Between the lines

places with you in a heartbeat.”

But if I have learned anything, it’s that saying goodbye to the people you love isn’t easy. And when I wrote Delilah into the book, she was desperate to come home to her mother. I haven’t had one myself, but if I did, I can’t imagine leaving her behind forever. “What about your mom?” I ask him.

“She created everyone in there. She’d be all around me. Besides, she always wanted a son like you. And after all, if I can hear you in there, you’ll most likely be able to hear me. If I want out, I’ll find a way to let you know.” He shrugs. “What have you got to lose, Oliver? For once, you get the right girl, and for once, I get to be a hero.”

He lifts a stack of papers I haven’t noticed before. Only now do I see how red his eyes are, how tired Edgar seems to be. Whatever he’s been doing, he’s been up all night. “I’m not much of a writer,” he says, “but this is a story I could live with.”

I wish I could shake his hand. I wish I could thank him properly. This may not work, but it’s certainly worth a try. Lifting my face, I nod at Edgar. “Well then,” I say. “Let’s hear it.”

Delilah

WHEN I WAKE UP, I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE I AM.

The sheets aren’t the ones on my bed at home; the walls of this room are painted a different color. I can’t hear my mother singing off-key as she fries bacon downstairs in the kitchen.

Then it all comes rushing back to me.

Running away from home.

Being grounded till I die.

Jessamyn Jacobs.

Edgar.

The revised story.

Failure feels like a punch. All I have to look forward to today is four hours of What the heck were you thinking? from my mother during a long, painful car ride back home, and the knowledge that I finally found someone who understands who I am and likes me for it-only to realize that he’s a figment of my imagination.

I pull the covers over my head, wishing I didn’t have to wake up. At least in my dreams I can be with Oliver.

Oliver.

I feel around under the pillows, but the book is missing. Jumping out of bed, I look beneath its frame, and on the dresser. I rip the blankets and sheets off. I know I fell asleep with the fairy tale in my arms last night. I just know it.

“Where is it?” I mutter, and at that moment there is a knock at the door.

It swings open, and Edgar is standing on the threshold, book in hand. “Looking for this?” he asks, grinning.

“Yes!” I grab it out of his hands, angry. “You shouldn’t steal other people’s property.”

“Well, it’s not technically yours, is it? You stole it from your school library.”

“I’m the only person who ever checked this book out of-” I break off, my eyes narrowing. “How do you know that?”

“Because I listen,” Edgar says, coming closer. He takes the book from me and sets it on the bed, then holds my hands. “I listen to everything you say, Delilah.”

He’s staring at me as if he can see right inside me, and that’s creepy, because this is Edgar, after all-Edgar, who locks himself in his room to play video games all day. Except his eyes are different. I can’t really describe it, but they look softer around the edges. Wiser. And maybe, a little amazed.

“Delilah,” he whispers. “It’s me.”

“Of course it’s you, Edgar. Who else would it be?”

“Oliver. It worked, Delilah. It actually worked.” He smiles, and for a moment, I almost believe him. The way his mouth tips up on one side. The way his voice has the gentlest hint of a British accent.

But it didn’t work. I saw that with my own eyes. I take a step backward, shaking my head.

“I can prove it,” Edgar says, and he picks up the book. Pinching one page with two fingers, he slides his palm across the sharp edge, giving himself an inch-long paper cut.

“Stop that!” I grab his hand, but it’s too late. The book drops to the bed again, closed, as I turn his palm over to see how deep the cut is.

He’s bleeding, but the blood isn’t red.

It’s black as ink.

***

***

page 60

Hurtling toward the churning seas, Prince Oliver closed his eyes and prepared to die. The wind and the spray lashed his cheeks; the shreds of Seraphima’s gown flew behind him like a banner. He heard Rapscullio’s scream, and knew that his own moment of impact was seconds away.

As he fell, the chain around his neck worked its way free, floating delicately upward, over his head. His father’s compass. Oliver reached out, wrapping his fingers tightly around the small disk, hoping for just an ounce or two of his father’s legendary bravery at this moment.

The brass hinge popped open, and the needle of the compass spun wildly. With his last breath on Earth, Oliver thought of home.

The world was suddenly blindingly white. Oliver winced as his vision slowly came back.

He was not falling anymore. He was not broken into pieces across the jagged rocks in the pounding surf. Instead, he was whole and safe and wrapped in Seraphima’s arms.

At that moment Oliver realized that home is not a place, but rather, the people who love you.

Which means, of course, that Prince Oliver and the girl he adored lived happily ever after.

OLIVER

I CAN TELL THE MOMENT SHE BELIEVES ME. HER whole face changes, like the sky after a storm, open to possibility. “But Edgar…?” she says.

“It was his idea,” I tell her. This time, I’m the one opening the book. It feels odd, as if I’ve suddenly been granted a phenomenal amount of power.

The story falls open to the illustration on the final page. All the characters are gathered on Everafter Beach, but there are some significant changes. For example, Seraphima is wearing a form-fitting suit of galactic armor. Frump-now human-is wielding a laser beam. And standing in the middle of the fray is someone who looks a great deal like Prince Oliver, holding a sword in one hand and the severed head of the mighty Zorg in the other.

“How fortunate they were to have learned that the intruder in their midst had never really been a royal prince at all-but actually, a seasoned soldier from the future,” Delilah reads out loud. “Once the last Galactoid from Planet Zugon was dispatched by the guerrilla fighters of the kingdom, Edgar swung his blade and with one mighty blow brought down the monstrous Zorg.