The Absurdity of Fairy Tales

one

..

These walls are a prison,

With lockers for bars

And evils hidden

By white smiles.

..

"Having fun?"

It's the first day of senior year. I'm out of coffee, my late parents apparently lied to me and there is a boy standing in the middle of my kitchen.

No, Nicholas, I'm most certainly not having fun.

Things started going south when I woke up half an hour late, my phone screeching from underneath me, and they only got worse when I tripped into the bathroom and discovered the angry imprint across my collarbone. So much for feeling that pea. (Dear Mom and Dad: we must not tell lies to our kids about their royal heritage.)

And okay, Nick is my best friend and he does have a key to my house, so it's not too weird for him to be here, but really, it's too early for this—any of it.

"You slept through your alarm again, didn't you?" Nick asks as he leans against my fridge, his eyes twinkling behind tortoise-shell glasses. For one moment, I just stare at him as he holds up two cups of coffee, grinning. Coffee. Sacrebleu. Merci, universe, merci. "Hey. I come in peace."

I immediately rush at him, arms open wide. He sets the cups down on the counter just before I tackle him, his arms coming around my waist. Thank you, soccer reflexes. "Oh my God," I say, pressing my face into his shoulder and inhaling deeply. After the last twenty minutes of falling out of bed, stumbling around like a drunkard and dealing with unfortunate toothpaste incidents, there's Nick—there, always, since I got out of St. Valentines two and a half years ago. (And coffee.) "I love you."

He snorts loudly and pulls away, grabbing his coffee on his way to the door. I grin and follow him, snatching my own cup and an apple off the counter. Shoes, shoes... where in the name of all things unholy are my shoes? Ah. By the door. I stick the apple between my teeth and carefully pull them on with one hand, trying not to spill anything.

Nick watches me struggle, the beginnings of a smirk dancing around his mouth. "It's only coffee," he says, holding the door open as I straighten up, feeling smug.

I throw any remaining caution to the wind and fling an arm around his shoulders. It's a tricky feat, considering he's got more than a few inches on me. "I could have died otherwise," I tell him, fluttering my hand dramatically. Instead, I end up nearly smacking him in the face. Luckily, he catches my wrist just before I send his glasses flying into the gutter.

"Sure," he says dryly, shrugging me off. "And your whining would take the rest of the neighborhood out with you."

I whack him in the shoulder. "Hey," I say as we cross the street, taking a bite out of my apple. Immediately, my face scrunches up. (Note to self: toothpaste and apples do not mix.) "I'd be nicer if I were you. I know where you live. I've seen the embarrassing baby photos."

"No dice," he returns, grinning at my disgruntled expression over the rim of his own coffee cup. While I'm already cramping from my demented speed-walk, Nick's keeping pace effortlessly. Stupid athletic boy. "I've seen yours, too."

"That's unfortunate," I tell him cheerfully as I yank the school door open. Immediately, a wall of sound slams into me, and I wince for the tenth time this morning. "You looked so cute with those dinosaur pants, Nicholas. I know everyone would agree with me."