by Liz Kessler
“Yeah,” I replied. “I know that feeling.”
“But then I found this.” She held the pebble out to me. “I mean, I live by the beach. It’s easy enough to find random pebbles around the place.”
“But you knew this wasn’t a random pebble,” I said.
“I remembered the part in the dream . . .” She stopped before finishing her thought.
“Where I gave it to you,” I said softly. “One for you, one for Shona, as a mark of our friendship.”
Mandy bit harder on her lip. She didn’t say anything, but she nodded. Then she seemed to make up her mind about something. She held the pebble out again. “Here, take it,” she said. “I mean, I know it’s a mark of our friendship — but I don’t need it. I know our friendship is strong — especially now. I don’t want this. It scares me.”
I took the pebble and put it in my pocket. “I’ve been there,” I whispered. “I know exactly what you’re going through.”
Mandy spoke in a whisper. “You really were there with me? You saw the future too?” she asked. She sounded like a frightened child. “It wasn’t a dream at all — it was real. That’s it? That’s what we’ve got to look forward to? That’s what my life is going to become?”
“Well, that’s one version,” I replied.
“One version?”
“I guess you don’t remember the last time we had this conversation,” I said.
“Huh? What do you mean? We’ve never had this conversation before.”
“Not this one, maybe. But one like it. When I told you about the future and you didn’t believe me.”
“Emily, I don’t understand. You’re not making sense. What are you —?”
“It’s happened to me twice,” I said. “I’ve seen two futures — and they were both equally horrific.”
“Two futures,” Mandy said numbly.
For a moment, I didn’t know where or how to start. Then I decided to do it with actions instead of words.
I opened my jacket pocket and pulled out the wishing stone. I held it out to show Mandy. “Remember this?”
“That’s the stone you had in the future.”
“That’s right. But I didn’t tell you everything about it.”
“OK . . .”
For a moment, I hesitated. Would she laugh at me? Then I looked at her face. I couldn’t imagine her laughing at anything right now. “It’s — it’s got powers,” I said. “Magical powers. But it’s scary too. It’s kind of unpredictable.”
Mandy’s frown deepened. “Emily, you’re not making any sense,” she said.
I put the stone back in my pocket and started again. “OK,” I said. “I’ll explain everything.”
And this time, as I told Mandy all about the stone and the wishes and the underwater river and the two horrible futures, two things happened that hadn’t happened before: she listened to every word, and she believed me.
When I’d finished, Mandy’s face was as white as the lines around the wishing stone. “So now what?” she asked. “You have one more wish, yes?”
“Yep.”
“So one more chance to make things turn out right. Make everything turn out right?”
“I guess. I just don’t know how to ask the right question, how to phrase the wish so it doesn’t twist it into something horrible for someone.”
“Yeah. I see what you mean.”
We fell silent for a moment. Then I remembered the parable from English class. “But there’s something else,” I said.
“What’s that?”
I opened my other pocket. “This.” Holding out the elephant, I said, “I think it’s telling me something.”
Mandy examined the elephant. “What’s it telling you?”
“The parable Mr. Goode shared with us,” I went on, “about the men only seeing one part of the elephant and thinking that was the whole story. Well, that’s kind of what happened in each future. Each one worked out amazingly for one side — and terribly for the other.”
“And you think that’s what this elephant is telling us?” Mandy finished.
“Exactly. We have to find a way to make things work out for both sides.”
“OK,” Mandy agreed. “So how do we do that?”
“Good question,” I said, suddenly feeling hopeless. “I haven’t got a clue.”
The first class after lunch was art. I vaguely remembered being here before — but it felt as though that had been a dream. The first time, I’d been too miserable to care about what was happening around me. The second time, I’d been in too much shock to even notice. This time Mandy and I sat together, silent and separate from the rest of the class. We’d talked all the way through lunch and still hadn’t come up with an idea for my third wish.
Nor had we come up with a way to use the elephant parable to stop everything from going horrendously wrong. Until Ms. Macmillan folded her arms, smiled at the class, and started to speak.
“Welcome back to school,” she said brightly. Ms. Macmillan generally said everything brightly. It was just the kind of teacher she was. “This is my favorite semester,” she said. Then she paused a beat before adding, “Well, this one and the fall semester. They’re both my favorite I guess.”
Most of the class laughed. Mandy and I continued to stare ahead of us. We must have looked like zombies.
“But this one is special,” Ms. Macmillan went on, “because it’s a beginning. And there is something so hopeful and positive about the start of something — especially the start of a new year. Don’t you agree?” She paused for a millisecond before continuing. “The start of a new year is a time when we make new promises, try new things. It’s a time when I think that anything is possible. And just this morning, I received a letter that fits perfectly with my mood.”
She fumbled on her desk, then picked up a piece of paper and unfolded it. She cleared her throat and read from the piece of paper.
“We are launching a nationwide competition for all students in seventh and eighth grade. The theme: Make a piece of art to change the world!”
Ms. Macmillan beamed as she looked around the classroom. Thirty blank faces looked back at her.
“Does that sound like too much for you?” Ms. Macmillan asked, a tiny note of uncertainty creeping into her voice.
Julie Crossens put her hand up. I felt bad because she was sitting with a couple of other girls, and I knew she’d probably rather be with Mandy. Right now, though, Mandy needed me more.
“Yes, Julie?”
“How can art change the world?” Julie asked.
Ms. Macmillan clapped her hands together as though Julie had just told her that the school had won the lottery. “Wonderful question!” she said. “And that is exactly the point of this competition: How can art change the world? In exploring the question, I hope you will not only make some wonderful art, but find some interesting answers too.” She gave the class one last look. “We will work together as a class. You may have whatever resources we have in the art department, and if you need any more, I’ll do whatever I can to help you find them. And of course, you’ll need your imagination. To begin with, let’s divide up in pairs and brainstorm ideas. Any questions?”
No one spoke. Ms. Macmillan grinned. “Great. Let’s go. Find a partner and let’s see what ideas you come up with.”
Mandy chewed the end of her pencil. We’d agreed to work together. I couldn’t help thinking that, if nothing else, at least Mandy and I were friends again. It was one thing to be grateful for. Even if it currently felt a bit like two hopeless people hanging on to each other as they traipsed blindly through a dark scary night.
“This is a good thing,” I said.
Mandy raised an eyebrow. “What’s a good thing?” she asked miserably.
“This project. The fact that we have to come up with a way to change the world.”
Mandy raised her other eyebrow. “And that’s a good thing how, exactly?”
“Because that’s exactly what we need to do. It’s wha
t we want to do. Look, I made a wish — twice — to try to make things better. Both times, the wishes messed things up really badly.”
“OK . . .”
“They messed the world up really badly.”
“So you’re saying . . .”
“I’m saying we have a chance to come up with an idea to change the world. Keep it from getting messed up. On school time!”
“OK, yeah. It’s a good thing,” Mandy agreed. “So what’s your idea?”
“That’s the only problem,” I admitted. “I haven’t thought of one yet.”
Then Mandy said the thing I’d been trying to avoid saying, trying to avoid even thinking.
“What about the wishing stone?” she asked in a whisper. “You’ve got one more wish. Could you use it to help us come up with something?”
The thought turned my stomach to ice. Could I? I mean, it would be so easy to take the stone out of my pocket, right now, and wish for it to help us come up with an amazing idea to change the world. Maybe we’d win the competition at the same time!
But what if its “dark frame” took over again? What if it changed the world — but for the worse? What if it found a way of granting my wish that made things go wrong for everyone?
“I really don’t know,” I said to Mandy. “Maybe as a last resort, but let’s see if we can think of anything else first.”
Mandy looked relieved. “I agree,” she said.
I turned the elephant over and over in my hand as I thought. I liked the feel of it; it was comforting. I glanced around the class as I did it, watching everyone in their pairs, talking, scratching their heads, frowning.
“Another minute and then we’ll share our ideas,” Ms. Macmillan suddenly announced.
“Wait. That’s it!” I said to Mandy.
“That’s what?”
“Sharing our ideas. That’s what we need to do!”
“Ye-e-e-s. That’s what Ms. Macmillan has told us we’re doing,” Mandy said.
“Not just us,” I went on. “Not just our class, or our year, or even our school. We need to bring everyone together. We need to get Shiprock and Brightport to work together.”
I held the elephant out to Mandy. “Think about the elephant story. Each man only knew about one part of the elephant, so he only believed one part of the truth. That’s what keeps happening with these futures.”
“If you only focus on one part of it, you can never fix the whole of it,” Mandy murmured, finally getting where I was coming from.
I grinned. “Exactly! And we need to put all the truths together. Yours, mine, Shona’s, Shiprock’s, Brightport’s — everyone’s!”
Mandy laughed. “No pressure, then.”
I laughed back. “OK, maybe not every single person. But the kids. Maybe we could work with Shona’s class at Shiprock — come up with something together.”
As I said the words, I realized how much we needed to do it. Not just to change the world or win a competition. Not even just to bring Shiprock and Brightport together. Yes, those things would be fantastic if we could achieve them. But the core of my idea was something that had been at the heart of both wishes I’d made: Shona, Mandy, and I working together to create something beautiful. Whether or not it would change the world, I had no idea. What I did know was that it was the best way to fix the thing that I’d tried to mend with both of the wishes I’d made and ruined: our friendship.
“We make a piece of art together?” Mandy asked. “That’s what you’re saying?”
“Yeah,” I said nervously. “What do you think?”
Mandy smiled. “I think it’s great. We work with Shiprock to show what we can achieve together! That’s how we’ll change the world.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “And there’s something else, too.”
“You mean that isn’t enough?”
I shook my head. I’d had another thought. “We have to make the piece of art by Friday.”
“Friday? But Ms. Macmillan said we have a week.”
“But it’s not just about the competition,” I said. “We’re doing it to stop things before they go wrong.” I paused before continuing. “Each time I’ve made a wish, part of why it’s gone wrong has come back to the same thing, the same people.”
“Midas,” Mandy said.
“Yep. Their meeting is on Friday. We need to exhibit our piece of art at the same time as the meeting.”
“And make it so amazing that everyone will come to see us, and no one will go to the meeting.”
“Right. Then Midas won’t invest in the town,” I said.
“And they won’t get to destroy Brightport or Shiprock.”
“Exactly.”
Mandy looked deflated. “In other words, achieve the impossible,” she said.
I grinned at her. “Not impossible at all,” I said. “Especially when we already have you, me, and Shona on the case.”
“Shona? But she’s not even here.”
“No,” I agreed, “but she was in the future, too. She fell asleep with the friendship pebble in her hand, just like you did. Which means that hopefully she has come back from that time to the present as well.”
“And she’ll know how bad things will get if we don’t do something about it,” Mandy added.
“Correct.” I smiled. “So, are you in?”
At last, Mandy smiled back. “You bet I’m in,” she said.
And before I could talk myself out of it or wonder if I were doing the right thing, I’d put my hand in the air.
Ms. Macmillan nodded at me. “Yes, Emily?”
I stood up and cleared my throat. “Ms. Macmillan, this piece of art . . .” I began. I hesitated before going on. “If we want to change the world, we’d stand a better chance of doing it if we all worked together.”
“We will,” Ms. Macmillan replied. “We’re going to come together in a moment and share our ideas as a group.”
“No,” I pushed on. “I don’t mean just our class.” My heart thumped as I saw it all go past my eyes in a flash: my fears of being found out as a mermaid at the start of seventh grade; the gulf between the two communities; my desperate desire to fit back in at Brightport Junior High. And then I remembered something else — the way I’d felt at the end of my adventure on a pirate ship.
I thought I didn’t care what others thought of me, and that their opinions couldn’t hurt me. But I’d realized that that wasn’t completely true. I did care. I cared a lot. I cared what my friends thought. I cared how I treated them and how they treated me. I cared about Brightport, Shiprock — I cared about the whole planet! Being independent and strong didn’t mean not caring. It meant figuring out which things really mattered and which things didn’t. And I was in no doubt about what mattered right now.
“I think we should work with Shiprock School,” I said.
“Shiprock School?” Ms. Macmillan asked.
“It’s a —”
“It’s a school for merfolk.” Mandy had pushed her chair back and was standing up next to me. “Emily’s idea is that we work together, the two schools. And I agree.”
“We could talk to Shona,” I said. “I’m sure she’d get her class involved.”
“Who’s Shona?” Ms. Macmillan asked.
Before I had time to say anything, Mandy replied, “She’s one of our best friends.”
My heart swelled so much it felt as if it were going to burst out of me. I swallowed down the emotion and somehow managed to squeak, “If we really want to change the world, we need to do it together.”
There was a moment’s pause.
Then Julie Crossens stood up. “I agree,” she said. “I think it sounds like a great idea.”
I turned and gave Julie a grateful smile. She grinned broadly back at me.
“I think it sounds perfect.” I turned to see who’d spoken. It was Sherry Daniels. She was standing now.
Next up was Tammy Bayfield. “I’m in,” she said.
One by one, everyone in the class stood up and decl
ared their support for the idea.
Well, almost everyone. Aiden Harris was the only one still sitting down. Was he going to spoil it? Had we come this far only to let one person ruin it?
A moment later, he answered my unspoken questions. Kicking back his seat, he shrugged, then stood up, and said, “I’m in. Let’s change the world!”
Ms. Macmillan let a slow smile creep across her face. “Eighth-graders,” she said. “I could not be prouder. Come on, then. Get your thinking caps on, and let’s see what ideas we can come up with before we get Shiprock on board.”
As everyone gathered around, throwing out ideas, putting hands up, interrupting one another, talking over one another, laughing, teasing, and scribbling ideas down, I felt something stir inside me for the first time in days.
Hope.
It was later that day and I was on my way to Shiprock to see Shona.
My mind was still racing from the day’s events. Everyone had come out of art on a high. We had a plan. A great plan. An exciting plan.
I just needed two things. I needed Shona to have seen the future, too, so she would know how bad it was going to get and how important this was. And I needed her to persuade Shiprock to join up with us to put on an art display by the end of the week — which, when I thought about it, was a pretty big ask.
So I decided not to think about it. I forced my mind to go blank as I swam around the big rocks at the outer part of the town and across the wide space in the center. Two grown-up mermaids swam by, chatting to each other as they passed me, just like the last time I did this. It felt like a lifetime ago.
I smiled at the merbaby in the sling. I smiled at the older merman with the long beard. Then I reached the opening that led to the caves on the west side of Shiprock, where Shona lived.
Shona’s mom was swimming out of the entrance, like last time.
“Hey, Emily. I’m just heading out,” she said. “Shona’s inside. Go on in. She’d love to see you.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Silkfin,” I replied.
I swam inside, waiting for Shona to swim out to meet me, like last time, and tell me excitedly about her day.
