Fairy Tale by Cyn Balog

my face in my bath towel, convincing myself that it hadn't actually happened.
    But maybe it will? Maybe it's not a dream, but a vision? Then I spend the next few minutes convincing myself I didn't enjoy it.
    What the hell? We're talking about Pencil Box Pip, not a hunk of burning love. Unless, of course, you talk to my mom.
    In spite of Cam's warnings, I'd vowed late last night, in between my warped dreams, that even if Dawn killed me, I was going to find a way to save him. Pip's ewl discourse hadn't been much help, so at 3 a.m. last night, I went online, reserving every book about fairy lore I could find from the Edison Public Library.
    I throw my hair into a ponytail as I head down the stairs, but when I get to the kitchen, I realize something's off. My father is not wearing his white T-shirt and boxers, which is rare for a Saturday morning. That can only mean one thing: company. His familiar chair creaks and moans in protest as he stuffs an entire Boston cream doughnut into his mouth and exclaims, "But she actually was married to his brother!" to someone across the table from him. I figure he must have captured the paperboy or the lands caper. My father will try to carry on a conversation with anyone, even if they show no interest in being spoken to. Even if they're waving a gun in his face, telling him to shut up. But as I come farther into the room, I see our guests. It's Pip and Mrs. Browne. Pip has one hand in a box of Munchkins and is watching my father, rapt. Well, I think he's rapt, but I can't tell for sure, because he still has his sunglasses on.
    His face turns toward me and this big, goofy grin spreads across it. I carefully pluck the shades off his nose. "You know these are just for outside, right?"
    His eyes widen. He doesn't.
    "That's okay. Why are you here?"
    My father struggles to pull his belly out from under the kitchen table, "Oh, hi, Morgan. Our young neighbor and I were just discussing yesterday's General Hospitals
    "Oh?"
    Pip exclaims, "The city of Port Charles sounds interesting."
    "You know it's not real."
    He squints at me. He doesn't.
    "So anyway, why are you here?" I repeat, louder.
    His toothy, psychopathic grin hasn't disappeared yet. It totally defeats the purpose of the cool clothes he's wearing. "I have come to be your escort," he says stiffly.
    I stare at him. "My what?"
    "Cameron said you shouldn't miss the appointment."
    "Appointment?"
    "There's to be a party next weekend?"
    "Yeah, but..." I think for a moment and realize that my mom had scheduled the appointment with the Green Toad's events manager for this weekend. It was mainly just to iron out details as to what would be in the buffet line, what color napkins we'd use, et cetera. A week ago, I'd been so excited about it, spending many sleepless hours going back and forth on the tiniest details, like, mini quiches or bacon-wrapped scallops? Teal or silver? In all the commotion, I totally forgot. In fact, I don't care anymore. I have to go on a very important mission to free my boyfriend from a bunch of overrated mosquitoes. Plus, teal and silver are my colors, but either one would look bad with my destined-to-be-nightmarish complexion. "That's today?"
    My mom comes in, fastening a gold stud to her ear. "Don't tell me you forgot!"
    "I forgot."
    She shakes her head and puts a hand on Mrs. Browne's shoulder. Marone ! These kids! Can you believe she went on for days about this party, and she forgets?"
    Mrs. Browne says nothing but gives me a look that says she completely understands. From the way she's shifting in her chair, I think a party is the last thing on her mind, too.
    I shrug like the ungrateful brat my mother thinks I am.
    "I think it's very nice for this young man to offer to come with us, especially since Cam is..." She looks at him. "Where did you say Cam is?"
    Pip says simply, "Studying the fairy ways," as he stuffs an entire jelly doughnut in his face. It's like he and my father are in an eating contest.
    When she looks at