the fairy leader. That must be Jilly. The three of them stand in front of me now. The queen fairy is shorter than I am and as slender as a sapling. “Can we ask you a question?” The other two girls (in pink wings and yellow) stand slightly behind their fearless leader, peering out as if they’re hiding behind a tree.
“Sure.” I brace myself for something totally embarrassing.
“Where’d you get that awesome dress?” the fairy queen asks me.
“It’s hot,” adds Pink Wings.
“Smoking,” says Miss Yellow.
“Really?” I ask. “Does that mean you like it?”
“Duh,” says Pink.
“Can I touch it?” The queen reaches out and strokes the fabric. “So soft,” she tells the others. They reach out, too, and I blush at their attention.
“So pretty,” says Pink.
“And you look amazing in it,” adds Yellow.
“Very Guinevere,” says the queen.
“Totally Guinevere,” the others agree.
“Who’s Guinevere?” I ask.
“You know, King Arthur’s wife,” the queen says.
“Lancelot’s lover,” Pink adds, wiggling her eyebrows.
“We’re kind of obsessed with the whole Camelot thing,” Yellow Wings explains and all three nod.
“I could never pull off a dress like that, though,” the queen says to her friends. “You have to be tall and willowy, like her.”
“Oh no,” I tell her. “Everyone looks great in these. And they’re so comfortable! You can do anything in them. Climb trees. Hike up a mountain. Sleep.” The fairies look at one another and twitter. “I mean,” I stammer and blush, “if you like to do those sorts of things. Or you can just, you know, wear them to school and hang out or whatever.”
“So where’d you get it?” the queen asks me again.
I’m not sure how to answer. If I tell them that my grandmother made it will they think I’m a weirdo who can’t afford to buy real clothes? But I can’t lie. “Michigan,” I say.
“Michigan?” The queen blinks and frowns. “Where’s that? Lower East Side? Williamsburg? Is it a boutique or a chain?”
“The real Michigan,” I say. “The state. That’s where I’m from. I just moved here.” Before they can ask me anything else about my clothes I quickly add, “My name is Zephyr. What’s yours?”
“I’m Jilly,” says the queen. “This is Rienna and Darby.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” I say. “I noticed you yesterday in the cafeteria with your wings and everything and I wondered who you were and . . .” I stop because I realize that I’m gushing.
The doors behind me open again. A rush of warm air circulates through the hall, ruffling papers attached to the bulletin boards on the walls. The fairies watch whoever is coming, then they bite their lips and elbow one another. I glance over my shoulder and squint into the streaming sunlight. I can just make out the silhouette of a guy taking off his sunglasses and running his fingers through his hair as he steps into the hallway. My stomach clenches and buzzes as if I swallowed a beehive.
It’s the wolf-boy, Timber. He sees me and flashes that gorgeous smile full of teeth. Bees burst from their hive in my belly. They buzz through my tingling arms and legs then I turn to honey, sweet and gooey, as he walks toward me. I hear the fairies suck in air and giggle behind their hands.
“Hey, Zephyr,” says Timber, slow and easy.
“Erp,” I squeak like a mutant mouse and before I can make something intelligible come out of my stupid mouth, Bella, the queen bee, floats through the open doors. She is followed by her three drones. They walk in step, as if music follows them everywhere.
“Timb,” Bella says without even so much as a glance at me. Her eyes are obscured behind giant white sunglasses and her hair falls softly in waves over her shoulders. She is looking down at her phone, busy punching numbers. “I need a frappucino,” she commands, and he falls in step with her, down the hall and away.
I’m left facing the fairies, who stare at me
“Sure.” I brace myself for something totally embarrassing.
“Where’d you get that awesome dress?” the fairy queen asks me.
“It’s hot,” adds Pink Wings.
“Smoking,” says Miss Yellow.
“Really?” I ask. “Does that mean you like it?”
“Duh,” says Pink.
“Can I touch it?” The queen reaches out and strokes the fabric. “So soft,” she tells the others. They reach out, too, and I blush at their attention.
“So pretty,” says Pink.
“And you look amazing in it,” adds Yellow.
“Very Guinevere,” says the queen.
“Totally Guinevere,” the others agree.
“Who’s Guinevere?” I ask.
“You know, King Arthur’s wife,” the queen says.
“Lancelot’s lover,” Pink adds, wiggling her eyebrows.
“We’re kind of obsessed with the whole Camelot thing,” Yellow Wings explains and all three nod.
“I could never pull off a dress like that, though,” the queen says to her friends. “You have to be tall and willowy, like her.”
“Oh no,” I tell her. “Everyone looks great in these. And they’re so comfortable! You can do anything in them. Climb trees. Hike up a mountain. Sleep.” The fairies look at one another and twitter. “I mean,” I stammer and blush, “if you like to do those sorts of things. Or you can just, you know, wear them to school and hang out or whatever.”
“So where’d you get it?” the queen asks me again.
I’m not sure how to answer. If I tell them that my grandmother made it will they think I’m a weirdo who can’t afford to buy real clothes? But I can’t lie. “Michigan,” I say.
“Michigan?” The queen blinks and frowns. “Where’s that? Lower East Side? Williamsburg? Is it a boutique or a chain?”
“The real Michigan,” I say. “The state. That’s where I’m from. I just moved here.” Before they can ask me anything else about my clothes I quickly add, “My name is Zephyr. What’s yours?”
“I’m Jilly,” says the queen. “This is Rienna and Darby.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” I say. “I noticed you yesterday in the cafeteria with your wings and everything and I wondered who you were and . . .” I stop because I realize that I’m gushing.
The doors behind me open again. A rush of warm air circulates through the hall, ruffling papers attached to the bulletin boards on the walls. The fairies watch whoever is coming, then they bite their lips and elbow one another. I glance over my shoulder and squint into the streaming sunlight. I can just make out the silhouette of a guy taking off his sunglasses and running his fingers through his hair as he steps into the hallway. My stomach clenches and buzzes as if I swallowed a beehive.
It’s the wolf-boy, Timber. He sees me and flashes that gorgeous smile full of teeth. Bees burst from their hive in my belly. They buzz through my tingling arms and legs then I turn to honey, sweet and gooey, as he walks toward me. I hear the fairies suck in air and giggle behind their hands.
“Hey, Zephyr,” says Timber, slow and easy.
“Erp,” I squeak like a mutant mouse and before I can make something intelligible come out of my stupid mouth, Bella, the queen bee, floats through the open doors. She is followed by her three drones. They walk in step, as if music follows them everywhere.
“Timb,” Bella says without even so much as a glance at me. Her eyes are obscured behind giant white sunglasses and her hair falls softly in waves over her shoulders. She is looking down at her phone, busy punching numbers. “I need a frappucino,” she commands, and he falls in step with her, down the hall and away.
I’m left facing the fairies, who stare at me
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