Page 16 of Love at Full Tilt

Vale of Villainy, Fableland

Orlando, FL

Any true foodie knows that some of the best restaurants in the country can be found at Fableland.

From five-star steak houses to the latest in farm-to-table to quick counter service treats, there’s something to satisfy even the most discerning eater.

The resort’s latest dining experience, Hellfire, opened in Vale of Villainy to rave reviews this spring.

Not for the faint of taste buds, the restaurant specializes in intense flavor and bold ingredient combinations… .

—Restaurant.com, “Where should I eat this summer?”

“What do we think of this?”

Tess preens in front of a full-length mirror, a maroon top hat covered in cogs perched on her head.

“Great if your plan is to become the hero in a steampunk novel,” Issy says. She stands behind Tess, sporting the red cloak and furry wolf paws from Run, Little Girl, Fable Industry’s “Little Red Riding Hood” retelling.

Issy had spotted the souvenir shop, with its homage to a bunch of the company’s older movies in the display window, as we left the Curséd Apple.

I had my face buried in my phone, frantically Googling desserts at the parks while dodging texts from my mother, when Issy caught my arm and pulled me into the store.

“I’ve heard about this place,” she insisted. Her wide eyes glanced around us. “Apparently you can find memorabilia here that’s rare or even discontinued.”

Which made perfect sense. The shop is named Clockbender, after the villain from The Witching Time, who used time magic to mess up history and confuse people’s memories. Where else would someone find merchandise from earlier decades?

Since then, Issy and Tess have been wandering the aisles, screeching with joy every time they find another toy they’d had as kids.

I should be doing the same, but instead I’m glued to a bench by the door.

My mind keeps rehashing what happened at the Curséd Apple over and over.

How could I have been so wrong about that clue?

And why can’t I find any other answers on F 3 ?

If I didn’t think Tess and Issy would handcuff me to them, I’d go back to the hotel to consult my notebooks.

A lavender shirt flaps in my face. When I glance up from my phone, Tess is standing in front of me with her arms crossed. “Mason and Carter will be here soon. You guys will figure it out together,” she insists.

“I don’t want to need him to do this.”

Working together is one thing, but depending on him? Not being able to solve the clues on my own? I refuse to accept that reality.

“Hey.” She snatches my phone from my hand and waves it in front of me before handing it back.

“We’re practically standing in Issy’s childhood bedroom.

They have the Oliver Cray doll that parents just about murdered each other over that Black Friday when we were in sixth grade. And you’re missing it all.”

I groan.

“The parks have barely been open an hour,” Tess reminds me. “You’ve got plenty of time to get your clues.”

Except fifteen people will be eliminated today. And chances are, we’re all feeling the pressure to finish fast.

I don’t have “plenty of time” if I want to win. But giving my brain a break might help shake free some new ideas, so I stand up, giving in. For now.

Across from us is a shelf of chemistry sets based on Elorra’s lab in Sunspark. My parents got me one for my tenth birthday, but I destroyed all the beakers in the microwave. (I had the power too high and they melted.)

I wander over and trace my finger along one of the boxed sets. “What if we’re in the wrong park?”

“Carter would have told me when I texted him to meet us,” Tess says.

“He and Mason could be wrong too.”

Tess sighs. “Lia, there are like fifty places in Vale alone to get dessert. You’ve only crossed one off the list.” She shakes her head at me. “Now look at this.” Flicking out the shirt she’s been carrying, she rests it over her chest.

Elorra is silk-screened on the front. The princess’s copper curls are, as always, pinned beneath her tiara by four pencils, and she’s holding up a beaker that’s sloshing a bubbling black liquid all over the front of her sunshine-yellow gown. Beneath its lace hem, sturdy boots peek out.

It’s everything we loved about the character as kids captured in one image. Tears prick at my lashes, and I have to blink them away. I will never hear the end of it if Tess sees me crying.

She places her hands on my shoulder blades and pushes me forward. “We’re each getting one and we’re going to wear them all day. Go get yours.”

A giant smile spreads over my face as I beeline for the clothing section.

There’s an entire rack of the lavender Elorra shirts. I flip through them, one by one, starting at the back, where the largest sizes should be.

The biggest I can find is an XXL, and when I hold it up in front of me, it’s clear the shirt is woefully undersized.

My stomach drops, though I probably shouldn’t be surprised. Stores love to offer XXLs and pretend they’re body inclusive, when that’s not even technically a plus size.

Two of the shirts tumble from the rack as I comb through them again. I count four extra-smalls, five smalls, three mediums, three larges, and one extra-large. Plus the extra-extra-large in my hand.

My gaze drifts to my friends, who are holding their shirts to their bodies and laughing, and my heart pitches into my throat. I don’t want to tell them the store doesn’t have my size. I don’t want to miss out on this moment.

Squaring my shoulders, I examine the largest Elorra shirt again. Thankfully, the fabric is jersey cotton and has a good amount of stretch. I should be able to get it on; it just won’t fit the way I’d want it to.

Whatever excitement I had about bonding with Tess and Issy has evaporated by the time I leave the register.

I’m so tired of having to shop online and hope I pick the right size, or visit specialty stores that basically scream “Oh hey, you aren’t normal, your body’s wrong.

” Clothes that fit should be a right, not a straight-size privilege.

Especially somewhere like Fableland that markets itself as a safe, fun place for everyone.

I refuse to let my body be the reason I miss out. I’m going to miss out on too many other things with Tess and Issy once they’re gone.

Pulling the shirt over my head, I join them at the mirror.

Tess has already knotted hers into a crop top, and she and Issy are posing and pulling exaggerated faces at their reflections.

The best I can do is not cry. My shirt is stretched taut over my breasts and hugs every curve and roll of fat much more snugly than anything I would choose to wear.

I like flowy peasant tops and swing dresses and cozy cardigans and loose shirts I can French tuck into my favorite jeans.

Clothes that let me decide how much of my body I want on display.

Tess insists we need crowns and hurries off to find some, while Issy and I stare at ourselves in the mirror. “Look at us, we’re so cute,” she says.

I don’t feel cute, though. I feel exposed. Still, I do my best to play along. “Tess would call us hottie magnets.”

Issy’s eyes skip past mine in the mirror, her face clouding over. “Ummm…” She drags the word out before clearing her throat.

“What?” I ask.

Determination tightens her jaw, and she swallows. She only gets out the word I before Tess reappears and, teetering on her tiptoes, jams plastic gold tiaras on each of our heads.

“Nobody is ready for these princesses,” Tess declares as she snaps selfies of us from a million different angles.

Issy concentrates far too hard on securing her headpiece in her curls. Like she’s trying to distract herself. It makes me wonder what she’d been about to say. “There should be more opportunities to wear crowns in everyday life,” she quips.

“Oh my God, how iconic would we look grocery shopping in full regal attire,” Tess pipes up.

“Trendsetters,” I mumble. I want to be done talking about these shirts and get away from the mirror. Tugging on the hem, I turn away, letting my gaze roam the store. It immediately snags on Mason at the entrance, like some kind of hot-person radar.

At the same time, Tess announces, “Carter says they’re here.”

The sight of Mason reminds me of the clue and my failed guess and how many people might already be further along than us. My stomach thickens like a swamp.

What if Mason doesn’t have the answer to today’s first clue? What if he does?

I want to continue in the contest, obviously, but I hate the idea of being the only one who got an answer wrong. What kind of superfan am I if this guy who doesn’t even like the parks knows them better than I do?

“Hey,” Mason says as he wanders over to me. Already his gaze feels familiar. Comfortable. I hate it. I love it.

I nod in reply.

Carter claps his hands. “All right, supernerds,” he says, addressing me and Mason, “guide us to the first clue.”

His words are a knife stabbing at an open wound. Swallowing, I do my best to look smug, but I’m pretty sure my jaw is trembling. “What if I’m already done for the day?” I tip my chin up as if that will save my performance.

“Then you are either the world’s best alliance partner or the worst. Depends on if you plan to share.” Carter winks.

But Mason’s watching me, those watercolor eyes tracking every fissure in my facade. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly.

The words push out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“I can’t figure out the first clue. I thought it was one of the desserts at the Curséd Apple, but I was wrong.

” Panic scratches at my throat, and my hands clench into fists.

“We wasted like an hour there. What if people are already finishing up for the day?”

It’s like I’ve slid a stone out from the middle of a wall. Releasing that one worry sets the rest of them free in my head. Now I can’t stop thinking about my mom and next year and how miserable I will be if I don’t win this contest.