Free Fairy Tale by Cyn Balog Page B

from another planet, because they're just too perfect Ms. Browne is always dressed in some smart, accessorized outfit that could easily put her on the cover of Good Housekeeping, and Mr. Browne looks like a graying movie star. Really, it's ironic that Cam is the one that isn't from this world.
    So I'm shocked when the door swings open and a lifeless Mrs. Browne stands there, looking like she hasn't slept in a week. Her hair is out of control, and her designer clothes hang on her slumped shoulders, making her look twice her age. Usually, she'll greet me with a peppy "Hi, Morgan dear!" but instead, she breaks into tears, heavy sobs that shake her small body. She opens the screen door and pulls me into her arms and hugs me so close I almost throw up the ice cream I've just eaten. It's weird, because I've known her forever, and I think this is the first time she's actually cried in front of me. And hugged me. And made me want to vomit.
    "So, I guess you guys know about this," I say when she pulls back.
    Her lower lip trembles. She can't bring herself to speak. I exhale with relief. At least someone else knows how I feel.
    Finally, she says, "It's terrible, isn't it?"
    I nod. "How is Mr. Browne?"
    "He wants to sue the hospital. As if anyone would believe that fairies came in the day our son was born and switched him." She sighs. "He's obviously not thinking straight. What we should be thinking about is how to help our sons through this."
    "Our sons." It sounds strange, but I knew Mrs. Browne would be so diplomatic. "There has to be a way we can keep Cam here."
    She looks away, tears in her eyes, "I don't think there is. But if you think of something, let me know." She gnaws on her bottom lip. "I can't believe Cameron will be gone in only a few days."
    She's about to start sobbing again, so I say, "Pip is your real son."
    "Yes. He has Mr. Browne's laugh," she adds with a sad smile. "And that's another thing entirely. To know that I couldn't be with him when he was growing up... I asked him if they took good care of him in Otherworld, but the poor child didn't want to talk about it."
    "Really?" I ask, surprised. I'd had a hard time getting Pip to shut up about the fairies. "I'm sure he doesn't blame you."
    She nods absently, then shakes herself back into reality. She almost sounds like the old Mrs. Browne when she says, "I know you're not here to cry with me all night. Cam is upstairs."
    I'm climbing the stairs to his room when his door opens a couple of inches. Cam slides out sideways, then carefully closes the door, so that it barely clicks behind him. He's startled when he sees me, but then relaxes. "Hey, you. I was just coming to see you."
    "You were?" I'm happy he didn't forget all about me, which I thought might happen with the Blond Bombshell in the way. I point to his room. "What's going on in there?"
    He sighs. "Dawn has this fairy tutorial thing going on. She's a pocket-sized Hitler."
    I grin. Same old Cam. Of course he didn't forget about me.
    "I'm ditching lesson nine. It's all about humans and how to interact with them, and I think I know enough about that."
    " Why even do it at all?" I mutter.
    "I'm wondering the same thing. I've spent all afternoon on this... and for what?"
    "All afternoon? What happened to football practice?"
    His face turns grim. "I tried. All my passes were falling short. I couldn't complete a single throw. Coach said I needed to take some time off and rest my arm, so he told me to pack it in early. I feel different... weak."
    "Oh." He slides his arms under mine and pulls me close. I lean in, pull him to me. I can feel the bandages, those damn bandages, and know that from now on, every embrace will remind me of our inevitable parting; And when I bury my face in his chest, I know that's not the only reminder. I pull away quickly. Something is wrong. His normal, natural scent-half-woodsy, like wet grass, half-spicy, like barbershop aftershave-is gone. "You... smell different."
    He pulls me in again,