Once upon a time

So far in her life, Lola Nelsson had made two major decisions. The first had been when she was seven. She’d chosen to believe in fairy tales—not the helpful, adorable mice kind, but the real ones—the ones that usually ended in blistering carnage for the villains. She was certain that magic existed in the world and it usually rewarded the good guys.

Then three things happened. First, at age nine, she’d read the original The Little Mermaid with its tragic ending. That same year, her beloved eighteen-year-old brother had packed up his things and gone off to college, leaving her and her little sister behind. The greatest blow, however, had been when she was eleven and her mother died. The world became even darker and harder to navigate than fairy tales would have had her believe.

She’d made her second major life decision four days ago, which was to act her age. As of tonight, Saturday, August 26, at twenty-two-years-and-three-days old, she was going to do adult things. Such as attend parties that didn’t involve multiple kegs and clouds of nicotine and weed. She’d dress like a grownup rather than in her usual student attire of jeans and T-shirts. By the time she graduated from Jewett College, she’d be a grown woman who was fun to be around but who engaged the world with dignity.

Tugging at her shimmery teal cocktail dress, Lola took a test walk around the hotel room. The bunched-up seafoam-green quilts on each full-size bed were like puffy oceans with crumpled white sheets cresting toward the ceiling. She stepped around the beds, careful not to snag her black kitten heels on the plush beige carpet or trip over the open suitcase her oldest and dearest friend Naomi had left in the middle of the floor.

Imaginary talking mice chittered away, scampering beneath her skin and leaving itchy trails of sparkling fur and wet mouse snot in their wake. Tonight, you will be dignified and fun…dignified and fun, they squeaked on a loop.

“Let me fix your hair.”

Lola turned toward where Naomi stood outside the bathroom with an armful of hair products. Her friend’s straight shiny blonde hair grazed her bare shoulders, and her little black dress hugged her hourglass curves. With her bangs, black eyeliner, and brick-red lipstick, she was a classic femme fatale.

“You look incredible,” Lola said.

“Thanks. That dress on you, though. Wow.” Naomi assessed her as she walked closer. “You’re going to be the belle of the conference. You’ll certainly get GQ’s attention tonight…if that’s still what you want.”

GQ, as they’d dubbed him, was a man Lola had noticed several times at the New England Small College Conference, an annual gathering for regional intelligentsia. He was tall and trim and had dark brown hair, high cheekbones, and just square-jawed enough of an oval face. While she’d passed him a program at a check-in table on Thursday morning, he’d been talking to someone else. When he smiled, he looked like he could be a model from GQ Magazine. He’d accepted the pamphlet without seeming to notice her in her black shirt and slacks and her nameless Student Volunteer badge. Why would he?

Lola sat on the backless stool in front of a small vanity and Naomi came around with her arsenal. Naomi’s perfume wafted from her—faint notes of juniper berries, jasmine, cedar, and tonka bean. 

Lola glanced at her friend in the mirror. “How is it that even the way you smell whispers sex goddess when no matter what I do, I broadcast unicorns and rainbow-sprinkled cupcakes?”

Naomi pulled a can of dry conditioner from her bag. “You do not. You just need more confidence.” She fiddled with a pair of silver hair sticks with tiny carousel horses on the ends. “You have a zillion shades of copper and brown. The horses look like they’re running through a hairy sunset.”

Lola laughed as Naomi stepped back to admire the French twist she’d created.

“That color dress makes you look like a glamorous mermaid with feet.”

Lifting her legs, Lola rolled her ankles. “The Little Mermaid’s feet felt like swords piercing through her. Between the narrow heels, the thin soles, and pointy toes, these shoes almost fit the bill.”

“You’ll get used to them.” Naomi leaned in until her face was close enough that she looked like a cyclops. “You need darker lipstick and something to highlight those chocolaty eyes. Don’t move.” She disappeared into the bathroom again.

“GQ won’t pay me any more attention than he already has,” Lola called after her. Shaking off her shoes, she spread her toes and watched the shimmery black nylon of her stockings stretch. “He might not even be there.”

“He will.” Naomi returned with her makeup bag. “He was staring at you from a window opposite a conference room today when we were at the pool. You looked like an old-time movie starlet, complete with retro bikini.”

“I doubt I was the one he was looking at.” Lola thought about it and grinned. “If I was, though, maybe that’s what I should wear tonight.”

“You’d certainly turn heads.” Her friend laughed.

“Do I want to know how your boyfriend magically got us passes to this?”

“Clay hacked the guest list.” She pulled out a small eyeshadow brush and swirled it over one of the pots in her makeup bag. “Close your eyes.” She swept the soft bristles over Lola’s lids. “He got a few of us nobodies the green light. Open your eyes and look up.” Naomi applied mascara and bottom eyeliner.