When best friends Claire and Jo wake up trapped in a fantasy romance novel, Claire thinks it's a dream come true while Jo knows it's her worst nightmare - especially after they are almost killed by a monster and end up on the wrong end of a handsome...
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IN SIXTH GRADE, I came to school dressed as Abraham Lincoln for a book report. I thought my classmates would see my passion and like it - like me - but they ended up liking it so much I became the butt of every joke. I didn't regret it, though, because I would've never met Jo if I'd worn anything else that day. She stepped in to save me then, and she had ever since. She had this ability to sense whenever something was wrong and fix it. I could never get anything past her, even if I wanted to. It was only a matter of time before she realized I was off today.
I played into Jo's excitement to distract her. It was easy to change the conversation whenever the subject of Stanford came up, asking things like, "What time is the party again? What are you going to wear? What song are you working on now?" I felt horrible every time, but the guilt lessened a little whenever I saw how excited she got when she answered my questions.
However, my advanced placement English teacher took pride in two of his students applying to Stanford, and he knew admission letters were out. I may have been able to hide my failure behind surface-level questions with Jo, but I couldn't explain the way I didn't meet Mr. Todd's expectant stare when we came into class, or when I handed in my test. Especially when I barely filled any of it out. None of it mattered now anyway.
"Claire, stay a minute," Mr. Todd called after the bell rang. Busted. When I hung by his desk, giving Jo a nod to go on without me, I braced myself for the impassioned rants he dolled out on other students. But instead, his tone was quiet. Concerned. "What's going on?"
I offered a noncommittal shrug. "I have a migraine."
Mr. Todd, like my mother, didn't look convinced. He ran his fingers over his bald head with a sigh. "Dustin got his acceptance letter a couple of days ago. I haven't heard anything from you."
Nausea curled in my stomach. Dustin got a what?! Dustin. The same conceited jerk in Jo's old band, who Jo said had been too dumb for her, got an acceptance letter? I had a better grade-point-average, stellar SAT and ACT scores, and Stanford chose him over me?
I couldn't say anything. It was an answer enough. "Claire, it's okay," Mr. Todd went on. "This is what backup colleges are for. You can always reapply after freshman year."
He didn't know about the rejection letters from them, either. "It's fine," I said. It wasn't fine, though.
"That's not true, and you know it. If anyone deserves to be there, it's you."
"It's clear what I'm doing isn't working," I said. "I just need to figure something else out."
"Claire –"
I backed away. "I have to catch the bus."
"Makeup test tomorrow," he said. "Skipping isn't an option."
A rush of nerves swirled in my chest as I boarded the bus. Now Jo would realize something was wrong. She waved me over to her seat, her knees braced on the cracked vinyl seat in front of her, scooping her hair into a messy bun. She popped one of her earbuds in and handed me the other. Despite me liking Taylor Swift and her being a fan of... whatever bands she listened to, we made it work. We had since the Honest Claire incident.
