by Marie Arnold
“Hello, Gabrielle. I’m so glad you decided to come.”
I jump at the sound of Lady Lydia’s voice filling the darkness.
“No need to be scared,” she says. She whispers something to the ground, and a flame appears at once, giving us light. “There, that’s better, isn’t it? Now we have light and warmth. Would a bad witch do that?”
“Well, no . . . I don’t suppose so.”
“Exactly. I am nothing if not a sweet, kind woman who aims to help lost little girls like you—children who have come here from far away and want to fit into their new home. I want to help you with the teasing, the loneliness, the relentless struggle of trying to fit in.”
“How can you help me?”
“With this,” she says as she extends her hand to me. She’s holding a black and gold box. “Open it.”
My stomach is jumping up and down again.
Not now, stomach!
“If I open it, does that mean I am agreeing to something?” I ask.
“No. For us to make a deal, you will have to say the words. So, go ahead, open it.”
I look at the box. My heart is beating so fast that it’s gonna jump out of my chest at any moment. I’m frozen, not sure what to do.
“You came all this way, dear. You might as well see what I have for you . . .”
Okay, Gabrielle, you can do this. Just open the box. And if it’s something awful, like a dead raven or a beating heart, you can run away—fast!
I step closer. The wind wails, the snow whips all around, and the fire dims. I prepare for the horror that the box could hold. I take another step.
Lady Lydia says, “That’s it, come closer . . .”
I take the final step, place my hand on the box, and open it.
“A mango?”
“It’s not just any mango; it’s a Carabao. It’s the sweetest mango in the world.”
The mango has been sliced into three perfectly equal, juicy slices. The warm, sweet scent fills my nose and makes my mouth water.
“It smells delicious.”
“Yes, and it tastes even better,” she promises.
“But how can it help me?”
“You make a wish, and then eat a slice of mango. Whatever you wish will come true.”
“Do I have to eat the whole slice—can I just take a small bite if it’s a small wish?”
“No, for your wish to come true, you have to eat the entire slice of mango.”
“So I would get three wishes?” I ask.
“Exactly.”
I narrow my eyes and study the witch carefully. “And what will it cost me to make the wishes?”
“Nothing—well, almost nothing.”
I fold my arms over my chest like my parents do when they are about to ground me.
“Lady Lydia, don’t try to trick me. If I make a wish, what will it cost me?”
“Okay, fine. You will lose some small, insignificant thing. Something you won’t miss at all,” she says, avoiding eye contact.
“Like what?”
“You may lose a strand of your hair or maybe a sock. There’s really no way to say for sure.”
“Then I can’t say yes to this deal, not if I don’t know what it will cost me,” I reply. I start to walk away.
She suddenly appears before me and stands in my way. “Gabrielle, you misunderstand my intentions. As I’ve said before, I’ve helped many kids in your situation. But don’t take my word for it. Here, see for yourself,” she says as she waves her hand over the stream. On the surface of the water appear dozens of kids laughing and playing, from different parts of the world.
“You helped all of them?” I ask.
“Yes. This stream is a reminder of the good that I have done. I call this the home of a thousand laughs because, well . . . look at them. They are all blissfully happy, thanks to me. So, how about it, dear girl? Do you want to join them? Do you want to be happy? Or do you want to keep your life the way it is?”
“I . . . I need to think about it.”
What if Stephanie was here? What would she tell me to do? I know, she’d take my hand and drag me back home. She’d say it’s crazy to make a deal with a witch. She’d be right. She’s always right about this kind of stuff. But Stephanie’s not here. And I need friends . . .
“Here, perhaps this will help,” the witch says. She waves at the water, and suddenly the scene on the surface changes. The water is now reflecting me at school. I’m at school, playing with kids from my class. But they aren’t laughing at me. They are laughing with me. We’re all playing together. My chest aches. I want that. I want that so much.
“That can really happen?” I ask.
“Yes! You can wish your accent away. That alone will help you get friends.”
“And all I will lose is a small thing that I didn’t want anyway?”
“Yes, something very small.”
“I guess that’s fair . . .” I reply as I look inside the black box again.
“Now, there’s just one small, tiny thing I have to mention.”
My stomach flips again. I ignore it. “What is it?”
“It took some time to create this mango. I worked hard on it. And, well, it’s only fair that I get something out of it. Right?”
“I guess . . .”
“So, if you eat all three slices, I get to take something from you—your essence.”
“My what?”
“Exactly! You don’t even know what it is. Don’t worry about the details. So, we have a deal?”
I look down at the image in the stream. The kids at school, they like me. They actually like me! I know it’s just a spell Lady Lydia cast, but it could be real—it could all be real.
I feel something tap on my ankle, hard. “Ouch!” I cry out and look down—it’s Rocky. He shouts up at me. “Gabrielle, no! Don’t do it!”
I shoo him away. He continues to yell as he climbs up onto my shoulders. He pleads with me. I turn to him. “Rocky, I know what I’m doing. I have a plan.”
“Don’t do it!” he yells.
“I told you, I have a plan. I will only eat one slice; I’ll only make one wish. That way, she will never get my essence—whatever that is.”
“Do we have a deal?” Lady Lydia asks.
Rocky starts to argue, but I put my finger over his mouth. “Yes, Lady Lydia. We have a deal.”
I grab the box and race back home as fast as I can. I’m so happy; I don’t even feel the cold anymore. Rocky is following me. He’s mad at me for making a deal with a witch, but I promise him again that I know what I’m doing. I sneak back into the house. I’m glad that everyone is still asleep, because I don’t want to use my wish to get back in the house without being seen. I climb through the window and wave goodbye to Rocky. I get into bed and smile to myself. Tomorrow, everything in my life will change . . .
Chapter Six
Almost Like Magic
THE SUNLIGHT BEAMS DOWN on my bed. I sit up quickly and get ready for school. I’ll make my wish right before I get to the bus stop. That means the faster I eat breakfast, the faster I can go make my wish.
“Gabrielle, chew,” my aunt says.
“Yeah, why are you in such a hurry to get to school? I heard they tease you even worse than before,” Kayla says.
“Is that true? Is it getting worse?” my uncle asks as he adds yet another coat to the two he already has on.
“Don’t worry about it. I can handle it,” I reply.
“Gabrielle, this is very serious. We have to go down to your school and talk to your teachers about this,” my aunt says.
“Would that mean missing work?” my uncle asks, his face wrinkled with concern.
In a Haitian family, missing work is almost a crime. If you lost a leg or an arm, they would still expect you to go to work. My mom said she went back to work an hour after giving birth to me. I’m not sure that’s true, but what I do know is that, like with school, missing work is unacceptable.
And if my uncle has to take
time off work to help me out at school, he’ll lose money. His job won’t pay him for that day. And the same will happen with my aunt. I would feel so bad if they had to give up a day of work just for me. Also, them coming to my school would only make the kids tease me more. Besides, I have already fixed the problem—I hope.
“They were bothering me at first, but I think that’s over with. You don’t have to come. If it’s still a problem, I’ll let you know, okay?”
My aunt and uncle exchange a look. I hold my breath. After a silence that lasts forever, my aunt says, “Okay, but if the bullying doesn’t stop, tell us right away, promise?”
“Promise,” I reply. I quickly swallow the last of my oatmeal, kiss the twins goodbye, and head out the door.
Once I am across the street from the bus stop, I pause. If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what I’ll do. I can’t take any more teasing. And I can’t take being so lonely all the time.
“Well, aren’t you gonna cross the street?” someone says behind me.
“Hi, Rocky,” I reply without having to look down. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, you helped me rebuild my house, which makes us friends. And even though I don’t think you should trust the witch, I hope you get what you want. I hope you get to belong.”
“Really? Thank you.”
“Did you make the wish already?” he asks.
“No, not yet. I’m about to,” I reply as I look around for a private place.
“Let’s go there!” Rocky says. I follow him to a small alleyway across the street from the bus stop.
I open my bookbag and take out the black box. Inside the box are three glowing slices of mango. Rocky looks worried. “Rocky, I don’t need socks. So it’s okay to make this wish, because I won’t really be losing anything important.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says, with his eyes glued to the mango slice in my hand.
“I wish to lose my Haitian accent and speak perfect English.” I put the mango slice in my mouth and bite down. It’s even sweeter and juicier than I thought. I feel the burst of flavor in my mouth, and my cheeks get warm. Suddenly, a chill passes through me. I don’t know what it means; maybe it means the wish is happening.
“How do you feel?” Rocky asks.
“Um . . . okay, I guess,” I reply.
“You want to try speaking English with me?” Rocky asks.
“You’re an animal, you guys understand every language,” I point out. “I want to try on someone who only speaks English.”
Actually, I want to start with the word that is hardest for me. The word that Tianna and her dolphins always tease me about. I walk out of the alley and march up to the kids waiting in line for the bus. And in a small, uncertain voice, I squeak out one word: “bathroom.”
Oh. My. Gosh.
It came out right! Normally, it always comes out “bafroom.” But this time it came out right!
There was no awful, thick accent. It came out in perfect English!
I run back over to Rocky, who’s hiding behind a mailbox. “Bathroom! Bathroom! Bathroom!” I shout, laughing. Rocky and I are dancing together. I’m so happy, I’m pretty sure our feet never touch the ground.
“All right, I’m gonna go back over there and try other words.”
“Which words?” Rocky asks.
“All of them.”
“Whoa . . .”
I run back toward the bus stop. And the first person I speak to is the girl who tried to help me up when I fell.
“Hi, I’m Gabrielle. What’s your name?”
Every word that comes out of my mouth the better my English sounds. No trace of my accent. The girl looks shocked. “Hi, I’m Carmen. I wanted to say hi before, but I wasn’t sure you’d understand me.”
“Why not?” I ask with a big smile. “I speak English very well. Actually, I’m kind of an expert.”
“Wow, you learned English so fast! It took me forever!”
“Where are you from?” I ask.
“Mexico. How about you?”
“You know, here and there. Hey, you wanna sit together?”
“Yeah, sure,” she replies. We get on the bus and sit side by side. The other kids are shocked and listen in as Carmen and I have a conversation. No one is more stunned than Tianna and her dolphins. She glares at me as the other kids start to join in our conversation. She’s boiling mad that no one is teasing me. I smile. I look out the window of the bus and wink at Rocky as the bus drives away.
* * *
The wish worked even better than I thought. I’m speaking English like I was born in America. I don’t know most English words; I know them all. And for the first time since coming to America, I have a friend. Carmen is nice and very funny. She tells me about sneaking up behind her mom and taking cookies. She’s so good at it that her mom thinks they have a ghost.
When the bus lets us out at school, I rush inside with my new friend. Someone calls out my name. I turn around.
“Hi, Mrs. Bartell.”
“Gabrielle, your accent is so much lighter now.”
“I’ve been practicing so I could improve,” I reply.
“You’ve more than improved. Your English is perfect,” she says, raising her eyebrows.
“You know me, practice, practice.” I giggle nervously. I feel a bead of sweat form on my forehead. My heart has decided it would do better outside my body.
“You’re sweating and fidgeting. Are you okay?” she asks.
I nod. And then, to really sell it, I smile.
She says something in a different language; it sounds familiar but I don’t know what she actually said. I stare back at her.
She repeats it again. Nothing. So she tries it in English, “Gabrielle, I want to show you something.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Didn’t you understand when I said it to you in Haitian Creole?” she asks in English.
“Yeah, of course I did. I just wasn’t paying attention.” I grin and tell her to lead the way. She makes a face but then starts down the hall.
I follow her; we go into the library. At the center of the room, there’s a giant gold and silver map on display. It’s in a large frame and has writing on the edges.
“A map?” I ask.
“Yes, we just got it in this morning.”
“It’s nice. I gotta go!” I reply, but before I can take off, she stops me.
“This map gave me an idea. In a few weeks, it will be Culture Day. That’s the day that all the students get to talk about where their families are from. Some kids write a report, but others do presentations. I thought when it’s your turn to go on stage and talk about Haiti, you could use this map to show people where Haiti is located.”
“Um . . . I’m not sure.”
“There could be more to your presentation than this map. You could bring in a dish from Haiti to share with the class. Maybe sing the national anthem. Or show us old family pictures. What do you think?”
“Mrs. Bartell, that’s nice and everything, but . . . I don’t want to do a presentation for Culture Day.”
She sighs and looks down on the floor. I don’t understand why she’s reacting this way. What kid would want everyone to know they are new to America? I just want to fit in, and now that I have, no way I’m standing up in front of the school and announcing to everyone that I’m not from here.
“Mrs. Bartell, are you mad at me?”
“Oh no, of course not.” She smiles sadly and asks me to sit at the reading table along with her. “I know how hard it can be to fit in. And I just wanted you to know that fitting in doesn’t mean you throw away who you are.”
I sigh and roll my eyes.
“That’s rude, Gabrielle!”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Bartell, I really am. But when the kids know you are from a different place, everyone picks on you. Culture Day sounds more like ‘torment day.’ Sorry, I’ll do the homework, but I won’t get up there and speak. And I definitely won’t be using the giant map. Can
I go now?”
She sighs again. “Yes, you can go.”
“Thank you!” I grab my stuff.
“Gabrielle?”
“Yes?”
“I miss it.”
“What?”
“My accent. It took years to go away, and when I was little, that’s all I wanted it to do—go away. But sometimes I find myself missing it. I think you’re going to miss your accent too.”
“No, never.”
“You lost it rather . . . quickly. It’s almost like magic.”
I laugh—too hard. “Mrs. Bartell, you’re so funny! How can anyone use magic to lose their accent? That’s crazy.”
“Yes, it would involve seeking out a witch, and we both know that’s not a good idea. Don’t we?”
“Y-y-yeah,” I reply, then I swallow hard and start to walk away.
She calls out, “Gabrielle, fé atansyon.”
I turn back. “What?”
“That’s Haitian. It means be careful,” she says slowly.
“Oh yeah. I knew that. I just didn’t hear you. Bye, Mrs. Bartell.”
* * *
For the first time since I came to America, my classes are easy. I don’t sit in the corner hoping to fade into the wall. I don’t silently pray that the teacher doesn’t call on me to read out loud. And best of all, I don’t feel like everyone is making fun of my accent. Instead of dreading class time, today I am excited about it.
“Who would like to read the first passage from your homework assignment?” my teacher asks. My hand shoots up in the sky. My teacher is surprised. “Gabrielle, you would like to read for us out loud?”
“Yes, Ms. Stevens. I would.”
She nods to me. I stand up.
“You don’t need to stand up,” she says.
“Yeah, I kind of do—this is a big moment.”
She smiles and says, “Well then, by all means—please carry on.”
I open the book and read out loud. I don’t have to chase my words and beg them to come out correctly. I don’t have to work triple hard on my pronunciation. Everything just flows together beautifully. When I am done reading, the teacher stands there with her mouth open. The class nods. Carmen tells me I did a good job.