How I Found the Perfect Dress

Images of what my utterly destroyed outfit would look like when I stepped out of the fountain swirled in my mind, pink and disgusting, like an artificially flavored and colored raspberry milkshake going down, down, down the drain.

It doesn’t matter, I thought, as the water hit me like a cold blast from a garden hose. I am here to save Colin. Not to dazzle him with my ironic fashionista prom outfit.

Inside the fountain, the dolphins were swimming corkscrews around me and smiling their wide, head-enveloping grins. The water was so full of bubbles and froth it was hard to see. It felt like we were spinning and sinking at the same time, but I wasn’t sure which way was up anymore. Finally the dolphins stopped and chirped in unison.

“Yield at the yellow light!” one of them called in a familiar, parental way, its squeaky voice fading as it soared and breached the surface. “Don’t forget to check your mirrors!”

The water spun me around in the wake of the dolphins’ sudden exit. Still holding the gym bag, I flutter-kicked my high-heeled feet as fast as I could, and followed.

There was dry land beneath my feet. Dry marble, to be exact, in a luscious swirl of cream and yellow, like clouds passing over a lemon sky. The stone was worn smooth by centuries of dancing feet, and I noticed that the yellow markings formed a subtle dashed pattern, just like a merge lane onto the highway.

How gross it would be to drip a puddle of water onto this lovely floor, I thought. I hiked up the bottom of my dress and wondered if there was any chance of finding a towel somewhere, but the fabric of my dress was not dripping.

“Mor?” The voice I most wanted to hear rang out, echoing off the stone and straight into my heart. “Bloody hell, girl, is that really you? Or are these mischief-makers playing magical tricks upon me eyes?”

It was Colin, looking completely ridiculous in a powder blue tux, with a hugely ruffled shirt and tight bell-bottom trousers.

My Colin, staring at me in openmouthed surprise and pimped out in the top-of-the-line kitsch of seventies disco prom finery. It was the second most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life.

The first most beautiful thing, if you could believe the silver-framed, full-length mirror propped against the wall near where I was standing, was me. I was in the beige dress from Strohman’s, except it was ten times as gorgeous as before and fully goddess-worthy—bedazzled with jewels, bedecked with flowers, trailing a gossamer train that floated as I walked. My hair, a yard long and shiny as polished copper, was piled like a princess’s on top of my head, with the softest red-gold ringlets cascading around my ears.

Caution. My eyes followed my reflection down and saw the words inscribed in small letters at the bottom of the mirror. Objects in mirror are foxier than they appear.

“Ugh! These’ve been beat with an ugly stick, for sure,” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think this outfit of mine could be made any more hideous, but clearly I was wrong.”

“It would be totally excellent,” I said, glancing around for any sign of an evil faery queen approaching, “if you could just put those boots on without us having a big conversation about it.”

“Why’s that?” he said. “And, pardon me language—but what the fek are we both doin’ here in these fancy getups?” He looked me up and down. “I have to say, lass, I think you take the prize for best frock. My wardrobe’s more in the ironic vein.”

“Finally!” A high, shrill voice snaked out like a lasso and caught us in midconversation. “The guest of honor is here!”

For the first time since emerging from the fountain, I looked around. Where Colin and I stood, the cool marble floor and stately stone walls shimmered under the flickering light of candelabra chandeliers (the kind with real candles, not those dumb flame-shaped light bulbs you see in East Norwich dining rooms). This medieval charm lasted for about fifty feet or so, then abruptly gave way to a dance floor that looked much more hard rock than medieval stone. A disco ball hung ironically above, like a mirrored, glittering moon, throwing rainbows of light across the dancers as it turned.

Walking toward us was Queen Titania, dressed in black leather pants, cuff bracelets and a band T-shirt that read “Faeries rock!” Her head was shaved on both sides and the center was glued up into a massive, liberty-spiked Mohawk. When she opened her mouth to speak, I saw a big silver stud pierced through the tip of her tongue.

“I—I thought this was the Spring Faery Ball.” The fast, regular bass thump and shrieking guitar sound of heavy metal music started pounding from the dance floor.

“Oh, it’s that too, I suppose.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Same old ball every spring, pretty dresses and tiaras, ho, hum, yawn! This year I decided we should do something different! More youthful! In honor of your birthday! I just thought of it this morning.” She twirled and showed off the back of her T-shirt, which read, “Who are you calling a faery?” in blood-soaked letters. “Do you like it? Do you think it’s ‘hip’?”

“It’s, uh—hard core,” I said, while thinking, just get him in the shoes, that’s all you need to do. “Maybe Colin and I should go someplace and change into more appropriate outfits.”

“No, you mustn’t; you look adorable,” she lisped. “We knew you’d be dressed for your silly human prom, and we wanted to make sure you and Colin matched, so we provided him with this scrumptious tuxedo. And, Colin, may I say—yum yum! That shade of pastel blue is your color.” She patted her Mohawk delicately. “Now, come get a drink and have fun. The bartender is serving—I believe they’re called Long Island Iced Teas.” Her eyes flitted to the gym bag in Colin’s arms. “But why don’t we check your bag first? You don’t want to lug that monstrosity around all night.”

“How generous. I imagine you’re eager to try them on, then.” She glanced at me, and then at Colin. “But no no no, they don’t match your tuxedo at all! You can try them on later. After the ball. I’m sure Morganne won’t mind.” She turned back to me, and her eyes shone like broken glass. “After all, there isn’t anything special about those boots, is there, Morganne?”

Jolly Dan’s warning played in my head—if you tell him that they’re magic, they won’t work. I gulped. “Nope,” I said, “they’re just boots.”

“I’ll put them away for now, then,” she said, taking the bag away from Colin. “You should never break in new shoes at a dance, you know! It causes the most excruciating blisters.”

adorable or not, Colin and i didn’t blend in verЧ well with the other partygoers. I was stunning in my goddess outfit and he looked like an outtake from Dumb and Dumber, but all the other guests were dressed in various styles and eras of punk and heavy metal gear, just like Queen Titania.

Of course it couldn’t be that simple, I thought to myself in frustration. But just wait. There will be a way, some way, to get those boots on his feet.

“Sorry I didn’t say happy birthday!” Colin shouted over the music. “I’ve no sense at all what day it is. The music’s brilliant, innit?”

It was, but the place was so packed I couldn’t get a look at the band. It wasn’t until they launched into a deafening rendition of “Rock and Roll All Nite” that Colin dragged me by the hand to a less-crowded spot at the edge of the dance floor, where we could actually see the stage.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but Colin was in heaven. “In the normal scheme of reality,” he yelled in my ear, “those boys are a bunch of senior citizens now. To see them young, still together, in their prime . . . it’s quite a treat, quite a treat.” He sounded reverent. “Twenty-three consecutive gold records! Did ye know that? Only the Rolling Stones and the Beatles had more.”

“That’s great, Colin—hey!” Jolly Dan and Taffy were maneuvering hand-in-hand through the maze of dancing legs. Now they’d spotted me and were waving like mad. Jolly Dan was in black, except for a red-and-white striped Dr. Seuss hat that was as tall as he was, and Taffy had artfully distressed what looked like one of Tammy’s old Cinderella costumes into a tattered, vampire-princess gown. Very Disneygoth.

The tiny couple found their way to us and I introduced them to Colin with care—after all, the first meeting between a skeptical Irishman and a pair of leprechauns was not a moment to be taken lightly.

“The most fun I’ve ever had,” Jolly Dan replied, his eyes crinkling with gratitude. “Did you check out the gnome sisters?”

He jerked his head and I looked in the direction his hat pointed to. Glenwyn and Drenwyn were standing on each other’s shoulders, but even added together they still weren’t nearly as tall as their arrogant elf-date.

“They’ve been taking turns being on top,” Jolly Dan scoffed. “So far he doesn’t seem to have noticed the difference.”

“I tried to talk to them,” Taffy said. “To tell them my, uh, news. They didn’t care.” She shook her head. “I always thought those two were kind of plastic.”

Jolly Dan was staring at Colin’s feet. “Surely,” he said in a low voice, “a handsome gentleman like you could find some better-looking footwear than that?”

Colin looked down at the glitter-encrusted platform shoes that came with his tux. “Ye think these are bad?” he said, laughing. “Ye should’ve seen the ones that Mor—”

“I. Um. I. Um.” My making-up-lame-excuses powers seemed to have deserted me, so I settled for a distraction instead and pointed at the stage. “Look!”

Queen Titania was grabbing the microphone from Gene Simmons, right in the middle of a song. “Birthday cake!” she screamed into the mike. The drummer punctuated her announcement with an explosive riff. Rivers of smoke poured onto the dance floor, and there was a burst of flame.

Everyone screamed, but the fire turned out to be poor Finnbar, tottering under the weight of a huge birthday cake that was covered with hundreds of blazing candles.

Queen Titania saw the questioning look on my face. “In faery years,” she explained, “you’re quite a bit older than seventeen. In fact, you’re vastly older than young Colin here.” She frowned at the cake. “Next year we’ll do one candle per century, I think. It’s starting to get very cluttered, and I can’t abide clutter!”

Clutter? I looked at the queen, and in a sickening flash I realized what felt so familiar about her. It wasn’t just that she was the spitting image of Mrs. Blainsvoort. There was something else—something that should have been obvious—

A wish? Figuring out my family tree would have to wait. “If I make a wish, will it definitely come true?” I asked the queen.

“My dear daughter,” she said, not seeming the least bit worried, “a half-goddess’s birthday wish always comes true.”

It’s too easy. Magical faery-mommy or not, Queen Titania was not what I would consider a nice person. She could make my no-more-dancing wish come true by turning Colin into something without legs, like an earthworm or a slug.

I thought so hard my head hurt. It’s a trick, I realized in despair. Any wish I came up with would be far too easy for the queen to twist into something awful.

I looked around at the sea of punk and goth and heavy metal faeries staring at me impatiently. Colin watched me too. His cornflower-blue eyes were nearly the same color as his tux. I had to admit, he seemed quite at home among the faery folk by now. Had things gone too far for me to put them right?

Even Gene Simmons was looking at me. The black-and-white demon paint on his face was harmlessly clownlike, now that he was just another musician on a gig, milling about between sets as if playing a faery ball was all in a day’s work. Though maybe it was, to him.

Follow the KISS rule, I thought, remembering one of my dad’s more annoying sayings. Keep it simple, stupid. Remember what Jolly Dan told you to do. Stick to the plan.

And, with an enormous, half-goddess breath that I didn’t know I had in me, I blew out every one of those hundreds of candles.

There was a smattering of lukewarm applause at my boring wish. Quick as a flash, Finnbar raced to the coat check to get the gym bag.

“I had to tip her a couple of bucks,” he whispered to me, as he laid the bag at Colin’s feet. “You can pay me back later,’kay, sis?”

With everyone watching, Colin unzipped the bag and took out the boots. A collective oooooh of admiration rose from the crowd. I caught Jolly Dan’s eye; he was on the dance floor, trapped in a sea of legs and looking ten feet tall with pride.

One spin, I saw Jolly Dan mouth at me, from knee-level. I hurled myself at Colin and spun him right around so fast he didn’t know what hit him.

“They fit—perfectly,” Colin said, like a person waking from a dream. “I’d say they’re the best fittin’ shoes I’ve ever worn, if I was forced to pick.” He looked around slowly, seeing it all for the first time. Then he spotted me.

“Morgan! What are ye doing in Dublin? And what club is this? I don’t recognize it.” He rubbed his eyes. “To be honest, I don’t remember goin’ clubbin’ to begin with. I was just home in me own bed, readin’ Popular Robotics.”

“The shoes fit perfectly,” the queen repeated, sounding deeply disappointed. “How very Cinderella. Ah, well. We’ll miss you, Colin. But at least you were here for Morganne’s birthday. That’s all that matters, I suppose.”

“And there’ll be no further mischief, with this boy or any other,” Jolly Dan bellowed to no one in particular. “Not unless all of ye want to dance barefoot for the rest of your immortal faery lives.”

All the partygoers hung their heads, and Queen Titania glared at me as if she might reduce her own daughter to ash with a single crook of her finger. Even the disco ball stopped turning. Then, sudden as a lightning strike, she threw both hands in the air and whooped.

“Mosh pit!” she yelled. The band was already in position, and Gene Simmons counted off into a screaming metal version of “Some Day My Prince Will Come,” from the Snow White movie. The disco ball swept a rainbow searchlight around the room, and the party came back to life as if nothing had happened—except now, of course, everyone was eating birthday cake.

Colin stared at me as if he would never look away, and I saw the wonder in his eyes. “Damn, Morgan,” he said. “You look fantastic.”

He rocked on his heels for a moment, shoved his hands into the pockets of his powder-blue polyester pants, and smiled shyly. “You wanna dance?”

“the crowd at this club, it’s a bit mallcore, if Чou ask me,” Colin shouted, as we struggled to stay together on the dance floor. “Though I can’t complain, not with Gene Simmons thrashin’ away for our personal entertainment! Before becoming a mainstay of reality television the man was a true musical legend, y’know. It’s like seein’ bloody Sinatra at the Sands.”

It was a great party, I had to admit. Now Jolly Dan and Taffy were stage diving like rock stars, and the crowd was loving it.

“I don’t care.” I put my arms around his neck, in classic slow dance position. “It’s just that I had this wish that you’d be able to take me to my junior prom, and I know you can’t, and anyway, it’s tonight, and you’ll wake up in Ireland in a few minutes and won’t remember any of this, but . . .” I looked up and gazed pleadingly into his eyes. “Just—humor me, okay?”

So, with Gene Simmons and Kiss rocking their highly amplified guts out, and an assortment of pierced and tattooed magical beings pogoing and body-slamming all around us, Colin and I slow danced. As soon as I felt his arms around me, we could have been anywhere—a moonlit beach, the top of Mount Everest or the middle of Grand Central Station at rush hour—and I wouldn’t have noticed. Or cared.

“Because, according to you, I won’t remember it. How’s that gonna feel, eh? When I act like it never happened? Ye know I’m not that kind of bloke.”

Taking a step back from me, he started patting the pockets of his tux. “I’ll write meself a note, then.” He found a pen and, on the back of his left hand, he drew a big heart and wrote inside it:

On the occasion of her
17th birthday
Colin
kissed
Morgan

As we kissed, I slid my arms around his neck again, and somehow the music magically turned into “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” from The Lion King, which would have been awesomely promlike except it sounded like the William Hung version, but we didn’t care because we weren’t dancing anymore.

It turns out a kiss in the faery realm can last as long as you want. A moment, a night, a year—even a whole magical lifetime.