The 11

by Kim Tomsic

  Mr. Scoggins, Mrs. Sinoway, and Coach Crosby huddled. After a few moments, the coach blew her whistle. “Okay, people. We’re not sure how the confusion happened, but we are going to do a revote for the position of Spirit Captain.”

  “Hey!” Rhena shouted. “That’s not fair. I already won.”

  “Um, excuse me,” said a girl, whose voice nobody would have noticed had she not whistled and stood on top of one of the tables against the wall. It was Yoona. “Before you say anything else, I just want to speak up and say I voted for Ally and Megan, too.”

  “Yoona?” Rhena said, followed by the loudest sneeze I’d ever heard.

  “Ahhhhkkkkk!” Shelby screamed and pointed at Rhena.

  Three large, angry welts had popped up on Rhena’s nose. She scratched at her arms and looked at Shelby. “What?”

  “Ewwww,” Shelby said, taking backward steps. “What’s happening to you, Rhena?”

  Rhena kept scratching. Her nose grew redder and redder and a fifth and sixth bump popped up on her cheeks, bigger than a quarter and large enough to see from any angle in the cafeteria.

  More voices echoed the shock.

  “What?” Rhena demanded “Wha—Achoooooo.” She let out another huge sneeze, snot flying. And then a swarm of fleas burst from her hair. Her eyes grew wide and her hands flew to her head, scratching like crazy, and suddenly her hair lifted like a titanic case of instant static electricity, bristling way worse than a surprised cat.

  The cafeteria exploded with laughter and chatter.

  “Whoa!” a kid from my Spanish class shouted. “How is she doing that?”

  I kept my hand pressed over my mouth. Clearly this was the consequence of a cheater’s wish.

  Rhena buckled.

  “We should help her,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Jackson said. “Come on.”

  Jackson, Ally, and I hurried across the room.

  Rhena swatted Ally and me away as if this were our fault. Then she leaned into Jackson’s arms, and he held her up as they walked out of the room.

  “What a cataclysm,” Ally said, confused.

  “Yep,” I agreed. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  CHAPTER

  41

  I was in English class when I was told to gather my stuff and go to the office. When I arrived, Dad was standing at the doorway, anxiously watching for me. Before I had a chance to get worried, he said, “She’s fine. She’s absolutely fine.”

  I fell into his arms, burying my face in his starched shirt and letting worry tumble from my shoulders. Sure, I had the clock and his text, but having Dad confirm the news in person made everything truly okay again.

  After a few moments, Dad said, “I couldn’t get any more work done. I figured you might be feeling the same way, since we’re pretty similar, you and I. I hope you don’t mind me saying so.”

  I smiled at him. “I love being like you, Dad.”

  “How about I sign you out and we go for smoothies?”

  “Can we?” I said. “Let’s get Piper, too.”

  Dad signed a form to release me from school, and I hoisted my backpack to my shoulders.

  “Hello,” Mrs. Matthews said, coming through the doorway with a stack of papers and a bag of Doritos. “Well played, Megan. An exponential flashmob was the perfect gimmick to get the school interested in math club. And thanks for announcing our first competition.”

  She turned to Dad.

  “Your daughter is something else.”

  “Yes, she is,” Dad said.

  She went on to tell him about the cartwheeling and said, “In addition to the math component, the technology and engineering clubs managed the sound and lights.” She clasped her hands together. “It was spectacular. In fact, I’d like to talk about mingling the groups more often. Perhaps if you have time, Megan, you could start a STEM club.”

  “Science, technology, engineering, and math,” Dad said. “Sounds like my daughter.” He smiled at me. “What do you think, Megan?”

  “Yep. That sounds perrrrfect.” This time the purr was on purpose.

  Mrs. Matthews laughed. “Okay. Let’s chat on Monday.”

  We said good-bye to Mrs. Matthews, grabbed Piper from the elementary side, and then drove to Nèktar for celebration smoothies.

  We were the only customers in the tiny, citrus-smelling café and took our time with the menu. Piper and I ordered Berry Banana Bursts, and Dad ordered a smoothie made with kale, pineapple, spinach, banana, coconut butter, and coconut water. Our drinks were poured into clear plastic cups. We took them and sat on orange chairs next to a tall, sunny window.

  “Are you sure you can have coconut butter, Dad?” Piper asked, swirling her straw in her cup.

  “Girls.” Dad folded one arm over the other. “I am healthy. I plan on staying healthy. My diet is ideal. Furthermore, I’m joining a gym tomorrow, and I am committing to you that I’ll do a good job managing my own well-being. I appreciate your concern, but it’s time for you to stop monitoring me.”

  “You’ll stay on top of checkups?” Piper asked.

  “Yes, Piper. But no more of that from you. Do you understand? I’m the adult. You’re the child.” He tucked his chin and looked over the top of his glasses, smiling. “Or I should say, you’re the tweenager.”

  I loved how nerdy he sounded.

  “Your job is to enjoy this time, do well in school, make friends, and stop worrying over my nutrition. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Piper said, but I could hear the hesitation in her voice. It would take her some time to get used to this new mind-set.

  Dad took a sip of his smoothie and asked, “What else?”

  I crumpled my napkin and shuffled it from hand to hand.

  “Come on, Megan,” Dad urged. “Something’s on the tip of your tongue.”

  I sighed and met his gaze. “Can we . . . ?” My voice hitched as I looked between Dad and Piper. “We never talk about Mom, and I miss her. I know it’s hard for you both, but I don’t want to pretend her away anymore. I want to talk about her again.”

  Dad twisted his watch and remained silent. Piper glanced at him and stayed quiet, too, but then she leaned against my arm. “Me too.”

  Dad didn’t move or talk.

  Running water and soft music were the only noises in the small space. Even my breathing had stopped, but I let go of an exhale and said, “It’s like you want to protect us from the pain, Dad. But it hurts more not talking about Mom.”

  Dad swallowed. The lump in his throat moved up and down. Then he lifted his chin and said, “You’re right.”

  Tears pricked the back of my eyes, then Dad’s eyes filled with puddles, and I couldn’t hold back the flood. Suddenly my cheeks were wet.

  “Meggy-Meg,” Dad said, sounding like Mom. He dabbed a napkin to my wet cheeks, and then Piper blubbered a laugh and said, “Now we’re all crying.” Instead of wiping her tears, she grabbed my hands and gave me a double-fisted squeeze. The magic in this moment was bigger than anything wishing could’ve given us.

  “I’m sorry, girls,” Dad said, choking on the words. “Losing your mother was the greatest loss of my life. I didn’t want to burden you with that, but it seems I ended up creating a bigger burden.”

  “You know what Mom used to say?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “She’d say, ‘Just like celebrations, losses are meant to be shared.’”

  He swallowed and piled his hands on top ours. “We’re in this together.” Then he smiled. “Monopoly tonight?”

  “As long as I get to be the dog and the banker.”

  “No way!” Piper said. “I’m the banker this time, and instead of money we’re using gum and Skittles.”

  Dad laughed. “How did the election go today?”

  “This kid Turner ended up winning with write-in votes. He announced Math Monday right on the spot and said that would be our first spirit day and ‘three’ will be the magic number. Anytime anyone says ‘three’ they have to sing
thirty seconds of ‘Three Little Birds’ by Bob Marley.”

  “Wow,” Dad said. “I suppose Spirit Week is a big deal around here.”

  “Yeah,” Piper said. “And third-period classes have to sing the whole song together. Good thing we already know the words, huh, Megan?”

  “Yep,” I said. “Also on Monday, everyone has to dress as their favorite equation or mathematician, or bring pie to lunch. I think I’ll go as Florence Nightingale. Everyone knows her as a nurse, but she was a statistician, too.”

  “I’m definitely going as pie,” Piper said. “Apple.”

  Dad laughed. “What else?”

  “That’s all I know for now, except Friday will be all about Star Wars. Star Wars trivia, robot-building competitions, and the hall monitors and crossing guards have to dress as Stormtroopers. Everyone else gets to dress as their favorite Star Wars character.”

  “Is Ally bummed about losing?” Piper asked.

  “A little. Turner told her she could be his assistant, but Ally said she’d be the Chewbacca to his captaining or nothing.”

  “I think I’d like her,” Dad said. He stood and headed to the restroom. “I’ll be back.”

  Piper turned to me and said, “I knew you’d pull off something great today.”

  “Thanks, Pipes.” I smiled. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you playing the guitar for me. Where did you even get it?”

  “I borrowed it from the school band room. But I plan to dig out Mom’s when we get home.”

  “Really?” I looked at her closely.

  “Really. It felt awesome to play again.” She smiled. “Megan, I’m sorry about yesterday with Rhena. I shouldn’t have told her about you and Hannah.”

  “That’s right. You shouldn’t have. And if Mom were here, she’d tell me to whack you good with a pillow.” I paused. “But I forgive you.” I reached into my pocket for Mom’s guitar pick and handed it to Piper. “Here. I’ve been holding on to this for you.”

  “Thanks.” Piper closed her fingers over it. “It felt like Mom was with us today.”

  “I know, right.”

  As if cued, “Better Together” played from the overhead speakers.

  Sheer luck? Maybe. Most people don’t realize that luck has everything to do with odds, like the chance of being called to “Come on down” in The Price Is Right is one in thirty-six. Pretty darn good! That’s what it felt like when Mom’s song came on. Pretty. Darn. Good.

  Dad returned from the bathroom shuffling a dance and singing a bit off tune, “Mmm, it’s always better when we’re together.” He twirled in front of our table. Piper and I almost busted a gut laughing.

  After smoothies, we stopped at a music store to purchase new guitar strings. Then Dad drove me back to school to pick up my homework.

  Dad and Piper waited in the car while I ran inside. It was weird to be in the halls, so quiet and empty, lacking that usual drumbeat of noise and shuffle. I stopped at my locker and loaded the books I needed into my backpack. Then I made my way to the history classroom.

  The sun slanted down through the tall windows, and the little flecks of dust rising in the air seemed like sparkles of something enchanted. The room was silent. I clicked the door shut, unzipped my backpack, and pulled out the brown paper bag with the magazine. I rolled the Smart Board aside until I could see the clock. The cat eyes ticked back and forth, back and forth.

  I cleared my throat. “I just wanted to say hi.” Swallow. “And bye, sort of. I mean, I’ll still be here, and you’ll still be here, but I’m not wishing anymore.” I pulled in a long breath and then sighed it out. “It’s not that I’m not grateful. But I’m ready to be on my own. So I’m returning this.” I held up the magazine. “I’m not accepting the September edition or any others, which means I’m done with the ‘some magic’ part of our deal. Okay?” I waited for a sign like lightning or thunder or the green-eyed delivery girl or anything. Nothing happened. The tail just swished, the eyes moved, and the whiskers clicked in time like it was any old clock.

  “Okay, so . . . I’m going to put this in here so you can see me not accepting it.” I bent down to the trash can and pushed on the magazine until it was deep inside. Then I wiped off my palms. “And also the Marilyn quote from the other magazine.” I found the torn page in my backpack and waved it at the clock. “I’m throwing this away, too, and replacing it with a fortune I got from someone a little wiser. His name’s Dr. Seuss if you’re wondering.”

  The rattle of the door handle sent my heart to my throat.

  “Hello, Megan?” Mr. Kersey said. “Odd to find you here at this time.”

  “Hi.” I bit back the temptation to make up an excuse for being in the room. My new voice wasn’t going to be wasted on lies.

  Two elderly men walked in behind him—twins. Their gray hair was wild just like Einstein’s, and their eyes twinkled like a movie star Santa. Even though it was over a hundred degrees outside, they both looked perfectly comfortable in their three-piece wool suits.

  “Megan. I’d like you to meet my uncles. Uncle Giuseppe, Uncle Remy, this is Megan. She’s one of our newer students.”

  “Hi. Hello. Uh . . . Wow.” The cat clock’s tocks echoed in my ears.

  “My dear.” Uncle Giuseppe walked closer, his shiny black shoes clacking across the floor. He narrowed his twinkly eyes and took a better look at me. “Do we know each other?”

  “Yes, do we?” Uncle Remy said, also stepping closer. A silver pocket watch dangled loosely at his side.

  There was a 100 percent chance he didn’t know me, but he did know someone else in my family. “No,” I said. “Will you excuse me?”

  As I bolted into the hallway I heard one of them say, “As you wish, my dear.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It is thanks to the magic of many minds that The 11:11 Wish sparked to life. Thank you to my agent, Jennifer Rofé, who spent countless hours helping me get this story right. Thank you to my editor, Maria Barbo, for your sense of humor, brilliant editorial eye, and enchanted pen. Thank you to assistant editor Rebecca Aronson, production editor Emily Rader, and the amazing marketing, sales, and publicity teams who spent a day wearing cat ears around the office!

  To my extraordinary critiquing partner, Jerilyn Patterson, thank you for reading 1111 versions of this story. I truly value your friendship. Thank you to my Boulder critiquing groups: Elaine Pease, Penny Berman, Sally Spear, Will James Limón, David Deen, and Barry Solway. A triple-sized thank-you to Stephen Mooser and Lin Oliver for starting SCBWI forty-seven years ago, and to my tribe Todd Tuell, Denise Vega, Anna-Maria Crum, and Hilari Bell. Special thanks to Ida Olson, and my oh-so-gifted mentor Lindsay Eland. Also thank you to Aspen Nolan and Celia Sinoway for reading every draft of this story. Thank you to beta readers and/or brainstormers Jason Gallaher, Kayla Heinen, John Christenson, Hannah Gibbs, Elizabeth Butler, Madeline Butler, Monica Butler, Lori Berberian, Leni Checkas, Charles Rakay, Janet Mountain, Jackson Mountain, Ellen Tarver, and Courtney Sutherland. Thank you to Dave Howard and Dr. Ana Law for your expertise in math and medicine, and to Scott Isaksen at the Creative Problem Solving Group.

  To my family, thank you for your enthusiasm, support, and love: Noelle Tomsic, Cayman Tomsic, Marlo Berberian, Ally Adkins, Renée and Paul Berberian, John Provost, Joseph and Susan Provost, and extra thanks to Katie Salidas for early edits and advice. Finally, thank you to my husband, Steve Tomsic, for living with scattered papers, index cards, and Post-it notes, for taking long walks around the lake, and for offering smart ideas when I ran into story problems. Your support was everything.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Courtesy Kim Tomsic

  KIM TOMSIC wished for roller skates, a racetrack, and the ability to fly when she was a kid. She got the roller skates, convinced her brother to share his racetrack, and if she squeezed her eyes shut tight enough, she swore that with a good bounce on the trampoline she could fly. She still loves wishing at 11:11 from her home in Boulder, CO, which she shares with her hu
sband, two children, and two dogs. This is Kim’s first middle grade novel. You can say hello to her on her blog, www.kimscritiquingcorner.blogspot.com.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  CREDITS

  Cover art by Mary Kate McDevitt

  Cover design by Aurora Parlagreco

  COPYRIGHT

  Katherine Tegen Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

  THE 11:11 WISH. Copyright © 2018 by Kim Tomsic. Emoji icon here provided by EmojiOne. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  www.harpercollinschildrens.com

  * * *

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017954126

  ISBN 978-0-06-265494-6

  EPub Edition © February 2018 ISBN 9780062654960

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  FIRST EDITION

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