Briar Blackwood's Grimmest of Fairytales (2 page)

That was when she threw up on them. It came out in buckets. Honestly, Briar didn't know where all the barf came from.
I guess they aren't lucky all the time
, she thought to herself watching the boys, their faces slimed by her viscous yellow gunk, and they themselves retching in response. Much to Briar's horror, Leon Squire, the hunk, the hero, the—
him
—happened to wander by as the scene unfolded. At the sight of vomit slopped across lockers and splattered on the faces of his buddies, he doubled over and quickly sped away, holding a hand to his own mouth.

Her nickname changed from that day on. It was announced to the school in the usual way, scrawled across her locker: “Hurl Gurl.” Queen of Darkness had a better ring to it, Briar mused. But people ought to keep their distance from a Hurl Gurl just the same. After all that, Briar supposed that Grizzly must now have thought they were BFFs or something stupid like that. Whatevs.

She couldn't have Grizzly and her friends orbiting around in her universe for real, or Leon might never make a move. At least in her imagination, he would make some kind of a move. She scanned the sidelines surreptitiously again. Without warning, a few Lucky Boys parted like cherubs flanking a winged God. They stepped aside just enough for Briar to see Leon standing there in all his chiseled perfection. His face, his body seemed straight out of Bullfinch's Mythology.

Shit. What am I doing?
Briar thought. She rolled her eyes, covered her face and tried not to hyperventilate.
This will never work
. She tugged on the black hoodie that was loosely draped over her satin Victorian get-up, and she thumbed her handheld, trying to distract herself. She kept her gaze down to keep from hurling yet again. The screen's glow reflected blue onto her powder-pale face.

That's when something unusual caught her eye.

Instead of her expected death rock videos, Briar was surprised to be viewing a peculiar elderly woman dressed in some sort of archaic garb. She was tall, gaunt, and severe in her neck-high, pearl-buttoned shirt and red waistcoat. She had a small black tie encircling her neck, and a matching black velvet band that outlined her thin waist. There was also a black top hat—the size of a coffee cup—that defied gravity, clinging to the front of her pulled back gray hair. She peered out from the screen through miniscule glasses sitting on the end of her nose—like a puckered old librarian from the
Twilight Zone
, Briar imagined.

Briar moved her thumb to the refresh key but hesitated as the woman spoke. Though the download that played was choppy and full of intermittent scrambled pixels, Briar held her breath for a moment, captivated.

“Briar,” the elderly said. She looked anxiously left and right, as if checking for unwanted listeners. The transmission became pixelated.

Say what?
Briar thought.
She did not just say my name, did she?
She looked around for a moment.
Who would do this?
“You're not funny,” Briar said aloud. This stopped Potato-Juliette's soliloquy.

The auditorium went silent. No laughs. No sniggering.
Okay
,
so maybe it's not a joke
, Briar thought. She sank deeper into her hood, acting as though she hadn't said anything.

She peered again at the screen. The image finally stabilized and picked up mid-sentence: “—a dangerous time for—” The transmission scrambled again. Then it restarted. “The Lady Or—” The image twisted a bit and cut out.

When it came back, the puckered librarian was speaking while petting a fox fur that fluffed around her neck: “A
dillywig
emissary will come—” The screen went black.

Neither the jostling of nearby auditioners nor the metallic megaphone announcement of her name could take Briar's attention from the screen. So absorbed was she that she nearly coughed up her stomach when she felt a pointed tap on her
shoulder.

Briar whirled around with horror in her face. “Jeez, Dax,” she said.

Dax pulled at his cinnamon winter scarf, plopped down beside Briar, and huffed warm air into his frozen hands. “Someone here needs a major tranquilizer. And here's a hint: it isn't me.”

“Do you really have to creep up on people like that?”

“Here's a newsflash: you're at an audition with people all around you. It isn't exactly a haunted house.” He looked at the wild variety parading up and down the theater aisles. “I take that back.”

Briar looked down at her device. She thumbed it some more, trying to scroll back to what she had just seen, but the screen was now blank. “Dax, you've got to check out what I downloaded. This old lady is totally cray-cray. I swear she says my name. It'll freak you out.”

Dax looked down at the blank screen on Briar's player. “Uh, yeah,” he said, “love it.” Then he took a moment to re-think. “First of all, cray-cray is dead. Okay? Second of all, I think someone's been hanging out with the drama geekards a little too long. Next you'll be ranting about other make-believe topics like time-travel or geometry.”

Briar ignored him and continued to search for the video while Dax more thoroughly inspected the odd student assembly. He watched Potato-Juliet waddling off stage dressed in one of those flimsy pre-packaged Halloween costumes. “Wow. So this is your competition?” he asked. He had a pretty dumb stare. “Come on. Let's get out of here before it's too late.”

“Don't be an ass,” Briar said. She shrugged Dax's hands away. “Besides, aren't your people all about the theater?”

“I ought to slap you with these jazz hands for that. But instead, I'll file your little gem under ‘Briar's bigoted comments.' Besides, theater is old-school,” Dax said. He spotted a cute guy
dressed in tights and wasn't sure if he was turned on or embarrassed for him. Either way, it reminded him. “Oh, that's right.” He smiled. “I almost forgot—how's the stalking going?”

“Shut up!” Briar said.

“He's not even here is he? I knew it. And even if he was, what makes you think he would talk to you?”

Briar gave Dax the eye-of-death from beneath her ringed brow, but said nothing.

The director screeched from the megaphone again. “Miss Blackwood!” Unaware the amplification was still turned on, he said to someone nearby, “You mean the witch?
She's
trying out?”

“Fine,” Dax said. He crossed his arms and gave up trying to suppress a sour expression. “Let's get this over with before anyone important sees us here.” He grabbed Briar by her arm, ushered her toward the stage, and signaled to the director.

“But I'm telling you, freak shows like this have made us the saddest singles in our school,” Dax said. “And I would like at least one of us to meet a guy—oh wait, correction: a normal guy—before we graduate.”

Walking up the aisle to the stage, Dax noticed a group of boys huddled together in the shadows along a far side wall. The stage lights were not bright enough for him to see clearly who they were. He squinted and then suddenly recognized them as some of the most popular boys in school. “Holy crap.” Dax sounded like someone being strangled. He gripped Briar's arm tighter.

The group of boys began nudging each other once they saw Briar about to take the stage. She peeled away from Dax and stumbled up the black steps. A hush fell over the auditorium as she slogged to the center, flat-footed and slouching, with more than a hint of annoyance.

One of the Lucky Boys shouted from the darkness, “Hey, Dracula's Daughter—bite this.”

The director, spoke over the screeching megaphone, drowning out the boys' howling laughter. “Miss Blackwood,” he started.
Briar couldn't see his face in the shadowy depths of the auditorium. “You do know that this is a production of
A Midsummer Night's Dream
, not
The Phantom of the Opera.”

“Nice tip, Mr. Ziegfeld. Why don't you save that for the Follies? I'd like to read my monologue, if you don't mind.”

Chapter 2

Briar stood alone on the bare stage, a trickle of sweat formed on her upper lip, and her chest felt to her like it might explode. She squinted and shielded her eyes to see if Dax had fled the scene. Nope. There he was, standing in the center aisle, arms folded across his argyle sweater as though he were bracing for impact. This audition could become a memorable social disaster for both of them. Well, mainly for Briar. But whatever happened to Briar pretty much happened to Dax too, seeing as the kids viewed them as inseparable.

She winced feeling her present peril in the middle of her gut, but she hoped to pass it off as a sneer. How ironic her current vulnerability, having to recite a monologue in front of the Lucky Ones who hated her most. She couldn't use her badass image now to shield herself from their likely barrage of taunts. It made her stomach churn to know that she was right where they wanted her.
He had better still be there
, she thought.
He better be watching with his eyes on me alone
.

She was roused by the squealing megaphone. “Any time now, Miss Blackwood. Preferably before I lose my patience.”

She closed her eyes and held her breath for a moment. She felt something peculiar, but not all that unfamiliar. It was like a shift in her stomach, as though something important, something big were squeezing in. There was a feeling of liquid fire in her gut, just like when she barfed on Leon. Clenching everything down seemed like a good idea, but that caused the heat to fill her whole body. Then something strange happened.

She stepped out of the shadows and into the glow of the lone bulb that lit the stage. She closed her eyes and eased out her deep breath. Her arms hung loose and limp and she dropped her head forward. It was as if she went into a trance. Dax covered his mouth with his hands, wishing for a miracle, but thinking the
worst.

Then Briar spoke. She started out mumbling almost imperceptibly through her, black, stringy bangs. But then, she raised her head and spoke with a voice and a look in her eye that was almost unrecognizable as Briar. No longer was she the awkward cynic. Her movements became elf-like, impish, and almost other-worldly. Dax didn't know how Briar did it, but body, voice and soul, she had freakin' transformed into Shakespeare's Puck. Dax pulled out his cell phone and began to video record. It was all so uncharacteristic of the Briar he knew and it was, well, kind of weird.

On and on Briar went, quieting the side-aisle insults from the boys. Now they just stood, some slack-jawed, some blinking in disbelief.

When Briar finished her monologue, she stood for a moment, her eyes searching the faces of stunned and silenced onlookers in the cavernous auditorium. Dax burst with pride. Then from the squealing megaphone: “Thank you, Miss Witchwood—I mean Miss Blackwood. You may step down now.”

Briar seemed to be in a sort of daze. She stood frozen in place, even paler than usual, like some wax museum figure. Dax rushed onstage and ushered Briar to the steps. He spoke out to the man in the dark with the megaphone. “Thanks again. And by the way, the bullhorn's a nice touch.” Then under his breath: “I'm sure it makes up for one inadequacy or another.”

“Next!” The director shouted though his grating amplification.

Dax hurried Briar up the center aisle, giggling. “You did it!”
he said. He tried to restrain the knot of excitement in his throat. “You were spectacular.”

But Briar seemed to still be spellbound. Dax sandwiched her face between his hands to get her attention. Her face felt like refrigerated meat. He knew something was terribly wrong. He took her by the shoulders and shook until she suddenly blinked into awareness.

“Did I do that?” Briar asked. She had a strange far-away look in her eyes. “Oh my God, I did do that.”

Dax exhaled with relief. “Look, I don't care if you get a role in that jerk-jockey play.” He looked in Briar's eyes. She was present now, and what little color she had was returning to her cheeks. “You showed them a side of you that they've never seen before. And frankly, it was amazing. Was it a bit creepy? Yes. But it was also amazing. I got the whole thing recorded. You'll love it.”

Briar knew about Dax's interest in capturing footage of anything that he thought was bizarre. And over the last few years he had amassed quite a library of anomalies. It wasn't exactly flattery to be included in this quirky little side-show. But on the other hand, she must have been something extraordinary and that made her at once secretly proud and a little afraid.

They made a beeline up the sloping aisle and almost made it to the swinging doors in the back when one of the jocks stepped in their path. It was Leon Squire. He had broken ranks with the other side-aisle cranks to stop Briar before she left. The rest of the jocks watched Leon with the same horrified silence of an audience watching a slasher movie.

“Hey,” Leon mumbled. He raked a hand through his perfectly disheveled sandy locks. His biceps flexed beneath his tight white sweatshirt.

“Oh. Uh. Hi,” Briar said. She stared at his arms and noticed that his shoulders were nearly as wide as a doorway. Why was he standing, incredibly, just a few feet away from her? She looked at Dax, who just shrugged. Not knowing what more she could say,
Briar stuffed her earphones into her ears and tried to force Dax out the door. But he stepped in Briar's path, arms crossed, shaking his head. Briar knew Dax would not miss an opportunity to be seen with Leon Squire actually talking to them, even if just for a moment.

She turned back to face Leon and with a tug, she pulled both earphones out. He gave his trademark half-smile that Briar had heard other girls, Luckier Girls than she, whisper about in the locker room showers.

“Hey aren't you that Hurl Gurl?” he ventured.
Oh come on
, Briar thought.
Who in their right mind could ever forget that stomach-churning hallway horror show?
She was thankful for this little courtesy just the same.

“Oh. Yeah. Something must have made me sick,” Briar said. She tried to look in any direction except directly at his blinding beauty.

“Well, you're sure not sick today. Are you?” He laughed and casually gripped her shoulder with his wide, warm hand. It felt like summer at the beach, and she suddenly forgot how to breathe for a moment.

Dax saw her drowning and secretly, he motioned for Briar to at least put on a smile.

“Not yet,” Briar said to Leon. She pasted on a stiff smile. “But the day's still young.” She felt like she was sounding odd now, but she wasn't sure how to pull out of her small-talk nose dive.

“So, where did all of that talent come from?” he asked. He glanced over his shoulder at his friends, who were making motions at their necks to cut off the conversation.

Briar reached nervously for her necklace and spun the dangling black key between her fingers. “That was crazy, right?” She laughed and hid her trembling hand by running it through her hair.

From the shadows behind Leon came a dark, velvety, voice. “Well, take out your garlic and your wooden stakes—if it isn't
Beelza-Briar, Queen of Darkness. And what a surprise, she brought her flying monkey.”

It was Megan, Briar's shapely blonde foster-sister. Briar could always count on her to make any bad situation worse. And close behind, as always, was Megan's sycophantic sister Marnie. They must have been hiding among the other students in the auditorium, waiting for a chance to strike. And here it was.

“Flying monkey,” Marnie echoed. She laughed and stared vacantly into the air. “What does that even mean?”

Dax couldn't help himself. “Wow, I've been practicing my fake laugh all night. Should I drag it out now?”

Megan smirked at Dax. “Well, I don't know. It seems to me that you'd be the drag expert.” Then she squared off with Briar.

“Hi Megan,” Leon said. “Hi, Marnie,” he added as an after-thought. He didn't even glance at her. “Oh, I almost forgot—” He pulled out a small black leather-bound book from his backpack. Briar recognized it was her diary. “Here's that book you loaned me.” He handed it to Megan and Briar snapped it away.

“My diary?” Briar said. And it felt like someone had socked her in the stomach.

“What?” Leon said. “Oh jeez. I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

“Is that what that was?” Megan asked. “I thought I brought you the collected works of Edgar Allan Poe.” She flipped her silky hair with satisfaction. “Oh well. I'm sure it was just as disturbing.”

Leon looked at Briar, horrified. “What? No. I didn't even read it.”

Briar felt as though she was sinking into the floor. It was common knowledge that Megan had her eye on Leon. And it was a high crime that Briar had even made eye contact with him.

Megan turned to Briar. “We heard that you were trying out for the play, and we had to see for ourselves.”

Leon squared his jaw with a patient smile. “Wasn't she awesome?”

“What a shocker, huh?” Megan said. “Maybe she's finally found her niche. Anything would be better than this phase she's been going through. I mean really. With those boots and a corset, I can't tell if she's an army recruit or going to the
Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

Marnie laughed. “Yeah, now that she's getting a life, I guess we can take her off suicide watch.”

This was too much for Dax, who by now could feel his fists tightening. “You girls are such a delight,” he said. “You're just sugar and spice and sociopathic tendencies. Shouldn't you be at home treating your herpes?” He laid his arms around their shoulders. “Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to jostle your silicone.”

Megan squirmed away and grabbed Leon by the arm. “Wow, look, Dicks,” she snapped.

“It's Dax,” he replied.

“Of course it is. Well, first of all
Dax
, these are real, and I frequently lose my balance.”

Marnie looked up from her texting. “Yeah…mine are made in Korea.”

Megan squinted at Marnie. “…Anyway. If we want your input, we'll be sure to contact you. You're usually hanging out in the men's room, right?”

“That's right, I'm in the stall next to you.”

Megan's face turned the color of a red-velvet cupcake. She faced Dax like someone who was going to start a fight, but Leon intervened by grabbing Megan around the waist. He led her to the auditorium doors, and once she was going through, she looked back to toss Briar a wicked grin. Mission accomplished.

Dax stood for a second in stunned silence. “Wow. That bitch out-maneuvered me.” There was an awkward silence. “Well, that was uncomfortable,” he said.

He waited for Briar's response, but Briar was already marching flat footed in her grunge boots past the wall of misfits, headed for the emergency exit. In her haste, she must have
pulled at her necklace, as the strand and the black key clattered to the linoleum floor near Dax's feet.