How Zoe Made Her Dreams (Mostly) Come Tr - By Sarah Strohmeyer Page 0,48

normal. “I have no idea.”

We got halfway down the hall, and RJ got even bolder, circling his arm around Jess and pulling her into him. “Adele’s not going to do anything. By now she’s probably halfway back to Wisconsin, and after a couple of days at home you’ll be the furthest thing from her mind.”

The first buzzer sounded, our cue to find our places. Valerie, the gorgeous Sleeping Beauty, floated up the hall in her pink gown, Dash beside her. He took one look at me in my cape and made a face. “Now you’re Red Riding Hood?”

“Next I’ll be Prince Charming,” I said. “So watch out.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing,” he said. “Watching out for you.”

I took that to mean he had my back.

Valerie cleared her throat, none too happy with this little exchange of pleasantries. “And who is this?” she asked, nodding to Jess.

“Um, that’s Jessica Swynkowski.” What, have you been living in a bubble? “She’s Adele’s permanent replacement.”

Jess gave Valerie a confident two thumbs-up, and I took some comfort in knowing that my cousin, though naturally shy, was secretly as tough as nails. She wouldn’t fall for the other princesses’ tricks, as I had. Jess had this Cinderella thing down, and when Ian took his place next to her, the audience obviously agreed, applauding magnificently after their debut performance.

Everybody was getting what they wanted, even Ian, who I had to begrudgingly admit was a much more capable Prince Charming than Marcus, even if he had lied to get the job. The way Ian boldly galloped to the stage and elegantly dismounted was almost thrilling, a far cry from Marcus’s plodding entrance, clutching the reins with white knuckles, sweat pouring down his face.

Finally, I thought, I’d achieved what I set out to do the first day at Fairyland—make Jess a princess. And now she was a mere bleached-blond Cinderella hair away from winning the twenty-five-thousand-dollar grant that could change her life. All I had to do was keep serving the Queen with my usual diligence—while ensuring that she continued to think of Jess and me as completely upstanding, loyal Fairyland interns—and the grant would be in the bag.

The only obstacle standing in our way of guaranteed success was Jake the Hansel’s letter. Adele still had it—she’d made that clear in her farewell note to the Queen. The question was: Would she send it, or was RJ right when he claimed that once she got back to Wisconsin, all grudges would be forgotten?

Let’s just say I had my concerns.

“Don’t get near him, Red! It’s a trick!”

Viviana, an adorable six-year-old girl all in pink with plastic beads in her pigtails, clutched my cape and held me back as the Wolf beckoned with his paw.

“Come closer, my dear, the better to see you.” Karl could really lay it on thick, rubbing his paws maliciously as he approached in matronly white pumps. (Very few guys could pull off a wolf costume and a J. C. Penney wardrobe with as much élan as Karl did.)

The gathering crowd of children was riveted. They covered their tiny mouths in anticipation. They gripped their mothers’ hands when Viviana and I backed ourselves into a corner between the faux medieval clock tower and the faux medieval cobbler’s shop on the faux medieval cobblestones.

“My, Grandma, wha, wha, what a big nose you have,” I stuttered.

“The better to smell you with, my dear.” Karl was twelve terrifying inches away.

Viviana screamed. I screamed. Karl covered his ears, and I took advantage of his auditory agony to tiptoe away with Viviana just as Ian arrived on his horse to save the day.

He reined to a stop and smiled with beneficent interest. “Is there a problem, good maidens?”

Viviana furiously waved toward Karl. “That wolf is trying to eat Red Riding Hood.”

Karl hooked his blue plastic purse in the crook of his arm, straightened his flannel nightgown, and stuck out a hip.

Ian squinted. “You mean that kindly old grandmother?”

“He’s not a grandmother!” the children protested. “He’s a wolf!”

“Let me see about this alleged wolf,” Ian said, sliding off his saddle and adjusting his white jacket.

“Oh, no, Your Highness, I was just saying hello to my granddaughter.” Karl’s falsetto voice was delightfully absurd. “I’m not a wolf. Not me. Oh, no.”

“Yes, he is!” the children cried.

Karl and Ian faced off with each other while I had second thoughts. If Ian had to save us, what kind of message were we sending to little girls like Viviana? Weren’t Viviana and I perfectly competent to save