Fairy Tale by Cyn Balog Page A

me, I explain, "It's an elective. I took creative writing instead."
    Her questioning look slowly disintegrates, and she grabs her coat. "Well, that's fine. We need a man's opinion. Shall we be off?"
    Reluctantly, I follow her out the door, contemplating that. Pip is human, so I guess he is more of a man than Cam is. But when I turn around, I see that this "manly specimen" has a gigantic blob of jelly on his upper lip.
    And the irony of it is, in fairy logic, Cam's the one who doesn't belong here.

Chapter Twenty- two
     
    I'VE ONLY BEEN to the city a handful of times, so as my mother navigates the streets, it appears like we're going in circles. Each building is taller than the next, bearing down on me, making it difficult to breathe. When we arrive at the Green Toad, I want to sit down and bury my head between my knees. The lush decor-toads dancing on the walls, primitive cave drawings, and gigantic urns filled with tropical flowers of every color- something I once found funky and eclectic, now just bothers me. My mother begins to talk to a water-goblet filler as if he already knew who she is. As if my event isn't one of hundreds they put on every year. "Mom," I mumble, trying to hide my aggravation, since I know she's going to all this effort for me, "maybe we should talk to the lady we talked to on the phone?"
    Luckily, before I can spear her with one of the tribal artifacts nearby, a pale, matronly lady with a huge mouth and way-too-red lipstick greets us and introduces herself as the receptionist. She leads us into another room, which is wallpapered with even more dancing frogs. Maybe it's because they're so happy, maybe it's because last time I was here, Cam pretended to be one and cracked me up doing a Kermit impersonation that sounded like Donald Duck, but all I can think about is getting out.
    Instead, I sit in an overstuffed chair covered with fabric splashed with orange and green palm trees and stare down at a rainbow of napkin swatches while my mother babbles on. Something about how she hopes that the water fountain in the lobby, which isn't working today, will be fully operational by Friday. Mrs. Browne just sits there, a blank look on her face, as if she's at a funeral.
    After another ten minutes, my mom finally turns to me and says, "Well?"
    "Urn. What?"
    'The napkins," she grumbles, jabbing her finger at the swatches.
    Sighing, I say, "I give up. I have no decision."'
    My mother grinds her teeth. "You'd better have a decision."'
    Whenever I think about this party now, I think about doom. And it became so much more real the second we arrived in the city and walked through the huge, arched doors to the Green Toad. A month ago. Cam and I were at this very place, choosing songs we wanted the DJ to play, talking about what we'd wear, bursting with excitement. But now, there's a fifty-pound weight on my chest. The night of our sixteenth birthday is no longer party time. It's D-day.
    Still, the parents are spending a lot of money on this, so I can't appear ungrateful. I force a smile and say, "I'm fine with either."
    My mother's eyes narrow. "Well, you definitely had an opinion last week." Which is true; life seemed a whole lot simp lei then. She takes the book from my hands and says, "You liked the silver. Or the teal. Make a decision."
    "I-I can't." Is this what a mental breakdown feels like?
    Mrs. Browne, who has not said a word since we left my house, finally pipes up. "You take your time, hon."
    I give her a grateful smile. ''Which do you like?"
    "They're both very pretty"
    Some help she is.
    "I like this," Pip says, scraping the bottom of a plate with a fork, oblivious to the napkin upheaval. For the first time, I notice that there are half-full plates of appetizers and desserts in front of us. Half-full, because Pip has already eaten just about everything that is within reaching distance of his chair. There are about five empty paper plates in his lap. Thankfully, he's stopped short of licking them "What is