Sadie's Story

by Christine Heppermann

  Her father entered the kitchen through the back door, clutching a bag from Paper Warehouse. He hung his keys on the orange hook on the wall and smiled at her. “Tough day at the slide and the merry-go-round, sleepyhead?”

  Just then her mother thumped in with a big cardboard box. “So much junk in the attic!” She dropped the box onto the table across from Sadie. “I wish we could get rid of it all, but we’ll start here and see what they have room for.”

  “Your labels, madam,” her father said gallantly, handing over the bag.

  “What’s going on?” Sadie asked. She got up to pour herself a glass of chocolate milk.

  “The Kepplers are having a yard sale tomorrow, and they said we could add a few things. You don’t want these anymore, do you?”

  Sadie peered down at the dolls with soiled faces, the unopened paint-by-number kit, the squashed board games that she and her parents used to play for hours. The game Sorry! just looked, well, sorry. And the patient in Operation had never fully regained consciousness, not since Mom had accidentally vacuumed up his Funny Bone.

  She grabbed Tina Tag-Along and pulled the string on her back, but instead of “Me, too!” Tina now said “Mrggfft.”

  “Good-bye, Tina,” she said, replacing the doll gently in the box.

  “All the toy money comes back to you,” Dad informed her.

  “Really? Cool!” She might earn enough for a field guide if Ms. M didn’t find hers.

  “What do you think for Chutes and Ladders?” said her mother, pen poised over a sticky label. “Two bucks?”

  “Sure.”

  “The playhouse is a little worse for wear, but it should bring at least twenty dollars.”

  What? The chocolate milk turned to sludge in Sadie’s throat. She sputtered. “We can’t sell the playhouse!”

  “Why not?” said her father. “You never play in it.”

  “Yes I do. I did today.”

  “Remember what the Buddha said.” Her mother slapped a sticker onto Diva Dinah’s now only somewhat-sequined gown. “Suffering comes from attachment.”

  Sadie rolled her eyes. “I’m not attached to it. I play in it.”

  “Look,” said her mother firmly. “I am suffering. My back suffers every time I have to move that thing to mow. My eyes suffer when they see the big yellow spot where it’s killed all the grass.”

  Sadie’s father went to put his arm around her, but she ducked out of reach. “Some things you can hold on to, honey. Others you have to let go.”

  “Let go,” meaning lose? The way Ms. M had lost Ethel and Onyx? And now Sadie would lose . . .

  “No!”

  “Yes,” said her mother in her end-of-discussion tone. “Say good-bye to your playhouse and wish it well. Tomorrow it’s moving on.”

  Chapter 12

  Snow Globes and Unicorn Horns

  Sadie hurried to the playhouse with the news. The bad news. News so bad, it felt like she was carrying something heavy. Something she couldn’t wait to put down.

  Without knocking, she burst through the door.

  The witch didn’t even turn around. Didn’t stop taking things out of her apparently bottomless black bag and lining them up on the ground. She was humming to herself. The soft “m, m, m”s mingled with an aroma of—what, exactly? Spices, yes, but not cooking spices. Spices from somewhere with a long, mysterious name. Somewhere hot winds blew and animals with bells around their ankles rose and shook themselves free of sleep.

  Sadie took a deep breath. Her news—that awful burden—seemed lighter. But still not good.

  “There’s going to be a yard sale,” she began.

  Ms. M turned and smiled. “I know. That’s why I’m doing a little housecleaning.”

  “But—”

  “First things first, dear. Do you have any of those stickers people use for yard sales? I’d like to price these items.”

  “But what about—”

  “At least three dollars for this.” Ms. M held up a stubby yellow pencil.

  “It’s only an inch long.”

  “True, but it’s a pencil from Pennsylvania. Hear the alliteration? That adds to the value.”

  Next Ms. M handed her a cloudy snow globe. “From the Sahara. One of a kind.”

  “It’s empty!”

  “Sadie, I’m surprised that a clever girl like you has forgotten that it doesn’t snow in the desert.” The witch took back the globe. Breathed on it. Polished it with her sleeve. “Ten dollars, don’t you think?”

  “No, and anyway, what I came to tell you is—”

  “What about this?” Ms. M showed Sadie a faded blue T-shirt with writing on it. A lot of writing.

  Sadie strained to read the small print. “What does it say?”

  Ms. M recited, “I Survived the Two Wicked Stepsisters Zip Line at Prince Charming’s Slip-er-Slide Water Park and Nevertheless All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt, Which Isn’t Even 100% Cotton and Gives Me Hives.” She held the shirt out at arm’s length. Tilted her head. Nodded. “Fifteen dollars,” she declared, placing it in the growing pile.

  “Please, Ms. M, I really need—”

  “Now, this is the very top of my collection.” With a swordsman’s flourish, she withdrew a long, thin object from the bag. “A unicorn horn. So many memories! And not all that long ago. Just last Halloween, in fact. Ethel and I went to a neighborhood party. Two other unicorns there, but I was the snazziest.” She extended the horn toward Sadie. “You can hold it, but gently, please. It’s fragile.”

  “It’s tinfoil wrapped around a stick. With elastic—”

  “Oh dear, yes. It’s out of context. Let me put it on.” Ms. M maneuvered the stick over her hat onto her forehead and secured the elastic strap beneath her chin.

  Amazing. She didn’t look like a unicorn, but she did look, well, interesting.

  “It’s very nice, but listen. My parents want to sell the—”

  “Such a wonderful party,” Ms. M interrupted dreamily, galloping a few steps forward and a few steps back. “We danced the night away. And Ethel won a prize! Most Authentic Costume. Which was a miracle. She’s so scattered! First she wanted to go as a salad, but couldn’t decide between ranch and French. Then it was a woolly mammoth, but that itched and was tight under the arms. Finally she just went as herself.”

  “As a witch?”

  “No, as her authentic self. The real Ethel. There’s nothing as attractive as someone being her true, true self. Especially when she’s doing the mambo with a unicorn. ”

  Sadie couldn’t help but smile even as she—finally!—announced, “Mom and Dad want to sell the playhouse.”

  “Yes, I suppose we should put all our energies there.” The witch took off the unicorn horn. She returned it to the bag, followed by the T-shirt and the snow globe. “I can’t part with any of these things, anyway. They are positively vibrating with memories.”

  Chapter 13

  Plan B

  The next morning Sadie and Ms. M stood out by the compost bin, beside the bubbling cauldron. The witch was dressed in another one of Sadie’s old outfits, complete with shoes—Sadie’s last-year soccer cleats.

  “Reminds me of my college days on the Dragonville Stompers,” said Ms. M, taking an enthusiastic kick at the air.

  “You played soccer?”

  “Stomp ball,” said the witch. She brought her foot down on a large white mushroom cap to demonstrate.

  “It’s strange,” said Sadie, “how Dad and Mr. Keppler don’t seem to notice you.”

  “They notice me. They just don’t see me. Or, rather, they see what they want to see. They see you with your little friend.”

  “You don’t look like any of my other friends. You look like a witch in my clothes and a Milwaukee Brewers baseball cap.”

  “Not to them.”

  “Okay, my friend, they’re about to carry away the playhouse.” Sadie pointed to the cauldron. “So I hope that hex you’re working on will stop them.”

  The witch took a brimmin
g spoonful, slurped, smiled, and nodded. “Perfect.”

  Sadie’s father and Mr. Keppler lifted the playhouse and started slowly across the yard. “It isn’t working!” Sadie wailed. “They’re almost to the street!”

  “This isn’t a hex, Sadie. It’s oatmeal. Source of iron, phosphorous, and zinc. Have a taste.” Ms. M held out the spoon, but Sadie pushed it away.

  “Don’t you understand? They’re going to sell your house. We have to do something.”

  “Well, I do have a nice little hex that will wrinkle all their clothes.”

  “Be serious.”

  “I could turn them into elephant seals.”

  “Not that serious.”

  “You’re right. You do not want to live with an elephant seal. They take up all the room in the Jacuzzi. Let me think for a moment.”

  Silently Ms. M stirred and stirred. Sadie fidgeted so hard that she woke up Wilson, who glared at her and moved under a fern.

  “I know,” Ms. M said after a while. “I’ll make it rain. No one likes to drip and shop.”

  Sadie exhaled in relief. “That sounds great. And you’re sure you can do it?”

  The witch reached into a cluster of plants, waved away a spider, took a pinch of its web, and dropped it into the cauldron. Then she added a few more things from her deep black bag.

  “I thought that was oatmeal,” said Sadie.

  “It is. But now in addition to being high in fiber it also summons storms’ fury.”

  Sadie surveyed the sky. “No fury so far.”

  “Let’s try again,” said Ms. M. She reached for Sadie’s hand. “Repeat after me: water clear and water bright, wash away this sale tonight.”

  “It’s not night, it’s nine a.m.”

  “So it is. Water clear, a gentle spray, wash away this sale today.”

  “A gentle spray isn’t going to wash away anything.”

  “No, but such a lovely use of imagery. When I took Omens & Augury, everybody envied my facility with language.”

  Overhead was still blue, blue, and more blue. The only clouds were wispy and white and decidedly nonthreatening. No sudden gust of wind. No smell of moisture in the air.

  Nothing.

  It was time for Plan B. Plan S, actually. Plan Sadie.

  “Come with me, Ms. M. I’ve got a better idea.”

  Chapter 14

  Toxic Fumes

  In the Kepplers’ driveway, they joined the crowd milling among the stacks of books and plates, the treadmill and the microwave, the clothes hanging on racks or spread out on the ground in neat piles.

  “Only three dollars,” said Ms. M, lifting the lid on a Crock-Pot. “I could cook a whole gremlin in here!”

  “We’ll shop later,” whispered Sadie. “Look.” She pointed to a little girl tugging her mother over to the playhouse, which stood off to the side between a cluster of ski boots and a floor lamp shaped like a palm tree.

  The witch began chanting rapidly, “Watercleanandwaterbright . . .”

  “Too late for that,” said Sadie. “Wait here.”

  She slipped around behind the playhouse and slithered in through the back window. When the little girl and her mother got close enough, Sadie flung herself through the front door, one hand clutching her throat.

  “Toxic fumes,” she gasped, and collapsed in the grass.

  The witch chimed in, “I used to be a happy, healthy eight-year-old. I had tea in that playhouse yesterday, and now look!”

  She took off her baseball cap to reveal gray, matted hair.

  Ms. M and Sadie high-fived as the mother hurried her daughter away.

  Next the witch sidled up to a man tapping his knuckles on the playhouse roof, as if he was checking a watermelon for ripeness. “My great-aunt Matilda died in there,” she told him. “But don’t worry. It wasn’t contagious.”

  “Is that so?” said the man, looking amused. “What was your aunt doing in a children’s playhouse?”

  “Her doctors blamed delirium. From the fever brought on by the infected bile,” said the witch, hacking loudly into her cupped hands. “Oh, my.” She let the man see the yellowy-green slime streaking her palm. “Would you mind feeling my forehead?”

  The man bought a beanbag chair instead.

  Ms. M grinned and wiped her hand on her sweatpants. “Turns out I had a smidge of llama drool left after all.”

  “This is fun!” said Sadie. She approached a mom who was trying to stuff a whining toddler back into his stroller.

  “You should buy him that playhouse. It’s a bargain, considering how much my parents paid the exterminator.” Sadie scratched at her arms and chest. “Did you know that bedbugs don’t just live on beds?”

  “Sadie!” It was Mr. Keppler. He motioned her over to the sale table.

  “Cover for me,” she told the witch.

  Mr. Keppler opened the money box, jam-packed with bills. “Big profits today, young lady, but no bites yet on the playhouse. Try marking it down to fifteen dollars.” He winked. “That should catch us a fish.”

  Shoving the pen he gave her into her sock, Sadie turned from the sale table in time to see two little boys dressed as superheroes—one Batman, one Spider-Man—dash into the playhouse and then stagger back out holding their capes in front of their noses.

  She hurried over to where Ms. M leaned against a tree, fanning herself.

  “What happened?” Sadie asked.

  “I transmuted some energy to make the playhouse undesirable. A simple combination of nitrogen, methane, carbon dioxide, and hydrogen.”

  “You what?”

  “I farted in the living room.”

  They laughed together as other yard sale items continued to disappear, but the playhouse remained solidly in place. Eventually the crowd dwindled to two older women haggling over the price of a lopsided dresser.

  Ms. M let out a yawn so big that covers on the fifty-cent paperbacks fluttered. She rested her chin on a stack of flowered pillowcases—now three for a dollar—and closed her eyes.

  Sadie knew how she felt. After all of their brilliant performances, she didn’t think she had the strength left to talk to even one more customer. But it looked like she wouldn’t have to. The garage sale was almost over. Across the driveway, Mrs. Keppler started boxing up unsold cups and plates.

  Just then a blue station wagon pulled to the curb. A woman and man got out. The man opened the passenger door, and Sadie groaned as she watched him unstrap a baby from a car seat.

  Smiling, the young family headed straight toward the playhouse.

  Chapter 15

  Priceless

  “Go get that blanket,” instructed the witch. “The one you loaned me. It’s in my bag.”

  “But we can’t nap now—”

  “Trust me. And hurry.”

  Sadie sprinted across the street and returned in less than a minute.

  “What’s this for?”

  “To make the playhouse invisible.”

  “Oh, good, you found the wolfsbane.”

  Ms. M shook her head. “It’s magical enough because it’s yours. It has your essence all through it.”

  With that she tossed the ducky blanket onto the playhouse roof.

  “But it doesn’t cover it at all!” Sadie said, dizzy with panic.

  “All prices negotiable,” Mr. Keppler cheerily informed the man and woman as they started up the driveway. “Just make me an offer.”

  “It’s invisible now,” said the witch.

  “It’s not! It’s totally not!” The playhouse shimmered behind her stinging tears like a fairy castle in the mist. But it would soon vanish into the back of that station wagon.

  Poof.

  The young couple was only a few feet away.

  “Looks like all the cool toys are gone,” Sadie heard the woman say as the family strolled past.

  “There are other yard sales,” said the man. He bounced the baby against his hip. “Aren’t there, kiddo?” The couple turned around and walked hand in hand back to
ward the street.

  “What did I tell you?” said Ms. M.

  “They saw it, they just didn’t like it.”

  “No, they didn’t like it because they didn’t see.”

  Sadie felt a tap on her shoulder. “Excuse me. Do you know how much they want for this?” A man in a suit gestured to the playhouse. His tie was loose, and he looked tired.

  “Fifty dollars,” answered Ms. M, arms crossed.

  “I’d pay twenty.” The man reached into his back pocket for a battered leather wallet.

  “Fifty,” she insisted. “That’s the minimum.”

  “Well, somebody is living in a yard sale dreamworld.”

  As he stomped away, Ms. M said to Sadie, “He didn’t see it either.”

  “Are you crazy? He offered twenty dollars for it.”

  “He didn’t see it deeply, dear. He didn’t see its real value. Its essence. Its light. It’s like the stars. They’re out there in the sky every night. Wondrous things. But most people don’t even bother to look up. And speaking of up . . .”

  While they’d been talking, a patch of dark clouds had moved in and gobbled up the last of the afternoon sun. All the customers still in the driveway—there weren’t many—bolted for their cars.

  “Better late than never,” Ms. M cackled as the first drops fell on her gnarled, outstretched hand.

  Chapter 16

  The Ornithomancer’s Guide

  To celebrate, Sadie brought two Freezee Treats out to the backyard.

  She gave Ms. M first pick. “Banana or grape?”

  “Ah, noble grapes, food of Bacchus, the god of wine and mirth.”

  “No kidding?” Sadie said, handing her friend the purple one.

  “Also, fake banana flavor?” Ms. M made a face. “Bleh.”

  They watched from behind the rhododendron bush as her father and Mr. Keppler returned the playhouse to its proper place. “This thing is heavier than it was this morning,” they heard her father complain. “It’s cursed!”