Fortune Falls

by Jenny Goebel

  “I’m not lucky,” I said. I thought I’d made that clear before, but I guess not.

  “You’re still here, aren’t you?” Zeta shot back. “If you continue to hang on like this, you’re in for a very rocky seven-year stretch, though. Too bad he’s not your boyfriend.” He nodded at Cooper. “Or else you might talk him into buying you a rabbit’s foot.”

  “Is that what it would take?” Cooper asked. “A rabbit’s foot?”

  Zeta might as well have said the Hope diamond. Curse and all, I’d have about as much luck affording it. Glancing around the warehouse, I took in the patch of four-leaf clovers growing beneath a greenhouse light, the horseshoes hanging on the wall, the boxes of meteorite fragments and telescopes on one side of the counter, and bowls full of hand-carved bone dice, amber beads, and acorns on the other. All of it was way out of my price range. I didn’t even have a price range.

  “What about a winning streak that includes a birthday wish? Would that be enough?” I piped in. I felt Cooper’s eyes on me, but I kept staring straight ahead. I hadn’t mentioned my win-spelling-bee-make-birthday-wish-pass-Luck-Test plan to him yet.

  “You’re on a winning streak?” Zeta asked, obviously dubious.

  “Not yet, but—”

  “And you think you’ll get your birthday wish?” he scoffed.

  “I don’t know. Look, I’m just asking.”

  Zeta shrugged his boulder-like, tattooed shoulders. “Maybe. It’s a start anyway. All wishes have their limitations.” I knew that already. Not even a Lucky could make a wish that wasn’t bound by certain laws of the universe. You couldn’t wish to fly or turn invisible, or to bring someone back from the dead. It had to be something relatively plausible.

  “One wish probably isn’t enough on its own, but if you use it right, you could probably wish your way into enough good luck to counteract the bad.” The soft voice he’d used when talking to Chance was long gone. “Luck is consumable. Each charm has a certain amount to use up. Pennies will buy you one lucky day, but if you play your cards right, you don’t waste the penny’s luck wishing for a snow cone or kiss from your sweetheart …” He waggled thick black eyebrows sitting below a shiny bald head at us, before leaning in like he was letting us in on a secret. “Then, maybe, you can use the penny’s charm to find a four-leaf clover. Then you use that four-leaf clover to find two more. And so on. It can take a while, but one lucky break and eventually you can build a fortress.”

  Zeta straightened up proudly. I really did wonder if he’d socked someone in the eye (or worse) for his first lucky break, or if perhaps he’d legitimately built his emporium of fortune by stumbling upon one heads-up penny.

  “For seven years, though,” the shop owner continued, “yeah, you’d have to build up to at least a rabbit’s foot. Curse will probably have run its course by then—that is if burying the shards did the trick and you’re still alive. Unless … you consider buying.” He pointed to a row of furry severed feet inside a locked glass case, along with a few scarab amulets, and other exotic-looking charms and crystals. “These are the heavy hitters.”

  “With the price tags to match,” Cooper said.

  “Gotta feed my pig,” Zeta shot back, quick as lightning.

  “What about those?” I asked, tipping my head toward several items behind the counter.

  Zeta eyed me suspiciously. “You into hexes and dark magic, we’re-just-friends girl?”

  “I … No,” I faltered.

  “Good,” Zeta said. “That chair …” He pointed to an antique wooden rocker strung up with ropes, hanging from the ceiling behind the counter. “The original owner killed a man just for sitting in ‘his chair,’ and was hung for his crime. Now the chair is a death curse to anyone who sits in it. Not that people listen. That’s why I hang it up.

  “See those green stones, Blarney Stones. Lucky if you kiss them in Ireland. Totally opposite effect here. And the Maori masks over there, those—”

  “Do you ever take trades?” I cut him off.

  “What?” Cooper asked, obviously caught off guard by my question.

  A smile danced on Zeta’s lips. “What are we talking?”

  I knew there wasn’t any way Cooper and I could ever afford a rabbit’s foot—the price tag was astronomical. It was double what Mom made at the hospital in a year. But if I could trade in a cursed item … “A cat,” I said. “A scrawny black one.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” Cooper said.

  “And the rest of my life isn’t?”

  Cooper let that sink in for a minute. We were back at the park, swaying on the swings again. The air felt humid, like it was going to rain. The sky was a thick woolen blanket.

  “What about your winning streak idea? That could work. It’s really awesome that you qualified for the spelling bee.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and shot him a waning smile. “None of this has anything to do with that. I mean it does, ’cause it’s all about improving my luck. But things just keep stacking up against me. It’s going to take more and more for me to get out of this deep dark hole I’m in. Even if I do win the spelling bee, and get my birthday wish, and pass the Luck Test, what about the broken mirror? What about Wink? I have to find a way to truly be a Lucky. You heard Zeta; if I can trap the black cat and turn her in, she’s worth the same as just about anything in the store.”

  “Yeah, but can you imagine what kind of person would even want to buy a black cat from Zeta? I almost don’t want the cat to wind up at Lucky CharmZ. Do you know what I mean? Plus, I just think we should try something safer first—safer for everyone involved. Maybe we could trap a rabbit.”

  “Right. And why don’t we catch a unicorn or maybe a leprechaun while we’re at it?” I said sarcastically.

  “C’mon, Sadie, I’m serious. I mean, I know rabbits are extremely rare, but so are cats. All I’m saying is that it is possible. And maybe we should start by going after something that hops around harmlessly, rather than something that’s going to hurl jinxes at us. How are we going to catch a cat without crossing its path?”

  Cooper had a point. “Okay. We’ll look for a rabbit first,” I said, although I wasn’t exactly sure what we’d do with a live bunny if we found one. Are rabbits’ feet even lucky if they’re still attached? I pushed the thought out of my head. It didn’t matter. The way I saw it, our chances of actually trapping a bunny were pretty much zero to none.

  But maybe bunnies and black cats like to frequent the same places, I thought to myself. Just because Cooper was looking for a bunny, that didn’t mean I couldn’t be keeping an eye out for the cat.

  “Let’s try Rispin Field.”

  “Ugh,” I croaked. “Why Rispin Field?” Rispin Field was on the far side of the cemetery, just beyond where I’d seen the hand in the bushes. Urban legend said it was named after Charlie Rispin, an orphaned boy who’d died of fever shortly after the cemetery was shut down. A well-meaning aunt had scattered Charlie’s ashes behind the cemetery wanting him to spend all of eternity close to where his parents were buried. He’d haunted the field ever since. Unless sent there on a dare, practically no one ever set foot in the field.

  “No one ever goes there,” Cooper said, echoing my thoughts. “If there’s still a rabbit to be found in this town, I’m guessing that it’s lying low in Rispin Field.”

  I considered the idea more carefully. Close to the cemetery might mean close to the cat. Plus, the field wasn’t inside the cemetery. I wouldn’t have to hold my breath. And maybe, just maybe, Wink would see us and wander out. “Okay,” I said, hoping it was taking extra long for Mom and Petey to order my cake and that Cooper’s parents weren’t concerned about where he was, or more important, who he was with.

  Cooper dug in his backpack and quickly produced a bag of carrots and what looked like a butterfly net. He raised the small, flimsy green plastic net. “Best I could do,” he said. “Maybe we’ll catch a baby bunny.”

  By the time we reached Rispin Field, the sun was peeking through a cl
oud, and the scenery was almost picturesque with all its wildflowers, knee-high weeds, and a rocky bluff in the background. In the daytime and with your back to the cemetery, it was hard to believe this place was haunted.

  “See any rainbows?” I said. “Perhaps we really can catch a leprechaun.”

  Cooper grinned and calm washed over me. “So how are we going to do this?” I asked. “Should we split up so we can cover more ground, or …”

  “Let’s stick together,” Cooper said. “That way if we do scare up a rabbit, we can corner it so it can’t get away.”

  Over the next hour or so, we unearthed several worms and found a few creepy dark holes in the ground that at first looked promising but ultimately yielded no bunnies. We took a break on a log and started munching on the carrots ourselves.

  Cooper stared hard at the carrot in his hand, like it held all the answers. “I think my parents are starting to get suspicious,” he said quietly.

  Now it was my turn to stare at a carrot. I didn’t ask if he’d told his parents about the telescope or where he’d been after school the past few days. I didn’t think I even wanted to know. Every time the subject of his parents forbidding him to hang out with me came up, I got a sour stomach.

  “We have to figure out something soon,” he added. “Or else …”

  “You’re telling me,” I grumbled.

  “Maybe we should try looking for four-leaf clovers instead.”

  I quickly did the math in my head. The effects of one four-leaf clover probably lasted about a week. Which might just see me through the Luck Test, but what about the remainder of the seven-year curse? I was starting to think my plan really was too short-sighted. There are fifty-two weeks in a year. Fifty-two weeks multiplied by seven years equaled three hundred and sixty-four four-leaf clovers. If there was a patch of more than three hundred and sixty four-leaf clovers in Rispin Field, I was pretty sure we would’ve stumbled upon it by now.

  “Why not?” I said. At least it extended the time I got to spend with Cooper, and from the sound of it, these afternoons together wouldn’t be lasting much longer.

  Cooper got down on his hands and knees and began slowly making his way across the field, inspecting all the plants as he went. I glanced over my shoulder at the cemetery, as I’d been doing all afternoon, hoping that Wink or the cat would make an appearance. Neither did.

  I didn’t like the idea of crawling around, the height of the weeds keeping me from being totally aware of my surroundings. Nor did I like the idea of crushing the plant life inside Charlie Rispin’s stomping grounds.

  Most encounters were rumored to take place at twilight, or just barely after dark. The stories told were of a pale, sickly boy with rosy fevered cheeks, and an old-timer’s hat. Some people recalled him as a weeping child. Others said he solemnly beckoned them to follow. Almost everyone agreed that at some point they found themselves standing at the iron bars of the cemetery, not certain how they got there but feeling compelled to fetch the poor boy’s eternally resting parents. Perhaps that’s what happened to the person who had been reduced to an extending skeletal hand just inside the fence.

  I didn’t like it, but at last I dropped to all fours and joined Cooper in his search, grateful that we were still hours away from twilight.

  We searched for the elusive four-leaf clovers in silence for nearly as long as we’d sought after the close-to-extinction rabbits. We searched until the sunlight began to dim and my knees were sore from pebbles and sticks and who-knows-what-else I’d knelt on in the thick overgrowth.

  “Let’s go home,” I pleaded with Cooper. I’d grown too tired and discouraged to glean any more warmth from his dogged optimism. Plus, I was feeling more and more afraid as the sun dipped a little lower in the sky with each passing moment.

  Cooper nodded and rose to his feet. Even he seemed to finally be grasping how futile our efforts were. As he stood, he reached just below his khaki cargo shorts and began feverishly rubbing his knee caps. The skin on his legs was red and blotchy. At first, I thought it was just marked from brushing against shrubs and kneeling on hard, bumpy ground. But when I got a closer look, I could see that it was clearly a rash.

  Before my eyes, his skin was exploding with hives, and I could tell Cooper was only pretending that they didn’t burn like fire.

  “What did you get into?” I asked, concern lilting my voice.

  He half grimaced, half smiled. “Leaves of three—let them be! But I’m pretty sure they didn’t let me be.”

  I ran close to where he was standing in the middle of a patch of green three-leafed plants. Poison ivy! “Oh, Cooper,” I said pityingly.

  He was hunched over scratching madly at the blisters, but that didn’t stop him from shrugging. “Looks a lot like a clover patch, doesn’t it?”

  Cooper wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we trudged out of Rispin Field. I’m not sure he really needed my help walking, but having his arm around me did seem to distract him from all the itching. And I was afraid he’d scratch until he drew blood if I didn’t keep him moving.

  As we walked away, I scanned the cemetery fence one last time—both watching for Wink, and nervous I’d catch a glimpse of Charlie Rispin materializing out of thin air. I didn’t see either, but something was watching.

  Just inside the cemetery, oval, slightly slanted yellow eyes were reflecting the dimming light. I felt my body tense. I would’ve tried to lure the cat into the open so I could grab hold of her, but Cooper was already suffering enough because of me. I couldn’t risk it. But maybe I could come back later.

  Cooper must’ve noticed that my shoulders had gone rigid. “Sadie?” he asked, and then tried to peer over me to see what had drawn my attention.

  “It’s nothing,” I said as I caught his eyes and flashed him a smile I wasn’t feeling. In addition to distracting him from the rash, I wanted to distract him from the cat as well. I blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “So do you have big plans for the dance on Friday?”

  I felt Cooper’s shoulders stiffen now, too. “No,” he answered. But when he did, I noticed that he would no longer look me in the eye.

  Thursday was the day before my birthday, the day Mrs. Swinton added a fourth horseshoe to the board, and the day of the spelling bee.

  Cooper sat with me at lunch. He wore jeans that covered his legs. He said that after a cold shower and some ointment, his rash had almost completely gone away. I didn’t believe him. For one thing, he kept rubbing his pant legs together and dragging them up and down along the edge of the bench seat.

  When he offered me half of his cupcake, Felicia speared me with a look from the end of our table. Her hair was down and sleek and dark as night, and she appeared as though she was inhaling a whiff of something terrible through her tiny, perfect nose.

  When Cooper swiveled his head in her direction, she plastered on a smile and waved jovially. Cooper waved back as he licked yellow-and-black frosting from his upper lip. “The cupcake is from Felicia. Some sort of spelling bee day celebration. She handed them out to all the Luckies before school.” As soon as Cooper turned his head back, she started glaring at me again.

  My stomach was tied in knots. I was trying not to eat too much in case I vomited onstage. But I made a point of polishing off the bumble-bee-striped treat. And I’m not gonna lie, knowing that Felicia didn’t want me eating the other half of Cooper’s cupcake made it taste that much sweeter.

  When Cooper left to join the Luckies lining up for recess, Betsy slid into the seat where he’d been sitting. “So you ready to wipe that smug look off Felicia’s face?” Her brown eyes were alight.

  I wished I was feeling half as pumped as she was, but I’d barely had time to squeeze in more studying for the bee after searching Rispin Field. If it hadn’t started to rain after I’d walked Cooper home, I wouldn’t have studied at all. I would’ve gone back for the cat.

  Felicia and Sabrina stood up from their end of the table and walked over. “Sadie, can you spell slaughter?�
�� Sabrina said through gritted, gleaming white teeth.

  “Oh, you!” Felicia said, patting her friend on the arm. “I’m far too civilized to slaughter anyone. Disgrace on the other hand … D-I-S-G-R-A-C-E. There. That has a much more cultured ring to it. Speaking of a disgrace—nice jelly stain, Sadie.”

  I glanced down at the front of my faded lavender T-shirt. Sure enough, raspberry jelly was leaving a trail as it slid down in one gigantic glob. I’d only taken a single bite out of my sandwich, but, admittedly, my mind had been a million miles away at the time. The deep red preserves must’ve oozed out without me noticing.

  Felicia snickered as I reached for a napkin and attempted to clean myself up, but it only worsened the red smear across my shirt.

  “My mistake,” Felicia said, turning back to Sabrina, “slaughter was the right word. Sadie already looks like she’s spilling blood.”

  I went to the bathroom and turned my shirt inside out, though I wasn’t sure that was any less embarrassing. As soon as the Undetermined students returned to the classroom after recess, Principal Lyon’s voice crackled over the intercom telling all the spelling bee participants to report to the gym.

  Felicia bounded from her chair and proceeded to frolic down the hall. I staggered out of my seat. Nathan Small whispered, “Good luck,” and Betsy squeezed my hand as I walked by. My legs felt like I was walking through molasses as I continued to the gym. M-O-L-A-S-S-E-S, my brain spelled. It was about all the warm-up I had time for.

  Principal Lyon directed all the participants to two rows of six chairs lined up on the gym stage. He steered most of the students to their seats with a gentle hand on the shoulder. When my turn came around, he pointed. “Right there, Sadie, front and center.” He was a tall, thin man, with thinning hair, and thin features. I suspected that many of his receding qualities were caused by anxiety.