In Wonderland

PROLOGUE

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the boy sitting next to me—the new boy. He's cute, I suppose, with jet-black hair and green eyes that change a shade every time you look at them, but that's not why I'm staring.

I scribble I need to talk to you on a piece of paper torn out from my notebook and slide it over onto his desk. My fingers tap against the desk while he reads it. Eventually, I see him scrawl something on the note before sliding it back to me. Written on it in bold, spiky handwriting is one word. Why?

I'll tell you then. But it's important necessary.

He scans my non-answer and slides it back without replying. I stare at the page for a minute before writing Please. Just meet me at . . . I pause. Where's a good, non-storybook place? Mentally, I cross settings off the list. Not the library, not the park, not the local shopping centre, and definitely not my house. Finally, I give up and write down . . . where do you want to meet?

He returns the page with a new message. We can talk on the walk back to my house. I nod. Ok.

* * *

The rest of the period is agonisingly slow, but finally the school bell rings to signal the end of the day. The boy catches up to me, school bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. "You said you needed to talk to me. So talk.

I glance around, the corridor is crowded, but not so crowded that we can't hear each other. "Okay. So, here's the thing. This town is—magical."

The boy scoffs. "Ok. What brand of magic? Fairies? Werewolves? Maybe some vampires too?"

"No—well, yes. But that's not what's dangerous. Mostly. Halling is a storybook town. Literally. People get caught in stories. The president of the debating club is part Fae. The high school principal is a murderer. Some stories are more harmless than others."

"And? What does that have to do with anything?"

I sigh in exasperation. "Don't you get it? You're living here, and now you're in danger of becoming part of a storybook. And that's not good." When I realise that he's still looking confused, I elaborate. "Yeah, some stories can't hurt you. But others can be dangerous. And even the ones that aren't can take over your life."

"Take over your life like . . . how?"

"Your life will become the story," I explain. "You won't have time for anything else except for what's important to the plot. You won't have a life outside of the story."

He's silent for a minute, before he finally says, "How do you prevent it?"

"Well," I say, "There are two different options. The first one is to avoid being pulled into a story altogether. You'd have to avoid certain locations, people, and actions."

"And what's the second one?"

I bite my lip. "The second one is to purposefully get yourself caught in a story."

"What? Why?"

"A safe one, like—it doesn't really matter. Just avoid any dystopian or fantasy. And —wait, what's your name?"

"Archer."

I grin.. "Oh, that's good."

The boy一Archer一shifts. "Why is that good?"

"It's a typical storybook name," I explain. "You know一Hunter, Archer, Ace一that kind of name. Or like my name."

Archer looks up curiously. "Isn't your name Callie? That's a storybook name?"

"That's . . . a nickname," I say.

He looks about ready to ask me what my actual name is, but I interrupt, saying "So, remember. No dystopian, no fantasy, no sci-fi, no horror. Avoid them at all costs. Mystery is ok, but rare. Romance is usually fine. Contemporary can be dangerous sometimes but not always."

"But . . . how do I get into a story?"

I shrug and turn away, heading down the familiar street that leads to my house. "It'll come to you."

Archer frowns. "I didn't say I believe you, you know."

The wind swallows my words, and I know he won't be able to hear me. Maybe that's the reason I said it. "You didn't have to."