Mother's Day

Believe it or not, Mothers' Day turned out really well this year, and it was thanks to--you'll never guess--Tark!  We are actually on speaking terms today.

The day before Mothers' Day, I was still in a dither about what to get Mom.  I only had two gold pieces saved up, but I wanted to get her something really nice.  Then Tark knocked on my bedroom door.

He looked red-faced and a little self-concious.  "Hey, ummmm, Fiona, what are you going to get Mom this year?"

"Oh, I don't know," I replied, "how about a new son--one who doesn't do stupid stuff that embarrasses his family?"

"Look!" Tark exploded, "I feel really bad about that, OK?  I admit, it was stupid."

I just stood there with my mouth hanging open.  Tark admitting he was wrong?  Was the world ending or something?

Tark mumbled something and held out a small bag.  "Here," he said, "add this to whatever you've got saved up.  I think it's enough to get Mom some of that new rose water they have at Mary's.  I'm still grounded and that rotten tattlebug follows me every time I leave the house, so you've got to go buy it."
 He looked at me with eyes that actually looked a little remorseful.  "Please, Fi?"

Dumbstruck, I looked into the little bag.  There were five whole gold pieces, and a couple of silver coins as well. "Where on earth did you get this much?" I asked.

"I've been saving up for a new Whongol bat, but..." his voice trailed off.

I gulped.  I knew how much he'd been wanting a new bat for the silly game, but I had no idea how long he must have been saving up.  And now he was offering it all to do something nice.  For Mom.

"OK," I joked, "who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"Dork."  He mock-punched me in the arm.

Using the excuse that I wanted to go out for a quick fly-around, I took his money and mine over to Mary's Rose Boutique, one of the most exclusive shops in the forest, and bought a big gold-and-crystal bottle of Mary's Rose Water, her latest new fragrance.  After wrapping it carefully in leaves I stuffed it under my coat as I went into our house. 

Later I knocked on Tark's door, and actually went into his foul room to show off the purchase.  You would not believe the mess Tark's room is in, and even if we had dumped the entire bottle of perfume on the floor right there and then, it couldn't have covered up the reek of adolescent boy.  Still, none of that really seemed to matter as we gloated together over our secret.

Mothers' Day dawned bright and lovely.  We made Mom breakfast, which meant cleaning up the mess Tark made when he bumped into the table and spilled a basket of robin eggs all over the floor.  Then we presented Mom with our gifts.  Deirdre's gift was a smug little cookbook called Cooking Without Killing--Eating Right to Protect Our Animal Friends.  Mom sighed at this latest attempt to convert the family to a meatless diet and picked up the package from Tark and me.

The look in her eyes when she opened up the box was worth anything Tark and I could have bought for ourselves.  "We combined our savings," Tark explained, blushing furiously.  "Happy Mothers' Day, Mom!"

There was a slight suspicion of tears in Mom's eyes as she dabbed the perfume on her wrists and held them out for us to sniff.  The scent was wonderful, and I immediately made plans to borrow some for the Spring Dance!  Mom couldn't say no when I had helped buy it for her!

Dad took Mom out for a romantic--eeeewwwwwww--dinner with just the two of them and they stayed out really late.  I don't even want to think about what they could have been getting up to. 

On his way out, Dad actually smiled at Tark.  Maybe things in our home are on the way to getting better.  Then again, Mom promised to try a few of the awful-sounding recipes in Deirdre's book, so maybe not.

No more tattlebug!

The day after Mom’s meltdown, the tattlebug was kicked out of the house and a blessed peace settled over us.  Dad had finally backed down, and the tattlebug would now only be paid to escort Tark to and from school.  It’s nice not to hear constant updates on my brother’s disgusting personal habits, and of course I feel a little more secure sneaking out to visit Melissa.  I’ve figured out how to play some kind of bird game on her phone, and it’s really surprising how time flies when you’re playing.  I’ve hardly gotten any sleep the last couple of nights!  Fortunately, I’ve also discovered a treat she keeps in her room, that helps me stay awake—chocolate-covered coffee beans!   I figure she won’t miss one or two, and it takes a couple of days to finish one.  They keep me awake all day, if I break them apart and take pieces to school with me.

I still can’t figure out what to get Mom for Mothers’ Day.  She’s been happier since the tattlebug was banned from the house, but I still think she’s upset about the whole thing with Tark.  I wish there were some way to make her feel better.  It must be hard to be the mother of a juvenile delinquent and a self-righteous plantist who tries to make everyone feel guilty about enjoying a few aphid fries.  I must be a genuine relief to her, hardly ever causing trouble and going a whole three days without detention!  Of course, there is that less-than-stellar grade I got in Ancient Lore, but honestly, who can concentrate with a boring teacher like Mr. S?

This might sound weird, but I think Tark might be genuinely sorry about the whole fermented honey debacle.   I heard him talking to Dad one night while I was cleaning cricket vomit (don’t ask!) out of a shoe I had carelessly left outside the shoe closet, right in Squeaker’s line of fire.

“Dad, I’m really sorry!  I shouldn’t have let Damien talk me into it!”

Dad snorted.  “Don’t blame this on your friends!  You are old enough to make your own decisions.”

“I know, but…”

“No buts!”  Dad’s voice actually shook.  “Do you realize what could have happened?  What if you had flown into a tree?  Or if a cat found you while you were incapacitated?  Do you know how often drunk fairies get caught by cats?  Do You?”

For the first time, I realized that my father had actually been afraid for Tark.  I had just assumed that he was embarrassed because of his position on the Honey Control Board.  I felt a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach as I realized that Tark could have been seriously hurt.  Or worse.  I mean, he is the worst brother who ever lived and is definitely the scum of the Earth.  Once he told everybody in school that I was in love with Feonn O’shea, and I got teased for months.  Months!!!  I never even liked Feonn, but after Tark’s stupid comments I blushed every time Feonn was near, so of course everybody thought I really was—Oh, never mind.

Still, the thought of Tark not being there anymore bothers me.  I wonder why.

Dinner

Mom was not happy about me getting detention.  “Isn’t it bad enough to have one of you in trouble,” she wailed at us as we tried to eat warmed-over worm burgers.  “Why can’t you just behave?  Be more like Deirdre?”  She pointed at Deirdre, who was eating her wormless grass salad so virtuously that I could have sworn she had a halo. 

“That reminds me,” I said casually, “somebody wrote Meat is Murder—Eat Nothing With a Face! on the wall in the girls’ bathroom.  I wonder who that could have been?”

“Somebody with a conscience,” was Deirdre’s smug reply. 

“Mrs. Brownwing, Tark is feeding his worm burger to the cricket!” shrilled the tattlebug.

Mom got up, went into the bedroom and slammed the door so hard the table shook.

“What is wrong with you?” demanded my father, looking at all three of us as if we were backstreet honey dealers.  Which in Tark’s case wouldn’t be too far from the truth.  He got up and followed Mom.  I could hear their voices raised in argument behind the door.

“What’s their problem,” grumbled Tark as he fed the rest of his burger to Squeaker, our pet cricket.

“Mrs. Brownwing!  Mrs. Brownwing!” the tattlebug continued, although nobody was paying attention. 

What a day.

Another Rant at School

We had to endure yet another tirade at school today. Encouraged by my brother and his unspeakable friends, kids have started painting all kinds of rude things on the school walls. “Bottoms’ up, Mr. Mayor!” is a favorite, of course, but some of them get a little more imaginative. The latest one was about Mrs. Elderberry and Mr. Swallowtail kissing, and now I can’t get the horrible image out of my head! Mrs. Elderberry was literally vibrating with rage as she lambasted the entire student body, accusing us all of being disrespectful hooligans and demanding that the guilty parties turn themselves in. She actually threatened to cancel the school dance!
“She can’t do that, can she?” Titania whispered in my ear. “Wouldn’t the whole school board have to vote on it?”
“If you were on the school board, would you dare vote against the Elderberry?”
“Do you think they really kissed?” We both dissolved into shuddering giggles.
“NO TALKING!” Mrs. Elderberry’s voice made us both jump about a foot. “This is just what I was talking about, you children have no respect, no sense of right or wrong, no—“
I won’t bore you with the rest, but there was a lot of it. Titania and I both got detentions, along with some others who caught our case of the giggles and two boys in the back row who were making kissing noises. All in all, it was more entertaining than most of our assemblies, even if about half of us landed in detention. I’m afraid Mrs. E. left feeling angrier than she had been at the start, though. It doesn’t bode well for the dance. Oh, well, nobody was going to ask me, anyway.

Tattlebugs

Hoooo, boy, you would not believe how much trouble Tark is in!  Dad was so embarrassed by his behavior that he grounded Tark for six months!  And when a fairy is grounded, he is actually grounded.  Tark isn’t allowed to fly except for to and from school, and if he deviates even slightly from his prescribed flight plan a tattlebug will alert Mom and Dad.

What do you mean, you’ve never heard of a tattlebug?  Just because your scientists have never seen something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.  It just means it’s smart. 

A tattlebug is, not surprisingly, a bug that likes to tattle.  They look a little like houseflies, only their eyes are about twice as big—the better to spy on you with, my dear!  Most baby tattlebugs get shoved out of the nest before they’re even two hours old because their mothers get so sick of hearing them tattle on each other.  By the time they are full-grown, which only takes about a day, they will tell on themselves if they do something wrong!  They are incredibly annoying, but they are also quite useful for people who want to know what other people are doing.  If you get a tattlebug assigned to you, you can’t get away with anything!

While the thought of Tark having to live with a tattlebug for six months fills me with indescribable joy, it does mean I’ll have to be extra careful about sneaking out to use Melissa’s phone.  If Tark behaves himself, the tattlebug will get bored and start watching me.  I’m probably worrying about nothing, though—Tark can’t behave for two minutes!

Meanwhile, at school Tark and his friends are being called the “Crazy Eight,” because there were eight of them and well, their actions speak for themselves.  I can’t quite figure out if the name is supposed to be a compliment or an insult.  They were made to scrub off all of the rude things they painted on the school walls and nearby trees.  I guess it never occurred to them that paint made from orange pollen and tree sap would be really hard to remove once it set! They have to stay after school two hours a day to chip away at the sap until it’s all gone.  Other kids wander by, occasionally shouting “Bottoms’ up, Mr. Mayor!” and laughing their heads off.  Such fun.

Unfortunately, Tark’s unusual schedule and the constant natter of the tattlebug is putting Mom in a horrible mood.  I mean, you can only stand so much of a constant stream of things like “Mrs. Brownwing, Mrs. Brownwing, Tark’s picking his nose again!” before you go stark raving mad.  Mom’s trying to convince Dad to get rid of the tattlebug, but he’s still too mad.  All I can say is, Dad had better get Mom something pretty spectacular for Mothers’ Day this year!

Speaking of Mothers’ Day, I have absolutely no idea what to get her this year.  None at all.

Tark in Trouble

Well, it's been a while since I had the chance to use Melissa's phone for new posts, and it's all stupid Tark's fault.  Here's what happened:

Two days after the dreadful field trip to the Dwarf mines, my hair still reeked of burning dwarf poo.  I'd tried everything to get the smell out--washing it in spring water, rubbing it with rose petals, and even considering plastering it with pine sap.  Nothing worked.  It was like the smell had soaked in! I finally decided to sneak out and get a drop of human shampoo from Melissa's bathroom. Her hair always smells wonderful!

Just as I was tiptoeing out of my bedroom that night, our front door crashed open and Tark walked in.  I say walked, but it was more like staggered.  He was singing 'Where Art Thy Trousers, oh Mighty Oberon' at the top of his voice, and there was a huge bump on his forehead.  Once he figured out which side of the door he was on, he slammed it, turned around, and threw up all over Dad's overcoat that was hanging in the hallway.  Absolutely classic!

It turned out that one of Tark's dim-witted associates had gotten ahold of his father's secret stash of vintage fermented honey, and they'd all snuck out and had quite the party.  As I've said before, honey itself is intoxicating to fairies, and fermented honey is at least ten times stronger!  The older it is, the more potent it gets, too.  Tark and his pals had gotten completely drunk.

Dad went absolutely berserk.  I've never seen him so angry.  Of course, as an officer of the Honey Control Board, he was horrifically embarrassed!  It doesn't look good for one of their officers, especially the one who came up with their latest ad campaign, to have a son who's part of what was to become a very public underage drinking story!  He stormed all over the house, shouted at Tark (who was wayyyy past caring at the time) and blew the special whistle that summons messenger bats to rouse the other parents and alert them to the problem.

It turned out that there had been eight kids at the party, and they had all gotten drunker than gnomes on holiday.  Several of them were still in the clearing where they'd met, completely passed out.  Two of them had decided it would be a good idea to put their underwear on their heads and knock on Mayor Clearwater's door shouting "Bottoms' Up, Mr. Mayor!"  The mayor was not amused.  After writing some rude things about our school principal on the trees around the clearing, Tark had decided to fly home.  He ran into several trees on the way.  He was covered with bumps and bruises, but it could have been a lot worse.  Drunk fairies often snap their necks flying into trees, or get caught by cats.

All eight boys (girls have much more sense) are now grounded for, like, EVER!  They woke up with some truly magnificent hangovers, too.  The whole thing would have been hysterically funny if it hadn't put my parents on such high alert.  There was just no chance of sneaking out for ages!  My hair is actually smelling normal now, without having to take any of Melissa's shampoo.  I might try some anyway.

Field Trip, Part Two

Just when you think a school field trip can’t get any worse than going to the aphid hatchery yet again, the Powers That Be outdo themselves.  Our trip to the Olympic Range Dwarf Mines was truly the most awful idea they have had to date, and I suspect Mrs. Elderberry of being the evil mastermind behind it all.

I’ll admit when we first learned that we were going there, I was a little excited.  I was visualizing piles of gold, sparkling gemstones, and maybe a little gift shop where I could maybe buy myself a teensy, inexpensive little tiara to wear to the school dance.  Dad squashed that idea out of the gate by refusing to even consider giving me an advance on my allowance, stating that I “already have drawers full of jewelry that she never wears”  and would “be wanting more money the next week, anyway.”  Honestly.  Parents!

In the end it wouldn’t have mattered if he had given me a little spare change, because there was no gift shop.  Nor were there any piles of gold.  No sparkling gemstones either.  Instead, after we all nearly froze to death riding on the stupid cranes for an hour and a half, we got to tour a big, dark, smelly cave.  Seriously.  A cave!!!

We walked for what must have been miles through the dank shafts, lit only by the occasional torch, seeing the important work that the Dwarves do chipping through mounds and mounds of dirt.  Very exciting, I don’t think!

We listened to endless lectures by an ancient Dwarf called Toadfoot, who droned on and on and ON about such fascinating topics as Olympic geology and rock stratums.  Or was it strata?  I don’t know, I was too numb with cold and boredom to care.  We saw a few lumpy things that Toadfoot claimed were diamonds, but they looked just like boring old rocks to me! 

The only mildly interesting thing that happened was when Goober Flitwing, one of my dimmer classmates, tripped over his own feet and fell into an underground lake and had to be hauled out with ropes.  At least he got to go sit in the front office for the rest of the trip!  The rest of us had to soldier on, and I personally had gotten wet all the way through from all of Goober’s thrashing around in the water.  Next time I see him, I‘m going to give him a good kick in the shins!

The most utterly appalling thing about the mines was the smell.  Old Toadfoot took great pride in explaining the inner working of the Mine’s furnace, which is used to refine any gold they happen to find while they’re endlessly digging in the dirt.  He explained, in quite unnecessary detail, the various types of dung that are used to produce various levels of heat for different types of metals.  You heard that right, folks!  Fairy gold is produced by burning dung.  Dung from horses, dung from cattle, and even, I am sorry to say, from the Dwarves themselves!  Toadfoot actually seemed proud of this last bit, stating that Dwarf dung burns hotter than any other type on the planet.  Lovely.

He could have spared himself a lot of trouble by not telling us this, because there was no doubt in anybody’s mind about what the furnace was burning.  The ungodly stench of superheated Dwarf dung filled every tunnel, every cavern, every nook and every crevice.  It permeated our skin, hair, and clothing, and by the time we were allowed out of our underground prison we all reeked of the sweet, sweet aroma of burning poo.  Even the cranes seemed to wrinkle their noses when we climbed back aboard.

Back at home, I scrubbed and scrubbed trying to get the filthy smell off, but so far nothing seems to be working.  When I snuck into Melissa’s house to write this, BoBo the cat didn’t even try to catch me—he just slunk off and buried his nose in his cat bed. 

I just can’t wait for tomorrows’ classes.  Some of the older students didn’t have to go, including my older brother and a few of his cronies.  They aren’t going to smell like the rest of us, and I’m sure they are going to have a great deal of fun at our expense!  Oh, noooo, I just had a horrible thought--what if I run into Vik smelling like this?  I can only hope we don’t cross paths until the smell wears off.  Stupid field trips!!!!

Field Trip

Some good news, at last!  Today we were given permission slips for our parents to sign for a field trip next week.  I know, I know, all school field trips are terribly dull, but, hey, it's better than listening to another long lecture on fairy lore or some other unbearable topic.  And this one might actually be interesting--we're all going to pile onto great blue herons and ride to the Olympic Range Dwarf Mine.

I should explain how the whole bird-riding thing works.  When fairies need to go further or faster than they can go by flying themselves, they ride on birds.  Now, many birds see fairies as something that belong on a menu, so only certain types of birds can be trusted--and they have to be paid in whatever type of food they like best (except fairy, obviously!)

For short trips we like to use bats, since we're too big for bats to eat but they are willing to carry us for tokens they can exchange for passes to our insect farms.  Most of the bat trade goes to fairies who have been out drinking honey, which is intoxicating to fairies. (I've heard that it doesn't have the same effect on humans, but that you have your own fun beverages.)  For fairies, nectar is OK to drink any time, but mix it with bee spit and it makes us go completely loopy.  Drunk fairies have a way of flying into trees and buzzing cats, which is a recipe for disaster!  The Honey Control Board, of which my father is unfortunately a member, has tried over the years to convince fairies to hire bats to take them home after a big night out.  This is the origin of those annoying "Drink a Vat, Call a Bat" ads that earned me the charming nickname BatButt.  Why couldn't my father have a different, less embarrassing job?

For groups, we usually hire cranes or herons, who can carry up to 20 fairies at a time in exchange for fish.  The school is hiring herons for our trip next week.  I wish they didn't smell so, well, fishy!  Still, anything to get out of class!

I'm kind of excited to see the Olympic Mine, because that's where they say Queen Maeve's crown was forged.  I'm sure they've got lots of beautiful treasures!  I wonder if they have a gift shop?  I could use a little tiara for the upcoming spring ball...

The Trouble with Boys

Sigh.  I can't believe it's been over a week since my horrible Valentine's Day.  I guess life does go on, even if it is tragic and pointless. 

Titania  met with Vik, but told him she couldn't go out with him.  I told her not to be silly, that she shouldn't put her own love life on hold just because I am doomed to a life of misery and spinsterhood.  She claims that she honestly doesn't want to go out with Vik because he just isn't that bright.  I guess it's true that a boy who puts a great big Valentine's card on the wrong girl's locker isn't overly-gifted in the brains department, but he is sooooo handsome!  I think she's just doing it to be nice.  She knows that seeing her with Vik would just be twisting the knife in my already broken heart.

Speaking of Titania, she said a very strange thing yesterday.  She got a funny look on her face while I was crying--yet again--over Vik, and asked me if I'd want to know if she knew about a boy who really did like me.  As if that could ever happen. 

I was about to tell her that I appreciated her efforts to make me feel better, but I am done with boys and am seriously considering becoming a hermit for my remaining days, but I never got the chance.  Titania's older brother Ardan came roaring out of some nearby daisies and began pelting Titania with dirt clods.  For absolutely no reason!  You would think, wouldn't you, that if the Fates were so cruel as to make my best friend and I star-crossed in love, they could at least have spared us the indignity of having older brothers!

Is it possible Titania and I  are setting our standards too high?  Maybe instead of looking for boys who are good-looking and have more intelligence than your average toad is just asking too much.  Perhaps we should just set our sights on finding boys who aren't completely bonkers!  

If only we had some wise older woman to turn to for guidance.  We don't.  My mother is a hopeless bookworm who would probably trot out some ancient story about a lovelorn banshee on the highland moors, and Titania's mom would have a complete nervous breakdown if Titania even admitted to knowing that boys exist!  As a result, we are both left without a compass upon the sea of love, destined to be swallowed by the waves without a trace.  It's so sad, I think I may cry again.

Disaster

My life is over.  No, wait, that would be too good to be true.  The problem is, my life isn't over!  My life will probably never be over, because it's a never-ending spiral of doom from which there is no escape.  My life is a bottomless pit full of troll mucus and toad droppings.  My life--but wait, you don't know what happened, do you?

I suppose it's really all my fault for thinking somebody like Vik Blueangle could have left that Valentine's Day card for me.  In case you didn't guess from the last paragraph, that is simply not how my life works.  If it had been a note informing me that my skirt was tucked into my underpants, or that vice-principal Snodgrass wanted to see me in his office for a fun round of  "Miss Brownwing, what do you intend to do with your life if you can't even pass a simple Fairy Math test?", that would have been believable.

But no, idiot that I am, I ignored twelve-and-a-half fairy years of life experience and allowed myself to hope that, for once, life was about to hand me something that didn't turn out to be a handful of slug slime.

I was up at the crack of dawn ransacking my unbelievably boring and out-of-date wardrobe trying to find an outfit that didn't have "child of a librarian" stamped all over it--WHY are mothers allowed to dress their children in such dismal, humiliating things?!  Finally I discovered that if I rolled one of my skirts up at the waistline, it looked almost fashionably short.  Topped off by a lacy spiderweb sweater I bought at The Toadstool a few weeks ago (and kept hidden ever since) the outfit didn't look that bad.  I was able to cover up the sweater with my coat, but I forgot to roll the skirt back down and Mom had an absolute fit when I came down to breakfast!  She made me go back upstairs and change.  Never mind, I thought, I can just roll the other skirt up later.

At school I borrowed some wing dust from Titania (I'm not supposed to use it until I'm 13, but I figure I'm close enough) and tried to brighten up the green spots on my wings.  It looked so nice I decided to try some on my eyelids, even though the box said "For wings only--not for use on face!"  It went pretty well on one eyelid, but then a flake of it got in my eyes while I was doing the other one, and it stung like crazy!  I had to stick my whole face under the sink to rinse my eyes out while a gang of Noires (you know, the ones who paint their wings black with coal dust and smoke dandylion puff seeds in the bathroom and talk about how depressing life is--they should try MY life if they want to be depressed!) laughed at me.

Outside the bathroom, Titania asked if I was OK, because my eyes were puffy and my face looked a little green.  I realized that wetting the powder on my eyes had made it run down and stain my face a nice light green.  Lovely.

But on to the real show, the clandestine meeting with my secret admirer!  I was really hoping it would turn out to be Vik, because I had seen him by the lockers right before I found the card.  Titania gave my hair a good tease to try to make it a little less flat, I rolled up my skirt, and at five to Noon I bravely walked down the hall to the Fairy Dust Lab, with Titania hiding around the corner cheering me on.

Lo and behold, Vik was right there!  He looked so handsome, leaning against the lab door in his air ball team jacket, that my heart literally stopped for a second!  I had to force myself to keep walking!  Finally, I went right up to him and said, "Um, um, um, Vik!  Hi, Vik!"  Brilliant.  Thank you, brain.

He looked at me, but instead of the look of tender longing I had been imagining all day, he just looked confused.  "Um, hi," he said.  "It's Fenn, right?  Or Finn? "

Finn?  He didn't even know my name?  "Fiona! It's--I'm Fiona," I babbled.  When he didn't look any more enlightened, I whipped out the card.  "You left this!"

"Oh," he said, the light beginning to dawn. "You're her friend aren't you?  Couldn't Titania make it?"

"Titania!?"  The truth hit me like a bucket of ice water.  My locker is right next to Titania's.  In his hurry yesterday, Vik the genius had left his love note on the wrong one.  Of course that beautiful card couldn't have been for me.

Tears burned in my eyes, but I managed to stammer out, "Um, no, she couldn't.  She'll see you tomorrow.  Same time, same place!" I added with a demented laugh.  Then I ran back up the hall.

Back in the bathroom, I cried while Titania tried to comb the tangles out of my hair.  "I'm so, so sorry," she said for about the millionth time.

"It's not your fault," I hiccuped.  "You're beautiful and I'm not.  That's just how it is."

"That's not true!"  She turned me toward the mirror.  "Look at yourself!  You're gorgeous!"  Even on a good day this would have been a stretch, but with my over-teased hair forming a solid rat's nest and my face streaked with greenish tears, it was a flat-out lie.  Nice of her to say so, though.

"You've got pretty eyes, a cute nose, and a perfect figure," she went on, then gave me a closer look.  "Except for when you have your skirt all balled up at your waistline, anyway.  How did that happen?"

"Never mind."  I tugged my skirt back down.  "I'm going home.  Can you tell Mr. Swallowtail I'm sick and can't make it to Fairy Gold Math?"

"Sure."  She really is a good friend.

And so I left school early and went to The Toadstool to shop my troubles away until it was time to go home, but they didn't have any good sales.  Such, as I say, is my life.  Yep.  Troll mucus and toad turds.

Valentine's Day

Oh, happy day!!!  For the first time EVER, I got a real Valentine's Day card, one that wasn't from my mom or one of my girl friends.  It was a big red heart with pink lace around the edges, and it said, "Roses are red, violets are blue, you don't know my name, but I'm in love with you!"  It was stuck to my locker with snail glue.  Sweet, don't you think?

Of course, Titania (who has the locker next to mine) had to go and say she thought it was a little creepy, but I think she's just jealous.  Half the school's male population is in love with her, with her red hair and bright wings, but today she's jealous of me.  ME!!!  This is the happiest day of my life!

I wonder who it is?  Could it possibly be my secret love, Vik Blueangle?  I've been in loooove with him ever since I saw him make the winning hit in our school's championship air ball tournament.  He has white-gold hair and blue dragonfly wings, and he is the handsomest boy in school.  I always thought I was too drab to catch his attention, but he was right by the lockers when I got out of class.  Who knows?

On the back of the card was a message, "Meet me at noon tomorrow by the Fairy Dust Lab if you want to know who I am." 

What am I going to wear?  WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR!!?

Changelings

OK, people.  I want to know who started the whole changeling rumor!  Today in Ancient Lore we discussed the beliefs humans have about fairies and why so many of them are rubbish.  The changeling story is my absolute favorite.  Really well thought-out!

According to humans, fairies will sometimes steal a human baby, substituting a fairy baby, or sometimes even just a baby made of wood.

Now, I like humans, I really do, but sometimes I have to ask myself:  Are you completely insane!?   Leaving aside the whole question of why, let's focus on the how for a moment.  Your average adult fairy only weighs about an ounce (except for old Mrs. Elderberry.  I'm pretty sure she weighs two.)  How on earth is a fairy supposed to lift a human baby?  We're not that magic! 

Even a batallion of fairies would have trouble moving a baby, and then they'd be faced with the dilemma of where to put it.  I doubt if even the California  Redwoods contain a hollow tree big enough to raise a human.  And how would we feed it?  We're talking mountains of food here, every single day!  More than most fairies (again, except for Mrs. Elderberry) can eat in an entire year. 

And good lordy lord, what about the diapers?  I'm not even going to go there.  Really.  Not to mention that a baby's screams can break fairy eardrums from fifty yards away.  Our own babies are loud enough, thank you.  Let me tell you, your babies are safe from us!  We don't want them!!!

Along with these logistical problems, don't you think even the most dim-witted human mother is going to notice that her baby has shrunk to the size of her thumb overnight?  Or is suddenly made of wood?  Honestly. 

Here's what I think:  I think some long-ago human got sick of listening to his neighbors' baby yell all night long, and made the whole thing up to get them to start shutting their windows.  I mean, think about it!  What other explaination can there be?

A lovely day at school

School today. YAWN!!! Our principal, old Mrs. Elderberry (and I do mean old--she has to be at least 10,000 years and counting!) decided once again to make the whole school assemble in Big Stump Hall to endure another of her endless rants.  Her topic of choice today:  Wingism.

I should explain.  Different fairies have different types of wings.  Some, known as Papilliae, have wings that mimic the local butterfly population.  Others, like the Odonatae, mimic dragonflies.  These are the two main wing types, but there are others.  We're all fairies and it doesn't really make any difference, but of course some people have to go and cause problems. 

Some of the Odonatae in our school started calling the Papilliae "Butterbutts."  Naturally the insulted butterfly-winged fairies could not let this go without a response, so somebody started calling the Odonatae "Skeeterbrains."  Very, very mature.

It caught on like a rash, and soon every single wing type had its own rude word associated with it.  Mrs. Elderberry wants it to stop, so she told us all about it during what was supposed to be our lunch break. 

 Honestly!  After spending a delightful morning listening to Mr. Swallowtail drone on and on about Ancient Lore, we had to spend our entire lunch break listening to Mrs. Elderberry go on about "everyone being fairies no matter what our wings looked like" and "equality of the fairie folk." Yada yada, rant rant rant.  She finished up by giving us a list of the newly-banned wingist slurs, and said that anyone caught using one of them would be kept after school to shovel up bat guano left in the school clearing by commuter bats. 

It won't make any difference, of course.  I could have told Mrs. Elderberry that people will just come up with new names!  But nooooo, instead of having a nice chat with our friends, we had to eat our lunches listening to her moan.

To add insult to injury, my brother Tark deliberately bumped into me as I was leaving the Hall to go to an oh-so-interesting hour of Fairie Gold Math. 

"Don't worry, Sis, you'll never be called a Butterbutt. You've already got a nickname!" he laughed as I scrambled to pick up my  books.

"Bat butt!" cheered one of his trollish pals.  See my first post for the explaination of this jem.

I had no choice but to punch Tark in the face, which of course is right when Mrs. Elderberry came waddling out of the Hall.  She gave me half an hour's detention for fighting. 

I've said it before and I'll say it again, life is NOT fair.

Fat Cat Almost Splats!

OK, so I have to tell you what happened as I was leaving Melissa's last night!  BoBo the cat was waiting for me on the roof when I flew out of the window, and he actually leapt up in the air trying to catch me.  He couldn't do it, of course.  No housecat should weigh 20 pounds, and if anything BoBo tips the scale at a little bit more. 

I was startled by the primal yowl he gave as he jumped, but he missed me by about a mile!  He hit the roof with a crash that practically broke the shingles, and then started to roll down to the edge.  I could see that Mr. Spare Tire couldn't stop himself, not with all the momentum his belly caused as he rolled, so I had to do some quick thinking.

I flew a ways off, turned around, and then flew toward him as fast as I could.  I slammed into him just as he reached the edge, and for a second I thought he was going to fall and take me with him.  My impact made just enough difference, though, and I knocked him back a few inches.  That gave him time to get his claws working, and he pulled his bulk back up onto the roof.

Would you believe, he didn't even thank me for saving his gigantic butt?  He just sat there for a minute, licking his fur as if nothing had happened, and then without a word he turned and stalked back into Melissa's window.  Seriously.  RUDE!

Introducing Me

Attention human world!  My name is Fiona Brownwing, and I am a fairy.

Hah ha ha ha hah!  I bet you weren’t expecting that.  Most humans don’t even believe in fairies, and the ones that do have made up a bunch of stuff about us that is, to be quite honest, a load of bat droppings.  I’m here to set the record straight.  I mean, who on earth started the nonsense about us having magical wands and granting wishes?  As if!  We have lives, you know.

Some of the stories are true, though.  We do have wings, although I’ve always wished mine were brighter.  The Brownwing family tends to have brownish-color butterfly wings, and although mine have some green and gold spots they aren’t very colorful.  Most fairies have wings that mimic local butterflies or dragonflies for protection.  My best friend Titania has the most beautiful 'Monarch' orange wings and long red hair.  My wings are just brown, like my hair, like my eyes.  Like a mouse, really.  Life isn’t fair.    

My family lives in an old fir tree at the edge of Bridle Trails State Park.  That’s what you call it, anyway.  There are human houses around the park, and that’s how I got access to this iPhone, hee hee!  It belongs to a young human named Melissa Banks, who never shuts her window at night.  As long as she’s asleep, I can post stuff from her iPhone and she’ll never know.  Neither will my parents—if they caught me sneaking into a human house, they’d kill me!

Which brings me to my family.  What can I say about them?  They are, in a word, embarrassing!  My father works for the Honey Control Board.  He was the genius behind the whole “Drink a vat, call a bat!” campaign that was supposed to keep fairies from flying drunk.  I don’t know if it actually got grownups to call a bat service to take them home after a honey-filled wild night out, but I know for certain it got me the nickname “Bat Butt” at school.  Thanks a lot, Dad!

My Mum works at the DFL-that’s Department of Fairy Lore, to you.  Bo-ring!!!  I have two siblings, an older brother named Tark, who always smells like the bottom of a mud puddle, and a little sister named Deirdre.  Deirdre is going through a plantist phase, and it’s driving Mum up the wall.  Every time Mum serves roasted potato bug or stir-fried aphids, Deidre turns up her nose and refuses to eat it.  “I won’t eat anything with a head!” she declares proudly.  “It’s murder!”  So Mum has to give her extra fairy bread and grass salad to make up for it.  Some fairies in the plantist movement won’t even eat worms—they say anything that moves has a soul, we should only be eating plants, blah blah blah.  Un-believable!

We are part of the Seelie Court of fairies—that is, we don’t go around harming humans.  Sometimes, we’ll even help one who’s in trouble.  I think it was the Irish, or maybe the Scots, who noticed us first, and started the tradition of leaving bread, butter and milk out for us at night, which was nice of them.  The Unseelie Court of fairies is something you don’t want to mess with.  They sometimes attack humans, and our Queen Maeve does everything she can to keep it from happening. 

I mostly like humans.  Melissa, who at 12 years old is about the human equivalent of my age, has her own big brother to worry about and she doesn’t like her curly brown hair.  I think it’s pretty.  At least it’s not all straight like mine!  I sometimes untangle her hair for her while she sleeps, to pay her back for using her iPhone. Seriously, how did the fairy folk ever get along without Facebook?  I have, like, six different accounts now!

Melissa’s cat BoBo is a different story.  He’s a big fat grey monster with yellow eyes and breath that smells like dead fish, and he’s been trying to catch me for ages!  We fairies can blend in to our surroundings and hide from humans pretty easily, but animals can always see us.  I’ll admit I sometimes tease BoBo by flying just out of reach and laughing at him.  He gets so mad!  It’s good for him, though—he really, really needs the exercise!  I took him up and down the stairs a couple of times tonight before he collapsed. 

Well, I can see that Melissa's alarm clock is about to go off, so I'd better sign off for now.  Stay tuned for the latest news from Fairy Land!