The 12th Candle

by Kim Tomsic

  I tear it off and change into a soft, cream-colored sweater. I lace up my new Converse, wondering if Priscilla’s mother spends mornings saying the same confidence-shattering things I heard from my momma. Maybe that’s why she shows up to school with so much mean in her.

  I hurry to the kitchen.

  The curse-reverse isn’t 100 percent complete, because the refrigerator is still empty. The pantry is mostly empty, too. I grab the lone can of Pringles and shove it in my backpack next to my sketch pad. Ugh, I should have practiced Noodler sketches this morning instead of wasting so much time on my hair.

  I swing by Momma’s room, hoping now that I’m dressed and combed, she’ll say something sweet. “Bye, Momma. Love you!” I shuffle from foot to foot, waiting for her to notice me.

  She looks up from the papers spread across her soft beige bedspread. “Have a good day.”

  That’s it.

  “Umm, you too.” I race out the door, my stomach grumbling and my mind worrying while I jog to the bus stop. Momma’s not acting right. As much as I want to believe a curse-reverse is going to be all good, I’m growing more and more worried it’s not.

  When I climb on the bus, I’m huffing from my run and fall into the seat with Bailee, our usual spot, nine rows down to the right, me by the window and her by the aisle. Bailee is wearing the same old clothes she always wears instead of the new outfit Momma and I bought for her. “Why’d you wear that” flies out of my mouth, my tone snotty.

  “Because I like my clothes,” Bailee snaps.

  “Right,” I say. “Sorry.” I shudder at how I sounded. Like Godzilla. Like Momma. “Rough morning.”

  “It’s all right,” she says. “Honestly, I just wasn’t ready to wear that new stuff. I appreciate it, but it felt super off having your mom carry a new outfit into my house. When you ran back to the car to grab the shoes, your mom wasn’t herself.”

  “Oh no.” I cringe, thinking how rude she’s already been to me. “What did she say?”

  “She said, and I quote, ‘Now you can dress for success,’ and she said it like what I own is too shabby for words. You should have seen the look on my parents’ faces. Anyhow, I thought it would insult them to wear the new stuff today.”

  I look around to see if anyone’s listening before I whisper, “It’s weird, but my momma is acting harsh . . . like Mrs. Petty. I think I messed up by wishing for a curse-reverse.”

  “Yeah.” Bailee pulls me low in our seat. “I’ve been trying to think of what we should do.”

  “I sort of want to unwish the curse-reverse?”

  “You can’t. That’ll deactivate the candle,” Bailee whispers. “And Minerva said unwishing wouldn’t work.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to at least try,” I say. “I’m desperate here.”

  “But what if it does hurt?” Bailee leans closer to me. “What if deactivating the candle takes away the magic you’ve already received? Your mom will lose all that money.”

  “Sepia! Everything we bought yesterday went on her credit card! There’s no way she can deal with more bills without the Re-Bay money.” I think for a few moments and say, “Maybe I could wish for Momma to be nicer—”

  “I thought of that, too,” Bailee says. “But it breaks the free-will rule.”

  I think of how Minerva handled the quadrupling wish and say, “Maybe Minerva can fix the wish for me.”

  The bus hits a bump, making us wobble.

  “Yeah,” Bailee whispers. “It’s worth asking.”

  “We should also ask what she meant when she said . . .” I pause and change my voice to imitate Minerva’s singsongy tone, “‘If you don’t do what needs to be done before the solstice, you’ll have to wait another generation.’”

  “Right!” Bailee says. “I can’t figure that one out.”

  “I feel like there’s so much we don’t know.” I pull my sketch pad from my backpack and open it to the page with my last drawing. “I’m scared the curse-reverse is affecting more than just my mom. Look, my latest Noodler sketch sucks.” I hand the pad to Bailee and hope she’ll tell me it’s not as bad as I think, and that I still have a shot to go from infamous to famous.

  She tilts her head and shifts the pad this way and that. Her mouth curls down. “Not your best work.”

  I slide even lower in my seat and put my pad away.

  “Sorry,” she says. A blast of cool air pours through the windows.

  Mr. Melvin takes a sip from his Java Hut cup, turns up the music, and says, “B. B. King. Mmmm-mm.” He shakes his head side to side, and the way he says it reminds me of Miss Tammy loving B. B. King, but it also reminds me of how Daddy used to say my name when he’d say, “Sage Sassafras, mmmm-mm, you are one great artist.”

  Not anymore. I bite at my nails.

  “Mmmm-mm,” Mr. Melvin goes on. “Greatest blues musician of the twenty-first century.”

  Steven hands his weather marvel book to Hudson and stands to push his window closed. Gold leaves flutter by. “Quick Flores Report,” he says. “Weather is changing.”

  “Yep,” Hudson says. “Winter’s coming.”

  “Hey, Hud.” I stop biting my thumbnail. “How’s it going with your logo for the Noodler contest?”

  “Pretty good.” His eyes spark and he talks fast. “Mr. Lehman is going to let me use his acrylic paints! I’m going to practice with the cheap paints I have at home, and when I’m ready Mr. Lehman said I could use the good stuff in the library. How about you?”

  I shake my head. “I’ve got zip.”

  “Come on. You’re lying. You better be. Priscilla is going to give us a good run this time.”

  “Huh?” The tendons in my neck tighten.

  “Yep, she showed me. Her art is looking pretty dang good.”

  I turn to Bailee and panic-whisper, “Sepia! I took basketball, and Priscilla got art. My chance at fame might be kaput because of the curse-reverse!”

  “Shhhh.” Bailee looks side to side. “Like you said, back to you-know-where straight after school.” She takes out her copy of The Outsiders, opens it up, and ends our conversation.

  All I can do is crack my knuckles and pray Minerva doesn’t out my quadrupling-bug wish to Bailee.

  Chapter 26

  The bus makes a pump-hiss sound as we make the next stop. Elementary kids load up in the front seats and wave out the windows to their mommas. The last kid to climb up the steps is the small first grader from Monday, Ahmed, the one who cried because of me and Cricket-gate.

  A fresh wave of ocean-blue guilt floods me.

  Ahmed scoots into his seat and presses his hands and forehead against the window, peering at the crowd of parents.

  “Mama,” he calls as loud as he can. “I forgot my snack!”

  I search the gathered parents. There’s no way his mother hears him over the rumbling of the bus engine. The bus bounces forward, parents wave, and Ahmed sinks into his seat.

  A little way down the road, Mr. Melvin stops to pick up Ryan and Curtis.

  We start moving again, a full bus—Hudson scrolling through his phone, Bailee and Steven reading, Gigi twirling her hair, Curtis and Ryan probably dreaming up jokes or thinking about Lab Rats and the solstice dance, elementary kids probably wondering what’s for snack, and Mr. Melvin humming his music. Maybe this is the family I should draw for the Noodler logo—my Goldview K–8 family. The idea makes me smile until I remember I might’ve lost my art skills.

  Curtis shifts around to face Bailee and me. “You ready for my latest joke?”

  Bailee sets down her book and beams. “Give us your best!”

  “The world-champion tongue twister just got arrested,” Curtis says. “I hear they gave him a real tough sentence.”

  Bailee and I laugh.

  Curtis says, “I was writing a song about tortillas, but it turned into more of a wrap.”

  “Haha.” I chuckle. Bailee looks confused and Curtis’s face falls a little. I elbow Bailee. “You know, because r-a-p and w-r-a-p.”


  “Oh, haha.”

  “Okay, not your favorite,” Curtis says. “I’ll keep thinking.” Instead of turning around, though, he clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck. “Um,” he says quietly. “I have something else.”

  “Another joke?” Bailee asks.

  “No, um . . . something different.” Curtis’s voice shakes. He takes a breath. “I’m going to say it before I chicken out.” His tone turns softer than soft, like he doesn’t want anybody else to hear. He looks right at Bailee and says,

  Nature’s first green is gold,

  her hardest hue to hold.

  Her early leaf’s a flower;

  but only so an hour.

  Then leaf subsides to leaf.

  So Eden sank to grief,

  so dawn goes down to day.

  Nothing gold can stay.

  “Huh?” I say.

  “Ponyboy,” Bailee says softly, holding up The Outsiders. “From our book.”

  “I know. We just talked about it the other day.” I sound like a know-it-all, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “The poem Ponyboy says to Johnny and wants to recite to Cherry.”

  The bus engine rumbles.

  Curtis focuses on his thumb, running it across the dull metal bar on the top of his seat. “Yeah,” he says. “The poem he got from Robert Frost.”

  I’ve never heard Curtis sound so awkward.

  “What do you think?” he asks Bailee.

  “I don’t get it,” I say. “Why are you learning it?”

  Curtis shrugs.

  “You nailed it,” Bailee says, her eyes shiny.

  Curtis bites his lower lip, holding back a smile. “You think?”

  “Whoa,” I say, too loudly. “Are you doing this for a girl?”

  Hudson and Steven glance up. Steven says, “Who do you like?”

  “Is it Jada?” I ask.

  “No.” Curtis laughs nervously. “Why would it be Jada?”

  “Because she loves theater, and you love performing. Duhhhhhh.”

  Bailee elbows me. “Sage. Do you even hear how rude you sound?”

  But my mouth won’t stop running as I’m figuring things out. “Wait, did you say that for Bailee, because she said she loved how Ponyboy wanted to say it to Cherry? Are you going to dye your hair blond, too, like you’re her Ponyboy?” My laugh sounds mocking and it’s finally at this moment when my scaly-green tone settles on my ears. Ryan, Steven, and Hudson are staring at me like I’m a beast.

  Because I am one.

  I have turned into Godzilla!

  “Está bien rara hoy,” Steven whispers to Ryan.

  I don’t know what that means, but I wouldn’t blame Steven if he just called me a monster.

  Curtis faces forward and sinks low in his seat.

  “I’m sorry, Curtis. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  He doesn’t say anything.

  Bailee scoops up her backpack and moves to sit beside him. “I loved it, Curtis.” Her words come out as soft as feathers. “Even better than your jokes.”

  “Really?” he says.

  I strain to hear.

  “Yep,” she says. “Would you by chance want to go to the solstice dance with me?”

  I lean forward. “That’s great, you guys.”

  “Please don’t talk to us right now, Sage,” Bailee says.

  My shoulders sag. My best friend is sitting in front of me, lining up a date, her first date, and I can’t be part of it.

  The curse-reverse is ruining everything.

  Chapter 27

  The bus pulls up the circle drive at school.

  I stay seated and let Bailee leave the bus without me.

  “Bye, Mr. Melvin.” I climb down the steps behind the last eighth grader.

  “You cheer up, now, okay?” Mr. Melvin says.

  “Thanks.” I run inside to catch up to Ahmed and find him outside one of the first-grade classrooms. “Hey.”

  He looks up at me, question marks in his eyes.

  I hand him my can of Pringles. “For snack time.” I don’t stay to see if he even likes Pringles, and my guilt about him doesn’t go away, but it’s the least I can do.

  It’s lonely to walk in the hallways without Bailee. White paper signs that say “Two days until the solstice!” line the walls. Minerva’s comment about once in a generation comes back to mind. What the heck does that mean? I stop at the water fountain. A solstice poster flutters down next to my new purple shoes. I step over it. Another countdown sign is taped to my locker, like someone is warning me. Minerva wants me to do something by sunset on Friday. But what?

  I see Bailee down the hall and run and catch up to her. “I didn’t mean to be a jerk. Can we be okay now?”

  She looks forward as we walk. “It would be best for our friendship if I take a quick time-out from you, especially with the curse-reverse in action and not knowing what’s going to happen next. Let’s just take a break today.”

  “A break until the end of the day?” I whine.

  “At least until lunchtime.” Her tone is serious.

  We both have PE now, but instead of making our way there together, Bailee rushes ahead, leaving me feeling blizzard white. Alone.

  “Hey,” Gigi says, walking up beside me. “Were you sick yesterday?”

  I look around to make sure she’s talking to me before I say, “No. I spent the day with my momma.”

  “Did you hear they closed the gym for the day?”

  “Uh-uh.” I shake my head.

  “Yeah. Mrs. Downy found a hole in the locker room where she thinks the crickets snuck in from the outside. I guess it’s all fixed now.”

  “Oh.”

  Outside the gym entrance, Mrs. Downy stands in her regular crisp tan pants and navy-blue shirt. She makes us form a line so she can inspect our bags for food. Priscilla and Bailee line up together; Gigi’s behind them, and then me. Fluorescent lights shine and buzz overhead.

  “The gym is a cricket-free zone,” Mrs. Downy tells girls as they move forward and show their bags. “And a food-free zone. I will not be robbed of the JOTY.”

  Bailee inches forward with Godzilla, and I can’t believe my eyes—she’s offering to share her pink pomegranate hand gel, as in, the special-occasion gel!

  I never thought I’d get jealous over sanitizer, but my stomach sinks. I stare at the globs in their palms. It’s like Priscilla is stepping into my shoes, and she and Bailee are suddenly BFFs!

  That worry pebble knocks against my ribs again, telling me I should’ve wished to be friends forever with Bailee like she wanted. Now it might be too late.

  “I’m super-nervous about seeing the gym,” Priscilla says to Bailee. She rubs her hands together, spreading around the pomegranate scent like a big fat show-off.

  “Nothing to be nervous about,” Mrs. Downy says, inspecting their open backpacks.

  Surely, Bailee is going to turn and offer some pomegranate gel to me, too. I arrange my face in a smile to show that I’m okay with her helping Priscilla. I can be a big person.

  When Mrs. Downy finishes her inspection, Bailee drops the gel into her backpack, loops her arm through Godzilla’s, and pulls her toward the locker room. “We’ll check it out together.” Arm in arm, they head inside.

  A cold frost fills my chest, making it hard to breathe.

  “Hey,” Gigi says to me. “You good?” She flashes a look at the doorway Bailee and Priscilla disappeared through and then back to me.

  “Um, yeah.”

  Gigi hands her bag to Mrs. Downy and waits while my bag is checked.

  We walk to the locker room together. “How did you figure out your baller skills?” Gigi asks.

  All you need is a magic candle and a life-ruining wish, I think.

  I shrug. “I just made a tweak here and there.”

  We go down an aisle of lockers and she drops her stuff on a bench. “You mind showing me those tweaks?”

  “Um, sure.” I look for Bailee across the locker room. She has her
arm looped in Godzilla’s. They squeeze close, elbow to elbow, walking around inspecting every inch and aisle of the perfectly clean space.

  Gigi is still talking to me. “. . . and I’d really love for you to teach me how to land a shot so the ball never touches the rim.” She pulls her shiny black hair into a ponytail.

  “Uh-huh. Sure.” I turn and call over to Bailee and Priscilla, “Helloooo, you guys. Mrs. Downy said all the crickets are gone.”

  They stay in their own little conversation, ignoring me.

  Blizzard white.

  I’m wearing new underthings from my shopping spree, so I change into my PE uniform along with everyone else. I lace up my shoes and head into the gym. I’m not sure who to hang out with, until Gigi jogs up behind me and says, “You promised to give me pointers.”

  I smile and line up with her and Jada. Gigi snags a couple of balls and tosses one to me.

  “Um, stand like this,” I say, mimicking how I saw Priscilla setting up the other day. Then I think of instructions my daddy gave me when he’d try to show me his baller skills. “Soften through your knees, spread your fingers wide under the ball, and keep your eye on the hoop.” I shoot and the ball swishes in the net.

  Gigi gives it a go but misses. Jada’s ball hits the backboard.

  “That was really close,” I say.

  We do it again, and the third time both Gigi and Jada land their shots. The three of us high-five. I shoot a few more swishes, and Jada does a funny sports announcer’s voice: “Ladies and gentlemen, Shooting-Star Sage Sassafras can’t miss.” We bust out laughing. I look for Bailee, wishing she were laughing with us, but she’s been keeping her back to me the whole class.

  We gather more balls. Gigi continues asking me questions, but I’m distracted. I can’t help but worry I traded my art skills for hoops. I try sending mind waves to Bailee, dying to talk to her about it, about anything, but she won’t make eye contact. She really isn’t going to talk to me until lunchtime. When Bailee makes a rule, she sticks with it.