Bad Hair Day Page 2
With a final loud bark, Prince leaps between my feet, and dives paws-first into the mirror.
“Wait!” I yell. I grab my brother’s hand and we follow Prince inside.
We land with a thump.
Ouch.
I’m facedown on my stomach, my chin in the mud, my wrist under my head. The ground is hard and grassy. It’s quiet. I see lots of tree trunks and tree roots. Why is my head lower than my feet? Am I on a slant? Yes, I think I am! Actually, I think I’m on a hill. I try to stand up, but the angle I’m at makes it too hard, since I’m going against gravity.
Jonah’s feet are right beside me. He’s lying on his back.
“So are you feeling cheered up?” Jonah asks me.
“No,” I say. “My chin hurts. Help me up?”
Prince nuzzles his nose into my ear and then licks it.
“Hello there,” I say.
Prince wags his tail.
“Did you have to bark so loudly before you left?” I ask him. If Mom and Dad woke up to an empty house in the middle of the night, we’d be in BIG trouble. As if today could get any worse.
Jonah manages to get up, and then he helps me stand. I get to my feet unsteadily, feeling a little dizzy.
I wipe the dirt off my jeans and glance at all the trees. Now that I’m vertical, I can see green leaves and some patches of blue sky. It smells like pine. We’re on a hill in a forest.
“Where do you think we are?” Jonah asks, looking around.
Good question. “What fairy tale is in a forest?” I wonder out loud.
Jonah’s eyes widen. “The one with the wolf!”
“Little Red Riding Hood?”
“Yes!” He smiles gleefully. “That would be so much fun!”
I shiver. “Bumping into a wolf that might try to eat us does not sound fun to me AT ALL.”
My brother loves the scary parts of the fairy tales. They’re the only parts he remembers. Like wolves who eat children and stepsisters who cut off their toes. Yes, that seriously happened in the original Cinderella. Ouch.
We know a lot of the originals because our nana used to read them to us all the time when we lived near her. She’s a literature professor at a college in Chicago. Also, ever since I first fell into the mirror, I reread a lot of the stories, of course.
But maybe Jonah is right. Maybe we are in Little Red Riding Hood.
“Little Red Riding Hood?” I call out. “Are you there? Are you going to visit your grandma’s house?”
I hear a noise coming from my left.
Prince turns toward it and barks.
“Did you hear that?” I ask Jonah, grabbing his arm.
“No, I —” he starts to say, but I shush him with my hand, listening hard.
The noise isn’t a wolf. It’s singing! Yes! Someone is singing!
“The leaf falling from a tree,
Beautiful but so lone-ly …”
“I heard that, too!” Jonah squeals. “It sounds like music. Little Red Riding Hood is singing!”
“It might not be Little Red Riding Hood,” I say. I try to move toward the voice. It’s coming from below us. Is the person at the bottom of the hill? Or is someone in the ground? Is there a fairy tale about people who live in the ground?
I step around the tree and can make out a building in the distance.
A tower. At the bottom of the hill.
A beige stone tower with an open window at the top.
Jonah sees it, too. “Maybe we’re back in Sleeping Beauty?” he offers.
“It’s not the same tower as in Sleeping Beauty,” I say. “It’s a different color. And there’s no palace nearby. And we’re on a hill.”
I look around again. We’re kind of in the middle of nowhere. I think hard. Middle of nowhere … tower … singing …
“Alone in the world with nobody there,
My only friend is my beautiful hair.”
… hair!
“We’re in Rapunzel!” I cry. “Yes! Rapunzel sings! That’s how the prince hears her!”
Prince the dog barks.
I lean down and scratch his head. “Not you, Prince. The other prince.”
“Rapunzel? She’s the one with the long hair, right?” Jonah asks.
“Yes. Really, really long hair.”
“Did we see the movie?”
“We did, but the real story is very different from the movie,” I explain, straightening up. “In the real story, Rapunzel isn’t a secret princess. She’s a regular girl who ends up marrying a prince —”
“Ruff, ruff!”
“I wish we had dog treats with us,” Jonah says. He bends down to scratch Prince under the chin.
“We didn’t exactly know he was coming, did we?” I point out.
“Maybe Rapunzel has peanut butter.”
That would help. Also a leash.
I glance toward the tower and see a flash of dark hair in the window.
“I just saw her!” I exclaim, feeling a burst of excitement. At least I think it’s her. For some reason, I thought Rapunzel was blond. Maybe I imagined that or remembered it from the movie.
“Cool!” Jonah says, standing on his toes to try to get a look.
“So, back to the story,” I say, nudging him. “There was a nice, normal couple who were expecting a baby. But they lived next door to a witch. The witch’s name was Frau Gothel —”
“Her first name was Frown?”
“No. Frau. ‘Frau’ means ‘Mrs.’ in German. The Grimm Brothers wrote the story.”
“They write all the stories.”
“A lot of them,” I agree. “Anyway, Frown — I mean Frau — Gothel had a garden with all kinds of herbs and plants. And the pregnant woman was craving rapunzel. That’s a kind of herb. It’s green and leafy.”
“Did Mom have cravings when she was pregnant with me?” Jonah asks.
“Probably,” I say with a chuckle. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she ate a ton of ketchup.”
Jonah’s eyes light up. “Hey! That’s the first time you’ve laughed since you got home from school. I told you going through the mirror was a good idea!”
I stop smiling. “I’m still upset about the spelling bee.”
“Just go on with the story,” Jonah says, smiling playfully.
My brother isn’t wrong — going through the mirror has definitely been a good distraction. But that doesn’t mean I’m over my bad day at school. Trying to brush off the memory, I continue.
“The mother-to-be really wanted some rapunzel. In fact, she said she would die if she didn’t get any. So the dad snuck into the witch’s garden and stole some. Except” — I make a pretend drumroll in the air — “the witch caught him!”
“Oh, no!”
“Oh, yes. Frau Gothel said that she would only let the dad take the rapunzel if he gave her the baby when the baby was born.”
Jonah’s eyes bulge. “To keep?”
“Yes.”
“I hope the dad told her no way.”
“He didn’t. He agreed. He was terrified his wife was really going to die without the herb. Maybe he hoped the witch would forget about the promise by the time the baby was born.”
“Did she?”
“Nope. Frau Gothel took the baby and named her Rapunzel, after the herb. When Rapunzel was twelve, the witch brought her to a tower and locked her inside. There was no door or stairway — only a window.”
Jonah glances over at the far-off tower. “It doesn’t look like there’s any way up. Maybe they rock climbed it.”
“I doubt it. But the witch would come visit Rapunzel every day. She’d say, ‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.’ And Rapunzel would let her hair down, and the witch would climb up.”
Jonah shakes his head. “But why would she let the witch up?”
“Maybe she needed
food. Or maybe she was lonely. Maybe she thought Frau Gothel was really her mother.”
Jonah wrinkles his nose. “What kind of mother keeps her kid locked in a tower?”
“A very bad one. Anyway, one day, a prince —”
“Ruff, ruff!”
“— was passing by and he heard the singing.” I stop talking for a second to see if Rapunzel is still singing. She is. Also, I think I hear chimes. And a drum? Is she playing instruments, too?
“Anyway,” I continue, “he thought the girl in the tower had a very pretty voice. So he went back to the tower again and again, until one day he heard the witch tell the girl to let her hair down, and then he saw the witch climb up. He came back that night and said the same thing the witch had. And when Rapunzel let her hair down, the prince —”
“Ruff, ruff!”
I look down at Prince and realize he’s staring expectantly at me. Oh! “Every time we say the word ‘prince,’ he thinks we’re talking to him. I’m going to need to come up with a new name if I’m going to tell this story without getting a headache. Let’s call the prince —”
“Ruff, ruff!”
“Pickles!” Jonah cries gleefully.
My brother is so weird. “Why?”
He bounces on his sneakers. “Why not? I like pickles! Don’t you?”
“All right, all right. So when Rapunzel let her hair down, Pickles climbed up, and they fell in love. He secretly climbed up every night to see her. Except by accident one time Rapunzel told the witch that she was heavier than Pickles, and the witch figured it out. She was so mad, she cut off Rapunzel’s hair and banished Rapunzel from the tower. Rapunzel had nowhere to go and wandered around the forest. That night, when Pickles showed up at the tower, Frau Gothel hung Rapunzel’s braid out the window and pretended to be her. When Pickles climbed up, she told him that he would never see Rapunzel again. He jumped out the window and landed in thorns — and the thorns made him blind! He wandered around the forest for years until he finally heard a familiar voice singing, and he realized it was Rapunzel. She cried when she found him, and her tears spilled into his eyes and brought back his sight.”
Jonah’s jaw drops. “She had magic tears! How come?”
“Maybe because of the rapunzel her mother ate? I don’t know. Anyway, Rapunzel and Pickles lived —”
“Happily ever after,” Jonah finishes, nodding. “What happened to the witch?”
I shrug. “No idea.”
He leans closer. “What happened to Rapunzel’s parents?”
I shrug again. “Also no idea.”
Jonah and I both glance at the tower. Rapunzel is still singing inside.
“What do we do now?” Jonah asks me.
“We should probably go home,” I say with a sigh. “Rapunzel gets her happily-ever-after. We don’t need to mess it up.”
My brother’s eyes widen. “You want to leave right away? You don’t even want to meet Rapunzel?”
My heart leaps. Of course I want to meet her. Who wouldn’t want to meet Rapunzel?
“Do you think we could meet her without messing anything up?” I wonder out loud. “We could just say hello and then leave? Although we’d still have to figure out how to get home …”
“Of course we can!” Jonah exclaims, ignoring my last sentence. “Let’s go!” He starts running down the hill toward the tower.
I can’t help it. I follow. I REALLY WANT TO MEET RAPUNZEL!
Also, running down hills is fun. Wheeeeeeee!
Prince scurries along behind us, yapping at my heels.
I’m having such a good time, I almost forget about the spelling bee disaster. Almost.
By the time we get to the base of the tower, the singing has stopped. I peer up at the window but don’t see the flash of hair again. I hope it really is Rapunzel inside. It has to be, right?
Jonah and I examine the base of the tower. There are thorny bushes all around it. Yikes.
“There doesn’t seem to be a door here,” Jonah says.
“I know,” I say.
“How do you want to do this?” Jonah asks. “Do you want to just yell hello and wait for her to poke her head out? Or …”
“Or what?” I ask. “What else can I do? She doesn’t have a cell phone. I can’t exactly call her.”
“No, but you can go up,” Jonah says with a grin.
“How?” I ask. “Do you see an elevator?”
“Abby!” He tugs at my arm. “Come on! Don’t you want to climb up her hair?”
Gasp.
I didn’t realize until he said it, but now that he did, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself. Yes, yes, YES! Of course I want to climb up her hair! I nod. I giggle. I nod again.
“I do,” I whisper. “I really, really do.”
Jonah waves his hands in the air. “Say the magic words, then.”
What does he mean? “Pretty please?”
He laughs. “No! The Rapunzel ones!”
I slap my palm against my forehead. Of course! Then I clear my throat. Is this going to work? Only one way to find out.
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,” I say. “Let down your hair.”
I wait. Nothing happens.
Jonah shakes his head. “I think you have to be louder than that. She’s pretty high up.”
He’s right. I clear my throat again. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel!” I call out a little louder. “Let down your hair!”
He shakes his head again. “C’mon, Abby, louder than that!”
“RAPUNZEL, RAPUNZEL!” I yell, as if I’m playing red rover. “LET DOWN YOUR HAIR!”
And then, before I even know what’s happening, a long, long dark braid is falling from the window. I jump out of the way at the last minute so it won’t crush me.
But it wouldn’t. It stops at my knees. A bright blue ribbon is tied at the very end of the braid.
I cannot believe it worked. I told Rapunzel to let down her hair and she did!
It’s a beautiful braid, too. It has four thick sections, all woven expertly together. I would never be able to make a braid that perfect even if I spent all day on it. And I’m a pretty good hairdresser. I used to style and cut my dolls’ hair all the time.
“What do we do?” I ask in disbelief.
Jonah rolls his eyes. “Come on, Abby. We climb it!”
I take a deep breath. I reach out to put my hands around the braid.
Rapunzel’s hair feels silky. Like Mom’s hair after she blow-dries it straight.
Behind us, Prince barks again.
“Sit, Prince, sit!” I say. “Wait for us right here.”
He keeps barking and begins chasing his tail.
“What are we going to do with him?” I ask. “We can’t just leave him here. What if he runs away?”
“I’ll carry him,” Jonah says. “Don’t worry. I’m super good at it. I bet I can do this with one hand.”
Should I be nervous that my seven-year-old brother is planning to climb a tower with one hand?
Probably.
Do I have a choice?
No.
I hold on securely to the braid and then try to step up the wall. The braid sways, and I trip. “Um, I don’t think this is going to work,” I tell Jonah.
“Can you put your feet into the spaces of the braid like a ladder?” Jonah suggests.
“Um …” I try. The spaces are too small. The tips of my feet don’t fit. I land back down on the ground. Argh! I came all the way here and I won’t even be able to climb Rapunzel’s braid. This is the worst day ever. I should have stayed in bed!
“I have another idea,” Jonah says.
“Does this idea involve an escalator?”
“Try climbing it like you would a rope in gym class.”
Oh! I’ve done that! I haven’t done it well, but I’ve done it. I grab the braid again.
“Hold on to the rope — I mean hair — with your hands,” Jonah instructs patiently, “and also squeeze it between your feet.”
I do as I’m told.
The tower is about four stories high. This is going to take a while.
“Good. Now grab a little higher on the rope with your hands.”
I grab higher. Just a little higher, but still higher.
“Now lift up your legs a little higher.”
I do it.
“There you go!” Jonah shouts. “You’re climbing!”
I am! Awesome!
“You can also wrap the rope around the bottom of your foot,” Jonah advises. “That’s harder, though. It’s advanced. I saw a seventh grader doing it. I’m going to try it.”
More advanced? Is he kidding me?
The hair is so smooth, it’s slippery. My heart pounds as I grip the braid extra hard so I won’t fall. I have to squeeze it. My knuckles are turning white. I carefully pull myself up, inch by inch. My arms hurt, but I keep going. Higher and higher and higher. It’s a tiny bit scary, but also sort of fun. I’m doing it, I’m doing it! The wind is whistling in my ears! Wheee! I’m climbing Rapunzel’s hair!
When I finally reach the top, I pull myself onto the ledge of the glassless window.
A teenage girl wearing a loose blue dress is sitting in a wooden chair with her back to me. Her beautiful, dark brown hair is pulled back in a braid that trails all the way down her back, over the chair, and out the window.
I stay seated on the ledge and clear my throat. “Excuse me? Rapunzel? Your name is Rapunzel, right?”
The girl spins around and leaps out of her chair. Her mouth drops open in shock. “You’re not Frau Gothel!” she cries. She hugs her braid to her chest. She looks completely terrified. As if she just saw a ghost.
“I’m sorry for scaring you!” I say. “I’m Abby!”
“Don’t come any closer!” Her left arm shoots out as though she’s trying to protect herself. Or maybe she’s trying to protect her hair.
“I’m harmless!” I tell her. “Don’t be afraid! I’m only ten! And … I heard you singing,” I add quickly. “And you were really good. I wanted to say hello!”
She blushes. “You did? That’s so embarrassing! I never would have sung if I knew someone was listening.”
“Well, you have a great voice,” I tell her. “And I loved your song.”
She blushes more deeply. “My songs are silly. A way to pass the time.”
“I didn’t think your song was silly. I thought it was fun. I love your hair, too,” I say. “I can’t believe how strong it is.”