Between the lines

would have died without Orville’s intervention. The wizard couldn’t reverse the curse, yet he managed a transfiguration: Frump would live, but in the body of a different creature. In this way, he’d be safe from Rapscullio’s wrath.

This, anyway, is what the text says during the course of our story. But I have known Frump only as a dog, because that’s what he is when the fairy tale begins. He’s a boy only in flashbacks, and flashback characters don’t exist the way the rest of us do, flesh and blood even when we’re offstage. It’s why I’ve never met King Maurice; it’s why Frump is a hound… with the heart and mind of a young man.

One who is utterly, incomprehensibly, madly in love with Seraphima. Who wouldn’t give him the time of day, even if he didn’t have fleas.

“Aw, Frump.” I scratch behind his ears. “You don’t need me to get a girl interested in you.”

“Oh yeah? Then how come she lit up like a firecracker as soon as I mentioned your name?”

I wince, thinking of Seraphima. “Doesn’t it bother you to know she can’t tell the difference between when the book is closed and when it’s open?”

“Not really. I keep telling myself that’s why she isn’t interested in me. To her, I’m just a dog.”

I suppose it could be argued that Delilah doesn’t have the best track record either, when it comes to telling reality from fiction. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“How do you know she’s the one for you?”

Frump wags his tail. “Well, she’s got that beautiful, shiny blond coat… er… I mean, hair… and there’s that little space between her front teeth… and did you ever notice how, when she’s nervous, she sings? Off-key?”

“You like that?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Frump says. “I think her flaws make me love her even more. She’s not perfect, but she’s perfect to me.”

I think about Delilah-how she snorts when she laughs, how she bites her nails when she’s thinking hard about something. How she doesn’t seem to know the simplest things-like that if one has an ache of the head, a leech-not some small round white candy-will do the trick. How she makes wishes on eyelashes and stars or when her clock reads 11:11. “Yes,” I say softly. “I understand.”

Frump lets out a painful yowl. “You love her too?”

“Seraphima? No. A million times no.”

He gives me a look that betrays just the slightest doubt.

Even if I didn’t want to kiss Seraphima, the book would pull me into the embrace. And she’s pretty enough. So kissing her isn’t really a hardship, and if I have to do it, I might as well pretend I am having fun.

Still, my intimate moments with Seraphima always leave me feeling guilty. Not just because of Frump, but because I know she is putting all her passion into that kiss since she thinks it’s real, when for me, it’s a day’s work… with some pleasant benefits.

“Then you’ve got to help me, Oliver,” Frump begs. “How do I get her to notice me?”

For a moment, I let myself consider this. Delilah saw me all on her own, and I doubt that even if Frump mowed the word HELP into this field, it would do anything but annoy the unicorns. “What about a gift?” I suggest.

“I gave her a bone-the best one I’ve ever buried. She threw it away!”

“What did you do?” I ask.

Frump shrugs. “I fetched.”

I start pacing. “The problem is that Seraphima always sees me as the conquering hero, when she needs to look at you that way. Which means, my friend, that you need a damsel in distress.” Several unicorns whinny as I pass by too closely. “That’s it.” I snap my fingers. “I’m going to die.”

“What?”

“Not for real. Just pretend. Then you can rescue me in front of Seraphima.”

“Ollie, no offense, but you make a really ugly princess. And I’m not going to kiss you to wake you up from your fake sleep, no matter what.”

“You don’t have to, Frump. We’re going to pretend I’ve been gored by a unicorn. All you have to do is stop the fake bleeding.” I bend down in front of a sugarberry bush and grab a handful of the fruit.

Frump looks anxiously off in the distance. “Could you maybe pick berries afterward? She’s going to be here any minute.”

“I’m not going to eat them,” I mutter, mashing the berries between my hands. They are a red, runny mess. Opening my tunic so that my white shirt shows through, I smear the berry juice into the fabric. A red stain bleeds from the center of my chest.

“There’s just one problem,” Frump says. “No one’s ever been gored by a unicorn. They’re the sweetest creatures in the book.”

“Well… maybe I made one really angry,” I suggest. I lie down with my head against a boulder and cover my fake wound with my hand.

Frump is turning in nervous circles. “It’s not going to work, Oliver. She’s going to figure it out. I can’t act…”

“Are you kidding me? You act like a dog every day. Surely this has to be easier.”

Suddenly we hear a high, off-key tune floating over the meadow. The unicorns bleat and scatter. “Oh, Oliver…” Seraphima trills. “Are we playing hide-and-seek, my darling?”

“Oh, that’s good, that’s really good,” Frump whispers, glancing at my face. “You look really sick.”

“Focus,” I hiss. “Fr… ump…” I gasp. “Help me…”

Seraphima races across the field, but when she sees me fallen and bloody, she shrieks. “Oliver!”

Frump leaps onto my chest. “Hang in there, my friend,” he says. He turns to Seraphima. “One of the unicorns went berserk. Oliver’s lost a great deal of blood.” Frump presses his paw down in the center of the wound. “Take off my collar,” he orders.

“I beg your pardon!”

“For a tourniquet,” Frump says.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Seraphima stare at Frump in a way I’ve never seen her look at him. But it’s not adoration I’m seeing.

It’s competition.

She lifts him up with two hands and hurls him off my body. “Out of my way, puppy,” she grunts, and she kneels in front of me. “Don’t go with the angels, Oliver!” she cries. “Stay with me!”

With that, she leans down and seals her lips over mine in a massive huff that is supposed to be artificial respiration but feels more like a sloppy, wet kiss. Sputtering, I sit up and push her off me.

“I did it! I saved you!” Seraphima cries, pulling me into her arms. “Oh, Oliver. I don’t know if this is life imitating art or art imitating life… I’m just so glad to know that you and I will have our chance to live happily ever after!”

I groan. “Where’s the unicorn…”

“Far, far away, my love. Why?”

“I was hoping it could run me through again.”

Frump shuffles closer, his tail between his legs. Sorry, I silently mouth.

Seraphima plops herself down on the ground beside me and starts tearing the bottom of her skirt to make bandages. “We need to get you to Orville for a poultice…”

The last thing I want is for Seraphima to stay here playing nursemaid-or worse, to treat me for an injury I’ve never had. Thinking quickly, I frown and whip my head to the left. “Did you hear that?”

Frump barks.

“Right, old buddy. It did sound a lot like Rapscullio…” I know that will put Seraphima into a panic. For someone who can’t tell the difference between real life and the story, Rapscullio is a constant threat.

“Rapscullio!” Seraphima gasps. “What if he finds me?”