by Kim Tomsic
I exhale. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”
Minerva laughs. “As you know with the rules, you have no unwishing powers.” She winks. “But I do. That said, unwishing magic is not free.” Minerva reaches into the pocket of her long purple skirt.
“Oh?”
She pulls out her hand and flickers silver glitter over my head. The lights in the store twinkle.
Phst. I spit out bits that land on my lips and teeth. “Sorry.” I swipe a hand across my mouth.
“Voilà,” Minerva says, brushing her hands clean. “All better.”
“That’s it?” I ask. “The crickets are gone?”
“That’s it.” Minerva walks behind the counter and fumbles with a few things.
“Really? Now what? What do you mean by ‘not free’?”
“Ah, here it is.” Minerva plops a thick ledger on the countertop, and a cloud of dust rises. She opens the ledger’s yellow pages to a spot marked by a lavender ribbon. “Where’s your friend who pays attention to rules?”
“She had to go home early.” I tell her about what happened at school.
“Ahhh.” Minerva removes a purple feathered pen from her purse. “Sounds like you were a lousy friend. I trust you will fix that.” Her voice is not judgy, but friendly as always.
I nod.
In fancy cursive, Minerva writes my name on the center of a page.
“What’s that for?”
“The update,” Minerva says in a singsongy voice. “We need to add an amendment.”
“To what?”
“Well.” She waves the feather at my nose. “You needed to cancel a wish, so I did, which naturally costs you a future birthday wish.”
“A future wish? I thought the magic candle only worked until the solstice.”
“Oh, silly! Everyone still gets to send up one wish on their other birthdays, with or without an enchanted candle. I mean, there’s no guarantee it will work without the magic candle, but it’s always worth a try. Now which birthday wish would you like to forfeit in this exchange?”
“Um . . . my seventieth?” No biggie, I think.
“Done.” She jots something in the ledger and closes it. Dust or sparks puff from its pages. “Excellent.” Minerva slings her giant purse over a shoulder and walks to the door. “Oh, I almost forgot to mention the tax. You’ve also forfeited half your remaining candle wax in this exchange.”
“Half the wax!”
“Absotively. Now remember, you only have until sunset on the solstice, and then you know what happens.”
“What? No, I don’t know what happens!” It’s the second time she’s mentioned it. “What exactly does that mean?”
“It means wish wisely, silly!” Minerva grabs the doorknob. “Like they say in country songs, ‘get ’er done.’” She giggles. “And do it before your generational chance passes.”
She’s so confusing. “You mean when the candle is done and the wishes run out, right?”
“Oh, goodness.” Her eyes twinkle. “It’s certainly not as simple as that.”
“But—”
“Come, come. I have places to be and people to go.” She swings open the door and ushers me outside. A bicycle skids to a stop in front of us.
It’s Justin.
Justin, who gave me the stink eye. Justin, whose mom thinks I’m a criminal. Justin, who probably knows I purchased crickets at Happy Pets, and now he’s followed me here to hold me accountable. It’s that Justin.
And now there’s no getting around the fact that I’m going down for this mess.
Chapter 22
Justin unlatches his helmet. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I step back, nervous, confused, and ashamed all at once. “Are you spying on me?” My voice shakes.
“Uh . . . no?” Justin says, lifting his helmet off his head.
Minerva smiles, and in her singsongy voice says, “It sounds like you two have a lot to discuss, so ta-ta.” She locks the door and drops the giant black key into her bag. “Have a sparkly evening.”
“Wait,” I say to her back, “the solstice is four days away. What happens?”
She skips down the sidewalk.
“I still have questions,” I holler. In fact, I have two burning questions: What’s going to happen by the solstice, and how much longer will I have to wait for the curse-reverse to be complete so my daddy can come home?
“You’ll figure everything out,” she calls over a shoulder. “Be kind!”
What if I don’t figure anything out, though? I watch Minerva until she disappears around the corner.
“Is she a doctor?” Justin asks. He’s off his bike with his helmet looped on a handlebar. “Or a veterinarian like my mom? I only ask because of the stethoscope.”
I shake my head. “What are you doing here?”
“Why?” He sweeps a look around. “What’s wrong with here?”
“I don’t like being spied on.”
“Why would I spy on you?” He gives me his lopsided grin. “Are you a secret agent or something?”
He sounds flirty, but I know better. He didn’t wave back when I waved at him from the bus—probably because he knows I’m the daughter of a convicted bank robber. I cross my arms over my chest. “Seriously, why are you here?”
“Uhhh, because I’m riding my bike. Or is that a crime in Goldview?”
“Haha, ‘crime,’ I get it.” I shoot him my best mean glare.
Justin smiles like I’m joking, but when I don’t smile back, he looks confused. “My mom said I could go exploring. Check out the town.”
“How is your mom?” I drag out the word “mom,” and my tone screams attitude.
“Ohhhh.” Justin’s gaze drops to his neon bike pedals. “I’m sorry about that.”
Good. At least he’s not going to pretend she didn’t say anything. “You don’t have to believe everything you hear about me, you know.”
“I know that,” Justin says. “Geez. Is that what you think? I thought we were chill.”
“Really? Then why did you give me the stink eye in the cafeteria?”
“In the cafeteria?” Justin thinks for a moment. “Were you there when that janitor lady did all the pot banging?”
“Uh, yeah, and then you gave me that mean look from across the room.”
“Nope. Not possible,” Justin says. “I’m nearsighted.”
I uncross my arms. “You didn’t see me in the cafeteria?”
“No. If I did, I would have said hi. I mean, I know you don’t owe me anything, but it would’ve been nice for you to say hi to me on my first day of school.”
He waits, and I don’t say anything because my brain is trying to shift gears.
“Okay. Obviously, you don’t want to be friends because of my mom.” He sets his helmet back on his head. “I’m sorry for the way she treated you, but I’m not responsible for her behavior.” He clicks the chinstrap closed and climbs onto his bike.
My head spins with what he said: he is not responsible for the way his mom acts.
Justin pedals forward and then pedals some more, and before he’s too far, I holler, “Wait!”
His brakes squeak and his tires scrape to a stop. I run to catch up, and when I reach him, he gives me his lopsided smile and says, “Took you long enough.”
My heart glows poppy-red happy. “I’m sorry. I just . . .”
“Just what?” Justin says, his voice kind. “You just assumed that me and my mom are the same person. Do I look like I wear her bright white tennis shoes? No. I love my mom. She’s a great mom to me. But sometimes . . .” He shakes his head. “Sometimes she can be embarrassing.”
“Tell me about it. I mean . . .” I swallow. A gush of shame warms my face and my tone goes super-awkward. “Ugh, parents, right?”
Justin looks at his shoelaces. “Yeah.” He grinds his toe into the sidewalk, and I can tell he’s been told about Carl Sassafras.
My arms automatically cross over my chest. “Just so you know, my daddy didn’t do it.
The jury got it wrong.”
Justin looks up and all easy-peasy he says, “Okay.”
That’s it. He’s taking me at my word. The walls around my heart melt, and I uncross my arms. “You’re not worried I’m going to shoplift at your store, or steal your lunch money, or do something villainous?”
“Why would I think that?”
“Some people around town think since my daddy is a felon that I’m one, too.”
“That’s dumb.” He shakes his head. “My motto: ‘We are not bellhops. It’s not our job to carry our family’s baggage.’”
I laugh and we start walking. “I wish everyone thought that way. I’ve had friends dump me because of my daddy.”
“That’s not fair,” Justin says. “Nobody should be able to give you a reputation—good or bad. That’s on you and your actions alone.”
I nod.
“Let’s agree that we won’t hold our families against each other.”
“Deal!”
“Phew.” Justin wipes his forehead. “And can we shake on it before you meet my brother? He’s in college, and he’s pretty mortifying.”
I laugh again.
We cross the street. “So . . .” Justin clears his throat. “The crickets you bought at Happy Pets. I suppose you’re behind Cricket-gate, huh?”
My shoulders tighten. I’m about to repeat the lie I told his mom about having a pet frog, but the honesty feels too good to mess up. I nod. “I feel terrible. Please don’t tell anybody.”
He does a zipping-his-lips motion and pushes his bike as he walks me home. It’s nice talking to him, confessing to someone about the crickets, and taking a break from worrying about magic and curses. I tell him about Bailee and the Noodler contest and say, “Once I win the contest, I’m going to be world famous!”
“Maybe you need to give me your autograph now.”
I laugh and ask Justin about his first day at Goldview. He says he liked it, that the Lab Rats seem like a fun group, and that he wants to go out for the track team.
The sun inches down farther, still warming my face. A few honey-gold leaves shake loose from the trees and crunch under our feet. We talk about how much I’d love to own a dog and how he has a pet bird he’s training to talk. He says he thinks owning a pet pig would be the coolest thing in the world but he hasn’t convinced his parents yet.
“A pig!” I say. “That’s weird.”
He laughs. “Pigs are actually smarter than dogs.”
The sun starts disappearing behind the mountains in the west. “It’ll be dark soon.” I point at the headlight attached to his handlebars. “I hope that thing works.”
He clicks it on and off. “Yep.”
We arrive at the green spruces that line the parking lot outside my apartment building. A light breeze fills the air with pine.
“Four days until the solstice,” I say, and stop walking.
“Yeah. Goldview K–8 really nerds out about the countdown,” he says. “I love it!”
“Yeah,” I say, wondering again about Minerva’s words: If you don’t do what needs to be done before the solstice, you’ll have to wait another generation. I kick a pinecone.
“Does everyone go to that dance with friends,” Justin says, “or do I need to ask somebody?” He smiles down at his bike pedals.
“Everyone just goes to it.” Then I realize why he’s asking, and I smile. “You should come with me and Bailee.”
“All right, I’m in!” he says.
I could float off the ground right now. And to think I used to yawn through Gigi’s chatter about crushes. Now I get it. I have all the feels, which in today’s color-speak is not only fizzy apricot but also helium peach.
Gravel pops behind us. We turn to see a purple helmet and a rider wearing reflective elbow and knee pads.
It’s Bailee. And there’s no time for me to tell Justin to keep it a secret that he saw me come out of Minerva’s.
Chapter 23
Bailee looks so much happier than she did when she left school. Her cheeks are pink from riding, and she takes a breath, stopping beside us.
“Hi!” she says, giving me a who’s-he look.
“Hey!”
“Remind me to never go home early again. My little brothers drove me crazy.” She turns to Justin. “Hey.”
“Bay, this is Justin. Justin, meet Bailee.”
“Bailee the BFF?”
“Yep.” She climbs off her bike. “Sounds like you know me, but I don’t know you.”
My stomach flutters—I couldn’t tell her I met a cute boy when I went shopping for crickets. “Oh, um, haha, this is Justin from Harnetiaux Pets.” Ugh, I’ve already said too much.
“Li Pets,” Justin says.
“Actually, Happy Pets, hahaha.” My laugh sounds so awkward it’s embarrassing. “His family owns the store now.”
“Oh.” Bailee looks confused but happy. “And you guys decided to hang out after school?” She gives me the quickest eyebrow wag.
“Not exactly.” Justin laughs. “Apparently Sage hated me after lunch for an alleged dirty look, but we’re cool now.” He smiles, and my cheeks warm. “Luckily, we ran into each other outside that purple store, so we could straighten out the misunderstanding.”
Oh no.
“Reeeeeally?” Bailee narrows her eyes, telling me she knows exactly what store he’s talking about even though he said purple instead of lavender.
“Alrighty!” I clap my hands. “You better ride home now, Justin. It’ll be dark soon. Tell Peaches hello for me next time you’re in the store.”
“Will do.” He snaps his helmet in place. “What about you, Bailee?”
She takes her helmet off and adjusts her glasses. “I’m staying. My dad’ll pick me up later and throw my bike in the back of his truck.”
“Okay, nice meeting you.” He turns and gives me that perfect lopsided adorable grin. “Good hanging with you, Sage. See you at school tomorrow.” He clicks on his headlight and rides off.
Bailee crosses her arms. “Well?”
“He’s nice, right?” My voice quivers.
“You know what I’m asking.” Bailee says this like she’s cross-examining a witness. “The ‘purple’ store.” She does air quotes.
“Ummm. Come on, I’ll explain.” I take hold of Bailee’s handlebars and roll the bike across the parking lot, my steps slightly ahead of hers so she can’t see if my eye twitches. “Yes, I went to Minerva’s on my own. I . . . um, wanted to ask more questions.”
“Like what?”
“Like . . .” And then I think up the perfect half lie. “I wanted to see if Minerva could help with the school’s cricket problem, or if I could wish for that on my own.” I ramble on, “I had to ask, because I wasn’t sure if that messed with the free-will rule. You know, the crickets’ free will.” This is sounding dumber and dumber by the minute. “Anyhow, Minerva said she’d fix the problem because there could be too many possible complications if I tried to wish the bugs away on my own.”
Bailee stops walking. “Sage!”
My heart freezes.
“That’s the sweetest thing ever. Thank you so much.”
Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. “Um, sure.”
We carry Bailee’s bike up the stairs to my apartment, me holding the front and Bailee lifting the back end. At my door, we lean it against the wall, and Bailee says, “Maybe today’s wish can be the one about us being forever friends.”
I gulp. “Listen. About that.” I lift my silver key from the chain around my neck and rub my fingers over the notches. My ponytail falls forward and I hope it hides my face. “Um, Minerva said since she had to use her own magic to help with the school bug problem, I, umm . . . I used up today’s wish.” I turn my back to Bailee and slide the key into the metal lock.
“Sage! You’re the best friend in the world! You knew I’d be too scared to step foot in that locker room again, so you traded your wish for me!”
I’m super-close to confessing that I’m the biggest lying
jerk on the planet, but something feels wrong when I twist the key. “Hold on.” I turn the knob. “The door is already unlocked?”
“Hello,” Momma calls from inside.
I swing open the door, and there sits Momma at our little dining table with bills, envelopes, stamps, and her checkbook neatly lined up under the flickering yellow light of a slender green candle. My magic candle!
“Blue bunny rabbits, Momma! What are you doing?”
“Getting organized.” Momma stays hunched over the papers in front of her. “The electric company said my check bounced, so they turned off the power again.” She shuffles the papers around. “I can’t for the life of me understand how I let our finances get so out of control.”
I stand there stunned, staring in disbelief at my twelfth candle propped inside a small glass jar. Pebbles at the bottom hold it in place. It burns a bright yellow glow, and a single bead of wax drips down its side. Layer upon layer of melted green wax coats the pebbles below. The candle is about three-quarters of an inch tall—reduced by half—and I know I’ve just paid Minerva’s price for unwishing magic.
Bailee nudges me. “Hurry.”
I drop my backpack, rush over, and snatch the candle from the jar. I take a breath to blow it out, but Bailee slaps her hand over my mouth.
“What in the world?” Momma says, stretching back in her chair. “Don’t take the candle, Sage. I need the light.” And here’s the thing—Momma doesn’t say this sweetly. She stands up and as Bailee backs away, Momma scrunches her face, picks up the end of my ponytail, and sandpaper-whispers, “And what is going on with your hair? It’s a mess.”
I stagger.
Momma drops my tangled ponytail and heads to the bathroom.
Bailee tugs me toward the kitchen and speed-whispers, “Remember the rule? You have to make a wish before the candle is blown out or else you deactivate the magic for good.”
A drip of wax warms my fingertips, magic wasting away. “I don’t have a wish left today, Bailee. Remember how Minerva handled the crickets? We need to find a loophole before I blow it out!”
“Okay, um, let me think.” Bailee pauses. “Got it. Say you’re making the wish for tomorrow.” She squeezes my arm. “Hurry.”
