“Don’t say ‘ass,’” said Penn.
“Banana Ass Hulk smash!” said Orion.
“Enough!” Penn shouted, which was the signal to plug mouths with thumbs, pull blankies out from underneath brothers, and settle in. Penn was continually amazed, night after night, year after year, that everyone was still up for storytelling, now Ben was eleven and Roo was twelve, practically a teenager, now every one of them could read himself. Still, they were all of them happy to put their own books away to listen to the continuing—really continuing—adventures of Grumwald and his own indefatigable storyteller in shining armor instead. Not just happy. Expectant. Which was, Penn thought, after all the point of storytelling. “Where was I?”
“Grumwald was using fern leaves to capture the night fairies who came to his window every night—”
“And lit up green and blue and pink like the neon sign at that pizza place where Rigel puked that time—”
“Because he needed neon night-fairy hair to make a potion for the witch—”
“Who was all like, ‘Grumwald! I need that hair! If you can’t get me that hair, I’m going to place a spell on you!’”
“But the fern leaves kept ripping open, and the night fairies kept escaping, even though he promised he wasn’t going to hurt them and just needed to give them a little trim—”
“Which they could use anyway because they were kind of scruffy fairies, but they wouldn’t listen—”
“And Grum was wary of how to make a night fairy tarry—”
“And other things that rhymed.”
“Yeah, and other things.”
His Greek Chorus of sons. No wonder this was the best part of his day. Except …
“Can we have a girl tonight instead?” Claude interrupted.
“Instead of night fairies?” said Penn.
“Instead of Grumwald,” said Claude. “I’m bored of a prince. I want a princess.”
“Grumwaldia?” said Penn.
“Yeah! Grumwaldia!” said Claude.
“Grumwaldia sounds like a lake in Vermont.” Roo had never been to one but was right about that anyway.
“Princesses are boring,” Rigel whined.
“Girls in fairy tales are losers,” said Roo.
“No they aren’t,” said Claude.
“Yes they are. Not like losers. Losers. Girls in fairy tales are always losing stuff.”
“Nuh-uh,” said Claude.
“Yuh-huh. They lose their way in the woods or their shoe on the step or their hair even though they’re in a tower with no door and their hair is like literally attached to their head.”
“Or their voice,” Ben put in. “Or their freedom or their family or their name. Or their identity. Like she can’t be a mermaid anymore.”
“Or they lose being awake,” said Roo. “And then they just sleep and sleep and sleep. Boooring.”
Claude started crying. “A princess could do cool stuff. A princess could be better than Grumwald. She wouldn’t have to sleep or lose her shoe.”
The boys’ emotions looked divided between worried they’d get in trouble for making their baby brother cry and antsy about how much storytime had passed and how much was left and how no story was yet being told. Worried about getting in trouble and antsy were in fact the boys’ predominant emotions. Well, maybe not worried. More like chagrined after they’d already gotten in trouble and antsy to get in more trouble.
“It’s no fair,” Claude whined. “We never get a princess.”
“It’s no fair,” Rigel and Orion whined. “We’ll never find out what happened with the night fairies.”
“It’s no fair,” Claude added. “They always get their way because there’s two of them.”
“Enough!” Penn said again. “We can do both at once.”
“We can?” Ben was unconvinced.
“Yes, because those night fairies the witch was making Grumwald capture? They had a night fairy leader named Princess Grumwaldia.”
“Stephanie,” Claude corrected.
“Princess Grumwaldia Stephanie,” Penn amended.
“What was she wearing?” said Claude.
“She was wearing a lavender nightgown but short, not tea length, so as to leave her legs free for fleeter flight. And she thought Grumwald was a big baby because he was so whiny about having to rule over his little kingdom and at the same time study for Algebra II, which he thought was really hard. He also had a lot of extra student government work to do since the secretary dropped out after the treasurer took the social coordinator to homecoming. Princess Stephanie, as a night fairy, didn’t go to high school, obviously, but her kingdom was much, much vaster than Grumwald’s. His stretched from the north fork of the forest to the horizon of the east sea. Hers … well, Stephanie was in charge of the night sky.”
“All of it?” Claude was impressed.
“Not all of it—”
“See?” Rigel and Orion: Captains, Team Grumwald.
“Just the stars.”
“Wow.” Claude snugged up against Penn, a kind of thank-you.
“It was Princess Stephanie’s job to oversee the night fairies, and it was the night fairies’ job to manage the stars.”