by Kim Tomsic
“Good motto,” he says. “When you settle on a pet, come back and see us. My mom is setting up her vet clinic back here.” He points to a door. A stack of boxes and a pile of furniture still wrapped in plastic sits against the wall.
“I mean, I hope you’ll come here a lot before you get a pet, too.” Justin smiles down at his shoes.
The color that bumps around inside my chest is Snowy Soda’s apricot-orange. It matches the happy-fizzy-awkward way I’m feeling now.
Neither of us say anything for a long moment, so I fill the silence: “So, um, your mom is a vet?”
“Yeah. And my dad runs the store. He’s out buying more cleaning supplies like brooms and mops. Guess who’s going to have to put those to use.” He points two thumbs at his chest.
“You?”
Justin grins.
We lean over the fence to pet the dogs, and our arms graze. Bubbles fizz in my chest again. I’m having the best day ever, until I catch sight of Mrs. Snyder coming out of an aisle carrying dog food.
Mrs. Snyder stops at the endcap next to the pooper scoopers and narrows her eyes like she’s warning me not to run over and steal her purse. I send mind waves back telling her I’m going to win the Noodler contest and become a world-famous artist, and she’ll wish she had been nicer to me.
A short woman with shiny black hair and bright white tennis shoes walks up to Mrs. Snyder. “May I help you with anything?” It’s the same voice that spoke to Justin earlier—his mom.
Justin says something to me, so I turn back and he calls to Peaches, “Come here, girl. You’ll like meeting Sage.”
Apricot-orange still flickers in my heart; however, I feel a gray cloud edging close.
Justin stretches his hand into the play zone and scruffs Peaches on the head. She licks his fingers.
“Awww,” I say, but I’m distracted. Mrs. Snyder is now in a full-blown conversation with Justin’s mom. Doom snakes down my back. Nobody can have that many questions about pooper scoopers. Plus, the way Mrs. Snyder leans close to Justin’s mom while glancing my way makes it clear what she’s actually discussing—or more accurately, who.
Great, I think, and by “great,” I mean green-guts horrible.
Then Mrs. Snyder lifts her nose in the air, and Dr. Li marches toward me. Justin turns to see what has my attention.
“Uh-oh,” he says in a whisper, “here comes my mom, and by the look on her face I can tell I’m in trouble for something.”
My stomach plummets. I’m the something.
“Hello,” Dr. Li says, more suspicious than friendly.
“Hi.” I sound like the guilty criminal she thinks I am.
“Mom,” Justin says confidently, “meet Sage.”
Dr. Li folds her arms across her chest. “Sage, our store policy is backpacks and grocery sacks are to be left up front.”
I flush.
“Mom?” Justin says.
“We have a customer at the cash register, Justin,” Dr. Li says. “Please go ring him up.”
“Really? I love doing the register! BRB, Sage.” He dashes off.
“Umm.” I shift nervously. “That means ‘be right back.’”
“Are you here to purchase something?”
“Ah, yeah, yes. Yes, ma’am. I’d like to buy crickets.”
She eyeballs me. “Do you have a pet lizard or pet frog?”
“Um, frog.” The lie sends heat up my neck, but she doesn’t notice.
“Follow me.” She walks to the reptile section full of large glass aquariums. One enclosure has lizards sitting on warming rocks, another has red-spotted frogs, and another has a leopard gecko. We stop at an aquarium that holds hundreds, maybe even a thousand zombie-gray crickets—enough to flip Priscilla’s skin inside out if she were here.
“These are the crickets we recommend for feeding to frogs. It’s two fifty for ten. Did you bring money with you?”
I swallow. “Yes, ma’am. I have ten dollars.”
She’s not even impressed, just gives me a blank stare.
“Um, may I have ten crickets, please?”
She snaps on plastic gloves and crinkles open a brown paper bag. She reaches her full arm into the cricket aquarium. I get the willies watching her pick up one twitchy body at a time, and I can almost see why Priscilla doesn’t like these guys. Dr. Li seems pretty calm, though, and I wonder if it’s because of her years as a vet. Does she pick up frogs and scorpions and snakes, too? Since we’re not on a friendly basis, I don’t ask.
When she’s done, she closes the aquarium. Then she folds the bag shut and tosses the gloves into a trash can.
I reach for the bag, and she hesitates before handing it to me. “I’ll walk you to the register.”
Shame heats my face and burns inside my ears. I’ve done nothing wrong, I tell myself, and pull my shoulders out of their slump. I am not a street rat.
Nosy Mrs. Snyder watches me the whole time. She acts like she’s inspecting the leopard gecko, but I know better.
I follow behind Dr. Li’s bright white tennis shoes until we are next to Mrs. Snyder, and I can’t help myself. I stop. “Look!” I say, crinkling the bag open under her chin. Crickets shuffle and chirp and one jumps toward her big nosy nostrils right before I snap the bag shut.
“Oh, my.” Mrs. Snyder clutches her heart. “Oh my.” The loose skin on her neck wobbles.
“In case you’re wondering,” I say sweetly, “I’m just buying something with the money I got legitimately for my birthday.”
Dr. Li narrows her eyes, studying me. “Are you ready to pay now?”
I stand a little taller. “Yes. And I’m sure you’re busy, so I can find my way to the register on my own.” The crickets shuffle and chirp. Mrs. Snyder backs away.
“I’m sure you can.” Dr. Li crosses her arms and continues waiting for me.
There’s something on her face that I can’t read until it occurs to me that how I just acted toward Mrs. Snyder has confirmed everything negative Dr. Li must be thinking about me.
My throat dries. My moment of pride comes to a pathetic end. I lower my chin to my chest and follow Dr. Li to the register. I have no idea where Justin is, because I can’t bring myself to look up. Dr. Li pokes a few air holes in the bag, and I use my ten dollars and the quarters to pay. She gives me an even eight dollars back. I drop the cricket bag into the Sprouts sack and rush out the door.
I’m across the parking lot when I hear, “Hey.” It’s Justin calling to me from the doorway. “Nice meeting you, Sage!”
I fake like I don’t hear, because all I can think is how he’ll change that tune just as soon as his mom gives him the lowdown on what Mrs. Snyder had to say about me, aka “Shady Sassafras.”
The backs of my eyes burn and I fill with anger. Momma should’ve come into the store with me instead of making me face Mrs. Snyder by myself.
When I climb into the car, Momma’s nose is buried in her book. I toss the Sprouts bag into the back seat and slam the door shut.
Momma startles. “Wha—”
“I’m done.” I cross my arms.
“What’s wrong?”
I can’t tell her I bought crickets and how ugly that went. “Nothing,” I say with crackling-red anger. “I just thought we were going to the pet store together. It would’ve been nice if you came in.”
Momma spies Mrs. Snyder making her way to her car. “Did that Snyder woman say something to you?” Momma’s voice crackles with red now, too. She unbuckles her seat belt. “That’s it. She can taunt me, but I will not have her bullying my daughter.”
Hearing her have my back cools my pulse. “It’s okay.”
But she opens her door. “No. It’s not.”
“Momma, please.”
“No, I won’t have her—”
“Please! I don’t want a scene. I just want to go home.” My voice breaks. “Please.”
Momma hesitates before rebuckling her seat belt and closing the door. After a moment of quiet, she picks up the golden leaf still s
itting between us and hands it to me. “Honey. I just want you to know we’re from the same tree. We’re in this together.”
I grab for the leaf. Somehow, it’s already dry, and it cracks, scattering pieces of Momma’s offering on the car floor.
Chapter 14
Sunday, December 16
On Sunday at noon, the phone rings at exactly twelve o’clock, just like it does every Sunday. Momma answers on the first ring.
“Hello,” she says, all excited.
I pick up my sketchpad and pencils, walk to my room, and close the door. I lie on my paisley comforter and try to practice Noodler sketches, but the walls are thin and I hear murmurs of her conversation with Daddy. My shoulders tense. It’ll be my turn to talk soon. My insides tangle—he might ask me if I read his letters or say something that I’m not ready to talk about.
I open my pad to a blank page and scratch the Mars dust red pencil back and forth, coloring circles or hearts, I’m not sure. My stomach twists. What am I going to say?
Twelve minutes go by, and I’ve worn down the pencil tip. Daddy only gets fifteen minutes of phone time. Maybe Momma will use up the whole time, but I’m not sure I want that, either.
Knock, knock. Momma opens my door. My pencil freezes in my hand. My skin feels clammy.
“Honey,” she says, holding out the phone.
My heart speeds, and I make my decision—I point to my throat and mouth, sore throat.
She shakes her head and soft-whispers, “That’s what you said last week. Take it.”
I put the phone to my ear and continue scribbling with the red pencil. “Hi.”
“How’s my favorite artist?” he says.
My heart clenches in a painful squeeze. There’s that voice, warm and kind. The voice that read Harry Potter with me. The one that always knows—knew—just what to say.
I take a shaky breath. “Fine.” I set the pencil down.
“Did you have a nice birthday?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Momma stands in my doorway, nodding at me to say more. My mind goes blank. I take the phone away from my ear. “Please go.” I wait for Momma to shut the door before I put the phone back to my ear.
“Sage? Sage?” he says.
“Yeah?”
“I hope you received my card.”
“Yep.”
“Did you and Bailee do something fun?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Like what?”
“Movies.”
“Nice.” I hear the strain of effort in his voice. “Which one?”
I know he wants more from me. But I guard each word, careful to make sure he doesn’t hear my questioning. “Star Wars.”
“Sage, I love you. Please talk to me.”
Then another voice comes on, the automated recording. “This is the Federal Correctional Institution. Your time has expired.” A click is followed by dead air.
“Don’t worry, Daddy,” I say now that he’s no longer on the phone. “I have a magic candle, and as soon as the curse-reverse works, you’ll be home, and we’ll talk about everything.”
Chapter 15
Monday, December 17
On Monday morning, Momma goes into work extra early, and I wake up to practice Noodler logos before I have to leave for school.
After an hour of sketching, I grab my crickets and go to the kitchen. I slice a bright green Granny Smith apple for breakfast and pop a bite into my mouth. It’s delicious, both sweet and sour. I put a slice aside for the crickets, so they can have a snack to munch on while they wait for my plan. The apple is the last of the fruit from the groceries, but I’m not worried—if I win the Noodler contest and become super-famous, people will probably send me big congratulations baskets full of creamy cheeses, sweet fruits, and salty crackers. Plus, as soon as the curse reverses, we’ll have tons of food. I lean against the kitchen counter and crunch into another apple slice.
Hmm, I think. My crickets need a safer way to ride to school in my backpack other than a squishy bag.
I go to the pantry and take some Bubble Wrap from one of the framed photos and loop it around the cricket bag, but the bubble wrap blocks the air holes, so I take it off. Next, I search my cabinets and find the turquoise plastic storage container we use for leftover soup. Momma’s not going to like me ruining it, but I puncture the lid with a knife to make air holes.
I put the apple slice inside the container. Now I just need to move the crickets to their new home. I open the brown bag and peer down. Ten zombie-gray crickets crawl over one another. On Saturday, it seemed like a lot, but now it doesn’t look like many at all. I dump the bag into the container.
Chirp! One jumps out and dashes away. I snap the lid closed so no more can escape, but now I only have nine crickets. The escapee hops under a space in between our cabinets. It feels like a bad omen and makes me worry my plan will be a dud. I should have spent all ten dollars on crickets so I could have four times as many.
I could use today’s wish to have more crickets, though.
Why not? I’ve already made my important wishes—Momma will have money to pay bills, Daddy will come home soon, and the curse will turn in our favor. Everything else is icing, plus, I get a wish every day for the next five days.
I hesitate. Bailee won’t like me wishing without her. But . . . she’d love seeing me win against Godzilla for once.
I set down the turquoise container, open the kitchen drawer, grab the magic candle, and light it. “I wish the crickets in this container would quadruple in number!”
Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip.
I blow out the melting candle but not before losing a quarter inch of wax. Now the candle is about the size of a piece of penne pasta, a little over an inch tall. Dang it. But this will be worth it.
My hands shake. It’s freaky to think there might be forty crickets in my container now, or thirty-six if I’m being exact, but I don’t really like exacts. I peel open the lid a tiny bit and hold my breath.
Nine crickets crawl around on top of each other. They chirp, and I swear they’re telling me I’ll have to be patient for this wish, too.
A cricket hops, and I snap the lid closed before there’s another escapee. I return the candle to its fancy box and put everything back in the kitchen drawer. Part of me wants to tuck it away somewhere in my room, but there’s no time for that right now.
I place the cricket container at the top of my backpack. Finally, Priscilla will get her payback. She gets everything great in the curse, but this time I’m coming out on top. After I lock up the apartment, I rush to the bus stop, energized to unleash the best plan since the invention of practical jokes. Godzilla will think twice before she pulls another trick on me—this is going to go down in the history books as the prank that ends all pranks!
Chapter 16
The bus is quiet. Most kids in Goldview aren’t talkative on Monday mornings, and I wonder if it’s like this all over the world. In the back of the bus, the eighth graders stare out the windows. In the row across from me, Steven sleeps and Hudson looks at his phone. Bailee is sitting beside me, reading The Outsiders. She turns a page and says, “Stop fidgeting.”
“I want to talk about Minerva’s.”
“Shhhhhh.” Bailee has already shushed me twice, but I’m dying to tell her about the quadrupling wish and the mega prank. “Not here,” she whispers.
“But—”
“Shhhhhh.”
I want to confess about using the candle without her, and I’m about to try again when she says, “There are too many big ears around here.” She looks around the bus suspiciously.
“Okay?” I don’t know who has big ears, but it’s probably better this way. She might freak if she knew she was sitting next to nine crickets . . . or forty! But she’s going to be impressed with how great this goes down. Maybe with my Noodler win and the prank I won’t just become regular-famous. I’ll be ultra-famous, and nobody will ever make fun of a Sassafras again.
Still, waiting in all
this quiet makes me nervous that someone will notice my crickets and warn Priscilla before I have a chance to pull off my prank. Crickets mostly chirp at night to find a mate or to keep other male crickets away, but the turquoise container is dark, so they probably think it’s midnight, and I swear I keep hearing them chirp. I make my own noise and shift in my squeaky vinyl seat.
Thankfully, the bus starts moving, the engine rumbles, and Mr. Melvin pumps tunes from his Motown Monday playlist.
“Turn it up,” I call out, not only to mask cricket chirps, but also because Motown Mondays are almost as good as Funky Fridays.
When Mr. Melvin arrives at the next stop, he smiles at me through the mirror and clicks up the volume by one notch. Then he cranks open the door and takes a sip from his steamy cup of Java Hut coffee, which, by the way, is twice as expensive as the café coffee, according to Momma. It smells rich and earthy, so maybe it’s worth it.
“Are you okay?” Bailee asks. “Or are you trying to set a world record in fidgeting?”
“Haha.” My laugh is awkward. “Can we please just go over everything again?”
She reluctantly closes her book and says, “If we are going to talk about you know what, let’s keep it on the down-low. We don’t want just anyone going to Minerva’s for a magic candle.”
We hunker low in our seat and whisper about the magic, going over the bazillionth rehash of what a curse-reverse will look like when it finally happens.
“My momma will stock Cherry Garcia ice cream in our freezer every weekend!”
“Check!” Bailee says.
“And we’ll have yogurt parfaits for breakfast.”
“Double check,” Bailee says.
“And the jury will figure out they’re wrong and send my daddy home.”
“Um,” Bailee says. “That’s not really how the court system works.”
“Well, somehow they’ll let him come home.”
“Okay.” Bailee’s voice falters. “Umm, check.”
“And then Gigi will be our friend again.”
“Why’s that?” Bailee asks.
