Fifteen words.
Only fifteen little words.
Elle stared at the letters on her laptop screen, her fingers poised above the keyboard as she re-read the opening line of her college admission essay. Months of brainstorming and researching, countless failed attempts, and who knows how many sleepless nights led to this. She had even spent the whole flight working on it instead of looking out the window and watching clouds drift below her like the fluffy remnants of freshly-shorn sky-sheep.
And all she had were fifteen stinking words.
Elle shook her head, trying to clear away the fog of exhaustion and the whimsical image of giant, naked sheep grazing on treetops. She had more important things to think about now. The right first line would grab the attention of the admissions committee and make them want to read more. The wrong one would bore them so much that they’d throw the essay right in the trash, her future along with it.
Elle leaned closer to the laptop balanced on her knees as if the words would write themselves if she just looked closely enough. How could she convince any college that she was worthy of their creative writing program if she couldn’t even write a decent sentence? Of course, being stuck in the cramped backseat of a rental car wasn’t exactly conducive to creativity. But it was unfair to blame the setting when she hadn’t made any progress at home either. No, the problem was her. She had assumed that long hours of distraction-free travel time would be the perfect opportunity to make a dent in her essay — to accomplish enough that she could actually enjoy herself once they reached the theme park. But no. The white page mocked her. Just as empty as her useless, empty brain.
The cursor blinked. Its rhythm mirrored the throbbing twitch of her eye.
Blink. Twitch.
Blink. Twitch.
Blink. Twitch.
The car hit a bump on the Florida road and her laptop jerked backward, smacking her in the forehead. Elle moaned.
Her mom glanced back from the driver’s seat. “Problem, honey?”
With a growl of frustration, Elle slammed her finger down on the backspace key, deleting her opening line — her only line — for the seventeenth time that day.
Farewell carefully-researched quote from a famous author. Intended to make Elle sound smart, it just seemed cliche instead.
“It’s garbage. All of it.”
Annie peered over at the page. “All of what?” she quipped.
Elle shot her little sister a look so murderous that the ten-year-old snapped her mouth shut and went back to scrolling through her phone without a word.
Elle had read every article on writing the perfect college essay, but none of them had helped. It was an impossible task, full of high stakes and contradictions. Be confident but not cocky. Sincere but not sappy. Make it logical and intellectual, and emotional and vulnerable. Oh, and don’t forget to be concise. Because you only have less than six-hundred-and-fifty words to somehow capture your entire self in an essay that will single-handedly make or break the next four years of your life.
“It’s just your first draft, Elle.” Her mom sighed. “You have months to get it right.”
Elle rolled her eyes. Sure, she had months . . . months that would dwindle even faster than her summer vacation had, having been consumed by campus tours and summer projects and birthday parties and futile attempts to squeeze some fun into her final months of pre-adulthood life. Attempts like this vacation.
Her parents gave her the trip as a surprise for her seventeenth birthday. With the first day of senior year just around the corner, they thought a few days at her favorite theme park would be the perfect opportunity for family fun. Which made sense! After all, semi-annual trips had been their go-to way of celebrating special occasions for as long as Elle could remember. And even though her dad hadn’t been able to take off work, the fact that it was a girls’ trip — just the sisters and their mom — should’ve made it even more memorable.
Six-year-old Elle would’ve loved it. Heck, sixteen-year-old Elle would’ve loved it! But seventeen-year-old Elle didn’t have time for it. Unfortunately, she also lacked the nerve to say that to her parents’ enthusiastic, smiling faces. A choice she now regretted, since the car had nearly reached their hotel and she still had nothing to show for her efforts but a blank document, a killer headache, and an increasingly-foul mood.
“I’m already too far behind,” Elle said. Just the thought made her heart beat faster. Her laptop jiggled as she bounced her knee anxiously. Purple and red street signs and cars full of happier tourists flashed past her window with dizzying speed. “All my friends wrote their essays over the summer. I don’t even have a sentence!”
“Which is why you need a break to clear your head,” her mom urged. Elle recognized that tone, low and slow as a lullaby, like the one used to soothe a fussy toddler. It was meant to calm Elle’s nerves, although it always had the opposite effect. “Besides, it doesn’t matter as much as you think —”
“Sure, it’s not like my entire future is on the line,” Elle snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She locked eyes with her mom. “Oh wait. It is.”
“Look!” Annie interrupted. “We’re here!” Sure enough, the turrets of the theme park’s signature castle peeked over the treetops. Normally, the sight would fill Elle with glee. This time, it triggered a spasm of anxiety. Her plan had backfired. Time was up.
So much for family fun.
* * *
As Elle’s mom unloaded their luggage in the hotel room and Annie bounced around like a Chihuahua hyped up on caffeine, both wearing matching t-shirts, Elle sank onto the couch and shut her eyes. Although her laptop sat closed on the side table, the white glow of the screen remained imprinted on the inside of her eyelids. She flopped her head back, listening to her family bustle around her. Instead of the buzz of adrenaline and excitement, nervousness churned in her stomach. How could she tell them?
When it was built half a century ago, the hotel represented the pinnacle of futuristic modernity. But to Elle, it evoked nostalgia for the past instead. Her past. Ever since Elle was little, her family stayed at this hotel every time they visited the theme park. It had earned her family’s loyalty because of its proximity to Elle’s favorite park and a particularly fun restaurant where guests could party with characters while eating a festively-themed breakfast. And even when rooms were redecorated or amenities were updated, the hotel never changed . . . not really. But she had.
Elle’s heart twisted as her mom tackled her jumping-bean sister and tugged a comb through her hair. Things had been so much easier at that age. Not like now, when she had responsibilities and worries and an essay that had to be written. She couldn’t just go gallivanting off into a land where people never had to grow up.
No matter how much she wanted to.
It was a disconcerting sensation, to no longer fit in a place where you had always belonged.
“Mom?” Elle said in a small voice. “I was thinking . . .”
“Just a minute, sweetheart. Let me finish up here.” Her mom adjusted Annie’s sparkly headband, topped by two round circles and an oversized bow, until Annie squirmed away, barely able to contain her excitement. “Everyone, make sure you have your wallets, tickets, phones — Elle!” Her mom stopped ticking items off on her fingers when her scattered gaze landed on her older daughter. “You haven’t changed yet?”
“I . . . I can’t. I don’t have —”
“Your shirt? Your head is certainly in the clouds today, isn’t it. Don’t worry, I’ll get it for you.” Elle’s mom tossed a t-shirt — emblazoned with a castle, the current year written above it in a burst of fireworks — onto the couch. “Now hurry up. If we don’t leave in five minutes, I think Annie is going to break down the door,” she said with a laugh.
Elle fingered the t-shirt’s cotton fabric. Some families charted their children’s growth by measuring their heights on a wall. Elle’s measured it in theme park photos. Frames lined the front hallway back home: photos of the three of them — then the four of them once Annie was born — standing in front of the castle, decked out in matching t-shirts and beaming grins. Elle couldn’t help but smile at the memory, but then her smile faltered. Their girls trip photo would be missing a girl. But they all had to get used to that, didn’t they? Once college started and she moved into a dorm, it would be the first of many.
She wrung the shirt in her hands. “I think it’s better if I stay here. Work on my essay.”
“Oh, come on, Cinder-Elle,” her mom said, using Elle’s childhood nickname. “Even hardworking princesses like yourself need to have fun sometimes —”
“I’m not a princess!” Elle shouted. Something about hearing her old nickname pricked a hole in her dam of emotions, and a pent-up mixture of frustration and guilt flooded out. “I’m practically an adult, okay? I can make my own decisions.” Her voice softened. “Go have fun. For Annie. I’ll just bring you down anyway.”
Elle’s mom sat beside her. “Don’t be silly. How can we have any fun without you?”
“I won’t have any fun until I get something done,” Elle replied honestly. “I just need . . . if I don’t write something . . .” Hot tears burned the corners of her eyes as her stomach clenched.
“How about a compromise?” Elle’s mom stroked her cheek, her eyes worried. “I want you to enjoy yourself. And if that means taking today to get something accomplished, you should do what you need to do. But tomorrow, you come with us no matter how many words are in that document of yours. Deal?”
Elle nodded and wiped back her tears, forcing a smile to her face. “Deal.” Maybe.
She maintained her phony smile as Annie yanked their mom out the door, the little girl’s headband already askew. But as soon as the door clicked shut, Elle’s lip quivered. “Stop being such a baby,” she scolded herself in between sniffs. “This is what you wanted.” She couldn’t go to the theme park, not if it meant ruining her chances of writing her essay, which in turn would ruin her chances of getting into a good college, which would then ruin her entire life. But since when did getting what she wanted feel so lousy? Oh well. No one said that being a responsible adult was easy, but she’d have to get used to that, too.
For some reason, instead of providing motivation, the thought brought on a wracking sob. Elle flung herself onto the bed face-first, tears flowing freely now.
Ironically enough, this was a quintessential moment in nearly every princess movie. The moment when the princess — hopes dashed and consumed by overwhelming misery — flops onto the nearest surface and cries her eyes out. In movies, these moments of utter devastation were inevitably followed by assistance from an enchanted helper, be it a talking tea pot, a sea witch, a fairy godmother, or a squad of forest animals. Someone who would give you the solution to your problem and lead you to your happy ending.
But no amount of tears could summon someone to write Elle’s essay for her. Perhaps it was because Elle didn’t look nearly as graceful as most tearful princesses, with snot dripping from her nose, arms and legs akimbo, and cheeks growing pink from rubbing against scratchy hotel room sheets. But more likely, she reminded herself sternly, it was because real life wasn’t a fairy tale. If she wanted her essay written, she had to do it herself.
* * *
Ten minutes later, Elle — her face scrubbed clean of tears, her lips set in a resolute line — sat at the desk in the hotel room, glaring at her laptop. Her finger hovered over the ‘on’ button. Writer’s block. My old enemy. We meet again.
Her laptop glared back at her. Or rather, her own face glared back at her, reflected in the black screen. It looked annoyingly judgmental, as if it was criticizing her lack of courage. “Come on, Elle. Step One. Turn it on,” Elle coached herself.
After a moment’s pause, Elle pressed the button. As the laptop booted up, footsteps pounded down the hotel hallway, paired with raucous high-pitched giggles: the sound of another family running off to have fun at the theme park, just as her own family had done. Without her. Like you asked them to, don’t forget. Elle shook her head and brought her attention back to the laptop. She took a deep breath. Then, with a deliberate click, she opened the document. Anxiety clawed its way up from her stomach into her throat as she stared at the blank white page.
“Just write a word,” she said, the sound of her voice breaking the spell. “Any word.” She flicked her fingers across the keyboard. A-n-y-space-w-o-r-d. Not exactly college material.
Elle wracked her brain for a witty pun, a heartfelt anecdote — any crumb of inspiration that could unclog her constipated creative well. Her gaze wandered along with her thoughts, absentmindedly taking in the two queen-sized beds, the couch . . . until it landed on the big window on the other side of the room. Beyond sidewalks and parking lots, the castle sparkled in the distance. Sunlight glinted off its turrets. Elle traced the familiar silhouette with her eyes, feeling a rush of excitement despite herself. From this far away, it looked as tiny and perfect as a miniature inside a snow-globe. To the right of the castle, the landscape was dominated by a big white structure, home to one of Elle’s favorite roller coasters. Annie had decided she was finally brave enough to try it this year, if Elle was there to hold her hand.
Abruptly, Elle stood up, stomped over to the window, and yanked the curtains shut.
Forget about being the most magical: this was the most distracting place on earth.
Elle settled back into the desk chair and closed her eyes. It was just her and her brain now. Nothing left to distract —
An obnoxious melody shattered the silence. Elle jerked her head up, torn between startled panic and resigned annoyance. She knew that ringtone. Elle tracked the sound to the floor in between the beds. Sure enough, there was Annie’s phone, forgotten in her little sister’s rush out the door. Responsible wasn’t exactly a word that anyone would use to describe Annie. But prone-to-temper-tantrums was. Elle answered it, already predicting how the call would go.
“Yes, Mom, Annie’s phone is here,” she said bluntly. “I just found it.”
“Oh thank goodness.” Her mom’s voice became fainter as she presumably turned away from her phone. “See? You left it in the room. That’s why I told you to double-check . . . Yes, I reminded you right before we… No, of course I don’t think you dropped it on purpose, but . . .” Her tone grew more strained. “Annie, honey, I know you want to take pictures on your own phone. But unless you want us to lose our place in line, you’ll have to use . . .”
Elle moved the phone away from her ear, moments before Annie’s familiar shriek would’ve pierced her eardrum. She waited a few seconds, just to be safe, before raising her own voice to be heard above the disaster-in-progress. “It’s okay, Mom! I’ll bring the phone to you.”
“That’s so sweet, but I don’t want you to give up . . .” Her mom’s voice faded again, switching from pleasant to sharp in one second flat. “Annie. If you can’t calm yourself down, we’re going to have to —”
Elle weighed the odds in her head. Dragging Annie out of line and all the way back to the hotel room would destroy any chance of salvaging the day for any of them. A half hour of staring at her laptop, versus coming to her family’s rescue? There was no question which option won. Elle grabbed her own phone, her park ticket… and, after a moment of hesitation, her t-shirt. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Elle said firmly, already halfway out the door.
* * *
Elle didn’t know why her head felt clearer the second she stepped onto the walkway that connected the hotel with the park entrance any more than she knew why she had stuffed her t-shirt into her bag. But regardless of the reason, it was a welcome change. As the warm Florida breeze played with her hair, her shoulders unhunched and her neck unkinked. Her head had felt like an overfilled balloon all day, all tense and pressured. But with every footstep, a little more air leaked out of it.
Maybe this half hour didn’t have to be a total loss.
After all, Elle reasoned, half of a writer’s work was done away from the keyboard. The best ideas drifted into an open mind when you least expected them . . . and her mind finally felt like it had a little room to spare.
Sure enough, as Elle walked down the familiar sidewalk — passing excited, smiley guests heading toward the park, and exhausted, sweat-drenched ones heading away from it — her mind began to wander . . . in the wrong direction. Tantalizing images of castles and fairy dust and ice cream and roller coasters and churros filled her head. Without meaning to, she began to walk faster, a new spring in her step.
With a concerted effort, Elle pulled her thoughts back to the subject at hand. This was no fun outing — it was an errand, nothing more. Once she dropped off Annie’s phone, she’d head straight back to her laptop. But despite her best attempts, her feet didn’t get the message. They pulled her down the sidewalk of their own accord, her steps so light she practically skipped.
Until she saw the long lines of guests snaking beyond the turnstiles at the park entrance.
Elle’s speedy steps screeched to a halt. No wonder her mom didn’t want to lose their spot in line. She sent a text, a sinking feeling in her stomach:
Elle waited for the three dots on her phone screen to turn into words. Finally, her mom’s response appeared. Elle’s heart deflated, just as her balloon head re-inflated.
Her half hour round-trip estimate had just doubled, at the least. Elle sighed.
* * *
After a twenty-minute wait that felt more like twenty hours, Elle finally reached the front of the line, scanned her ticket, and took off running. She swerved around grinning guests who posed for photos in front of a floral design, then bolted through the entrance tunnel at full tilt.
The outside world melted away.
Despite herself, Elle froze. Peppy melodies filled her ears, embracing her like a warm hug. A horse-drawn trolley jingled down the street. Near a flag pole, cartoon characters come-to-life greeted happy guests armed with autograph books and cameras. The turn-of-the-century buildings that surrounded her transported her back to a simpler time — one that never truly existed, except in the collective imaginations of the visionaries who built the park and the countless guests who passed this way before her. And at the end of the street, the castle rose up above it all: a majestic scene, ripped straight from the pages of a fairy tale.
For a brief, wonderful moment, all of Elle’s stress melted away too. Nothing existed but this magical place, where the worries of the real world didn’t apply.
And then the real world poked its head back in. She was just a delivery girl — one who was running way behind schedule.
Elle dodged the crowds as she worked her way down the street. She glowered at the revelers as she hurried by, one cranky face in a sea of gleeful ones. Their chatter, their smiles as they took family photos destined to hang in front hallways like her own . . . it just made her mood worse. Didn’t they have responsibilities? What reasonable person would spend forty-five minutes in line to get their picture with a human-sized mouse? Or an hour for an eight-minute boat ride past a bunch of robots in pirate costumes? The whole thing was pointless. Even the castle seemed to have lost its shine.
It was all just plaster, paint, and pretend.
The sooner Elle could leave, the better.
‘Now who’s pretending?’ her subconscious asked.
Elle typed up a text as she walked, glad for the excuse to keep her reddened eyes downcast. Finally here. At the castle. Where are you?
The three dots lingered on her screen for an ominously long time. Why did it have to take her mom so long to type up a simple response? Elle snarled at her phone, grouchier by the second.
A whole paragraph appeared. Never a good sign.
Elle resisted the urge to throw her phone into the castle moat. It was no surprise that Annie picked that ride. She was obsessed with the dolls’ international costumes and the catchy theme song. What was surprising was the fact that they were still there, considering how quickly the line usually moved. Apparently, the universe was against her writing her essay. Elle stabbed at the screen. She’d remind her mother that some people had responsibilities waiting for them. That this was a lousy reward for sacrificing her time to do a favor for Annie . . . But wait — there was a better option. Elle just sent one word, letting the short, curt response carry the weight of her frustration for her.
Fine.
* * *
Annie’s favorite ride was in the heart of the park’s most fantastical area. It used to be Elle’s favorite area too, but when one is in an extremely foul mood, the last thing one wants is to be surrounded by sparkles and joy that only remind you how cranky you are in comparison. Plan A was to sit on a bench near the attraction’s exit. But, no surprise considering her luck, the seat was already taken. Plan B was to just stand there. But it didn’t help Elle’s mood to lurk on increasingly-sore feet and watch all the happy people leaving the ride. So she settled for Plan C: find a curb away from crowds, where she could sit and wait in peace. Elle found the ideal location outside a nearby restaurant, sandwiched between a bathroom and a fake brick turret that matched the castle.
Perfect. Nothing fun happened in a bathroom.
Elle settled onto the concrete curb. If she was stuck there, she might as well try to get some writing in. She begrudgingly opened the notes app on her phone.
High, twinkly music — instrumental versions of songs from iconic movies — drifted over from the carousel nearby. Elle started humming along before she could stop herself.
Balancing her phone on her lap to free up her hands, Elle covered both ears. Take that, distractions. The music became muffled and distant, though she could hear the throbbing of her own heartbeat instead, not unlike the pulse of her laptop cursor.
Elle stared down at her phone, the blank note no easier to fill than the blank document. Suddenly, her stomach grumbled. Elle shot it a dirty look. Even her own body was against her getting anything done. Although, she reconsidered, that might explain her mood. Her mom always said she got cranky when she was hungry. Elle pocketed her phone and went in search of a snack. The mature thing to do would be getting herself a sandwich, but a kiosk caught her eye first. Ice cream bars: a special kind, only available at the theme park. Her favorite vacation treat. Elle’s mouth watered. It was an awfully hot day — surely the more mature thing to do would be getting something that cooled her down. Without hesitation, Elle pulled out a few crinkled bills from her pocket and rushed for the kiosk.
Elle brought the ice cream back to her curb, a mighty huntress returning with her prey. She eagerly ripped the plastic wrapper open and eyed the shiny chocolate coating, glistening with condensation, before taking a big bite. The flavor of melting chocolate and ice-cold vanilla exploded onto her tongue. Why did ice cream taste better when it was molded in the shape of three circles, dunked in chocolate, and put on a stick? Elle took another bite, and another. Soon the whole bar was gone. Her stomach wasn’t the only thing that felt less grumbly now.
Elle licked chocolate smudges off her sticky fingers, feeling an energized buzz. The sugar’s fault probably. She wiped her hands on her shorts. No more excuses. She picked up her phone with considerably less enthusiasm than she had tackled the ice cream.
The buzz faded away. Elle stared at her lock screen photo, a selfie of herself and Annie from their last trip, wearing matching headbands, matching t-shirts, and matching smiles. This theme park was her happy place. Or at least, it used to be.
Growing up was no fun.
Just then, the tinkling melody of one of her favorite songs drifted over from the carousel. Elle looked over at the attraction. The line was nearly deserted — it couldn’t be more than a five-minute wait. As long as she was there, it couldn’t hurt to do one ride . . . right?
Elle stuffed her phone into her pocket and ran to the carousel. Her steed — a white horse bedecked in a silver helmet and a red knight’s shield — seemed to wink at her as she swung her leg over its back, a giddy smile on her face. She grabbed the golden pole. It felt cool in her grip, despite the Florida heat.
Maybe she didn’t have to grow up all the way quite yet.
* * *
While she waited for her family to arrive, Elle relaxed on a bench in front of the castle, soaking in the cheerful music, the beautiful view of the castle . . . everything. The sunshine warmed her face as she bopped her head along with the melody, her phone stashed out of sight. She had put it away after sending one last text to her mom, right after her carousel ride finished: Change of plans — meet me at the castle!
Now, she scanned the faces all around her. Stranger after stranger walked past, until — there! Elle’s family walked down the castle ramp. Her mom’s gaze darted nervously across the crowd, her brow furrowed and her lips pressed tightly together. Elle giggled. Her mom clearly expected that Elle would be furious over the delay.
Elle stood up and waved enthusiastically. As Annie dashed over with grabby hands extended for her phone, her mom’s face broke into a surprised smile. “What are you . . .”
“Wearing? I couldn’t break tradition, now could I?” Elle gestured at the matching t-shirt that she had tugged over her tank top.
“What a wonderful surprise!” Elle’s mom pulled her into a hug. “You haven’t just made Annie’s day. You’ve made mine too.”
Elle smirked. “I know.”
Her mom sniffed away happy tears.
“Don’t cry.” Elle laughed. “You don’t want red eyes in our picture, do you?” She herded her family toward the nearest photographer.
Elle and her family lined up with the castle behind them, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. A warm feeling coursed through Elle’s chest that had nothing to do with their sunbaked bodies pressing together. For the first time in weeks, she could actually breathe. Elle smiled for the camera with a big, toothy grin, nothing forced about it this time. Forget about plastic and paint — the park’s magic lived in the hearts of the people who visited it.
Her smile grew even wider as an idea struck her.
As soon as the photographer finished, Elle yanked out of her family’s grip. She darted over to a bench, grabbed her phone, and started typing furiously.
“Oh.” Her mom’s face fell. “Do you have to get back to work already?”
Elle nodded, barely listening.
“Can’t it wait until you’re back in the room?” her mom asked.
Elle shook her head.
“Really, Elle? The silent treatment? I thought that you —”
“Give me five minutes!” Elle barked, never taking her eyes off her phone. Elle’s family waited as her thumbs jabbed at her screen with record speed. Annie, bored, took a dozen terrible selfies that were mostly nose and ear. Finally, her mom had enough. “I know you have to write today, but the two of us —”
“Okay, done!” Elle put her phone back in her pocket. “Sorry about that. Can we ride the roller coaster next?” Her feet were already pulling her toward the park’s futuristic section, where her favorite ride awaited her.
“We?” Elle’s mom said incredulously. “But I thought you had to work on your essay!”
Elle retrieved her phone and turned it so her mom could read the screen.
Fairy tales are full of magical items — glass slippers and pumpkin carriages, poisoned apples and cursed spindles. But in real life, magic isn’t as easy to find. Wands are made of plastic, castles are just brick and mortar, and glass slippers? An impractical, uncomfortable foot wound waiting to happen. Compared to their storybook counterparts, even the most enchanting objects are ordinary and powerless . . . if one looks only with one’s eyes. In the real world, magic isn’t found in objects, but in the hearts and minds of those who seek it. The same is true of stories. Their power doesn’t come from letters and words, but rather the imaginations of those who read and write them. And that’s why I want to be an author.
“I am,” Elle replied, feeling happier than she had in a long time. She grabbed Annie’s hand and ran toward the roller coaster.
“Who’s going to scream louder?” she teased.
“I’m not going to scream!” Annie said confidently . . . and incorrectly, Elle was certain. Her little sister was going to scream her head off.
And Elle wouldn’t miss it for the world.