*
The next day at school, Claude started back in with the fairy tale. But not his father’s fairy tale. Having introduced all these other characters, it seemed a shame to him not to use them.
“Princess Stephanie had tons of friends. They all knew she was a princess, but none of them knew she was also a night fairy, and she didn’t want them to find out.”
“Why?” Claude’s students could not imagine being something as cool as a night fairy and not wanting anyone to know.
“She was embarrassed,” Claude explained.
“Why?”
“Because none of her friends were night fairies. She was the only one.”
“Why that does not make her feel special?”
“Because it was weird,” said Claude. “And disgusting. Her friends would be grossed out if they knew she was really a night fairy, so she hid it from them. But one day they were all hanging around after school, and suddenly, without warning, her wings popped out, right before their eyes. Princess Stephanie was so upset she ran away crying. But her friends ran after her. They totally understood.”
“It’s no big deal, Steph,” Cinderella assured her. “The same thing happens to me all the time. If I’m running late, my shoes, my clothes, my car—POOF—suddenly it’s like they’re someone else’s. I don’t even recognize myself.”
“Me too,” said Ariel. “I swear to you I used to be a fish.”
“You did?” Stephanie was so grateful to her friends she started crying again.
“Well, half.”
“And you should have seen me before I got eaten by a wolf,” said Little Red Riding Hood. “You would have hated me. I was such a weak little thing I got in trouble picking flowers. Lame.”
“What happened?” Stephanie sniffed.
“I got eaten, that’s what happened. I grew up. I figured out I needed to be smart and strong, and I took control.”
“How?”
“I worked out.” Little Red smiled and flexed her biceps. Claude demonstrated. The class giggled. “I got a personal trainer. I’ll give you her number.”
Claude’s students nodded along, pleased so far.
“So all of Princess Stephanie’s friends finally knew who she really was, and they all loved her anyway, all except one. Her rival neighbor princess was angry.”
“But not her fault,” Claude’s students objected en masse.
“It wasn’t her fault she turned into a night fairy,” Claude acknowledged, “but it was her fault she lied about it.”
“She have to keep secret,” the students insisted.
Claude shook his head. “The rival neighbor princess told Stephanie everything, so she didn’t think they had any secrets.”
“Every princess and person have secret,” Dao said.
“That’s true.” Claude tried to think if he’d ever seen a teacher cry in front of the class. “But some secrets are secrets, whereas some secrets are lies.”
“Every person have another person inside,” Mya insisted. As in: the rival neighbor princess shouldn’t have needed to be told. As in: it doesn’t count because Stephanie’s secret was actually the human condition.
“Princess Stephanie couldn’t convince her not to be mad,” Claude continued. “She tried to explain and she tried to say sorry, but the neighbor princess didn’t care. So Stephanie had to use magic on her.”
“Turn her into frog?” one little boy guessed.
“Turn her into big giant big gross monster who stink?” guessed another.
“Turn her into night fairy also?” said Zeya.
“No, no, no,” though Claude thought these were not half-bad ideas. “Stephanie waved her magic wand and turned the angry neighbor princess into an understanding neighbor princess, one who didn’t mind and wasn’t mad and still loved Stephanie and always would.”
Claude took a deep breath. That seemed like a good place to stop, so he did. But his students looked unconvinced.
“Not magic,” complained Zeya. As in: spells are for enchanted transmutation, not changing someone’s mind.
“Not enough,” complained Dao. As in: bitchy neighbor princesses deserve some kind of actual punishment.
“Not possible,” complained the boy who’d suggested turning her into a frog. As in: homo-amphibian metamorphosis might not be real, but it’s still more credible than Aggie getting over Poppy’s secret.
But Claude felt better. He realized this was what his father had been up to all these years, not entertaining his children but perfecting his world. If you wrote your own characters, they didn’t disappoint you like real people did. If you told your own story, you got to pick your ending. Just being yourself never worked, but if you made yourself up, you got to be exactly who you knew yourself to be.