by Jenny Goebel
I took one glance at the second sock and lowered myself to a seated position on the hard slab of cement in front of the dryer.
Dad’s sock.
I rubbed the striped wool between my forefinger and my thumb and smiled wistfully. It was soft and warm, nothing at all like the concrete beneath me.
Dad wouldn’t have known it was missing, never would’ve tried to go looking for it, even if he’d had the chance. In all my life, I’d never known him to wear a pair of socks that matched.
He claimed mismatched socks were good luck—who knew if he was right or not. Beyond the basics, people held all sorts of random beliefs about luck. But Dad’s ideas were always positive—always ways to improve one’s fortune without having such a heavy focus on catastrophe. He said negative beliefs just sparked new fears, whether they were warranted or not.
A pang hit my heart with a familiar fierceness. I missed Dad so much. I missed the way he always put a bright spin on things, like suggesting the name Wink for my one-eyed puppy. The only other person I knew who could still lift my spirits that way was Cooper. I missed Cooper, too.
I balled the sock in my fist and decided I’d meet him at the tree house that night one way or another. Whether or not he could truly help me, I really needed the boost that came from just being around him.
When Mom finally came home later that night, her curls were even more frizzed-out than mine. “I went outside to study on my break and got locked in the courtyard,” she said. “I pounded on the door, but I guess no one heard me with all the thunder. By the time Dr. Sanders happened to walk by and let me in, I was soaked to the bone. And since I was also fifteen minutes past the end of my break, Mr. Keen made me stay an extra hour. Without pay.”
“Can he do that?” I asked.
Mom shrugged. “I really need this job,” she said, turning her back on me to warm a can of soup in a pan. By then, I’d let Petey have two more helpings of cheesy puffs, and I’d wolfed down a handful myself. Unfortunately, the airy snacks weren’t enough to fill our growling stomachs. But I hadn’t dared turn on the stove until Mom got home.
After dinner, Mom practically had to drag Petey into the tub—their nightly ritual. Once Mom and Petey were both in the bathroom, it was easy sneaking out.
Cooper lived three blocks away if I stuck to the sidewalk. Double that if I took dirt paths and grassy fields, which I always did.
The Fiddleman house backed right up to open space. They had a large, unfenced yard, in which Cooper’s tree house sat like a watchtower in an ancient maple tree.
The sky above the tree house was clear, the storm having long passed. It stayed light out longer now that it was nearing spring, but the sun had already sunk behind the horizon.
Something about the setting sun made me sad. Maybe because I felt like night was closing in on the day the same way my bad luck was closing in on me. The Luck Test would most likely bring an end to what little warmth and light I was holding on to—things like Cooper and this tree house.
I’d been climbing the ladder for years, since long before I’d known it wasn’t sensible for me to do so. And by the time I figured out that it was too dangerous, I was already too attached, too fond of the time I spent there with Cooper, to stop.
The tree house, tucked as it was among the maple leaves and cut off from everything else, had been one of the few places—much like my bedroom—where I truly felt happy and safe.
I paused as I lifted my foot to the first rung. How long since I’d been here? One month, maybe two? I used to come here daily. It hurt, in a hollow, aching sort of way, to think about it, so I tried not to as I clambered up the remaining rungs.
Cooper was waiting inside. A poorly wrapped present with a crooked bow sat on the floor of the tree house in front of him. “Surprise!” he shouted.
“Cooper,” I said admonishingly, but at the same time, I was unable to hold back a smile. “My birthday’s not until Friday.”
“Couldn’t wait.” He shrugged and then nudged the box toward me.
I took a seat, cross-legged, on the wooden slats of the tree house so that I faced Cooper, the gift forming a bridge between us. I took a moment to absorb it all. The joy-filled memories I had of this place. Playing fort and rolling marble armies down the lines between the wooden slats. Feeling like we were the luckiest two people in all of Fortune Falls.
My stomach turned over. “You didn’t happen to run into Felicia on your way home today, did you?” I asked hesitantly, not sure I wanted to hear his answer.
“What? Nooo.” Cooper shook his head. “Will you please open your present already?” He flashed me a grin—crooked, just like the bow.
I beamed back at him and turned my attention to his gift. The box was much longer than it was tall, and I took my time sliding my fingers between the rippled tape and crinkled blue-and-white-striped paper. Then I gently lifted at the corners as I tried not to let hope trickle in. The box was too large to hold a four-leaf clover or a lucky rabbit’s foot—not that I could even accept gifts as rare and valuable as those if he’d somehow managed to find them.
“Dying here,” Cooper said. “And it’s a slow, painful death.”
I rolled my eyes and tore the wrapping off in one fell swoop.
“Do you like it?”
I stared down, somewhat baffled by the instrument behind the clear plastic cover. “It’s a … telescope?”
Cooper opened the end of the box closest to him and slid the telescope out, letting the package fall to the floor along with the wrapping paper. “So you can see the stars. We’ll put it in your room, and then you’ll be able to wish on a star every night.”
It was a nice thought, but … “The wishes only come true if you’re the first person—” I cut myself off, suddenly understanding why Cooper had been so eager to give me the gift.
Unable to contain his excitement, he leapt to his feet and finished my sentence for me. “To see a star at night, I know. It’s always a Lucky that sees it but … who knows, maybe with a little help from this telescope?”
As he hovered above me, it hit me how much the telescope must’ve cost. Not as much as a four-leaf clover or lucky horseshoe, but still a great deal more than I thought he could afford—it wasn’t like his family had any luck or money to spare. I suspected the only reason he passed his Luck Test was because he’d been able to use his birthday wish for it when he turned twelve last fall.
“I can’t,” I said, dropping my gaze to the floor and then peeking back up at him with my chin still tilted down. “You should keep it for yourself. Here in the tree house, you’ll have a better chance than I will of getting the nightly wish anyway.”
“But none of that matters. Not if I can’t hang out with you. Not if you don’t pass the Luck Test,” he said softly, but his eyes were intense—as bright as the stars themselves.
His words hung heavy in the small space inside the tree house. I shifted my weight to one side and then the other. How could words that were so kind cause such a terrible ache in my heart?
Who knew? Maybe with the telescope, I could beat the odds. Maybe. Nightly wishes weren’t as powerful as birthday wishes, but as Mrs. Swinton was fond of reminding her Undetermined students, “You never know. The smallest thing might just jump-start your luck.”
Regardless, I felt so happy to be back in the tree house with my friend and so grateful for the thoughtful gift that I couldn’t contain myself any longer.
I sprang to my feet and hurled myself at Cooper the same way Petey had earlier. Cooper moved the telescope aside to receive my hug, but I was forging forward too quickly, too carelessly. I knocked the telescope from his hands.
The unbalanced silver tube wobbled in the air, and we both dove and fumbled to catch it. But it was a tricky bird, slick and not wanting to be caught. The telescope crashed to the tree house floor with a clatter.
Cooper and I stared down at it in silent horror.
I’d done it again. I’d broken something Cooper had probably
spent months saving up for. And with it, I’d shattered whatever short-lived hope we’d had for mending my luck. I didn’t know what to say.
Cooper also seemed to be at a loss for words, but after a long moment, he said, “No. It’s okay. Look, it’s just the lens. It can probably be fixed.” However, as he picked it up, careful to avoid the shards of glass, a rattle echoed from somewhere deep inside the hull of the telescope. He peered through the open end where the glass lens had been, and gasped.
“What?”
Cooper lowered the telescope. The skin on the back of my neck prickled when I saw the look on his face.
“What?” I asked a second time. I knew it had to be bad. It had to be something far worse than a cracked lens for him to be stalling this way.
“I’m so sorry, Sadie. I never would have bought it for you if I’d known …”
Fear and desperation crept into my voice in a way that made me sound whiny. I didn’t like it, but I also couldn’t help myself. “Known what, Cooper? Just tell me, please,” I pleaded.
“Sadie, there was a mirror inside … probably to reflect the light … and …” He was still stalling, but I knew.
“It’s broken.”
My knees buckled, and I struggled for air as panic truly set in. I’d broken a mirror. Seven years of bad luck. It would be a hefty, suffocating curse for someone with halfway decent luck. For someone like me, it was practically a death sentence. As the tingle at the base of my neck spread across my skin and my heart pounded in my ears, I thought, I’ll never pass the test now. I may not even live to take it.
The dark sky rumbled with deep, unsettling rolls of thunder as I slid down the ladder, hardly bothering with the rungs, and staggered onto the grass.
“Sadie!” Cooper called after me. “Wait!”
Wait? I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t be anywhere near him. Whatever dark force I’d summoned with my mishap, it had drawn back the storm. I knew it would bowl right through Cooper just to get to me. Run! My head screamed louder than Cooper and louder than the thunder. Run! Sadie, run!
I felt the hair on my arms lifting to stand on end, and I turned my eyes to the heavens, fully expecting lightning to strike me down. As I sprinted across his lawn and into the grassy field behind it, I tried to think of nothing else but putting distance between myself and Cooper. Fallen twigs and bramble clawed at my legs as I ran.
A flash of light illuminated everything around me. Then boom. The earth rattled, and the sound of thunder echoed in my ears. Even when I heard crackling and smelled smoke, I didn’t stop running. Squatting down and tucking your head between your knees only works if the lightning isn’t actually aiming for you. I did stick to the lower ground, however, and I avoided the taller trees and, of course, the stream.
I didn’t truly believe I’d make it home alive, but somehow I did. Sneaking back in seemed pointless, so I crashed through the front door and slammed it shut behind me. Then I darted through the house, sliding curtains closed and unplugging all the electrical cords as I went. One advantage of not having a lot of money—there weren’t that many things to unplug.
My mom stepped out of Petey’s room seeming addled and more than a little bit afraid as she said my name: “Sadie. What’s going on?”
Just then a clap of thunder rattled the windows and sent a tremor of vibration through the house. A loud whine came from the bathtub. Bathrooms aren’t actually the safest places during electrical storms, but just try telling that to Wink.
I opened my mouth to speak but then closed it again, not sure how much I should tell her. Knowing would just fill her with dread, and like me, she had a big test coming soon. She was one exam away from her nursing degree. She didn’t need any added distractions. Besides, there wasn’t anything she could do about the mirror I’d broken.
“Mom? Sadie?” Petey called from his bedroom.
“Just a minute,” Mom called back. Her eyes were coming into focus, and she was staring at me like she knew there was something weird about this storm. She just wasn’t sure what.
“It’s okay. You should go check on him,” I said, and then thought to myself, I shouldn’t.
I bolted for the stairs before she could fire off any questions about where I’d been and why the storm seemed to be knocking at our door, stalking her only daughter—at least, that’s what it felt like to me.
It was a childish thing to do, but I ran straight for my bed and pulled my covers up over my head, waiting for the storm to die down. I lay in wide-eyed silence, quivering with each new flash of light, quaking with the thunderous clap that always followed. I lay there for what seemed like an eternity. But, eventually, the flashes became less and less frequent, and then ended altogether. Like a beast, it has finally fallen asleep, I thought.
Just to be certain, I waited another five minutes after the last angry boom to peek my head out from under the covers. The danger seemed to have passed for the moment, but if there was one thing I knew, it was that bad luck didn’t ever just go away. And it wouldn’t sleep for long.
It might wait and fester, but it never forgot to come for you once it’d been stirred. In Fortune Falls, no inauspicious act went unpunished, from a stroll under a ladder to accidentally opening an umbrella indoors. The broken mirror could mean seven years of bad luck throwing hard, haphazard punches, or it might just decide to deal me a knockout blow tomorrow. I had no way of knowing. No crystal ball.
What I did know was that I was more of a threat to the people around me than ever. I recalled another story I’d heard about a teenage girl who’d broken a mirror. Her entire family had been sucked into a sinkhole. Mere hours after she’d thrown and consequently shattered a contraband compact mirror at school (after breaking up with the slimy boyfriend who’d given it to her), they were all dead.
Mom and Petey were upstairs. What if the earth decided to open up and devour them right along with me? My heart twisted inside my chest. I had to get out.
I slid down and dug my school bag from underneath the bed. I dumped out my red homework folder, a few pencils, a textbook, and an eraser. Then I ran to my dresser. As quickly as I could, I crammed in jeans, T-shirts, socks, and clean underwear. I paused at the ballet shoes strung over a knob. It wasn’t like I even danced anymore, so what good would they do me?
What good had they ever done me? My father had insisted on enrolling me in ballet school shortly after my fourth birthday, even though we couldn’t afford the lessons. He said it would improve my balance. Fewer stumbles. Fewer disasters. He drove me to every class and patched the rips in my leotard before each recital. At the same time, my mom enrolled in nursing school.
Dad had desperately been looking for ways to prevent accidents. And Mom, for her part, had decided on a career that would teach her how to treat the bumps, bruises, and broken bones she knew couldn’t be avoided. For all their good intentions, neither one of them could help me now.
Scurrying up to the kitchen, I tossed in two of the three remaining apples and the half-eaten bag of cheesy puffs. I was sure Petey would want me to have them if he knew I’d be on my own. Then I quietly crept out the front door.
I just stood there for a minute, my heart thudding, my pulse racing, wondering, What now? It’s not like I could leave Fortune Falls. Unluckies gave up on trying long ago—tires always blew at the edge of town, people suffered strokes and heart attacks just as they were about to cross over city limits—like bad luck, there was no escaping it. Even people with mediocre luck didn’t want to risk it. As for the Luckies, they could probably leave, but why would they want to?
I glanced up. The sky was pitch-black overhead. No stars meant heavy clouds, but I didn’t see any spindly fingers of lightning, either. Even if I didn’t know where I was headed, I needed to get as far as possible from the people I cared about while I still had the chance.
I took one step and then another. I made it almost to the end of the drive before I noticed a small dark form sitting there. Waiting.
It took a second
for my mind to register what I was seeing—a scraggly creature with short pointy ears and yellow eyes, surveying me with a steady gaze. A cat! Cats weren’t allowed in Fortune Falls anymore. Not any, let alone this one with fur the color of ravens.
At one time, people had been allowed to keep cats as pets, but every now and then, someone would harbor a darkly colored kitten instead of turning it in for disposal. After too much heartache, too many deaths caused by crossing a black cat’s path, all cats were banned. Now, like bunnies, they’re extremely rare in Fortune Falls, but for an entirely different reason.
I had a personal vendetta against black cats. If only they’d all been eliminated, then maybe … But I couldn’t stop to think about that. I didn’t have time, and the memory was too painful. Instead, I glared and stomped my foot, but the cat refused to move on, refused to drop her yellow gaze.
A tremble ran down my spine and bile rose in my throat. I couldn’t possibly pass her. Break a mirror and then cross a black cat’s path all in the same night? That would certainly be the final nail in the coffin. So, instead of moving forward, I swallowed the bile and summoned the courage to scream, “What do you want, cat? Scram! Get out of here!”
But the cat wouldn’t leave. She merely lifted a paw to her mouth and began smoothing the fur on it with her triangular pink tongue.
I tried to wait her out, thinking that when the vile creature was done grooming, she’d scurry on down the street. But she didn’t. She just turned her uncanny eyes back toward me, and she didn’t even flinch when the clouds overhead started up again with more angry grumbles.
By then, the blood-pulsing and adrenaline-driven urge to run away was starting to wane. My desire to protect my family wasn’t, but it was being overshadowed by the impossibility of it. I had nowhere to run and obstacles like this black cat would most likely be waiting for me around each and every corner.