Rapunzel, Rapunzel, LET GO OF MY FREAKING HAIR!

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a beautiful princess called – “Oh. My. God. Let go of my freaking hair!”

I am never acting in a school play ever again. Never.

“Nice work there, freak.” I snarled, turning around to glare at him, and to pick up my oh-so-fashionable Country Road bag (red and white stipes – limited edition) in one go – before stalking out of the hall to call my trusty mother and demand that she come pick me up. On the way, edging past a boy mopping up some vomit, who looked quite amused. I simply looked at him, and may have possibly kicked over his bucket of vomit-filled water onto the floor.

“What the--?? Why the hell did you do that?” He spluttered. I just gave him a little finger tinkle before walking out the door.

“Darling,” shrilled a slightly overly happy voice, “I’m out with the girls, I can’t possibly make it there now. And please don’t bother Daddy next, he’s busy with some big deal,”

Mothers. No, make that, peroxide blonde mothers – you know the ones, the old ladies constantly going in for botox and only wear ‘the best’? And how did she know that I was going to call my darling daddy next? Mothers shouldn’t remember that much when they’re drunk. So, my only option left was to huff and puff my way to the bus stop. Which was coincidentally up a very large hill. No, make that mountain. So I held my head up high and tossed my very expensive hair extensions as I trudged my way up Mt. Everest.

So far, so good. I was halfway up now, and incredibly glad that I was out of the hall and away from Dane Richardson, egomaniac – the boy with hairspray instead of a brain, and into the fresh, albeit not so sunshiney day.

But then Vomit Boy had to come running along. And okay, maybe his hair looked kinda cute, just flopping in the wind. But it still didn’t erase the fact that he was Vomit Boy. A cleaner. A Garbologist, to nicely put it. Destined to grow up and be a smelly truckie. And nowhere near good enough for a girl like me. But still, he had really nice hair.

So as he got closer, I cocked an eyebrow. I mean, what else was I supposed to do? Run into his arms and wait for him to kiss me passionately on the lips? Uh, no thanks. Did I look like a girl to hook up with a random on the street?

“What,” I demanded, “do you want?”

“Um,” he stuttered, obviously unsure of how to start, poor guy was nervous. Well, he should be. “Mrs… Banks told me that you uh, gotta come back? Seeing as the performance is tomorrow and everything… and how it’s so important to her… and you know, to everyone else…”

Aww… the poor guy had it so bad that he was rambling. Too bad that he’ll only grow up to be some miserable truckie. Otherwise I would consider him a threat to all my other boytoys. And that’s pretty hard, I must say.

“And anyway, she wants you to come back now… if you wouldn’t mind…” He was still talking? Well, more time to look at his... Oh. My. God. This boy was seriously cut. As in completely built. Garbologists certainly work on their body, let me tell you.

So I cut him off mid-sentence of “And I know that you’re Rapunzel and all, and she was important and stuff, and now you’re running away just like her, bu-“ with a smile and “Alright. Let’s go.”

He looked shocked to say the least at my sudden change in mood, but quickly recovered himself and hurried to catch up to me. Walking quite comfortably alongside me he added, “It’s Alistair, by the way.” Before he tripped and found himself in the bushes. It was a golden moment. You know, one of those priceless moments that will never fail to make you laugh, even 10 years later, and you’re looking through your old family photos saying “Ew… I can’t believe I ever wore that!” Yeah, one of them.

And so while I was standing there, laughing at his misfortune, he pulled himself out of the bushes, brushed himself off and growled, “You happy now?”

Yeah, life is great. I mean, being chased by a hot guy, and then seeing him trip and fall? It’s totally up there on my day-of-all-day’s list.

“Alistair, come on now,” I trilled, “You don’t want to be childish and make me late now do you?” before running back down the hill, accidentally dropping my new phone on the way. Oh well, it was getting old, and I didn’t like the colour anyway.

“Good, Ruby, you’re finally back. What made you even think of running off like that?”

Ugh. Lectures. My favourite.

“Sorry Mrs. Banks,” I said, plastering my most innocent, sincere smile. It got the teachers every time, “It’s just that… sometimes I can be very sensitive towards degrading comments made about me, and I tend to run when I get upset.”

Works like a charm. Every time I do something wrong, just put on my smile, and make it look like I’m just an innocent, sensitive little girl, who just sometimes needs to be understood.

“Alright then, hurry and take your place. From the tower scene peoples! Get moving!” Mrs. Banks ordered, until she lowered her voice, “Darling, do you need to take a little trip up to the counsellor or anything? It’s perfectly understandable if you do, you’re more than welcome to.”

“It should be alright, Mrs. Banks,” I replied solemnly, before walking up on stage “I think I’ve already had some reflection time,”

“Oh Ruby-punzel! My fair maiden! Excited for the lip action of the amazing Dane Richardson tomorrow night?” was what I was greeted with as I took my place on the stage, and I caught a certain Vomit Boy smirking in the corner.

“Oh Ruby-punzel my darling,” he sang, while I suppressed a shudder, “If you want to be shy about it, that’s okay, I know that you’re just dying for that liplock with me! In fact, how about we have a practice today, eh?”

“Yeah, Richardson, let’s also have a practice of me kicking you in the balls, shall we?” I snapped, not in the mood for thinking up witty comebacks.

And at that moment, as Vomit Boy brushed past, I swear I heard him murmur, “I bet I can do it better,”

Huh. Interesting. Too bad tomorrow night’s play won’t be.

But oh, how wrong I was.

“Oh, Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair, so that I may climb the golden stair,”

Alistair had taken to mimicking the prince in Rapunzel, and was currently following me home, when, yet again, my mother refused to drive me, saving me from all the trouble this was taking. At least he was entertainment. Well, he was entertaining until, sounding like a dying cat, he started singing his own rendition from the song in Rapunzel, but changed the word from Rapunzel to Ruby.

“Wow, thanks, I’m flattered, really,” I said sarcastically, “Your originality really just astounds me sometimes,”

“I know right?” he replied excitedly, “I knew it was a good idea to say your name instead!”

And that was when he got a weird look and a foot stuck out in front of him. Watching him fall was just so much fun. As I skipped ahead, I heard him grumble, “Why the hell does she have to make it so hard?”

I love glitter. I love everything about it. How it sticks to absolutely everything, and the fact that you can’t get it out for a week after you’ve had any sort of bodily contact with it. And tonight, I was allowed to go absolutely crazy with it.

Being the lead character in a play had its perks. The admiration and glory, the best costumes of the lot and the special treatment from the teachers. But the play wasn’t until tonight. I still had 10 hours left of rehearsals to endure. 10 hours of very bad pick up lines to endure from Dane. Oh, the joy.

But when as soon as I thought it couldn’t possibly that bad, I was greeted with a, “Hey Rapunzel babe, care to ride a horse with me? Or, I wouldn’t mind you riding me either,”

Ew. Ew. Please don’t tell me that comment was directed at me. Dane Richardson is very, very bad at trying to be smooth – he sounded like he was trying (and failing) to conceal some sort of pre-menstrual tension with all that fake growling he was doing. So I artfully ignored him and went back to reapplying my Marshmallow Lâncome Juicy Tube to make sure I looked perfect before I saw Alistair. No, I meant I wanted to look perfect for myself, I wanted to look my best all the time. Not just for Alistair, I mean, I’m not one of those types who dress up for boys they don’t even have a crush on, I’m not desperate.

Oh my God, I think that’s him now, Alistair! I hastily spread some glitter over my eyelids and looked sideways to see if he was looking. Oh God, I am that desperate.

“Babes, you don’t need lipgloss or eyeshadow to impress me.” Dane said lowly, sounding very close indeed. God, who did he think he was? Certainly he could not think that I would ever give him a chance, tres unlikely, as my French au pair would say. “I’d much rather you show your appreciation.”

Show my appreciation? Whatever could he be – oh, pick up line, again.

Alistair was standing at the door, leaning against the frame and watching my expression turn to disgust at Dane. When I noticed this, I whipped around, and consequently the glitter jar in my head smacked Dane in the face. Not that I noticed, or intended it to, much.

“Hi,” I said coolly, sticking my hands on my hips and tossing my hair, “what do you want?”

“Oh my God, Ruby, my freaking face, my face!” Dane cried in horror, clutching at his cheeks. As you should all know, an actor’s life is his face. I ignored him, however, and waited for Alistair’s response.

“Oh, nothing, do you have a habit of, I don’t know, messing things up?” He said, referring to Dane’s glitzed up face. Messing things up? What was that supposed to mean? I harrumphed at him and crossed my arms and was about to say something when the boy started waving his arms, I could hear the clocks turning in his head, backtrack, backtrack, backtrack. “No, no I didn’t mean it that way –”

I nearly slammed the door on his fingers as he, realising what I was doing, jumped backwards out of the way. “Ruby!” he cried once the door was shut in his face, and I was locking it.

One thing’s for sure, I am going to look my best for tonight’s show. I’d make him take back those words, take back that I messed things up. Why, wasn’t he the one to mess things up? He certainly messed up then, saying what he said, doing what he did, apologising a second too late.

It simply would not do.

“Oh, my God, it’s so hot in here. Did anyone, ever, think of air conditioning?” my mother said, fanning herself with the program and rolling her eyes up into her head. “Darling,” she simpered to my dad, “you simply must donate this school some kind of air conditioning system. I’d hardly like to endure this next time, if ever, we come back.”

My dad nodded and agreed with mum, it was best he did this; otherwise she’d be going on like it all night.

I stared at them, they were supposed to be being quiet, the stage was getting rearranged, but the show would go on in a mere second or two. I don’t understand my mother’s inability to keep her mouth shut. It wasn’t like I’d ever bore my husband with such things, if I ever married.

“Oh,” I wailed, looking down at my stomach which had, at the time, a pillow padding it to make me appear pregnant. Who knew fairytales were so racy? “Why, oh, why, will my zip not go up?”

The little kids whose older brothers and sisters were in the play, and those of whom just came to enjoy the show, started to giggle their little heads off.

“She tugged at the zip, and she tugged.” The voiceover said dramatically. “But the zip would simply not go up, and so Rapunzel had to ask for the witch’s assistance.”

I went over and sat in the cushioned chair, and tried to look upset and confused. Our couch had advised us to truly get in the moment whilst in the play, and so told us to think of things that made us mad, or sad, so we’d be able to convey our emotions properly.

I was thinking of her hair.

“Rapunzel,” the witch called from the bottom of the tower, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair, so that I may climb the golden stair.”

“Rapunzel,” the voiceover said, “needing to ask the witch a few questions, was only too happy to go over and let her up.”

Only too happy indeed. Who, might I ask, would welcome someone climbing up their hair? It was just not done. I tried to think about nicer things, like that it was Alistair climbing up the tower on her fake hair (with the use of a snort cleverly painted ladder) and not Mary Sue, who had this whiney little voice and who called up her daddy when she didn’t get the part of Rapunzel.

I mean, did she really expect to get the part, when well...not that I’m prejudiced, or anything like that – but she has so many freckles, she might have been one of those chocolates instead of a girl? She’s so orange that she clashed with the auditorium walls, which were a shocking shade of green.

But I pretended to be happy anyway and walked over, and hauled – this is no easy task mind you, having to do it so many times in one night – my long blonde fake braid, which snaked behind me, out the tower to Mary Sue.

“Oh dame,” I trilled, as if I were delighted to see her (Rapunzel was always delighted to see anyone), “I have a question to ask you, please, climb quickly Dame Gothel.”

And Mary Sue climbed up the tower and stood before me, staring at my stomach with disbelief. “Rapunzel, what...have...you...been...eating!”

She pointed a finger at my stomach and I shrugged, cheerfully. “Oh, dear Dame, it appears I cannot fit into any of my dresses, why is it so? I have been eating nothing more than normal, Dame Gothel.”

Mary Sue became very red in the face, and I was quite impressed by her acting skills, maybe she should have played Rapunzel. “You stupid, STUPID girl!”

I didn’t even have to act; I was so surprised by Mary Sue’s venom. What ever was she thinking of?

I didn’t have time to think about it because she grabbed me by the collar, pulled her scissors from her pocket and cut off all my hair.

Oh. My. GOD!

I felt around my head. My hair was cut down to the middle of my neck. She hadn’t just cut off the braid, she’d cut off my real hair!

Seething, I pulled back my hand and swung at her, punching her right in the eye. She burst into tears, and the stage crew started dragging me, as I breathed heavily, and as my mother cried, “Oh, God!” off the stage.

For the rest of the time, I just sat in there, coming out for my scenes, and when not – sitting in the back room, seething, while a black-eyed Mary Sue told the glitter-faced prince that he would never, ever see me again. Oh, I wished.

Apparently Mary Sue was so jealous of me getting the part and not her that she used it as her inspiration to fact – and it worked well, so well that she got caught up in the moment and cut off all my hair.

As if it wasn’t bad enough, the next scene was the kissing scene!

“Ruby...” the coach said poking her head in from the control room. “It’s time to go up, honey.”

The coach had been very nice to me all this evening after Mary Sue cut off my hair, and had apologised profusely even though it was not her fault. She’d been coming in with hot chocolates and sugar biscuits and thanking me for being such a good sport after what Mary Sue had done, going back on stage and all.

I nodded and closing my eyes, made my way onto the stage, which had this big pile of blue cellophane that was supposed to be a lake. I picked a bucket from the stage, and singing, began to scoop cellophane into the bucket, “Lalalalalalalalala.”

The prince entered the stage, the lights went dim, spotlight on him.

“Fair Rapunzel, hearing footsteps, turned.” The voiceover said.

He was lying, I didn’t hear anything. But I turned none the less, and for once, didn’t feign shock. I was shocked.

“Look, mummy.” Said one of the coach’s little daughters, who were supposed to be twins that I conceived after being thrown out of the tower. “There’s a man over there.”

There was a man. A totally cut garbologist, who wasn’t supposed to be on the stage, might I add. He was wearing the prince’s clothes, and looked pretty doable in them mind you, maybe even droolworthy. I stared, and found myself smiling, my prince! He had come to rescue me!

“Oh, Alistair.” I said unthinkingly, and then realised what I said. Oh God.

He looked at me, and looked as if he were having a hard time not smirking. I sniffed, and crossed my arms, turning my head. The crowd gasp.

The voiceover, panicked, went, “Rapunzel is just kidding with him, wasn’t she, Rapunzel. She leapt into his arms.” I did no such thing. “She leapt into his arms.” She tried again, but I didn’t budge.

Alistair strode towards me, and I could feel my pulse starting to race. It was only because I was so angry though, so angry that he would interrupt my precious play and dare mock me for a clear moment of insanity. I stared determinedly in the other direction, and bit my lip when he came so close that we nearly touched.

How could I like him? How could I? The guy mopped up puke for money, and he was maddening, infuriating, and mimicked the prince as he followed me home. Followed me home!

Like it wasn’t bad enough that I had to walk, he had to go and follow me.

“Ruby,” Alistair whispered, and not even stage whispered, just whispered so I could hear. “Ruby, look at me.” He whispered lowly.

“Why on earth would I ever, ever want to kiss –” I retorted angrily, even yelled, so my stage mike hissed and screeched and the people in the crowd covered their ears. But I was interrupted.

He swept me up in his arms and kissed me, and sorry as I am to say it, I obliged and flung my arms around his neck. He was kissing me, and he kissed so well, better than anyone who had kissed me before.

When we broke apart from what I – to the children’s immense displeasure, as it was quite gross – had to admit was a pretty passionate kiss, I said embarrassingly again, “Oh, Alistair.”

He couldn’t help but to kiss me again, and I couldn’t help but to kiss him back. What’s Rapunzel to do, if she gets her hair cut off by the wicked witch, and then falls in love with not the prince, but the guy who swept up her morning sickness?

Marry him, and then live happily. Ever. After.

-

OH MY GOD! This is dedicated to like, xoxluurve, because you know, she’s that like, cool. Which is why, indeed, I have like, her name! Totally! If you are reading this luurve...you’re my hero! Even if you never reply to your reviews. But that’s only because you get so many, and cannot help it, which I admire you for.

Ps. Hoped you liked the story.