Not a Unicorn

by Dana Middleton

  “Mademoiselle,” the elegant judge says, staring up at me.

  “Oui,” I say softly.

  “Voulez-vous continuer?”

  I look down at my essay cards, but I can’t read what I wrote. I might be breaking the rules and blowing my chances, but I put my essay aside. It’s time to make it real.

  I have to do this in French, so I take a second, get on my French brain, and speak into the microphone. “Actually, I don’t know if it was a good idea to have my horn taken off. In fact, today, I think it was a mistake.” My French stumbles, but I carry on. “I thought my horn was the problem. But it was me. I couldn’t accept myself as I was. So I blamed somebody else. I blamed Carmen.”

  As I mention her name, Nicholas and Mystic and Noah perk up in their seats.

  I clear my throat and survey the crowd, which is now looking uncomfortable. Come on, Jewel. Think in French. You can do this. Taking a breath, I lean into the microphone, trying to find my voice. “The first essay I wrote for this competition was about how terrible it was to have a horn. I hated my life. I thought I wanted different friends. And I blamed my unicorn.”

  The judges look confused, because unicorns aren’t real, right? Good. Maybe at least I can knock them off their rockers a little.

  “If I could do it again, I would have written this essay differently,” I say. “Because as it turns out, maybe my horn wasn’t so bad. Maybe I couldn’t see how magical it was.”

  My mind goes blank as I search for the next words, and I look at my mom. What else can I say? This is supposed to be an essay, and I’m so short on material. I’m supposed to talk about something that’s important to me.

  Something that’s important to me. As those words seep in, my whole body exhales. Because it’s easy to talk about that.

  “Carmen was my unicorn,” I say, feeling a melancholy smile spread across my face. “For my whole life, she took care of me. Which made me the luckiest girl in the world.”

  I look out at the audience. As I tell them about my guardian unicorn, my voice rises and the words flow more easily. I recount the story of how Carmen took me to the boulder when I was six. I tell them how she loved to prank my best friend who didn’t know she was there, and I throw a grin at Nicholas. I tell them about what happened with Noah and how badly I treated Carmen afterward and how very sorry I am now.

  And I tell them how I would do anything to see her again.

  “I don’t know why my unicorn came to me, but she did,” I say, emotion seizing my throat. “To protect me, to calm me, to make me laugh, but mostly to love me. Because with or without my horn,” I say, taking in the faces before me, “I am the unicorn girl—la fille licorne—and I want her to know I’m proud of that now.”

  That’s it. That’s what I needed to say. As I finish, the pulse in my head returns. Everyone is staring at me in a very strange way.

  Clapping starts at the side of the stage and I know it’s Monsieur Oliver. He always claps for me. But then it catches like the wind, and the whole auditorium erupts in applause.

  I seek out Mom and Grandma, clapping furiously, along with Brooklyn and my other classmates. Farther back, Mystic, Nicholas, Noah, Ethan, and even Nicholas’s dad are on their feet, whooping and cheering for me.

  I feel a jolt in my forehead that anchors me to the spot, and I can’t move. It’s a throbbing like I’ve never felt before. Reaching up, I rub the spot with my fingers, trying to ease the pain. And that’s when I feel it. Right in the middle of my forehead. A tiny, pointy knot.

  Suddenly, the doors at the back of the theater burst open and a blazing light shines through. Not real light. But the otherworldly kind.

  And Carmen steps through that light.

  My face crumbles, tears welling in my eyes. Her horn is back. She is back.

  As she whinnies loudly, my eyes find Noah, who is gazing at her, too. When he turns to me, his face is red and splotchy. It’s all the confirmation I need.

  I look back at my unicorn, and that feeling of home ripples through me.

  “Carmen,” I whisper—and just start bawling.

  Six Months Later

  The lights are warmer than I expected.

  I’m sitting in a yellow chair facing three cameras and several light stands. A woman with clear green eyes sits across from me in another chair. Her name is Joy. She smiles at me, and says, “Let’s begin.”

  We’re in our school library, and she’s interviewing me about what I’ve been through. When you win the state finals for the best French essay . . . in the whole state . . . people want to talk to you.

  Especially when you do it with a horn on your head.

  Yep, my horn is back. Technically, I guess it’s a new horn, but whatever it is, it’s there.

  For the state finals, I had to piece together my impromptu essay from the regional contest. Luckily, there was video. It was so crazy—people thought my essay was some kind of abstract expressionist piece. The elegant judge proclaimed it “Brillante!” Can you imagine? I had to change some things for the state competition because by that time, my horn had almost grown completely back. But I did it. I stood in front of hundreds of people, horn and all, and it was amazing.

  After what happened, lots of reporters called. It took time to convince my mom, but she finally agreed to this interview. It wasn’t just about the money, it was about how I would be treated and how my story would be told. My mom insisted the money (from this, and the Alliance scholarship) go to a college fund for me. Plus, she opened a special savings account for us to add to every month for a trip to go see the Eiffel Tower together one day.

  I look at her now, beyond the lights, standing next to Grandma, and Nicholas, Mystic, Ethan, Noah . . .

  And Carmen.

  Joy’s first question is one I get asked a lot these days. “What’s it like to have your horn back?”

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. “I mean it was interesting to be normal for a while, but I’m not sure I could ever really be that.”

  “Interesting?” she asks.

  “Normal is weird,” I say, smiling. I’m wearing the hornlet with the dangling Eiffel Tower that Mystic made for me.

  “I hear you had to miss school for a while when the horn grew back. How was that?”

  “Pretty horrible. It really hurt. My friends—my best friends,” I say, glancing at Nicholas and Mystic, “and my mom and grandma saw me through it, though. I’m lucky to have them.”

  But they weren’t the only ones.

  While my horn grew back, Carmen was with me the whole time. She helped me get well enough to make the state finals. She even stood on the stage with me while I read my essay.

  I look past Joy to Carmen, who’s standing next to Nicholas in all her glory.

  “Are you going to try to have it removed again?” Joy asks.

  “Nope.” I don’t even pause before answering. Mom offered to let me try again. She even talked to Dr. Stein about it. But I knew it wasn’t right. “This is how I’m supposed to be,” I say, and smile. “I know that now.”

  After the interview, I walk with my friends for ice cream at Cones on the Square. Ethan and Mystic are holding hands, something I’m still getting used to. Noah walks with Carmen because that’s what they do now. And I’m behind, with Nicholas.

  He loves that my horn’s back. Big surprise. After everything, I just hoped things would go back to the way they were with us, but things are actually better. Because now, we both like my horn.

  Nicholas and Mystic are even cool that I hang out with Brooklyn sometimes. Mostly we practice French, but it turns out the popular girl and I have more in common than that—like, neither of us is friends with Emma anymore. And with Monsieur Oliver’s help, we started an actual French club. Meetings are every Tuesday afternoon, and even Mystic comes.

  As we stroll down the sidewalk, Nicholas says, “She’s right in front of me, isn’t she?” Meaning Carmen.

  “Yep,” I tell him.

  “Can we just have an
accident already?”

  “For the thousandth time, I’m not going to gore you with my horn.”

  “Please!” he grin-begs and I play-push him off the sidewalk.

  Nicholas may not have a horn, but he’s different, too. I understand that now. You don’t have to have a horn to feel different. Different starts on the inside, and on first glance, it might not be seen by anyone else.

  Carmen whinnies and glances back at me. We do a lot of that since she’s been home. Looking at each other. We don’t let the other out of our sight for long. I may never know how we’re connected, but we are. Maybe she turned me into a unicorn on some long-ago magical night, or maybe I was just made this way and she came to protect me as my unicorn guardian. Either way, we are connected by more than our horns, and I will never abandon her again.

  We are connected by Highwaymen, too. I still don’t know how Carmen ended up in Hot Springs, but I haven’t had a single vision since she came back. Nicholas and I are still planning our road trip to find the portals that we’ve marked on his map. Now it feels more important than ever. Maybe we’ll find more magical creatures like Carmen out there. And with Carmen by our side, maybe they’ll want to find us, too.

  What I do know is this: On some mystical plane, Esmeralda and Beaumont are real, Esmeralda is the most kick-butt person I’ll ever meet, and there really is such a place as Truth or Consequences.

  When we reach the pedestrian crosswalk and wait for the cars to stop, a little girl holding her mother’s hand appears beside me. When she looks up and sees my horn, her eyes go wide, and she buzzes with excitement.

  “Are you a unicorn?” she asks in her best fairy-princess voice.

  I smile at her. I never used to know how to answer this question. But now I do.

  “Yes,” I tell her. “That’s exactly what I am.”

  Acknowledgments

  Without these three people, I don’t know if you would be holding this book in your hands:

  Jen Brehl, my friend, who picked me up when I was truly down and set me on my path again.

  Kate McKean, my agent, who believed in Jewel and said yes at exactly the right time.

  Taylor Norman, my editor, who loves unicorns, loves Jewel, and helped me make this book what I always wanted it to be.

  Thanks to you beautiful, smart, amazing women, this book is finally here. And I am forever grateful.

  And my heartfelt thanks to the team at Chronicle: Mariam Quraishi, designer. Claire Fletcher, managing editor. Debra DeFord-Minerva, copy editor. Marie Oishi, proofreader. Kevin Armstrong, production manager. And the marketing team: Andie Krawczyk, Mary Duke, Eva Zimmerman, Kaitlyn Spotts, Samantha Chambers, and Carrie Gao. Thank you for bringing my book to life in such a beautiful way.

  To the late Guy Oliver, my French professor, who made me love the language, just like Jewel.

  To all my kid-lit buddies, especially the gang at the Monday Morning Write-in, and the Los Feliz Book Group for all the laughs, encouragement, and support. Special thanks to Ann Whitford Paul, Cynthia Surrisi, and Sandy Schuckett for their wisdom and generosity along the way.

  To my Kids Need Mentors collaborator, Alison Snow, fifth grade teacher at Creek View Elementary. I shared Jewel with your kids first, and I am so grateful for their (and your) enthusiastic response.

  To Jewel’s first adult readers, who helped me believe in her even harder: Kate McLaughlin, Lori Bertazzon, Jill Diamond, and my mom. I’m so grateful to you for being there through the process of this book.

  To Dahlonega, Georgia: I don’t say that Jewel’s town is Dahlonega, but it is. I’ve chosen bits and pieces of my experience there through the decades and squashed it all together to make Jewel’s town. Even though I don’t live there anymore, it’s my hometown, too, and I love it.

  To my friends and family, for . . . you know . . . everything. You know who you are and I love you. To my parents, Guy and Anita Middleton, I’m forever grateful for your everlasting love and support.

  And to the guy who reads everything first, Pete, to whom this book is dedicated. Thanks, moonpal.

  DANA MIDDLETON is the author of the middle-grade novels The Infinity Year of Avalon James and Open If You Dare. She grew up in Georgia and now lives with her British husband in sunny Los Angeles, California. She has not seen a unicorn in real life. Yet.

  You can visit her online at danamiddletonbooks.com.