Chapter 12

“What should I do?” My head was still on Cassandra’s shoulder. I didn’t really want to let go. Letting go meant that I had to go back to reality. Reality sucked. I lingered for a few more moments and pulled back from Cassandra. If you’re doing the hugging, you should always be the one to pull back first. If you are the recipient of a hug, or you’ve offered the hug, don’t be the first to let go. You don’t know what the other person (the hugger) needs. Just let it happen. Again this would be another one of those Twitter hashtag moments. #CassiesFunFacts.

            “To be honest, I do not know.” She sighed. “You are in your own story now, Cassandra. You have the power to control what happens here. Roderick can’t take stories that are still being written. I guess you could call it a loophole. For now, you and this story are safe. But Wonderland is not.”

            I couldn’t have five minutes without being reminded that I’m here to save Wonderland from the Black Fog of Doom? Can’t Duncan come back into this pub? Why was I not getting my wishes! The questions kept piling up in my head. It was about to explode. Cassandra was still talking to me, so I had to snap myself back into reality.

            “Wonderland,” was the only word that could come out of my mouth. I was beginning to think that I had bumped my head along the way and the power of intelligent conversation had gone out the window.

            “Yes, Cassandra, Wonderland. It’s still being consumed. Luckily, your presence has done enough good so that Roderick’s forces have been pushed back and delayed hopefully until your return. We need to get you back to Wonderland soon. I don’t know how long the delay will keep it back.” Cassandra’s eyes were wide with fear and hope.

            I could only nod my head as I watched her pop out of my presence. I didn’t know what I wanted any more.

            In this world, in this story, I was safe from Roderick. I didn’t have to worry about Black Fog of Death or him stealing this story. For the first time in a while, the safeness consumed me.

            I was safe from Roderick.

            Wait.

            I was in my own story.

            Sorry it took so long for me to come around and face the facts here. This was my story. I could control what was going to happen. Roderick couldn’t come steal this story because I was still writing it!

            I hoped people would like it.

            Duncan.

            Oh, girl. I could so go for man candy right about now.

            Laughing at myself and how I was acting, I walked back to the bar stool that I was sitting on the first time I was in this pub. I claimed it as mine.

            I looked around the place, really noticing the details this time. It was as authentic as I could have hoped or dreamed of. I didn’t see any electric wiring, or hidden WiFi spots.

            Oh, Wifi. Since I was technically in 2014, I could get Wifi. Beautiful. Glorious. Wifi.

            This was my Survivor challenge. I was going to try to survive our techno-loaded world without the use of my iPhone.

            Whattttttt? #thisisgoingtobeahard

            See? I’m already struggling. I’m hashtagging without my Twitter-feed. Must. Stop. Hashtags. (#NotGonnaHappen)

            “Cassandra?” I forgot that the original Cassandra was still in the pub. Right. How rude of me. Shoot.

            “Oh god, I totally spaced out!” I spat out a hurried apology and reached towards her.

            She giggled at me. Actually giggled. I didn’t know that Ancient Greeks knew how to giggle. Apparently they did. It was a pleasant giggle.

            “Quite alright, dear. I must be going, however. Apollo and his muses have use of me yet, apparently. They send their love and protection.” With that blessing from the gaggle of women I had briefly met, she was gone.

            “Protection.” I spoke out loud.

            “What are ya rattlin’ on about out there?” I heard Griselda call from the kitchens. A moment later, her head popped out through the door, and she grinned at me.

            “Oh, this and that,” I hated to admit that I was talking to the Seer Cassandra from Mythology. She probably already thought I was a bit crazy. I couldn’t blame her. I felt crazy.

            “Duncan’s coming over later, for a pint and company. You might want to brush your hair,” Griselda threw a look over her shoulder as she closed the door to the kitchen. A second later she came out, holding a brush.

            “He’ll want to see you in those jeans again, lassie. But for now, at least make yourself look presentable.”

            I was flustered at the thought of Duncan wanting me to be presentable. Griselda had to be joking. There was no way in Hell that Duncan wanted me. No. Freaking. Way.

            As you have probably deciphered, reader, I am not the kind of girl who is fawned over by men. Quite the opposite in fact. I ogled at gorgeous men from afar, and that’s about the extent of it. I don’t talk to them. I make up fantastical stories about how our life could turn out, but I never do anything.

            The opposite is just as real. I was never approached by men like my friends were. I was the outcast, the perpetually single friend that stood smiling in a corner, patiently waiting for my turn.

            Apparently, my turn had come. But I was full of doubt. One time, I thought my turn had come at a tailgate for a lacrosse game at my college. This guy had come up to me, smiling, handing me an unopened can of Miller Lite. I accepted, seeing that it was closed and the chances of it being drugged were small. We talked for hours, taking our conversation from the tailgate to the game and long after at the next party on the agenda. When the time to head home came, I gave him my number and hoped he would call the next day, like he said he would.

            He called all right.

            So did 50 other people, laughing at me. Just laughter.

            I had been pranked, punked, made a fool.

            And he had enjoyed it.

            From then on, I avoided lacrosse games, parties, and men in general.

            So hearing that Duncan wanted to see me in my jeans again had to be a cruel joke.

            But I did as Griselda commanded, and made my hair look presentable. I didn’t realize how messy and knotty it had become. How unfortunate for me, as brushing my hair became a terrible, messy process.

            I discovered that I had sticks, leaves, and other bits of nature lodged in my hair from my adventures in Wonderland. I knew they were from Wonderland, because one of the leaves was pink. Not a normal color for Scottish trees. I needed to hide the pink leaves. I didn’t really want people to know about the fact that Wonderland is real. Not yet at least.

            I adjusted the hair on my head to a neat top-knot – quick Cassie hair-tip: twisting the hair and then turning it into a bun is super helpful if you can’t figure out the sock trick. After tucking in the corners of my hot pink hair tie, I checked myself out in the wavy mirror in the corner of the pub.

            I was shocked at my appearance. I was wearing a navy blue wool skirt, a white cotton blouse with ties at the neck, and what I was told is called an “earasaid.” From what I could gather, this “earasaid” is several feet of tartan that is wrapped around you, kind of like a cape. It came down to about my calves, belted at my waist, and then the rest of the plaid was thrown over my left shoulder, and pinned down by a gorgeous silver brooch. The plaid that I was in had a beautiful blend of greens and blues, with a thin red stripe. I had no idea whose family owned this tartan (or is it a plaid? I wasn’t sure, so I interchanged them). I thought it was gorgeous, and I would continue wearing it, as long as I was in this town. Having my hair on top of my head made my neck look ridiculously long. I touched my collarbone, wishing I had a necklace or something to break up how long my neck looked. It was making me uncomfortable.

            “Och, lass, that looks wonderful,” Griselda said from behind me. I could see her smiling in the reflection of the mirror.

            “Don’t you think I need something around my neck? I think it looks weird,” I didn’t turn around, but met her eyes via the mirror. My hand was still at my neck, almost wishing that I had something to replace it with.

            “I do. Which is why I brought these,” she stepped up to the mirror and handed me a string of pearls.

            “I went down to the costume department a few minutes ago. I told them you were my cousin, and in need of a bit of jewelry. Those women clucked like hens, poked around their shop, and picked out some pieces. Do you like the plaid you’re wearing?”

            Taking the pearls out of my hand, she fastened the pearls around my neck. They were irregular in shape, and must have cost a fortune for the 18^th century woman who probably wore them before me. Along with the necklace, Griselda fashioned pear earrings on to my ears. I was lucky that I had pierced ears, and wasn’t wearing my normal pair of studs – conveniently, they were being cleaned back in my real reality.

            “Such a bonny lass,” Griselda winked at me, proud of the work she had put in to make me look authentic. I smiled in thanks.

            “Can I help? What do you need me to do?” I was ready to help out with the pub. I didn’t want to look like a loaf.

            “Well, when the customers start coming in at about sundown, that’s when I’ll really need you. You’ll be pulling pints, and running food. Have you ever worked in a restaurant?” She was walking away before I could respond. I had to skip to catch up to her.

            “My mom owns a coffee shop in our town. I’ve waited tables a couple of times. I can manage, if that’s what you’re asking.” I picked up some coasters that were tossed about the floor.

            “Perfect. I can never find someone in this blasted town that could help me with the customers. It’s our busy season, so we’ll be slammed. Duncan comes over to help. He’ll stay behind the bar, though. He’s got a way with the ladies.”

            Her smile was, again, sly, and not unlike my friend the Cheshire Cat.