by Liz Kessler
“You choose first,” I said, pushing the tray in front of Robyn. I knew it wouldn’t make anything any better, but it was all I had to offer.
It wasn’t until we’d finished lunch and were on our way back through the forest that we got to talk again.
“Sorry for going on and on earlier,” Robyn said. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Don’t apologize. I feel — I don’t know, I guess kind of honored that you shared it with me,” I said, “if that doesn’t sound too stupid.”
Robyn smiled. “It doesn’t sound stupid at all. It sounds nice. Thank you.”
We walked along in silence. It’s funny how many different kinds of silence there are. This was one that we were in together, sharing, with everyone else on the outside.
“You know, I haven’t talked about my mom with anyone,” Robyn said after a while.
“Haven’t you got a best friend?” I asked, half hoping she’d say yes, because I didn’t like to think of her being lonely, but half hoping she’d say no, because already I liked the idea of being special — even if it was selfish of me to think like that.
Robyn shook her head. “Not really. There’s a group of us. We get along really well and hang out together. We go shopping, talk about music and movies and clothes.” She made a face.
“What?”
“I don’t know — just it’s not really me. Sometimes I feel like I’m acting a part that they want me to play. They think that’s who I am, so I go along with it. Do you know what I mean?”
I nodded, feeling guilty that I’d thought all those things about her, too.
“I kind of lost two best friends this year,” I said. “I could talk to both of them, in different ways. Now I just have friends that I hang out with, and I miss having someone I can share all my secrets with.”
“It sucks, doesn’t it?”
I thought for a moment. “I know it’s nothing like losing your mom, but I think I can understand a little bit about how it feels when someone close to you goes out of your life.”
I told her about Charlotte, about how we’d been friends since nursery school, and how I’d been convinced that we’d be best friends for ever, and how it felt as though someone were chopping off a limb when she moved away.
“But the last time I saw her, it was like we were in different worlds — like we’d never even been best friends in the first place.”
Robyn nodded. “It sounds horrible.”
“It was.”
“You said you’d lost two best friends. What happened to the other one?”
I thought about Daisy. I’d only just met Robyn, and even though I felt as if I could talk to her about anything, telling her I’d become best friends with a fairy who’d granted me three wishes was probably pushing it!
“Oh, that was just someone who lived nearby for a while,” I lied, trying to sound casual. “She wasn’t really my best friend. She didn’t stay around long enough.”
“But you wish she had?” Robyn asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I do.”
I really wanted to talk about Daisy. I had the feeling Robyn would believe me and understand — or maybe it was just a hope. Either way, I didn’t want to lose my new friend the moment I’d met her by confessing I was about to turn twelve and still believed in fairies! Well, I didn’t just believe in them; I knew they were real. But that’s not the kind of thing most girls my age would go along with, and even though I didn’t think Robyn would laugh at me like Charlotte had done, I couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t worth the risk.
I decided to change the subject. There was something else I’d been wondering about.
“So how long have you known Annie?” I asked. “You seem really close.”
Robyn kicked her way through a huge pile of leaves. “I’ve known her all my life. She used to be Mom’s best friend.”
“Your dad doesn’t seem to like her very much.”
“That’s the understatement of the year!” Robyn said with a dry laugh. “Something happened after Mom died. I’ve never really understood what. One day we were all friends. The next, they had a huge argument and I was almost banned from having anything to do with her.”
“That sounds awful.”
“It was awful. Annie’s like an aunt to me. She’s always been there. Dad says she’s not what she seems.”
“What does he mean?”
“I don’t know. He won’t tell me. Just tells me to keep away from her. So I have to be careful about it when I see her. I know how angry Dad gets about it, and I hate making him angry. He’s had enough to deal with in the last year.”
“You sound like me,” I said.
“How do you mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Like you’re so busy trying to keep everyone else happy that you can forget about yourself sometimes.”
“I guess so.”
“Wow, look at this!” Mom and Dad had stopped in front of a huge gong hanging between two trees. Drumsticks made from branches were propped up in front of it.
“This is great,” Robyn said. “You have to hit the gong, then turn and stand with your back to it for the best effect.” She handed me one of the drumsticks. “Try it.”
I hit the gong and turned around. I was looking out across the rows and rows of trees. The sound echoed and vibrated through the trees. It felt like a heartbeat, coming through me and snaking around the whole forest.
“That’s completely amazing!” I said when the vibrations had finally subsided.
“Good, isn’t it?”
We walked on ahead, standing to the side as Mom and Dad each took a turn at the gong.
“Do you think your dad and Annie will ever be friends again?” I asked, stopping next to a tree while we waited.
Robyn leaned back against the tree beside mine and pulled on a piece of loose bark. “I don’t know. He won’t even tell me what it’s about. I’ve asked him lots of times, but even mentioning her name gets him angry, so I’ve given up. I can’t imagine what she’s done. All she ever did was be a friend to Mom — to all of us, really. She and Mom were so close they were like sisters.”
“Perhaps she reminds him of your mom too much or something.”
“I’ve thought that, too. But I don’t think that’s it. It’s — oh, I don’t know.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Just, I think there’s something more to it. They were OK at first, then he went to see her shortly after Mom died. He came back that night more angry than I’ve ever seen him. He was like a volcano on the brink of erupting. Things changed after that. He told her she was never to come over again.”
“And he stopped you from going to see her?”
“He tried, but I kicked up such a fuss that he finally compromised on that one. I said whatever had happened between them was their business, but he couldn’t stop me from seeing her if I wanted to.”
“And he agreed?”
“Well, not exactly. He didn’t ban me, but he’s made it clear he doesn’t like it.” Robyn grimaced. “As you probably noticed.”
“I wonder what they argued about.”
“Me, too. All I know is it must have been something really big. It’s like he can’t forgive her for something. I just don’t know what she’s done.”
“It sounds horrible.”
Robyn scrunched up her face as she pulled harder on the bark. “I’ve gotten used to it,” she said.
I wasn’t convinced.
“Come on, chatterboxes!” Mom called to us. They’d finished playing the gong and had set off down the path. We’d been so deep in our conversation that neither of us had noticed.
“Actually, that was kind of a lie,” Robyn said as we ambled along, keeping a little distance between us and my parents. I wanted to keep Robyn to myself for now.
“About you being used to it?”
Robyn nodded.
“I thought so.”
“You know, sometimes I miss him almost as much as I miss my mom. D
oes that make sense?”
I thought about Charlotte. “You miss how he used to be, how things used to be between you,” I said. “It’s like the person you used to know isn’t there anymore.”
“That’s exactly what I mean!” She stopped and stared at me. “You really understand me, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I hope so. I’d like to.”
“I think you do. I’m not used to it.” Robyn started walking again, kicking into a bundle of leaves that someone had piled up beside the path.
“Is that OK?” I asked. “You don’t mind?”
“No, it’s great,” she said with a smile. Then that faraway look crossed over her face again. “My mom understood me — and now she’s gone. And Annie gets me — but I hardly ever get to spend time with her.”
I didn’t have a chance to respond, since we’d caught up with Mom and Dad. Mom was waiting for us on the path; Dad had gone to the edge to take some photos. I didn’t realize we’d come so far up.
“Just thought we’d sit down and take in the view,” Mom said. “You two can go ahead if you like.”
“We’ll wait, too,” I said. Mom joined Dad on a bench, and we went over to a grassy clearing a little bit away from them so we could keep talking. Below us, we could see the tops of the trees, standing so straight and tall and thin — and bare. Half of them had already lost their leaves; the others still had some from halfway down, like skimpy grass skirts around their middles.
“It’s nice talking to you,” Robyn said, spreading her coat on the ground so she could sit on it. “Sometimes I guess I just feel lonely.”
She leaned back on her elbows and stared up at the sky, as if she were looking for something long lost. Her eyes were so sad; they were like deep, dark pools filled with all the tears in the world. But they had a kind of hardness too, like a thin sheen of ice lying still on the surface of black water. Thick enough to separate you from what was below, keep it away from you, but thin enough that if you weren’t careful you could slip through it and be lost forever.
“Do you believe there’s anything up there?” she asked, breaking my thoughts.
Up there? Could I say it? Could I tell her that I believed there were fairies? That I knew there were fairies, in a place called ATC? That one of them was the best friend I’d mentioned earlier? I thought again about Charlotte and how she always reacted to me when I talked about anything like that: all the ways that she would prove that my theories were nonsense, how she’d tell me I was bonkers and laugh at me. Most girls my age would do the same. No, I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t want to run the risk of Robyn thinking I was completely crazy.
“Like what?” I asked with a shrug.
She shrugged back. “I dunno. Heaven?”
Just as well I hadn’t said anything, then. Heaven. Normal stuff! The kind of “up there” people were officially allowed to believe in! Except Mom and Dad had never been big on things like heaven, so I’d never really believed in it, either.
I was about to reply when she added, “Or something?” She turned her sad eyes on me.
“What kind of something?” I asked, holding my breath while I waited for her to reply.
She shook her head. “I really don’t know. I get this feeling sometimes — it’s so real I can almost touch it. Then it goes away, and I tell myself I imagined it. Dad always tries to laugh it off when I tell him about it.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I said, thinking of Charlotte again.
She kept staring up at the clouds, as though they might reveal something that would answer her questions. “Do you know what, though?” she said. “I don’t believe he really laughs it off. I think he knows something.”
“Knows something? What kind of something?”
Robyn let out a long sigh. “I don’t know. Sometimes I catch him staring at the sky, and I think he sees it, too.”
“Has he ever said anything?”
She shook her head and pulled on the grass. “No way. He never talks about anything except work. He’s not going to suddenly start discussing some sort of magical beings in the sky!”
“Is that what you think it is?” I breathed, my hopes raised. Magic! She did believe in something — she would believe me about Daisy!
Robyn flushed instantly. “Well, no, not really. Not literally, obviously. It’s just a turn of phrase,” she said. Then she got up and picked up her coat. “Come on,” she said, the wall up again with me on the outside. “We’d better get going, or my dad’ll start wondering what’s happened to me.”
I got up and followed along behind her. Mom and Dad had gotten up too, and we set off back along the path. Robyn walked close to my parents, pointing out sculptures and telling them about the birds she’d seen in the forest. I didn’t get another chance to talk to her until we were almost at the end of the path. She was still chatting away to Mom and Dad when I’d had enough.
“Robyn, your shoelace is undone,” I said.
She stopped to check her boots. Mom and Dad kept on walking.
“It’s fine,” Robyn said.
She was about to set off when I grabbed her arm. “Wait.”
Robyn looked at me. “What is it?”
I shook my head and waited till Mom and Dad were out of earshot, then I let go of her arm and we started walking slowly along. “I need to say something,” I said carefully. I’d been thinking about it all the way back, while she’d been talking with my parents about everything she could think of.
Robyn looked down at the path as we walked.
I took a breath. I knew I was taking a risk. I knew I might be putting this brand-new friendship on the line. But I knew something else, too. Something I’d learned from Daisy. I had to be myself. I had to be true to what I believed in, even if it was a gamble.
“Right,” I said. Then I coughed and started again. “Look, the thing is, you might be happy to go around pretending all the time, hanging out with friends who don’t understand you and don’t even try, talking nonstop with my parents to avoid having a real conversation with me. . . .”
Robyn kept looking down, sidestepping a puddle. I walked straight through it without realizing. I didn’t care.
“But I’m not. I’m not going to put on an act, OK? I know I’ve only just met you, but you’re the first person I’ve been able to talk to for ages. Really talk to.”
Robyn glanced up at me. “Yeah, you, too,” she said shyly.
“And I’m not going to lie and pretend with you, OK?”
“OK,” she agreed.
“So. In that case . . .” I took another breath. I felt as if I were poised on a cliff, about to dive into the sea, looking down, checking that it was safe before taking the plunge.
“So, in answer to your question earlier — yes, I do believe there’s something up there. OK? I’m not going to brush it aside. And I’m not talking about heaven or anything like that.”
Robyn stared at me. “What are you talking about, then?”
I closed my eyes. Maybe if I couldn’t see her reaction, it would be easier to say it. “Fairies,” I said eventually.
Robyn didn’t say anything. Eventually I opened my eyes to see her smiling.
“Really?” she asked.
She was laughing at me! This was my last chance to back out, say I was joking.
No! I wasn’t backing out. I’d be betraying Daisy if I did that, and after everything she’d done for me, there was no way I’d do that.
“Yes, really,” I said firmly.
Robyn grinned widely. She was about to burst out laughing! Why had I been so stupid? Just because I believed in fairies — knew about them — didn’t mean I had to go blurting it out. What on earth was I —
“Me, too!” she breathed. “I’ve never told anyone before! It’s not the kind of thing you can admit, especially once you get to middle school.” Her words tumbled out of her in a landslide. “I’d probably be teased for it. But I do — I believe in fairies!”
We’d nearly
caught up with Mom and Dad. I wished that we still had hours to keep talking. We’d only just got started!
“Come on, slowpokes. Robyn’s dad will be thinking we’ve kidnapped her!” Dad called.
“I don’t just believe in them,” Robyn added quickly, her deep brown eyes staring into mine. They didn’t look sad anymore. They looked full of mystery, as though they were so deep you could hide your biggest secret in them and it would never be found. “I know they’re real,” she said.
“You know it? But how?”
“I saw something once,” Robyn said quickly, then she stopped. “Look, I don’t know if I can trust you yet. I’ve never told anyone about this, and you’ll think I’m stupid or crazy.”
“I won’t!” I insisted. “I’ve told you I believe in them, too.”
“I know — I’m just not sure. It sounds so corny and childish.”
Before I had a chance to convince her otherwise, Dad had jumped in between us, putting an arm around each of us and making us join in with knock-knock jokes all the way back to the village.
But all the way there, I had just one thought in my head.
What did she know? What had she seen?
“It’s going well, wouldn’t you say?”
“Definitely. She did a great job. She got the girl here. We’ve brought them together — and the sharing has begun. Couldn’t be better. Well, except . . .”
“Except what?”
“Time. We’re running out of days. There’s still a lot of ground to cover. If we don’t finish the job in time, we might as well not have bothered at all. Our efforts will have been useless. Worse than useless, in fact. If we don’t make this happen in time, the results could be catastrophic.”
“Don’t worry. I know. We have to do this quickly. I just don’t know how we can go any faster.”
“I’ve got an idea.”
“Go on.”
“I’ve been monitoring Daisy’s movements through her MagiCell.”