The 11

by Kim Tomsic

  Pull yourself together. I took another breath. There’s an important wish to be made.

  The clock’s magic had never done me wrong, not really. Other than sending me an enchanted trickster magazine, that is. No matter. I just had to get that flashmob wish handled, and then I’d stop promising to do exciting things. There’d be no more zap dares, I’d be done proving myself, and the rest of middle school would be easy-peasy.

  Rhena ducked into the history classroom ahead of me. I was just seconds behind her, but when I entered, one glance at Shelby and the other girls told me they’d already been briefed about the pen incident. Yoona kept her chin down and doodled.

  A wish could fix this. It could fix everything. I turned to the clock. The cat eyes were frozen in a wide stare. Its tail didn’t swish, and the whiskers weren’t ticking or tocking! Its petrified smile mocked me, like it was punishing me for not believing sooner or for not being a good user of the magic.

  “Mr. Kersey.” My voice boomed, making half the students jump. “The clock’s not working.”

  Rhena turned and narrowed her eyes, studying me and then the clock.

  I didn’t have time to worry about her.

  “Oh . . . kay?” Mr. Kersey said. “I guess I’ll have to get some more double-A batteries.”

  Was he serious—double-A batteries? How about pixie dust?

  I stared back at the clock, urging gears to shift and tickers to tock. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. I sank into my seat. What would I do if it never worked again—switch schools, move to Bhutan, join the Amish?

  Five minutes passed, and Mr. Kersey said, “All right, papers away. You have forty-five minutes to complete the test.”

  My head still ached from using the magazine at the assembly. It pounded. I would’ve traded all my science fair medals for a sip of mint tea.

  The big “2” Rhena had written on top of my hand added to the doom. I was out of magazine magic and clock magic, and I had T minus two days until I needed to deliver on the biggest promise of my life.

  CHAPTER

  25

  Forty-five minutes later, the bell rang. I tossed my completed exam on Mr. Kersey’s desk and then rushed out the door. I was desperate to figure out how to call Grams and ask her how to get one more wish.

  “There you are.” Ally linked her arm in mine. “Lunch?”

  “Um.”

  “Come on.” Ally’s cheeks were full of color and she was walking and talking fast, dragging me with her. “Assembly was so awesome! You didn’t mind me asking you in front of everyone about being Co-Captain, right?”

  She didn’t notice my silence.

  “Because when you said you wanted to be involved, I thought maybe you were giving me a hint that you wanted a bigger role. Especially with how active you were at your last school. And it seemed like perfect timing in assembly. I was all fired up once Rhena started lying.” Ally glanced over at me. “Whoa. You look stressed. You do want this. Right?”

  “Um. I just keep thinking about Friday.” My voice went high and squeaky. “How about we move the flashmob to another time?” Like never. “That way we can give our total focus to the campaign?”

  “Well . . . but the flashmob is the highlight of what we’re promoting. Our creativity and the excitement we—” Ally jerked to a stop next to the emergency exit. “Did you hear that?” She leaned in. “There’s a sound coming from the other side of these doors. Like a bunch of cats meowing.”

  “That’s weird.” I paused for a moment, before walking on. My mind was stuck on Friday. “Are you sure we don’t want the flashmob to be part of Spirit Week—like the grand finale of next week?”

  Ally caught back up to me, and we made our way to the cafeteria. “Spirit Week is already going to be so much fun, so we should definitely do the flashmob now. Like a way to show what’s to come. Is that okay?”

  She looked so excited and hopeful.

  “Sure.”

  In the cafeteria, bowls of chili were paired with buttery squares of cornbread, steam rising from their golden centers. But for some reason, I grabbed chocolate milk and a tuna sandwich. We wove through groups of students until we arrived at the seventh-grade quad.

  “Aww. Look, how cute,” Ally said, setting down her tray and pointing toward a bank of windows. Yellow sunlight streamed through and a few cats sat on the ledges pressed against the glass.

  “Do they normally hang out there?” A twinge of concern crept over me.

  More cats jumped up and joined the others on the ledge. “Never,” Ally said.

  Mia, Erin, and Noelle arrived with Turner and a bunch of other girls and guys who filled in the bench seats.

  Still standing, I glanced at the windows one more time.

  They’re just neighborhood cats hanging out at a school, I told myself. People’s pets. That’s it. They probably smelled the chili cooking. I had to stop the paranoia or I’d see cats in everything. I took a breath and scanned the crowd for Jackson, wondering if he’d be eating at Rhena’s table.

  “As your official student ambassador,” said a cool-vanilla voice from behind me, “I’m here to advise you to never order the tuna surprise.”

  Noelle smiled at the person behind me.

  My stomach fluttered and my face burned hot and fast. I grabbed my milk and shoved the thin straw into my mouth before turning around, like that could cover the glow on my cheeks.

  “Jackson,” I said, trying to be smooth but talking right into the straw. The milk bubbled and dribbled in a mess down my hands.

  Jackson’s knee-melting dimple appeared in his cheek. I fumbled for napkins, and as I leaned across the table my shirt rose and my shorts lowered, probably exposing the top of my butt. I yanked my shirt down and spun around. Whoever invented low-rise clearly never had to reach for anything. “Ummm,” I said, letting the mmmmmm trail on until I gave up on finding words and plopped down at the table.

  Jackson dropped his backpack to the ground. “Can I get in here?” he asked the group, pointing to the space next to me. “I mean, if you guys don’t mind eating with the competition.”

  Tank walked up beside him. “Me too.”

  Erin scooched over and Tank and Jackson sat, Jackson squeezing in next to me, leaving just a femtometer between us—we’re talking less than a microinch! Of course my arm hairs electrified.

  Turner leaned toward Jackson. “So, King on Rhena’s ticket, huh?”

  Jackson shrugged. “Co-Captain,” he corrected. “She’s done a bunch of things for me. I sort of owe her.”

  Owe her? How could he even be friends with someone like Rhena?

  “Plus, I have a motto,” he said. “‘Ask not what your school can do for you. Ask what you can do for your school.’”

  “You mean what you can do to the school,” Turner said. “Yo, if you win, please use a day to make everyone dress like Frisbee players.”

  Jackson laughed. “I don’t even know what that would look like.”

  “Dude,” Tank said, “that would be savage. You could make everyone dress for sports all week.”

  “Hey. None of that,” Ally said with a laugh. “We’re not supposed to talk about themes, and some of you guys are supposed to be my supporters.”

  “You know it,” Turner said.

  I licked my lips, still tasting the creaminess of the milk. Mmm, and when had a sandwich ever smelled so amazing?

  Jackson turned to me. “I suppose we’re running against each other.”

  I tore my gaze away from my plate and nodded. No interesting motto at the ready. “Guess so.”

  “Your Friday Flashmob sounds fun.” Jackson twisted his yarn bracelet. “Fun-meister.”

  “I know, right,” Turner said. “Everyone went nuts.”

  Jackson and Turner got into a conversation, and Ally leaned against me, whispering, “What are you doing?”

  I stopped and stared down, realizing I’d been licking splashes of milk off my knuckles like a cat licking its paws. I slouched and dried my hands with th
e napkins still clutched in my fist. More cat stuff? I hadn’t even wished today. I shook my head. This must be another unstable cost from using the magazine at today’s assembly.

  “Right?” Turner said to me.

  I lifted my chin and nodded, not even bothering to figure out the question.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the flashmob yesterday?” Jackson asked.

  “I didn’t really know then.” I snorted. “The biggest decision I’d made by this time yesterday was about how long I could stay at the Humane Society.”

  Jackson smiled. “How’s that going?”

  “I love it. Tonight is the Wednesday Night Walks.”

  “Cool,” Jackson said. “I’ve heard about that.”

  I smiled and purred. Purred! I stopped myself and my ears got hot. Jackson was still smiling and talking like he hadn’t noticed. Had anyone noticed?

  Ally was thumbing through Mia’s latest book and asked her, “Did you finish Metamorphosis? I don’t see it in your pile anymore.”

  “Yeah,” Mia said. “Such a weird book. Spoiler alert. The guy turns into a bug.”

  I tuned back into Jackson. “. . . and talk about school clubs or whatever you want.” He twisted his yarn bracelet again. “You’re coming to math club today, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Megan, you humble genius!” Ally said, beaming. She set Mia’s book down. “You didn’t tell me Mrs. Matthews invited you onto the math team. Congratulations! You hear that, guys? We have brains and creativity on our campaign.”

  “Thanks.” My math news never had that kind of effect on anyone other than my dad.

  “How long will your meeting last?” she asked.

  “Half an hour, tops,” Jackson said.

  “Awesome. We’ll wait for you, Megan.”

  “Wait?”

  “After school today, a bunch of us are going to Mojo’s. The Kierland location. Can you come?”

  “Sure?” I looked at Noelle, my source for explanations.

  “Mojo’s serves froyo,” Noelle said. “And Kierland is an outdoor mall. Lots of shops and restaurants and stuff.”

  “We’d planned for girls only, Jackson, but we can break code if you want to come,” Ally said. “You should come, too, Turner, so Jackson’s not the only guy.”

  “Wish I could,” Turner said. “But I have Frisbee. One more win and I’m in the Frisbee-Golf Playoffs.”

  “I’m out, too,” Jackson said. “Have your gender-biased event. I have lacrosse practice at four.”

  Ally laughed. “Suit yourself.”

  Jackson shifted back to me. “But maybe you and I could get together tomorrow.”

  I froze, staring at the flecks of gold in his eyes. Was he asking me out?

  “I don’t have practice on Thursdays,” he said.

  “Okay.” My voice sounded mousy. I bit back the impulse to purr.

  “After school, then? Can I text you?”

  I must’ve nodded, because he handed me the last dry napkin and said, “I left my phone in my locker, but you could write your number here.”

  Party balloons floated in my head. Somehow a pen landed in my grip, and with a shaky hand I jotted my number.

  “Thanks.” He stood up and folded the napkin and stuffed it into his pocket.

  Just then Rhena swooped in, popping her gum casually like she wasn’t walking into enemy territory. She hooked her arm in Jackson’s elbow and said, “He-ey. Who’s going to Kierland?”

  “It sounds like everybody.” Jackson smiled at our group.

  “Not you, right? You have lacrosse?” Rhena squeezed his bicep and smiled possessively, like a dog marking its territory. “He’s a midi, you know.” Rhena tugged Jackson closer and blinked her big, shiny eyes. “Jackson, help me with my math homework, please.” Her voice went sugary. “When our families got together last weekend, you said you’d give me private tutoring, remember?”

  “Okay, sure,” he said, his tone easy.

  She looked at me and smiled like she wanted to make sure I got the message—Jackson was her turf.

  Everyone returned to talking. Jackson stooped over to gather up his backpack, and as he did Rhena snatched the napkin from his pocket.

  My phone number napkin!

  She removed a wad of blue gum from her mouth, squished it into the napkin, and smiled at me as she crumpled it into a tiny ball.

  Alert! Alert! My brainwaves squeezed, trying to send Jackson an instant message: My phone number is about to become lunchroom trash!

  Sure enough, Rhena tossed the napkin into the garbage can several feet away, and her shot landed perfectly on target.

  Ally pointed to the windows. “Whoa, look at that! What’s going on?”

  Three or four dozen cats had gathered on the window ledges outside. A couple of custodians and the vice principal stood on the sidewalk, jaws moving, arms flapping. Several more cats crossed the grassy courtyard, and conversations in the cafeteria stopped. Kids moved toward the windows.

  A hiss whooshed from my mouth, and just as quickly, my hand flew up to my parted lips.

  Jackson straightened. “You all right?”

  The meowing of cats grew loud enough to hear through the closed windows.

  “Ummm.” I blinked a few times. “I, um—”

  “Ready?” Rhena dazzled a smile at Jackson.

  “Yup.” He flung his backpack to his shoulders. “See you guys.”

  They walked off, arms linked.

  CHAPTER

  26

  I glanced at the doorway for the gazillionth time, watching out for cats and wondering where Jackson was. So far, five of us had shown up for math club: me, Turner, Tank, and the two girls I’d met last time, Ellie and Karen.

  An easel with a three-foot pad stood at the front of the room. Ellie and Karen drew equations on the chalkboard, and Tank and Turner sat in the desks beside me, making paper airplanes.

  “Good times in the cafeteria, today, huh?” Tank said, smiling and folding the triangle nose of his airplane.

  Maybe is what I wanted to say, as in, “Maybe the cats escaped from the Humane Society” or “Maybe an animal rescue is doing a publicity stunt” or any other “maybe” that could’ve led into an elaborate excuse even though my gut knew it wasn’t true.

  “Meow” was what popped out of my mouth.

  Turner laughed. “Good one, Megan.”

  Rather than freaking out, I kept calm by rationalizing with science. According to the law of conservation of mass and energy, matter is neither created nor destroyed. Perhaps when you get something from the Magicverse, you give something from the regular world so there’s an exchange of energy, or matter, or . . . I didn’t know!

  What had Grams said on day one about frivolous magic and lazy wishes? I sighed. There had been a lot of weirdness in the past three days—the makeover and hair, the purring and meowing, a legion of cats outside the cafeteria, and the fine print on the perfume contract I hadn’t had time to read.

  It was too much to organize in my head, so I unzipped my backpack and pulled out the orange journal, opened it to a clean page, and drew a line down the center to make two columns. At the top of one column I wrote “Frivolous Magic” and on the other I wrote “Costs.”

  I’d say the perfume was frivolous and was probably why the cats were hanging out at lunch. Funny. And then poof, it was over, so frivolous magic must have a fast cause-effect price tag. I let out an exhale.

  Also, making Mr. Kersey bark and getting all those Skittles was frivolous, too, not to mention playful, since I liked Mr. Kersey and didn’t intend anything bad by the wish. That was probably why I did all those goofy cat things, sort of like how he was funny when he barked. This was making sense now. I jotted everything down.

  Frivolous Magic:

  Costs:

  Makeover

  Disaster

  T-10

  Lion do!

  Perfume

  Cats at lunch

  Kersey barking


  Meowing

  Candy

  Purrs, meows, feather mishap

  ???

  Fur ball cough?

  And then I wrote, “Cumulative???”

  It felt like things were building. I wasn’t sure about the cumulative nature of wishing, but I was starting to feel more and more relieved that I had the magic figured out. Until I remembered I’d meowed and purred before I’d made the Skittles and barking wish.

  I reached into my backpack and carefully took out Enchanted Teen, hoping to find a perfume ad and maybe some answers. I flipped a few pages, knowing I’d have to make this fast or suffer another headache, though I didn’t know if that still applied, since the issue had expired.

  Skimming through page after page, I passed clothing ads, makeup ads, and an article called “Seven Tips: How Smart Girls Speak Up!”; then I got to those stuck pages.

  “Hey, Megan,” Turner said. He and Tank were holding up their folded airplanes, one a Flying Fox and the other a Nakamura lock.

  Dad didn’t do coloring books with me when I was little, but he’d taught me paper airplane making better than an origami master could’ve.

  “Which one is better?” Turner asked.

  “They’re both good.” I focused back on the magazine, pinching the edges and careful not to touch anything just in case; then I started to peel the pages apart.

  “That’s a nonanswer. Don’t play politics,” Tank said.

  I smiled and studied the airplanes more closely. “Okay, Tank, yours is nice and has the best look, but Turner’s folds have the best design for thrust, lift, gravity, and drag.”

  “Ha,” Turner said to Tank. “Told ya mine’s more aerodynamic.”

  “Let’s go again,” Tank said. “Round two.”

  I finished peeling the magazine pages apart. The article headline said: