The 12th Candle

by Kim Tomsic

“Duhhh. All roads lead back to the curse. Why else do you think she stopped being our friend?”

  Bailee shrugs. “Because she’s interested in different things.”

  “No, it’s the curse!” I clap. “Oh, and maybe we’ll buy our old house back!”

  The bus jolts over the railroad tracks and Steven groans.

  Hudson, who is in the seat right beside us, asks, “What are you guys whispering about?”

  Bailee and I giggle, and she gives me the leg-squeeze code of “we’ll talk later.”

  Mr. Melvin stops the bus, and a bunch of elementary-grade kids load on and fall into seats.

  “Are you guys whispering about the contest?” Hudson says. “Don’t let Priscilla go scaring you out of entering, Sage. I need some real competition.”

  I smile.

  “Also,” he says, “I did some research, and come to find out, the majority of past winning entries came from artists who didn’t use a lick of technology.”

  “True story?” I ask, sitting up.

  “Yep.” He takes his phone from his pocket and says, “Winners used watercolors, colored pencils, markers. Here, I’ll show you.” He types some words into his phone but I cut him off.

  “Thanks, Hudson. You don’t need to prove anything.” I pause. “I’m not worried about Priscilla.”

  “Really?”

  I nod, and Bailee says, “Sage’s mom gave her colored pencils for her birthday. She can use those to make her entry.”

  “Or something else.” I waggle my eyebrows.

  “No! You can use the colored pencils.” Bailee sounds super-bossy. “You’ll participate fair and square.”

  “Ever heard of a joke, Bay?” I’d never want to win a contest by cheating.

  More kids, all ages, load on, and Ryan and Curtis come down the aisle, take seats, and say hellos. Curtis plops in front of Bailee and me.

  Chirp!

  “What part are you on?” I say loudly to Bailee, tapping her book.

  “When Ponyboy says that Robert Frost poem to Johnny. ‘Nothing Gold Can Stay.’”

  “Oh yeah,” I say. “I had to read the poem twelve times to understand it.” When I did, it made me think of my daddy. “It means nothing perfect can last. But the poem’s wrong, because our friendship is perfect and it’ll last forever.”

  “Yep.” Bailee smiles. A moment passes and she adds, “I love that Ponyboy wants to recite the poem to Cherry. It’s sooooo sweet.” Bailee places her book over her heart. “Wouldn’t it be great to have someone recite poetry to us?”

  Curtis looks over his shoulder and smiles.

  Chirp!

  “Okay then!” I say loudly. “Any jokes today, Curtis?” We can always count on Curtis for something funny, and sure enough, he keeps us laughing for most of the ride.

  My laughter stops when we pull up to the red light in front of Happy Pets. Justin is outside, sweeping the sidewalk. He looks up, and I have a flicker of hope that maybe his mother didn’t say anything bad about me. I lift my hand and make a small wave, and just when I do he turns his back.

  He saw me, right?

  Of course he saw me. He probably heard an earful about my infamous father. A sinkhole of shame caves in my chest. Welp. I slouch and look away. Nothing gold can stay.

  Chapter 17

  As Bailee and I head to the bank of sixth-grade lockers, we pass sign after sign announcing “Four days until the solstice!”

  Bailee and I have side-by-side lockers. The happy-birthday poster and photo she taped on the outside of my white metal door are still in place, but someone has drawn a mustache over my face. Godzilla stands just a few lockers over.

  “Nice move, Zilla.”

  “You’re welcome, Weed.” She crosses her arms.

  “Sorry,” Bailee says to me. “I can make a copy of that for you.”

  “Thanks.” I rip down the mustached photo. Godzilla is about to get hers.

  I twist my lock combo and I’m so distracted I mess it up.

  I glance at my enemy again. Jada and Gigi gather around Priscilla, and honestly the three of them could be models for a hair commercial—Jada with her cool red-brown ’fro, Gigi and her glossy black side braid, and Priscilla and her sleek blond A-line cut.

  Bailee nudges me. “What’s up?”

  I shrug. “Hair envy.” This makes me think of how awful my hair looked when I met Justin. “Why don’t we ever try different things with our hair?”

  Bailee reaches into her locker. “I’m game. Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” Bailee and I wear the same old ponytail every day. And the same outfits every week. Today, Priscilla has on a stylish Olympic-blue shirt with mid-length sleeves and a new pair of Converse Chuck Taylor high-tops. They must’ve been custom-made, because they have a picture of a boa constrictor on the side, maybe even her family’s boa constrictor.

  I spin my combination and this time the lock clicks open.

  “I should sue the Xcel Energy Company,” Priscilla says. “I still cannot believe our electricity went out right in the middle of my party.” Her tone lightens. “But perfect timing, since I was sitting next to Steven.”

  Jada and Gigi giggle. It’s Gigi’s real laugh and it makes me miss hanging out with her.

  Priscilla grabs strawberry ChapStick from her locker and drops it into her backpack. “Have you ever heard of such a thing as an electric company shutting off someone’s power?”

  I expect Gigi to say something like, “Yep. Happens all the time at Sage’s.” Instead she says, “I can’t believe they did that on your birthday party.”

  “Right?” Priscilla says. “Why in the world?”

  “You think your parents forgot to pay the bill?” Gigi sounds like she’s trying to help solve the mystery, but Priscilla blisters five shades of mad and pops her hands to her hips. “Is that supposed to be a joke, Gigi? You heard my mom call Xcel. They said they lost her payment.” Priscilla turns her angry glare on me. “And what are you staring at, Weed?”

  Whoops. I didn’t realize I was gawking. But I can’t help it—her electricity went out and mine powered up on the very same weekend!

  “Watch out, girls,” Godzilla says. “I think Carl Sassafras’s kid is trying to catch our locker combos.”

  “What would I steal from you?” I say to Priscilla. “Your ugly forty-dollar shoes?”

  “Umm,” Jada says. “I need to run.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Gigi zips her backpack closed. “Later.” She leaves with Jada.

  Priscilla slams her locker door. “For your information, Weed, these shoes cost ninety dollars. You would know that if you weren’t so busy shopping at Goodwill.”

  Heads turn my way, and I feel my face flush.

  “Come on.” Bailee reaches into my locker and plops a pair of generic white tennis shoes into my arms. “We’re going to be late for gym.”

  I follow Bailee down the hall with my fists clenched so tight my nails dig into my palms.

  “Just take a breath,” Bailee says, stopping at the water fountain. “Let’s fill up our water bottles.”

  I grumble and untwist my cap. Godzilla will get her payback soon and then she’ll know what public humiliation feels like.

  “No pouting.” Bailee elbows my side playfully. “You have too many things to be happy about to let Priscilla slither under your skin.”

  She’s right. “I know.”

  We fill our bottles and head to the gym. Maybe I should tell Bailee about the crickets now, so she knows I don’t plan on losing today.

  “Hello?” Bailee says.

  “Huh?”

  “I just asked you what you’re going to wish for next.”

  I laugh and say, “How about a head full of lice for Priscilla?”

  “No! Please promise me you won’t waste wishes on stuff like that.”

  “Haha.” My laugh turns stiff. “Of course not.” Bailee will forgive me for blowing a wish once she sees how great it works out. We walk around the corner and I ask, �
��You think it’s too much to wish that the curse-reverse hurries?”

  “It’s probably already reversing,” Bailee says. “Think about it—Priscilla’s lights went out.”

  “Right!” I smile. We arrive to a full locker room, girls dressing for gym class.

  Thinking about my prank makes my smile double in size. Curse or no curse, I’m going to come out on top, and for once Godzilla will know what it’s like to be on the butt end of a joke.

  Chapter 18

  Coach pops her head into the locker room and blows her whistle. “Let’s go, ladies. PE starts now.”

  Shanie, Janet, and Lily run out to the gym floor, leaving just Gigi and me.

  Gigi and I are always the last ones ready. Back when we used to hang out, we would joke about our slowness and call ourselves the leisure llamas. We even swore we would make llama pajamas one day, the ultimate leisure wear! I’d draw the llamas, and she’d sew up the comfiest outfits ever.

  Joking about being a slow-changer is way better than admitting what I really try to avoid: peeling off my clothing in front of everyone in the locker room. I tell Coach I’m modest, so she doesn’t dock me points for running late, but truth is I can’t deal with Priscilla making fun of my old underthings. It’s not like my momma can afford to just drive to Denver, run into Walmart, and buy me new bras and panties all the time.

  I’ve become pretty good at changing without anyone seeing. Today, I put on my PE uniform extra slowly, first the navy-blue shorts and then the white T-shirt.

  Gigi laces up her tennis shoes.

  After Coach leaves, I lean toward Gigi and say, “Attack of the leisure llamas.” I laugh, but we both know it’s not my real laugh. She doesn’t laugh with me, and I’m not sure if I feel stupid or nervous.

  Gigi clears her throat, and I fumble with my shoelaces. “Um. Tell Coach I have cramps. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “All right,” Gigi says, and hurries out to the gym.

  I’m alone. It’s now or never, I tell myself.

  I unzip my backpack and take out the plastic container. The crickets are mostly quiet, which worries me, so I lift the lid for a peek, panic, and snap it shut. I’m not normally grossed out by bugs, but watching them step over each other’s faces gives me the shudders. I’m so nervous and shaky, I’m not sure if I saw nine or forty. I just want to get this over with.

  Hardly anyone brings a lock to PE, probably because we only have five minutes to change and nobody wants to waste time fussing with a combination.

  When I find Priscilla’s locker, I take a breath, glancing left and right. My hands shake. I open the metal door and take out her new blue shirt. I unfold it. My heart speeds. I strain to hear if anyone might be coming. Coach’s whistle blows; I can hear balls thumping in the far distance. Can I really do this to Priscilla? I clutch the turquoise container.

  It’s not Priscilla, it’s Godzilla, I tell myself. Remember the pickles. She deserves to be humiliated, just like she always does to me. She’ll see the crickets and explode in a full freak-out, and everyone will laugh because she’ll look ridiculous screaming about tiny little crickets, and then I’ll say, “Touché, Godzilla. Think carefully before you decide to pull another fast one on me.” Then I’ll take a bow for delivering the supreme payback.

  With shaky hands, I dump the whole pile of crickets, we’re talking bug on top of bug on top of bug, inside her shirt. I can’t look. I know I’m not afraid of bugs, but I’ve never handled a pile of insects before. I hop from foot to foot. “Ew, ew, ew.” My arms tremble. I refold her cricket-filled shirt, shove it back inside her locker, and slam the door closed before a single bug can escape.

  After one more twitchy-shiver, I let out a pheeeeeeeeew. This is going to be awesome! I bury the container in the trash can—because, let’s face it, I’ll never eat soup from it again—and I run out to the gym floor.

  I line up next to Bailee and Shanie at the red free-throw line.

  Coach folds her arms and glares at me.

  “What is wrong with you today?” Bailee asks.

  “Why?” My hands shake at my side.

  “You’re already sweating.”

  “Oh,” I whisper. “Just excited about wishing and magic.”

  “Me too! I’ve been thinking about what you said on the bus about nothing gold can stay. I want you to wish that we’re friends for life. It doesn’t break the free will rule, since we both want that!”

  “Deal!” I say, and watch Bailee shoot free throws.

  “Even though I know we’ll never need that wish.” Bailee stops shooting and looks me in the eyes. “It’s more like for insurance.”

  “Yeah,” I tell her, but as I think about it, I’m sure there’s no point in wasting the wax. We’ve been best friends since the minute we met.

  Basketballs thump and roll by my feet. Most shooters miss the net, but not Priscilla. Like I said, she’s a great basketball player. I watch her technique. She tosses swish after swish into the basket, her knees slightly bent and her fingers spread evenly on the ball.

  She catches me watching, and I roll my eyes, pretending like I’m not impressed. And why should I be? With a curse-reverse, maybe I’ll shoot even better today.

  “This isn’t spectator time, Sassafras,” Coach hollers. “Take a shot.”

  She lobs an orange ball my way. I dribble a few times. This ball has a good bounce, not like one of the flat ones. I turn it in my hands and take a forward step, making sure my toes don’t touch the red line. I dribble again, put a bend in my knees, aim at the basket, and shoot. Swish. It flies perfectly centered through the net without even touching the backboard or rim. Easy.

  I scoop up a ball rolling by my feet and do it again. Swish.

  “Wow, Sage!” Bailee says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nail two in a row.” She tosses another ball to me. “Do it again.”

  I dribble. Shoot. Swish.

  Shanie claps.

  Bailee squeals. “Did you practice in your sleep?”

  I laugh. I used to practice with my daddy. “It suddenly feels right.”

  “Again.” Coach lobs another ball my way.

  I catch it, aim, and shoot. Swish.

  Bailee screams. “Nice!”

  Girls stop shooting and watch. Coach has one ball in her hand and another propped on her hip. She tosses the first.

  Swish.

  And the second.

  Swish.

  I can’t miss. Priscilla stops and watches.

  Swish. Swish. Swish.

  “It’s like magic,” someone says.

  All attention is on me, until Priscilla starts shooting again. Brick. Brick. Brick.

  She can’t sink a single shot.

  Coach blows her whistle. “Good job, Sassafras. Okay, girls, time for dribbling drills. Everyone grab a ball and head over to the cones.”

  Jada scoops up two balls and hands one to me. “Nice shooting.”

  “Thanks.”

  We head to the cones, girls surrounding me, patting my back. Bailee is laughing and saying, “Yep, that’s my BFF.” Even Gigi high-fives me and says, “Nice!”

  Bailee wags her eyebrows at me and mouths, curse-reverse.

  A single basketball bounces. I look over and Priscilla shoots another brick. Is that what I usually look like?

  Bailee nudges me and whispers, “I know I wasn’t a big curse believer before, but after the electricity and now this, I think the curse-reverse is really happening.”

  “Right?” She doesn’t even know the half of it, because the prankster is about to become the prankee.

  “You usually suck.” Jada laughs. “Sorry, that sounded mean, but it’s like you and Priscilla switched roles.”

  I smile, until a cold plunge of worry sinks in my stomach. If I’m taking Priscilla’s basketball skills, what is she getting of mine?

  Chapter 19

  A single cricket jumps from Priscilla’s locker. “Ahhhhgk!”

  Priscilla’s scream is only a tiny sho
ck, until she unfolds her blue shirt and her terror notches up to horror-film level. “AHHHHHHKKKKKKKKKKKKK!”

  Girls in the locker room glance over, trying to figure out what’s wrong.

  Priscilla flings her shirt as high as she can. It flies into the air in a rainbow arc, crickets riding it like a magic carpet until dozens tumble off on both sides. It looks like the crickets more than quadrupled! Some fall from the flying shirt and land on heads and down bras. The room explodes in screams.

  The blue shirt keeps flying like it’s in slow motion, and the worst possible thing happens. It kerplops right next to Bailee. More crickets stream out. Bailee screams and soars up onto a bench, hugging her arms to her chest and shrieking, “Please, somebody! Do something!”

  Zombie-gray crickets chirp and jump. There have to be more than forty of them, maybe more than a hundred! It’s impossible to count, because they’re zooming and zipping every which way. Some get squished under feet, some fall out of ponytails. Guts line the floor, and even my stomach gets queasy.

  My best friend’s face is full of terror, and immediately, umber shades of regret slink under my skin. Why didn’t I realize Bailee would hate this prank?

  I bat bugs away from her with my PE shirt. “I’ve got you, Bay.”

  Bailee cups her hands over her glasses, and I’m pretty sure she’s crying.

  The crickets have definitely multiplied. They jump everywhere—under the benches and inside shoes.

  “Germs!” Bailee screeches. “Crickets carry germs.” Her voice quivers at a level I’ve never heard before. She wrings her hands. I knew Bailee wasn’t a fan of bugs, but I greatly underestimated her reaction. Suddenly, I feel like the world’s biggest jerk. How could I forget to connect crickets with her dread of germs? I. Am. The. Worst. Friend. Ever.

  Coach runs into the locker room, blowing her whistle to quiet us until she sees what’s going on. The whistle falls from her mouth. “Oh . . . my . . .” She’s speechless for a moment until, “The boys’ room is empty. Grab your clothing and change over there.”

  Girls around me shake out their stuff. A cricket falls from Jada’s hair and she screams, “Ewwwwwwwww!” Some girls are laughing, excited about the drama. Others, like Bailee, stand on the benches, paralyzed.