Princess BMX

by Marie Basting

  Ethan glared at the woman. She laughed and blew him a kiss. ‘Mwah! Well, I’d love to stay and chat but I have better things to do.’ She faked a yawn. ‘Like watching paint dry.’

  ‘Off you go then,’ Ethan said, waving. ‘Don’t forget to take your broomstick with you.’

  I looked around for a broomstick, but then I remembered there was no magic here. Ethan was insulting her! The woman laughed, a tinkly laugh like unicorn bells. She smoothed down her perfectly straight fringe. Her hair was black and shiny like mine but cut short around her chin.

  ‘A broomstick, now wouldn’t that be a marvellous way to avoid the rush hour. What do you think, Avariella?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Don’t answer. I don’t have time to waste listening to people answering my questions. Our favourite espresso bar shuts at three. Elvis gets terribly grumpy if he doesn’t get his coffee fix.’ She held her hand out like she wanted me to shake it but then pulled it away again. ‘Mmm, best not. Last time I touched a child I got a terrible rash. Lovely to meet you, darling. I’m sure our cycle paths will cross again.’

  Ethan bent down and picked his bike up, his eyes still on the woman and her ratty dog. ‘Who was that?’

  I shrugged. How was I supposed to know?

  ‘Oh, I thought you knew her. She knew your name.’

  A shiver ran down my spine like someone had just told me a ghost story. He was right. She did.

  ‘Maybe she heard you say it?’ I said.

  Ethan didn’t look convinced. ‘You sure you’re OK?’

  I wiped the dirt from my elbow. Blood oozed from the graze.

  ‘Come on. Let’s go and see Mum.’

  Guess what! It turns out Ethan’s mum runs the café in the park. Her name is Kaye and she is like so nice – or as Ethan would say, totally chill. Can you believe it? He introduced me to her and I didn’t even have to wash my hands and face first!

  ‘And who’s this,’ she said when we entered the café. ‘I’ve not seen you before. Does your mum know you’re hanging about with reprobates like Ethan?’

  Ethan rolled his eyes.

  ‘I’m Avariella,’ I said. ‘I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you too,’ Kaye said, pinching her lips together like she was trying not to laugh.

  ‘Ava’s not from round here.’

  ‘I see. Sit down, love.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, trying not to stare at her cropped red hair – lots of women in the Other World had short hair. What was that all about?

  ‘Ava’s hurt her arm,’ Ethan said. ‘Can we have the first-aid box.’

  ‘Of course.’ Kaye rubbed my shoulder and disappeared behind a tall glass-fronted counter containing a few sad-looking cakes even Doreen would have turned her nose up at. Behind the counter there was a menu board – Jen’s Kitchen, it said at the top. I wondered who Jen was.

  Ethan pulled a metal chair out for me and we sat down. The café wasn’t much bigger than the caravan Aunt Maude lived in but it was a lot less interesting. The walls were bare and white, and apart from the menu board, the only decoration was a crinkled poster advertising ice cream.

  ‘There you go.’ Kaye put a green plastic box down on the table. ‘Where did the sun go?’

  Ethan looked out at the rain beating against the window. ‘I may as well come home with you then, Mum. Can we have lasagne for tea?’ He opened the box and took out a little white packet which he tore open with his teeth. Like, ow! Tears pricked my eyes as I wiped my cuts with the stingy little cloth he gave me.

  ‘Sorry, love,’ Kaye said. ‘But I’m going to be late again – another shift’s come up at the pub.’

  Ethan rooted in the box and handed me a plaster, trying his best not to look at Kaye.

  ‘I know it’s the third night in a row, but with the hoover giving out we really need the money.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Ethan said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘I’ve got loads of homework to do anyway.’

  Kaye ruffled Ethan’s hair. ‘Such a good boy.’

  ‘Get off me!’ Ethan pushed her hand away but he was smiling.

  ‘How about a milkshake? Heaven knows, young Ava here looks like she needs one.’ Kaye walked off towards the counter. Stopping to clear the coffee cups from one of the tables, she stretched out her shoulders and yawned.

  Ethan shook his head and turned away.

  I wanted to ask him more about his mum and why she had to work so hard, but a princess is not expected to pry. Plus, I was pretty sure he didn’t want to talk. He’d taken his rectangle out of his pocket and was tapping it with his thumbs. They all seemed to have these strange rectangles here. I leant over the table, trying to get a better view of it.

  Kaye plonked a glass down in front of me. ‘You kids and your phones,’ she said. ‘Don’t know how to talk to each other any more.’

  I ran my finger down the glass, chasing the dribbles of rich, chocolatey milk that had swooshed over the top. Yumtastic or what! ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘That really is most generous. Chocolate is my favourite.’

  ‘Ethan’s too.’ Kaye’s warm smile made me strangely sad. ‘Such lovely manners,’ she said, tucking Ethan’s label into his red T-shirt. ‘You look out for this one, son. She’s special, I can tell.’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’ Ethan handed me his phone-rectangle thingy. ‘Hey, Ava, check this flair out.’

  Like, no way, there were moving pictures of a man on a BMX doing a backflip. It was like looking into a crystal gazer only the images were clearer. No wonder people were always staring at these things.

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Rad Tyreless, X-Games Big Air gold medal winner for the last three years.’

  ‘Can you do that on your BMX?’

  Ethan laughed. ‘I wish.’ He took a slurp of milkshake, swooshing the straw around his glass to make the milk froth. ‘I’m more into racing really . . . or at least I used to be.’

  ‘Used to be?’

  ‘Yes, when Dad was here to take me to the meets.’

  I sipped my drink. The froth had disappeared and the surface was flat and murky. Should I ask Ethan about his dad? It seemed like something a friend would do, but I wasn’t sure and he was already looking at his phone again. He scrolled through the pictures of people riding BMX.

  ‘I’ve been thinking of starting again,’ he said without looking up from the screen. ‘I mean, dude, I’m old enough to take myself to meets now, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, even though I wasn’t sure if that was the right answer. ‘So why don’t you.’

  A chair scraped on the tiled floor. There was a man at the table next to us with a small child. He took the boy’s coat off and gave him a book to look at.

  Ethan stared at the man wistfully. He leant back in his chair and sighed. ‘How about you?’ he said, looking at my elbow. ‘Still want to ride BMX?’

  Still want to ride BMX?

  Do I! I mean, riding a bike is the best thing ever. I’d never felt so free. And I actually think I could be good at BMX. Ethan thought so too. He said, next time I came to the park he’d show me some tricks. Which is like brill – better than brill even. Except he also said I should wear proper clothes, something that covered my knees and arms.

  And he was right. It wasn’t just the getting hurt – I needed to blend in more. I didn’t want people asking any more questions. People like that rude woman in the funny boots. I’d seen her again when I was walking back along the river. Would you believe, her dog did a poo and she didn’t even pick it up?

  ‘Ava, are we playing chess or not?’ Bertie poked his head round the door of his walk-in closet.

  ‘I suppose, if we have to.’

  I screwed up Bertie’s fencing tights and threw them on the floor below the endless rails of knickerbockers. I’d tried them on because they were the closest thing to those stretchy Other World trousers I could think of, but they were far too small and forest-green really wasn’t my colour.

>   Bertie tutted. ‘Of course, we don’t have to. But if anyone should master this fine art, it’s you. Chess is a most excellent tool for teaching sustained concentration and perseverance.’

  What is it with my brother? He’s eight and he talks like a professor.

  Bertie threw his leg over his tortoise-stool and sat down on the cushion fitted into the recess of its shell. The tortoise poked its head out and waddled over to the felt-topped games table in the bay window. I’d been so jealous when Mum gave Bertie the giant tortoise – a walking seat and a pet combined in one, what’s not to like? But then Mum had brought in my present – Jeb – and I forgot all about wanting a tortoise-seat.

  Bertie straightened his gleaming chessboard – he’d obviously been polishing it again. ‘What’s with the sudden interest in fencing anyway?’ He looked at my arm. ‘My goodness, are you being bullied? Was it Simone?’

  Simone is Cook’s granddaughter. She helps out in the kitchen sometimes. We used to play together until Dad suddenly decided we weren’t allowed to any more. Now whenever Simone sees me, she pulls a face like a baboon sucking a lemon.

  I shrugged and sat down opposite Bertie, staring at the rain. Jeb jumped down off the bed and curled up at my feet. I tickled him with my toes. What was with the weather? It hardly ever rained in Biscotti, but this afternoon the sky had been heavy with billowing black clouds that shifted and churned like candyfloss in the confectioner’s machine. It was almost like the storm had followed me back from Camden.

  ‘See,’ Bertie said. ‘I told you the sky must burst at some point. Science dictates it.’

  I nodded. Yep, it had burst all right. Big-style. Just before tea when I was playing down at the moat with Jeb. Periwinkle had gone ballistic when we trampled mud into the hall. He’s someone else who will never join my fan club. Oh well, at least I have Jeb . . . and chocolate.

  I rubbed the rim of my magic pot. ‘Lime,’ I said, tapping the spoon against the copper surface three times.

  The bottom of the pot filled with a rich, citrus-scented liquid. There was a bang and a cloud of steam rose into the air, leaving behind a perfect lime truffle.

  ‘Heaven,’ said Bertie, grabbing the truffle and biting into the crispy chocolate shell.

  I tutted and made another. It was a good job the enchanted pot only worked for its owner or my brother would be the size of a prize hog.

  ‘Make your move then.’ Bertie pointed a chocolatey finger at the chessboard.

  ‘Actually, I’m really tired. I think I’m going to have an early night.’

  Bertie’s lip curled downwards. ‘But you never go to bed early.’

  I stared at the map of the seven realms on his wall. I felt bad not playing with Bertie, but for once I needed to be alone. My head was so full of bikes and the strange world I’d visited, I didn’t have room for anything else. Especially something double boring like chess.

  Bertie leant across the table. ‘Are you sure you’re not being bullied? By Jove, I’ll set the knights on her.’

  ‘Nobody is bullying me, Bertie,’ I said, standing up and walking past the bookshelf packed with leather-bound encyclopedias and study guides. I couldn’t tell him the truth. He was such a goody-goody, he was bound to snitch on me.

  ‘Goodnight then.’ Bertie pretended to concentrate on putting the chess set away, but I could see him watching me under his curly fringe.

  It wasn’t really his fault, the way he acted. He spent too much time with Dad. There were certain expectations for Bertie too. He was just better at meeting them.

  ‘Goodnight,’ I said, turning the door handle. ‘Maybe we can play chess tomorrow.’

  I switched the hanger on the door knob to ‘Princess Sleeping’ and shut my bedroom door behind me. Think, Ava. Think. There must be some way to get the things I needed to ride the BMX again. There had to be. I put the magic chocolate pot on the bed and, almost tripping over Jeb, who was lying on the rug gnawing his dragon-claw chew, pulled my fairy tale book from the shelf. I flicked to the story about the Land Magic Forgot and stared at the picture of the high street.

  All those shops. Maybe I could trade something to get the things I needed? My magic pot must be worth loads more than those funny trousers. I picked up the little pot and polished it on my sleeve, doubt fizzing in my throat. It was a christening present from Zana, my godmother. That and the ring . . .

  The ring! That was it. I rummaged under my bed for my ballerina jewellery box. Maybe I didn’t have to say goodbye to the pot after all. I lifted the lacquer lid and the tiny ballerina sprang to life.

  She stretched and began to perform a dance in time with the tinkly music. I’ve always felt sorry for the boxed ballerina-fairy. I wanted to release her but Dad said we couldn’t interfere with fairy law and she had to earn her freedom.

  ‘Fetch the wish ring please, ballerina.’

  There was a flash of light and the ballerina lifted the ring up above her head like a strongman lifting a dumbbell.

  ‘There you go, duck,’ she said in a voice that belonged more to a seven-foot mountain troll than to a tiny fairy. ‘Now do you remember how to use it?’

  I nodded, but the ballerina continued to tell me anyway. Then she laid into all the reasons why my wish probably wouldn’t be granted. I shut my jewellery box. She knocked angrily on the lid but eventually went back to sleep.

  I held the ring up to the brass oil lamp. Light danced from the turquoise crystal like it was alive. Of course I remembered how to use it. I’d been building up to this all my life. But I’d never had a wish the Fairy Council were likely to consider worthy before. You probably don’t want to hear this, but the whole three-wish thing –

  well, it works differently in real life. You can’t just wish for anything. I mean, this is Biscotti – my dad’s in charge – wishes aren’t supposed to be fun. Oh no, there are rules and regulations which are monitored by the Fairy Council. Rule number 167893 states: a wish will only be granted if it’s pure, sustainable and comes from the heart.

  Yes, I know, gobbledegook. I have no idea what that means either. Nobody does. This is why the wish granters have wishometers. Don’t ask me how they work – if I understood magic I’d wish up my own BMX gear. But I did know that if I wanted my godmother to grant my wish, I would have to set her wishometer off.

  I slipped the ring on my finger. Closing my eyes, I rubbed the crystal and wished: please give me the things I need to blend in and ride BMX in the Other World.

  Nothing.

  I squeezed my eyelids together and wished again. I kept them closed for ages, waiting for the flash of light, the coloured smoke or Zana’s husky voice.

  Still nothing.

  That familiar empty feeling rose up from the pit of my stomach. I touched the graze on my elbow and thought of all the reasons why I needed to ride that bike. How it made me feel, free and light like a dragon flying high above the Apollonian Mountains. And how I needed to see Ethan. To have a friend all of my own. A proper friend who actually thought I might be good at something for once.

  And Ethan needed a friend too. I just knew it.

  I wished again.

  They say be careful what you wish for, but nobody warns you to be careful who you wish for. Trust me, they should. This was not exactly a dream-come-true kind of moment. I’d almost given up on the wish when the candelabra above my bed shook and something silver thudded to the floor. It looked like a giant turkey wrapped in tinfoil. Jeb jumped up from the rug, the fur on his neck rising. He barked at the turkey which was now spinning like a manic tornado.

  When the spinning eventually stopped, I could see the turkey was actually a man. An extremely tall man wearing a silver jumpsuit with a lime-green fur collar. His army boots pounding on the wooden floor, he walked over and flashed his identity badge at me: Officer of the Fairy Council.

  ‘Oh, it’s you!’ he said, scratching his stubbly chin. ‘Zana warned me you might be an early developer.’ He poked me with his moon-topped wand. ‘Spirited, she
said. You don’t look spirited to me. You look like a maggot.’

  ‘I beg your pardon—’

  ‘Whatever. Now shut that furball up and let’s get this over with. As if I ’aven’t ’ad enough to deal with today, what with folks getting spooked by the storm left right and centre.’

  I picked Jeb up. Like, who was this awful man?

  ‘Late for me tea, I was.’ He took a notebook the size of an encyclopedia out of his pocket. ‘Missus had grilled some lovely squirrel too.’

  ‘Like, who even are—’

  ‘Don’t turn yer nose up at me, Maggot. We can’t all eat swan and live in a castle.’

  ‘You’re frightfully rude,’ I said, trying to sound royal and commanding. ‘And I would never eat swan. Now where’s Zana?’

  ‘Retired. Her bunions kept playing up. Her and her sisters packed it in at the same time, lazy old hags. Gone to a retirement home in another realm. Good riddance, I say. I’m in charge of yer wishes now. The name’s Nigel, but you can call me the Godfather.’

  The Godfather swatted a fly away from his bald head. He had ears like the pitta breads I’d seen in Kaye’s café. They were huge.

  ‘Right, name.’

  ‘Avariella Petulia Winifred Pandoro D’Allessandro of Biscotti.’

  The Godfather sniggered. ‘Yes, ’ere you are.’

  His book flicked open to a page with my picture on it. The pale blue marks on the page grew darker to reveal a load of swirly writing.

  ‘Ooh, I don’t like this one bit. Says here I’m to give you a BMX, appropriate clothing and safety gear and whatever else you need to go off and play hooky with your mate in the Other World.’ He shook his wrist. The thick strap on his wishometer was made out of the same lime-green fur as his collar. ‘Must be something wrong with me gauge,’ he said, tapping the glass. He looked at me like I’d just stolen his last chocolate. ‘Oh, this is way beyond my pay scale.’

  Mumbling to himself, the Godfather took a tiny blue crystal ball out of his pocket and rubbed it. Holding the crystal in his palm, he began to speak. A squeaky voice spoke back. Unfortunately, they were talking Aorphnian, the language of the magically gifted, so I couldn’t understand them. I twisted my fingers through Jeb’s fur, trying not to stare at the Godfather’s ears.