to see. She has the same dark hair as me, but hers is cut into a short bob.
‘OK , everyone, I know we’ve had some hurdles to overcome this morning. But good news first: I’m happy to say we’re in the final stages of contract negotiations with Fairytale Gardens, just dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s. This location is really going to make our show stand out. How many dating shows have you seen set at a theme park?’
She pauses, then adds, ‘I know some of you voiced concerns about the negative press they received last summer, but I assure you, we did extensive market research and concluded that public opinion has shifted favorably.’
Everyone smiles and murmurs their agreement.
I frown in confusion, still unsure why I needed to be here. It certainly isn’t to give my praise for a theme park. I’ve never even set foot in the place. Which Mom might say is a lie, but technically, when she brought me there, I was a baby in a stroller, so my feet never touched the ground.
When she told me this was the venue they chose for the show, I was shocked. Sure, at one point in time this place held a spot in her heart. It’s where my parents had their first date. But that marriage ended terribly, so why would she want a daily reminder shoved in her face?
Once again, I do not get the psychosis love inflicts people with.
‘Now to the less great news,’ Mom continues. ‘I can confirm Monique will no longer be starring in the show. I know this is extremely last minute, leaving us little time to find a replacement.’ I watch the familiar lines of stress appear around Mom’s lips before they disappear. ‘But, as with love, sometimes serendipitous things happen.’ She glances at me with a smile.
I stiffen in my seat, fingers digging into my bag. I don’t like where this is going. If dating apps are fake, reality shows are on an entirely new level. Everybody knows those people just want to get famous. So, why am I here? She probably wants me to get kids from school to volunteer to be contestants.
I can’t think of anything more mortifying than asking my peers if they want to be on a reality show. I already get enough crap when they find out my mom owns Beeloved.
I shrink into my seat, hoping she’ll just forget about me. She’s done it plenty of times before.
‘Juliet . . .’ My mother smiles at me. ‘I want you to step in as our star.’
Ripley
Is she out of her mind? I grab my bag from my car when I arrive at school, nearly ripping off the strap when it gets caught on the doorframe.
Me, the lead of a reality dating show? Absolutely no way that’s happening. I would rather walk across a thousand Legos barefoot than be anywhere near those cameras. And when I explained that to Mom, she had the audacity to guilt-trip me with logic. Thus far, the investors have only agreed to fund the show. If it goes well, they will continue to invest in the app itself for further growth after the initial launch. Which means if the show never gets off the ground – or is an utter disaster – everything Beeloved and Mom have worked for will be at risk. Obviously, I don’t want Mom to lose her livelihood, but I also know that me as the star is not the solution she thinks it is. I’m just convenient because there are less hoops to jump through.
I’m fuming, cheeks flushed as I walk into school. I hate that my body always puts on display my inner turmoil. First period is nearly over, but I should be able to get in and see what I missed. I try to take a few calming breaths. I have an
app that’s supposed to help, but I refuse to pay the monthly fee any more. I’m so tired of living in a subscription world.
I place the backs of my hands on my cheeks. The cold feels good. My body takes a few minutes to react, but the heat on my cheeks isn’t cranberry red any more – just a soft cherub pink, or a mad Cupid.
Walking to class, I formulate an exit strategy for this whole reality show idea before Mom lets it get too far. She said they had a pool of candidates for me to choose from. They just need to narrow it down asap to prep for filming starting next month.
As my mind spirals, assessing all the ways this could go horribly wrong, I bite my thumbnail again. That’s the second time this morning Mom has pushed me to the edge. I try to rein it in before I lose it completely.
This is fine. I can fix this.
All I need to do is give Mom a better star than me. Shouldn’t be hard. I don’t exactly scream leading lady material. That’s why I can’t figure out why she picked me. Maybe she’s projecting her lack of love on her closest living relative.
Speaking of – my phone buzzes with a text from my dad. It’s a message to pass on to Mom. They’ve been doing this since forever. First, Anna was the translator, but now that she’s out of the house, it’s my job. The messages always have a bitter undertone. All these years later, they still haven’t let it go.
Is that all life is? A string of messy breakups that destroy you every time. Or worse, being stuck with someone you hate simply because you can’t afford to go it alone?
As I slip into my seat in class, next to my two best friends, I’m once again thankful that I’ve already decided to skip the whole love thing.
‘Oh no,’ Nathan says as he glances up from his computer. His red hair is messy on top, where he’s been fluffing it. It’s barely November, but he’s already counting down the days to Christmas. He’s wearing his favorite Santa earrings with the bright, glittery fake snow on Santa’s rosy cheeks.
‘What?’ I pull the neck of my camel knit sweater, worried I got Molly’s breakfast all over me. The rest of the class is busy listening to the lecture, but a few near us glance back. I scoot lower into my seat. I’m not a fan of attention unless I’ve initiated it. Again, another reason me and a camera won’t mix.
‘What?’ Melika, my other best friend, echoes. She’s got her tablet up, but instead of schoolwork she’s tracking her eBay bids. Melika’s family owns a wildly successful chain of authentic Hawaiian bakeries – they use recipes handed down from generations, but she’s not ready to join the family business. She wants to own a vintage store one day and is always hunting for unique pieces to sell via her online shop.
‘You’re in a state,’ Nathan answers for Melika, who’s furiously punching away at her screen as she does all she can not to get outbid.
‘I’m not.’ I don’t look at them as I yank out my tablet to copy the notes up front. Next to my tablet I’m surprised to see one of Molly’s favorite picture books. I pull it out, having no idea how she snuck it in there, and place it on the desk.
‘OK , we’ll circle back to your state in a moment, but first –’ Nathan grabs the book, flipping through it – ‘why do you have
a Fairytale Gardens storybook? Please tell me you’ve finally decided to give in and try a roller coaster.’ His eyes light up like Santa came early.
‘I have not.’ I take notes to distract from the dry mouth and heart palpitations. ‘Molly must have put it in there.’
‘You’re really missing out, Rip,’ Melika says, re-entering her chilled state now that she’s won her bid. She is usually the tame cat, but her lioness emerges when she’s determined.
I don’t do theme parks. Nathan and Melika go every year, but it’s just not my vibe. I hate all the noise and heights and the feeling of head-spinning nausea. ‘Yeah, I just don’t get the appeal.’ I’m feeling a little better, now that I’m back with them.
‘I’ll give you appeal.’ Nathan grabs his phone and shows me a picture. ‘This smoke show is one reason. Sir Kendrick, be still my heart.’ On screen is Nathan, next to a guy our age dressed like a knight.
‘Is that Garrick Walton?’ I zoom in on his face. His brightblonde hair shines in the sun; his sun-kissed skin and charming smile are almost as bright. There’s a look behind his eyes that tells me he knows he’s hot.
‘Yeah, you know his family owns the park, right?’ Melika says.
‘Of course I do.’ Everyone knows the Waltons. They’ve been wildly popular since we were kids. I’ve barely said a handful of words to Garrick. We don’t run in the same circles. I’ve had a few classes with his brother Tristian, but that’s about the extent of our interactions. Still, I have admired him in the hallways or across the cafeteria once or twice. He’s got a way about him – people flock in his direction.
As I finish taking notes, the brief distraction of Nathan and Melika wears off and I’m back to the reality show. Mom needs a lead that isn’t me. So, what if I found someone who is already good at performing and has ties to Fairytale Gardens?
I pull up Instagram and search Garrick Walton. Of course, he’s got a ton of followers and plenty of likes on his thirst traps. I might not know him, but this isn’t surprising, which is fine because that’s exactly the energy I need for my plan.
Garrick Walton has a built-in fan base from his Fairytale Gardens persona: an audience Mom could use to boost her show and app. Nathan was drooling over Garrick, which means getting a bunch of girls to fall in love with him shouldn’t be that hard.
Before I can overthink it, I send him a DM , which I never do. I’m not the shoot-your-shot type of girl, but I’m desperate. I could find him somewhere in school, but that feels too much. Plus, I don’t know where he is. I wait for the little message to say he’s seen my DM , but as class ends there is still no response.
OK , so Garrick Walton is officially ignoring me. Fine, maybe not ignoring me, but he hasn’t even looked at my DM and it’s been hours. My throat constricts as I reread the message at the dinner table for the hundredth time – the desperate tone so unlike me. Maybe I should have got the Beeloved account to send the message. It would’ve sounded more professional. I know he’s been on Insta. He’s posted a story of his food
and a reel of him in a Santa outfit – I’m not sure what that one was about. But what he hasn’t done is answer me. My foot taps loudly against the brick floor, the phone trembling under my iron grip.
‘Juliet, no phones at the table,’ Mom says as I look at her over my plate of take-out chicken parm. Tonight, it’s Italian. Last night, it was Korean. Tomorrow, it’ll be BBQ or sushi or anything from the plethora of takeout go-to’s we have. I don’t ever remember seeing Mom cook. Maybe if I dig back really, really far into my toddler memories, before my parents were divorced, I might scrounge one up. But I wouldn’t count on it.
I try to hold back my sarcasm as I point to her phone, which is also on the table. ‘Is this a “do as I say, not as I do” moment?’
Mom quirks her lip, almost like she wants to smile but doesn’t. ‘Yes.’
I sigh, putting my phone face down on the table, willing Garrick to respond while I wolf down my dinner.
The lighting in the dining room is moody. A large brass chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling casts a warm glow on the oversized, reclaimed-wood table. Despite the warm materials made to make this house, it’s always felt cold. It’s probably due to the sparse decor. Mom is a minimalist and doesn’t like clutter. That includes pictures of her family. There is only one, on the entryway table – a picture of me and Anna at her graduation from college.
‘Did you look at the email I sent with the contestant files?’ Mom asks.
‘No,’ I say with a mouthful of pasta, red sauce coating my chin.
‘Juliet, this type of eating will not do on the show.’ Her lips press into a thin line.
‘This is how I eat.’ I mean, it kinda is. I might be playing it up slightly for dramatics.
‘We need to get waivers signed, and the longer you wait, the tighter our deadlines get. Christmas is a busy time, and even though we are only pulling contestants from surrounding areas, it’s still difficult to have enough willing to be on our show for three weeks over the holidays.’
‘I’m sure the TikTok followers are a nice incentive to miss out on precious holiday memories.’ I push my plate away, appetite soured. That’s why I know we can find ten willing girls to be contestants in plenty of time.
Mom looks blankly at me.
I cross my arms, leaning back in my chair. ‘People go on those shows to get famous. Not to find love. Especially at our age.’
Mom shakes her head. ‘Don’t be such a Negative Nelly, Juliet. Everyone wants love.’
All opposed, please raise your hand. I raise my hand.
‘What are you doing?’ Mom asks.
Oops. ‘Stretching.’
‘Will you read the email tonight, please?’ She sips her wine.
‘I promise I will get your star ready.’ The almost lie tingles on my tongue.
She beams, and I leave off that it’s not me.
After dinner, I’m more determined than ever. I video call Nathan and Melika as I flop on to my bed. My stomach churns from worry and undigested chicken parm. My room
is the only place in the house with some personality. I have pictures of me and the people I love most in the world strung on fairy lights around the walls. I nestle into the fluffy teal blanket Anna gave me last year for my birthday.
‘OK , take me to this infamous theme park you two fools love so much,’ I say when their faces pop on screen.
‘Really?’ Nathan beams, like Christmas came early.
I told them about my mom’s show at school and my idea to get Garrick involved. They annoyingly said I should be the lead, but I shut that down. I don’t know what’s in the air, making anyone think I want to be the star.
‘Infamous is the right word,’ Melika adds. ‘We all heard about that charity scandal last summer.’
I might not care about Fairytale Gardens, but I literally could not escape the drama. It was all anyone talked about for like two weeks. All I thought was how bad I felt for the Waltons. Having your family drama spread across the internet for people to consume and comment on sounds like a nightmare. But they appear to have come out of it for the better, if what I’ve spied on social media today while waiting for Garrick to respond is any indication.
‘But that was resolved, right?’ Mom said they looked into it.
‘Yeah,’ Nathan says. ‘But still a big ’ole yikes.’
Digging my fingers into my blanket, I steady myself. ‘I don’t care about that. I just need Garrick to agree so that I can convince my mom that he’s a better choice than I am.’
All of that’s easier said than done.
Garrick
I need to get to Knight School, but I have a pit stop to make first. ‘You’re the best, dude – seriously.’ I slap Tyrone on the back as he hands me the package.
‘We can call it even, if you put in a good word with Layla for me.’ Even behind his dark sunglasses I know he’s sneaking a peek at the popcorn stand a few paces away from us in the Village Center. He’s been crushing on Layla, who runs the stand, since last summer and, despite my pestering, hasn’t plucked up the nerve to ask her out.
‘Consider it done.’ I rip open the bag and yank out the Christmas ornament I had custom-made.
I run my gloved fingers over the edge of the gold frame. Inside, sits a picture of my whole family from Christmas seven years ago, before Mom got sick. The familiar ache is there in my heart, but I still smile when I see us all together.
‘C’mon.’ I drag Tyrone from his gawking and toward the Christmas tree. ‘I need you to play lookout.’
This is opening weekend for the Christmas season, and it’s been hectic, to put it lightly. All of us Fairytalers – that’s what we call FTG staff – have been earning our wages today.
In the first hour, the Christmas tree lost three ornaments after a bird flew into it. They fell off the branches and nearly hit Aldrich in the head as he did his carriage ride. Then, when they turned on Ice Shards, we blew a fuse and lost power to the Royal Fare restaurant just as they were getting Santa’s meet-and-greet breakfast ready. I managed to cover and say the elves were doing repairs for the upcoming big night. Still, I thought Dad would pop a blood vessel by the look of his face, which turned brighter than Rudolph’s nose.
They outdid themselves with the decorations around the park. I don’t know where they found the massive tree to put in the center, but it’s absolutely incredible. I might try to convince Dad to let us open our presents under it on Christmas. It’s filled with a whole bunch of custom ornaments depicting different moments in FTG history.
But it needs one final touch.
There’s not a back side I can sneak to and tuck this picture in, but dressed in my oversized coat, no one knows who I am right now – so I won’t draw my usual crowd. Tyrone stands in front of me, and I duck under the branches and over the small barrier to keep out the guests. I nestle the ornament into a limb where it’s sure to stay put, no matter the weather. No one will be able to see it, but knowing Mom’s here makes me smile.
‘All right,’ I say when I climb out. ‘Places to be, damsels to save. Karaoke later?’ I shout as I’m running away.
He gives me a thumbs up.
‘You’re late,’ Ivor says when I skid into the backstage of Knight School. I hear the eagerly waiting kids just outside the curtain.
I fling my coat at his head. ‘Santa emergency.’ He grumbles as I slip my sword back into my sheath. ‘From now on,’ I say, trying to distract him, ‘I think I’m only gonna work in the winter. Not having sweaty leather stuck to my skin is much more pleasurable.’
The sun has melted most of the frost off the stage, but a glistening water shine is left. I’ll have to be quick on my feet, so I don’t faceplant.
I run a hand down the smooth leather of my jacket, tightening the straps around the sleeves. I sometimes wear the whole shining metal suit typical of knights – usually when I do meet-and-greets. But most of the time I wear leathers and linen undershirts. It’s much easier to perform my sword skills that way.
I didn’t think opening for the holiday season would be all that different. But as I move without the possibility of stripping off a few layers of skin from the leather adhesion, I got to say, this is much better.
‘You’re preaching to the choir, G.’ Ivor is my older brother by six years. Ever since he married James and had my nephew, Bradley, it’s been all about retirement funds and mortgage interest rates. But at least when we’re in the park he drops the adult worries and acts like one of the boys again. ‘Also, if this gets us the sales boost, I’m sure it’ll be a regular thing.’
Since graduating high school, Ivor has moved into a role with more responsibility. He runs Guest Relations and Experiences – while still playing a prince. So, it makes sense that he’s got more to worry about than if his sword is shined or his stage make-up is too cakey. I help around the kitchen,
but no one’s making me fill out budgetary reports or sales projections. Or whatever it is Ivor’s complaining about.
‘Kendrick, Kendrick,’ kids chant out front.
I cup a hand behind my ear, cracking my signature grin. ‘Hear that, Ivor? My adoring fans await.’
My whole family has FTG alter egos that correspond to characters in Carpathia. Carpathia is the fictional land Fairytale Gardens is based on. King Osgar (Dad) and Queen Isobel (Mom) ruled the kingdom of Carpathia peacefully. But one day, a terrible blight from the nearby lands attacked the kingdom. Lots of townsfolk died. Crops failed. All the horrible things you find in fairytale stories meant to set the scene for a heroic final act.
The king had three sons: Prince Thornton (Ivor), the oldest; the middle son and the bravest, Prince Winthrop (Tristian – not really sure how he landed the starring role when I was available, but I’m glad because my part is the best one); and Prince Eadwulf (Aldrich), the youngest.
The King sent Winthrop and Sir Kendrick the Kind (that’s me – guess I look more like a knight in shining armor than Prince Charming) to fight a devastating plague. The prince defeated the blight with the help of a fairy, Princess Arden (that’s the role Imogen slipped into last summer), from a neighboring forest. They fell in love, saved the day and everyone lived happily ever after.
I had that story memorized before I knew how to read. It’s part of my DNA now.
My body hums with the anticipation of going on stage. It’s only been a few months since the park closed after the
summer season, but I’ve missed being able to perform – being the center of attention is always a nice bonus.
‘Did Dad say you could play Santa?’ Ivor asks me as I grab a candy cane from the bag to hand to the kids after the class ends. It’s not really a ‘class’, but we let the kids swing wooden swords around and hit each other for twenty minutes while the parents take videos, and we attempt to teach them a few moves.
‘No one claimed the suit, so I figured I’d give Santa a youthful upgrade. I don’t think the guests will mind.’
I’m used to Sir Kendrick’s meet-and-greets. But dang, being Saint Nick is a whole different experience. I get the heart-eyed teens who want a knight to sweep them off their feet, but based on my first meet this morning, Santa gets all the dirt on who’s been naughty and nice.
‘Just don’t screw it up, OK ? You have to take it seriously. We need this.’
Ivor’s words touch a sensitive nerve deep under my skin. It’s not a secret in our family that I’m the screw-up. Screwup might not be the right word; I just don’t care. What’s the point, I say? It’s easier to skate by. Still, I nod. ‘You can count on me,’ I say as we slip into our alter egos.
As usual, I’m all in when I step out to meet the rambunctious kids. They make me forget about everything else for twenty minutes. This is the feeling I wanted to replicate with my fencing camp. Except there, I could actually teach them the real thing. Who knows, I might train the next Olympic gold medalist – or not, since it’s never going to happen.
The kids are supposed to be twelve and under, but today
there’s a white girl my age with dark hair and pink fluffy earmuffs. I’m surprised because there’s an age limit for participating. It’s a legal thing, so no one gets too injured. I know this from experience because Tristian and I have had more than enough scrapes and splinters.
‘Welcome, future knights,’ Ivor says to the waiting crowd. Crowd might be a generous term. There’s only a dozen and a half kids – plus the mystery girl. We split the group into pairs so they can spar. And, working my magic, I make sure the girl and I are left together.
‘Looks like you’re stuck with me.’ I flash my signature grin again. I’m not sure if it’s the knight’s smile or mine. By this point, we’ve blended into the same person. Even before I was allowed to play Kendrick in the park, I pretended to be him, waiting for the day I would get my chance. I guess I don’t really know who I am without it.
‘Just how I planned it.’ She smiles, but it’s forced, her shoulders tensed and cheeks flushed.
‘You wanted to spar with me?’ I hand her a wooden sword from the rack and take one for myself. ‘I do love a lady with initiative.’ I twist the hilt in my hand, my fidgeting put to good use.
All I receive in return for my witty quip is a roll of her deep-blue eyes. Those eyes, coupled with her raven-black hair, nudge at nostalgia in my brain – a memory that I can’t yet place. It’s not that I know her – trust me, I’d recall if I did – but she feels familiar somehow.
‘Did you want me to show you a few moves?’ I ask.
‘I’m a quick learner. I’m sure I can keep up.’ Her hair
is pulled into a no-nonsense bun, but a few strands have managed to escape and frame her face.
I’m working all my charmer moves, but she doesn’t budge. For a girl who sought me out, she doesn’t seem to be in the mood to flirt.
So, guess that means I need to try harder.
‘If you say so. En garde.’ I lunge toward her at half speed, and she hops to the left, her sword swinging up to catch the tip of mine. We do a little dance in a circle, each of us eyeing down our opponent. My lips curve when she glides toward me, feet nimble on the frozen ground.
A solid strike sounds when our swords collide. She’s not bad – clumsy with her hand movements, but she’s got the gist. I spin past her, our hands quickly grazing as we circle around in my favorite type of dance. Her cheeks are flushed even darker, and a tiny line between her brows appears as she huffs in frustration at being unable to catch me.
‘I can slow down, if you like. Walk you through the basics. This is a full-service class.’ I don’t fight my grin as I fling my sword from one hand to the other in a move I like to bust out to impress. But this girl isn’t batting an eye.
She wipes the back of her hand across her forehead, looking anywhere but at me. ‘A generous offer, but not needed,’ she says, clearly flustered. A chorus of screams echoes in the distance from the Triple Crown roller coaster.
I try a different move. ‘Do you have a name?’
‘Everyone has a name.’ She deflects my advance with the sword. To be fair, I’m not trying very hard. I’ve trained to be a fencer since I was three. Can’t bring out all those moves
here. But I’m giving her more of a show than the kids get. Something about her tells me she can handle it.
‘Want to share it with me?’ My blood pumps in my ears, and I doubt it’s the cardio. I’m working harder to crack her than I am at the sword work.
She bites her bottom lip, and my stomach gives a tug. She’s got a line of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her bun has fallen out into a loose ponytail that she flips to the side, still fighting that smile I know she wants to give me.
‘Ripley.’
‘Ripley.’ I repeat the name and like how it feels. ‘Do we go to school together?’ Now that I’ve gotten a moment to look at her, I’ve definitely seen her. I’m not sure how I haven’t talked to her sooner.
‘Yes. And I have a question for you.’
I lean in close, pushing my sword against hers. The wood bites into my skin, but I ignore it. ‘I’m all ears.’
She clears her throat. I conceal my smile because I have a feeling she wouldn’t like it.
‘First, do you have a girlfriend?’
I can’t stop my smile now or the chuckle that follows. ‘Talk about getting right to the point.’
Her flushed skin turns deep crimson as she quickly shakes her head, taking a moment to study the castle beside us before continuing. ‘I wasn’t asking for me. I just . . . I need to be sure you don’t before I ask my second question.’
‘Well, now you’ve got me intrigued,’ I say, twirling the wooden sword in my hand. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘All right, I was wondering . . .’ She looks around like she’s