Chapter Four: Not So Nice to Meet You

Crunch.

We land with a thud on grass and twigs and leaves. Ouch.

I sit up and look around. There are trees everywhere, with pretty orange, red, and yellow leaves. Unlike at home, where it’s winter, it must be fall here. It’s cool. Not cold, but there’s a definite chill in the forest air.

I spot Jonah standing beside a tree. He’s not moving.

“Jonah?” I ask. “Are you okay?”

He looks at me and shakes his head.

I jump to my feet. “What’s wrong? What happened? Did you hurt yourself?”

He shakes his head again.

“Why aren’t you talking, then?”

He opens his mouth and then closes it. Then he opens it again and yells, “ABBY, WHAT IS HAPPENING?”

“We’re in a fairy tale,” I explain patiently. “I told you. See? There IS a magic mirror in our basement! Next time when I tell you something, you should believe me.”

He nods. His eyes are the size of frying pans.

I put my hands on his shoulders. “Did going through spark any memories?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Jonah, can you hear me?” I speak directly into his face. “You didn’t bang your head on your way in, did you?”

He shakes his head.

“Do you remember anything else?” I ask.

He shakes his head again.

“Crumbs,” I say. “Well, hopefully, something here will make you remember.”

Jonah twists and chews on his lips. “B-b-but … what … how … Where are we?”

“In a fairy tale,” I say again. “We just have to figure out which one. Let’s see. We’re in a forest. That’s a clue. But lots of fairy tales take place in forests. Maybe we’re in Hansel and Gretel?”

Jonah stops chewing his lips and licks them. “Mmm. Is that the one with the house made of candy?”

“Yes, exactly!” Then I shoot him a sharp look. “But, Jonah, if we are in Hansel and Gretel, you can’t actually eat the house.”

“I can’t?”

“No. If you eat the house, you’ll upset the witch. That’s what happened in the original story. Hansel and Gretel upset the witch, and then she tried to cook them. And we always have to try not to mess up the stories.”

“How would I mess up a story?” Jonah asks, leaning over to pick up a twig.

I count the ways on my fingers. “If you told Snow White not to eat the poisoned apple, you would mess up the story. If you wore your soccer cleats when you were climbing up Rapunzel’s hair, you would mess up the story.”

He nods, his eyes still big. “Okay.”