The 11

by Kim Tomsic

  So that’s why Marlo Bee scowled when I said things she didn’t like.

  “And more important to note, Remy’s spell added an exit strategy,” Grams said. “That’s what you need to figure out now. You have to find your way out.”

  “Do you still talk to the Bellinis?” I asked. “Can you call them to stop all this?”

  “Sweetie. They leveled the spell long before you were born. That’s done. Once you launched your wish, it was removed from their hands. I can’t help you and they can’t help you. Everything relies on your efforts.”

  “How do I fix this?”

  “How, indeed,” Grams said with a giggle.

  “You’re laughing at me?”

  “I’m sorry, Megan, the whole cat-got-your-tongue part is funny. And you’ve got to admit, you’ve had trouble speaking up for a while now. This might be the best thing for you. I’m not able to fix what you’ve done with your wishes, but I will say this, if you give away your voice to others, you might as well give it to a cat.”

  “But Grams—”

  “Your choice, sugar. Speak up, or else the meowing takes over. Simple as that. Now, it’s the middle of the night here, so I am going to have to go back to bed. I love you. Bonne nuit.” Click. And with that she was gone.

  I grabbed my empty magazine from the floor, the cover still glossy and the bright blurb still declaring it an expired issue. But I spoke to it anyway. “How am I going to gain confidence, prepare a flashmob, and give up magic all in less than two days?”

  “Expired Issue” flashed on and off at me.

  I wished I had the Math Olympiad team in my room right now, because I had a big problem and needed a new, non-magic path to a solution.

  Time for creativity.

  CHAPTER

  30

  “You ready to go?” Dad asked after dinner.

  “What?” I looked up from my plate of grilled chicken, my mind busy thinking through my conversation with Grams.

  “The Humane Society. You wanted me to drop you off for Wednesday Night Walks.”

  “Oh, right.” I set my fork down. “Piper, you coming?”

  “I can’t,” she said. “My class has been reading Savvy and I want to catch up. It’s about a girl, and everyone in her family gets a special power when they turn thirteen. I wish that would happen to me.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” I said.

  Piper shrugged. “Sorry I can’t go.”

  “Your loss.” I’m not going to lie—it felt like Piper was blowing me off again.

  “I’m grabbing my briefcase and then the mail,” Dad said. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

  Dad cleared his plate and I picked up mine.

  “What’s that for?” Piper pointed at the number two that Rhena had written on my hand.

  “Two more days until my flashmob.”

  “Oh, right! The assembly!” She looked at me. “Are you all good with that?”

  I twisted my mouth. “We’ll see.”

  “Umm. Will Rhena be at the flashmob?”

  “I guess. But since you brought her up, I don’t think you should have her as your yearbook buddy.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she does sneaky, mean stuff to me, and if she can do it to me, she can do it to you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Mean stuff like what?”

  I reminded her of the un-invitation and pointed out that assembly was Rhena’s attempt to embarrass me.

  “She did act pretty strange at assembly,” Piper said. “But everyone’s saying that’s because she got food poisoning or something. I mean, that has to be true, because of all the gibberish. Right? I’m sure she wasn’t trying to be mean about you, she was just messed up then.”

  I sighed. “Piper, you’re so naïve. There was no food poisoning. Just trust me.”

  Piper sighed, too. “I’m telling you, she’s really nice. She’s taken time to get to know the name of every fifth grader at yearbook. She brought us all cupcakes the other day. And when there was a spider in the room and everyone screamed, Barett wanted to squish it, but Rhena stopped her and grabbed the teacher’s Tupperware container, scooped it up, and carried it outside—just like you would do, Megan. I swear you guys are so much alike, you’d like her if you just got to know her. She’s really nice. You have to be misunderstanding her.”

  I thought about Hannah saying how we’d misjudged Brooke last year, but I wasn’t ready to accept it. “I don’t know.” I stuck my plate in the sink and scrubbed the “2” off my hand, wishing I could wash away the flashmob promise, too.

  “Don’t be mad,” Piper said. “Okay?”

  “Fine.” I rinsed off the final suds. “Will you put water in Archie’s—”

  “Sorry,” Piper said, her phone ringing. “It’s Barett.” Then into her phone she said, “Hello,” and walked out of the kitchen.

  After I refilled Archie’s water bowl, I headed to the front door. “Come on, Arch. Want to go for a ride?”

  Archie stayed under the desk and wouldn’t look my way.

  “Archie? You love going in the car.”

  He ran out from his hiding spot and around the corner away from me.

  Fine. I shut the front door and met Dad, who was standing by the car and shuffling through the mail.

  “Ready,” I said. We climbed inside. “Archie is staying with Piper.”

  I had no mental energy to figure out what was wrong with Archie, because I was back to thinking through Dr. Ruth Noller’s creativity formula, C = fa(KIE).

  With Hannah’s help, I’d get the flashmob figured out. She always had fun ideas. I pulled out my phone. Sigh. Still no reply.

  Dad stuffed the mail into the side pocket of the car door. I stared ahead at yellow streetlights blinking on down the road, thinking through the formula.

  Here are the new details for what I could plug into Dr. Ruth Noller’s formula.

  (K) Knowledge. I had magic, but the Magicverse would possibly take my voice if I used it again.

  (I) Imagination. Collaborating with Hannah would be as good as brainstorming with the Mojo’s group.

  (E) Evaluation. Gather ideas, evaluate, and pick one.

  “Seat belt,” Dad said as he turned on the headlights. He backed out of our driveway, and I clicked my seat belt into place. We drove on, Dad spending the whole ride asking me about school, science, and math as per usual, nothing about mean girls or magic. And definitely nothing about weird catisms. At a red light, he reached into his blazer pocket, took out a pack of cherry Life Savers, and popped one into his mouth. “Want one?”

  I took the roll. Mom’s favorite candy.

  The light changed and Dad pulled forward.

  “So you really like Mrs. Matthews, huh?” Dad said, breathing out a whiff of wild cherry.

  “Yeah.” I took in a breath and held it, and with my eyes closed and that sweet candy scent I could almost imagine Mom in the car. It had been nice talking about Mom to Jackson. Maybe the time was finally right to try to bring her up to Dad. I opened my eyes, cleared my throat, and picked the easiest approach. “Dad, tell me the story about how you and Mom found Archie.”

  I loved this story. My parents had told it a million times—how they found Archie, a stray, when Mom was pregnant with me. She was ultra-sick throughout the pregnancy, but when Archie snuggled next to her, she suddenly felt fine. So Dad said they had to keep him. Mom and Dad would smile every time they told me about finding Archie, the miracle dog—and they’d say I loved animals even before I was born.

  We’d almost arrived, but there was still time for Dad to say something about Mom. He always smiled whenever he told that story. Would he smile now?

  His face was a mask. The turn signal clicked in the silence. Then he pulled into the Humane Society lot, shifted the car to park, and stared at his hands.

  “Not tonight,” he said.

  I sighed, but I wasn’t ready to give up. I took the blue jazz band flyer from my pocket and slid it ove
r to him. “This would be good for Piper,” I said softly. “But only if it came from you. She wants your approval or just to know it’s okay.”

  He looked at the form for a moment before stuffing it into the center console. “She knows she doesn’t need my permission. If Piper doesn’t want to play music, it’s not for me to push her.”

  “Don’t you see?” I tried to sound gentle. “She doesn’t want to upset you.”

  “Why would that upset me?”

  “She worries if she plays music, it’ll make you sad about Mom.” I swallowed and added, “She worries you might have another heart attack. Why do you think she’s so hyper-focused on what you eat?”

  “That’s malarkey.”

  “No, it’s not. She watches every crumb you swallow.”

  “I’ve been managing my diet just fine.”

  “You know that. But she doesn’t.”

  He straightened his tie, a tie Mom would’ve made him take off the minute he got home from work. “We’re done discussing this.”

  We hadn’t discussed anything.

  “You probably need to get going,” he said, staring out the window at the doors to the Humane Society.

  The space between Dad and me filled with awkward silence. It had never been awkward when Mom was around. Back then, Piper and I’d do our homework after school while Mom prepared her lesson plans. Then when Dad got home, all work stopped and Mom would make Dad change from his tweed jacket and bow tie into sweats and a T-shirt. He’d transform from stiff to relaxed.

  She’d helped me, too, like that time I lost in the science fair and burst into tears in front of my whole school and completely humiliated myself. I ran to the car to cry and be alone, but Mom climbed into the backseat beside me and said, “Honey, just like celebrations, losses are meant to be shared.”

  Better than her hand-holding, Mom’s laughter had been the best thing about our family. It had filled our house, whether we were baking, watching movies, or just teasing Dad. She loved challenging him with science, like saying since he knew so much about physics, shouldn’t he be better than her at changing flat tires—he wasn’t. And he’d come back with the fact that his knowledge of chemistry was why he was the best baker in the family—he was. She’d say, “Prove it!” And we’d all hope he’d whip up a crème brûlée.

  We could always count on Mom’s good spirits. Whenever the Monopoly board came out, Dad and I would get into goofy arguments about who got to be the banker and if we should charge compounding interest rates and balloon payments, and then Mom and Piper would laugh and ask if we could please just have one game without higher math.

  Dad’s voice broke into my thoughts. “I’ll pick you up in a few hours.”

  I climbed out of the car.

  “Megan,” Dad said, unrolling his window. “Maybe we could do this together next week. You know if I wasn’t a college professor I’d be a professional dog walker, right?”

  I smiled at his effort. “Sure, Dad.”

  “Oh, and this came in the mail for you.”

  Dad held up a brand-new copy of Enchanted Teen!

  CHAPTER

  31

  I snatched Enchanted Teen from Dad and flung it through the window and into the backseat.

  Dad ducked. “Whoa. Take it easy.”

  I wiped my hands down my shorts. “Sorry. I’ll get it at home.” I didn’t want Dad touching it, and I didn’t want that magazine anywhere near me, and especially not here. A green light glowed in the backseat where the bottom corner of Enchanted Teen lit up with “Five Fun-Filled Uses of Magic.” I didn’t like how tempting it felt.

  Dad drove off, and with shaky hands, I pushed open the glass door into the Humane Society. There in one of the blue lobby chairs sat Jackson, his hair wet on the sides like he’d recently showered. His gaze was down, and he fiddled with his yarn bracelet.

  Could Ally be right about him liking me?

  “Hi,” I said, my voice wobbly. “I thought you weren’t a volunteer.”

  Jackson stood up and twisted his bracelet one more time. “I’m not, regularly.” He smiled. “I just thought when you mentioned the Wednesday Night Walks that it’d be fun, and we could help.”

  “We?”

  Jackson glanced toward the restroom door, and with perfect timing, it swung open and Rhena stepped out. “Hey, Megan.”

  A hiss threatened in the back of my throat. What was she up to now? And here, of all places!

  Marble raced around the corner, passed me, and ran straight into Rhena’s arms.

  She dropped to her knees. “Hi, Marbs.” She rubbed his face. “I’ve missed you.”

  Missed you?

  Mavis came around the corner with her purse and leash in hand. “Hello, Rhena! So good to see you. It’s been ages.”

  Rhena stood and hugged Mavis, holding on for a second longer than I’d expect.

  “Hello, Megan. Jackson.” Mavis smiled at us. “I wish I could stay, but it’s time for me to get some dinner.”

  Rhena took the leash from Mavis and hooked it onto Marble’s collar. “I’ll walk you guys to your car.”

  My jaw must’ve been hanging like a cartoon character as they left, because Jackson said, “Rhena volunteered here all last year, but her mom refuses to drive her anymore, something about it conflicting with tennis lessons. She made a special exception for tonight.”

  It felt like universes were colliding. How could someone like Rhena be a volunteer?

  A few moments later, Rhena returned, her smile buoyant. She was about to say something when the door swung open again and her expression twisted.

  A tall woman in high heels and a cream silk shirt hurried through the door, bringing in a rush of flowery perfume.

  “Mom? Why are you back already?”

  “Is that how you behave? Not ‘Mom, it’s nice to see you.’ Or ‘Mom, say hi to my friends.’ But ‘Mom, why are you here?’” She crossed her arms, tapping a red-lacquered nail to her forearm, and then turned toward Jackson and me. “Hello, Jackson.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Thornsmith,” he said carefully.

  Rhena’s mom gave me a dismissive glance before focusing back on Rhena. “I know I said I’d give you an hour and a half, but let’s make it forty-five minutes, tops. I don’t like how your allergies make your skin splotchy. Did you take your allergy pill?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “Good.” She made a face. “Honestly, Rhena. You shouldn’t be wasting time here when you have so many important things to do—homework, the treadmill, and your hair.” She gave Rhena’s hair a once-over, and her mouth twisted down. “Perhaps we could swing by the salon and get some of those split ends cut off. Your election is in two days, no?”

  “I’ll get everything done, Mom. I promise. Please.”

  Yoona came through the entrance while Rhena’s mom was talking.

  “Rhena, let’s not sound whiny. It’s undignified.” Mrs. Thornsmith looked at her sparkly watch and then turned on her high heels. “Forty-five minutes.” And with that, she whooshed past Yoona and out the door.

  Rhena stared at the squares of tile flooring.

  “Sorry, Rhe,” Jackson said sweetly.

  “Forget it. Let’s go find some pups that need walking.” She lifted her chin. “Hey, Yoona.”

  Yoona stood like a block of stone, eyes wide. “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Rhena said. “You know how my mom can be.” Then to me she added, “Well, you don’t. But now you have a pretty good idea.”

  My muscles stayed tense.

  It’s a proven fact that 93 percent of communication is nonverbal. My tight face and crossed arms must’ve told Rhena I didn’t want any part of a group activity.

  “Listen, Megan,” she said softly. “I just want to hang with the dogs right now. Can we leave everything about Saguaro Prep out of here tonight?”

  Yoona lifted her eyebrows.

  “Megan?” Jackson said.

  “Okay.” I nodded. I’d do it for the do
gs.

  We picked up leashes and signed out four dogs, a German shorthaired pointer, a boxer, a Lab mix, and a border collie. Then we went to the back where there were several walking paths, an open space, and a play zone.

  Most of the other volunteers were on the walking paths. “Let’s do the play zone,” Jackson said. “It’s empty.” He grabbed a few orange cones and some cardboard boxes and set up an obstacle course.

  First, we walk-raced the dogs around the course. Jackson won. Then we did it walking backward, and he won again.

  “One more time,” I said. “Let’s see who wins, but this time we have to do the course skipping the whole time.”

  Rhena laughed. “Yeah. Skipping and singing happy birthday.”

  Yoona added, “Skipping, singing happy birthday, and pinching our noses shut.”

  We all laughed and agreed.

  It wasn’t long before Jackson, Rhena, Yoona, and I were laughing together about other things and actually having a good time. Could this be the Rhena who Piper was getting to know? The Rhena Yoona hung out with? The Rhena Jackson had been friends with his whole life? I’d been stuck on believing Rhena didn’t care about anything except herself, but she was sweet with the animals, and they loved her back. It made me think of what Hannah had said on the phone: “Last year we thought Brooke was a snot. We got it all wrong.” I knew I hadn’t gotten it all wrong with Brooke or Rhena—they’d done some mean stuff. But there had to be an in-between. Maybe Rhena deserved another chance.

  CHAPTER

  32

  On Thursday morning, I woke to the dread of knowing I had T minus one day to deliver a megadose of creativity. I powered up my phone. Still nothing from Hannah. Sigh.

  I’d gone to bed with wet hair, which meant it had probably dried in a super-tangled mess. I reached a hand to my head, and my fingers snagged on a knot. Half asleep, I climbed out of bed and nearly tripped on a pile of pillows and blankets on the floor—Piper must have set up camp in my room in the middle of the night.

  I lumbered to the bathroom in search of a brush and flipped on the lights. There, on my granite countertop next to my brush, was a brand-new ceramic-plated Chi flatiron and a gold bottle of straightening serum.