Ferry’s Fairies Don’t Play Fair

“I got three hours,” Wallace says, her voice completely devoid of emotion or life.

“That’s not so bad,” replies her friend, Gromit, who pauses and says, “I mean, it’s bad.”

They both resume looking at the Ferry’s counter. There’s nothing more to say about the lack of sleep Stuyvesant students get, really. The iced hazelnut coffees they will drink momentarily are so sweet it will be a welcome reward for staying up late into the wee hours. Everything has already been said about this fact of life, and there’s nothing more to be don–

“Psst!” An attempt is made to reach out to the forlorn students, but nothing is heard over the din of the long line of customers. Still looking around aimlessly, eyes glancing over the packaged croissants in the basket, Wallace feels something sharp stab into her hand.

“I think a bee just stung me. Or…hmm. Can you check this out on my hand? Is it spotted lanternfly season, because if they’re back I swear I will defend those tree–”

Gromit examines her friend’s hand and, for the first time in six years, there is a sparkle of wonder in her eyes. “No, look! I think it’s a fairy! Like in my dreams!”

And sure enough, a figure as tall as three mechanical pencil erasers stacked on top of each other jumps up and down on the student’s hand. They have a skirt made of pencil shavings from a Dixon Ticonderoga HB Soft 2, and they’re holding someone’s magnetite ring by their side as if it’s their main mode of transportation. It probably is. Their wings are two Poland Spring bottle caps attached by a hair tie to their back. 

“Greets! My name is Gramop Wadlepadle! I will be your guide to the other side of the predicament you find yourself in. I have four-and-a-half stars on Yelp, and, oh, there’s my friend.”

Crawling from over the student’s wristwatch to join Gramop on the hand, a second fairy appears. “Runt Replebeple. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Runt is dragging a bent student MetroCard behind him, hole-punched with sewing threads looped through it to serve as a parachute. These fairies, Wallace thinks, are so much cooler than I am. 

“Don’t worry about a thing. We have a plan to help you get through the rest of the school year. We’re just waiting on one more person. Can I introduce you to my pet fish while we wait?” Gramop takes out a metal fish earring, and proudly holds it up for the two students to see. The iced coffees are now a thing of the past.

Lovyn Briskbit is the last to arrive on the scene. When he arrives, Ferry’s music happens to change to ABBA’s “Take a Chance on Me.” The most fashionable of the crew, Briskbit has wrapped himself in a cross-shoulder shirt made out of a single Sesame Street Band-Aid. He takes out a BIC-issue 0.7 graphite case and looks around at everyone in the group with a single eyebrow raised. 

“First, we dust. I just forgot which is the exploding dust and which is the fairy dust. One second.”

With that, the Ferry’s Fairies begin their mission to “help” the poor unfortunate souls of Stuyvesant High School. For the following week and a half, all bacon avocado chipotle sandwiches are inexplicably filled with glitter. What exactly does the fairy dust do? Nobody knows. But kids in the most serious of classes begin doing impressions of Goofy from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse out loud while teachers go over the Pythagorean theorem again. One teacher does a spit take with his Gatorade when a student gets up out of her seat and starts moo-ing. The rest of the students all mechanically alternate, on an A-B schedule, the ritualized singing of Baby Shark (screamed at the top of their lungs) and the Duck Song (sung in a barely audible and sanctimonious whisper) during the morning announcements, and get back in their seats when the Pledge begins.

After the mildly disturbing fairy dust epidemic subsides, Gramop, Runt, and Lovyn cross the Tribeca Bridge and don’t look back. Hiding on the back of student ID cards, our gang manages to infiltrate Stuyvesant, where they will carry out the next phase of their grand plan to improve the mental and physical well-being of the student body.

One anonymous freshman claims that a fairy broke into her locker and completed her geometry homework. “I could tell because he spelled out ‘Lovyn was here’ on the door using googly eyes. At first, I was so happy,” she states, “but then I took a closer look and realized he just drew a bunch of trapezoids all over my worksheet, along with a very realistic sketch of a hamster.”

Armed with Q-Tips, the fairies execute the next phase of their undisclosed-number-of-steps-but-FDA-approved plan to help students overcome their fears of what others think about them. They brave their way into people’s noses and excavate anything they can find, screaming out “BOOGER! I FOUND A BOOGER!” whenever they emerge victorious. After a few days of people wearing masks again, everyone starts breathing a little easier, knowing the worst is over and that they are booger-free. Hallelujah!

In an unexpected turn of events, the fairies begin making enemies. Anytime a rude child tries to scan in, the fairies speed over to block a singular bar of the barcode of their ID card, and the worst thing happens—an angry buzz sound is heard when they swipe, and the student is stopped. The situation has grown far out of the reach of the two students who wanted their coffees. No one knows where the fairies are now, but people have begun leaving special requests for the fairies to carry out in their shoes when they change for swim gym. All’s Fairy in Love and War.