Fortune Falls

by Jenny Goebel

  I took my seat. So much for hiding out in the back. To my right sat Felicia and the two representatives from the sixth-grade Luckies class. To my left sat two fifth-grade participants. The other two fifth graders and all four fourth graders sat in the back row.

  After we were situated onstage, the rest of the Luckies filed into the gymnasium, led by their stout, primly dressed teacher, Mr. Barton. He winked at the two Lucky representatives from his homeroom, and then inspected his class. They strolled into the gym in a perfectly straight line and then faced the stage. In unison, every last Lucky crossed their legs and took a seat on the gym floor.

  Cooper beamed at me from his place at the tail end of the class. If he noticed that my shirt was turned inside out and that there was a jelly stain seeping through, he didn’t let on.

  The rest of the gym filled up quickly with every class from first grade on up. Well, not every class. The Unluckies were holed up in their classroom per usual.

  My heart droned flee, flee, flee in my chest as the air buzzed with excitement and idle chatter filled the space around me. But I stopped myself from looking for an escape route. I needed this win. Win the spelling bee. Make my birthday wish. Pass the Luck Test.

  Repeat something enough times, and it will be so. There had to be a superstition that went something like that, didn’t there?

  Felicia was sneering at me as though she could read my thoughts. Ha! she seemed to be saying. You win the bee? Dream on.

  I inhaled and exhaled through my nose. No. Spelling was concrete. There were correct spellings and incorrect spellings. This wasn’t a test of luck. I could do this.

  I caught Mrs. Swinton’s eye and she gave me an encouraging nod. Betsy did the same. They were a lot alike—both rooting for the underdog.

  Principal Lyon shushed the crowd and explained the rules. “We’ll be applying single elimination—one misspelled word and you’ll be out of the competition. Stand up and speak into the microphone when it’s your turn. You may ask for the word to be repeated, for the origin of the word, or to hear it used in a sentence. The words will be given in random order. If everyone is ready, we’ll begin.”

  The principal threw softballs at us for the first round, giving us a chance to get comfortable. My word was dearth; Felicia’s was gem. Everyone survived the first round.

  The second round, however, things got a little trickier. I nearly forgot the h in melancholy, but Felicia had no trouble whatsoever spelling ballerina. We both continued onto the next round. Two fourth graders and three fifth graders did not.

  I spelled trauma correctly on my next turn, but the microphone popped, sparked, and started smoking as I stood at it. We had a five-minute delay while Mr. Barton found and hooked up a new microphone to the sound system.

  By the eighth round, it was down to me, Felicia, and both Luckies. Felicia proved to be luckier than both of the Luckies. Her word was short and sweet: cosmos—fitting, as the stars always aligned for her.

  When it was Jake Miller’s turn at the mike, he spelled, “G-E-N-O-R-O-S-I-T-Y.” Obviously, generosity was not something he was very familiar with. Faith Johnson went out on cordiality for similar reasons.

  When it was my turn, I barely squeaked by. I had to ask for a definition of beleaguer and for it to be used in a sentence. Principal Lyon responded, “Beleaguer means to trouble, harass, or beset with difficulties. The Unluckies beleaguer the Luckies.”

  With narrowed eyes, I spoke into the microphone: “Beleaguer, B-E-L-E-A-G-U-E-R, beleaguer.”

  Principal Lyon announced that we were down to our final two contestants. As if the entire audience couldn’t see for themselves that there were only two people left onstage.

  By then, Felicia seemed to be boiling beneath the surface. I’m sure she never expected me to make it this far. Apparently, neither did Fate. As my randomly selected words grew even more difficult, Felicia’s only got easier.

  I spelled debauchery, she spelled sugar. I spelled jeopardizing, and she spelled glitz. Luck of the draw lobbed her words like lilac and diary. It hard-pitched me: treacherous and mercurial. But I stayed in. Somehow I stayed in.

  In fact, we both stayed in until we’d exhausted Principal Lyon’s entire list of spelling bee words. The entire school (minus the Unluckies) stared at us, dumbfounded, as he conferred with Mr. Barton and Mrs. Swinton.

  Mrs. Swinton couldn’t hide the delighted expression on her face as they broke apart. She discreetly gave me a thumbs-up as Principal Lyon announced that according to the rules, if there wasn’t a clear winner at the end of all rounds, then the remaining contestants would both advance to districts. “Fortune Falls Elementary, I give you your co-champions: Felicia Kahn and Sadie Bleeker.”

  I rose to my feet at Principal Lyon’s prompting, and the student body broke into scattered applause. Felicia stood stiffly next to me.

  A tie? What did this mean? Could a winning streak begin with a tie? I didn’t think so, but it was undeniably better than a loss. Many of the faces I met in the crowd were quizzical, some bordered on disdain. I was, after all, not the type of person they’d pick to represent their school at districts. A few of the Luckies started chanting: “Felicia. Felicia. Felicia.”

  But when I caught Cooper’s eye, he smiled broadly and fist-pumped the air.

  Felicia noticed and leaned over to whisper in my ear, “Enjoy it now. At the dance tomorrow night, I’ll have him all to myself. He did tell you we’re going together, didn’t he?”

  I couldn’t stop myself from whipping my head around, but I managed to keep a straight face. I could only hope it was enough to keep her from seeing how much her words stung.

  “And next year, when we’re both at Flourish and you’re at Bane’s, you’ll be nothing more than a distant memory. If you cross his mind at all. Because it makes no difference what kind of speller you are, you always have been and always will be U-N-L-U-C-K-Y.”

  Despite my failure to annihilate Felicia, Betsy seemed genuinely happy for me. “You did amazing! I can’t believe you knew how to spell all those words. I was sure tsunami started with an s.”

  “Er, thanks,” I said. I’d sort of expected Betsy to ditch me after the spelling bee. Instead, she waited for me after the final bell, and we started walking out of the classroom together.

  “Sadie.” Mrs. Swinton stopped me. “I know today’s tie wasn’t exactly the type of success you were looking for, but you should still be very proud. You handled yourself remarkably well under pressure. Regardless of how you do on the test Monday and where you end up next year, that’s a very important skill to have.”

  I found myself mumbling my thanks again and, at the same time, nearly stumbling over my own feet to get out the door. I needed to be outside. I needed fresh air to breathe.

  Betsy kept pace with me until we reached the school lawn. “Are you all right, Sadie?”

  I nodded my head yes, even though I wasn’t so sure. I was still reeling from the not-quite-the-win I needed, and from Felicia’s words. Was Cooper really taking her to the dance? “I’m just in a hurry,” I said. “I have to pick up my brother from preschool.”

  “Okay, well, see you—” Betsy cut herself off. The silence was uncomfortable. Staying home on Friday the thirteenth was common but not something really talked about.

  “Yeah, see you around!” I said, like I hadn’t noticed the awkwardness.

  Betsy smiled, and we went our separate ways as heavy gray storm clouds gathered in the sky.

  When Ms. Summer released the preschoolers, I hung back. I didn’t dare cross the particularly tricky stretch of sidewalk with my seven-year curse still activated. I just motioned to Petey’s teacher so she knew I was there, and let my little brother traverse the splintered cement all on his own.

  “Are you going to wish for Wink to come home, Sadie? Are you?” Petey asked the moment he’d slipped his hand into mine.

  “My birthday isn’t until tomorrow, Petey. You know that. You also know I can’t tell you what I’m wishing fo
r or it won’t come true.”

  All kinds of panic-inducing thoughts started racing through my head. First I have to blow out all twelve candles. Plus, I have this curse hanging over my head. And just the idea of going to Bane’s gives me nightmares. But no matter how hard I try, nothing seems to give.

  I wasn’t sure how Petey would feel about me weighing my future over Wink’s return if I shared any of my thoughts, so I just said, “I know how much you miss her, though, buddy. I miss her, too.”

  “We’re walking by the fence today, aren’t we? I know she’ll come if we’re both calling her. Or maybe I could—”

  “No. No matter what, you are absolutely not going in THERE!” Petey had gone from not speaking to me the night I came back without Wink to incessantly begging me to take him looking for her. He didn’t understand why we couldn’t just return to the last place I’d seen her, and then search until we found her.

  “It’s too dangerous,” I’d said.

  “Why is it too dangerous?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  Five-year-olds do not give up easily. I’d skirted around his questions for as long as I could, but finally I exploded with, “Because she’s lost in the CEMETERY. Okay? That’s WHY.”

  Which, of course, just backfired on me. Now as we were walking home together, he started trying to convince me yet again that I should let him go in. “But, Sadie, Wink might have her foot caught in a vine. But, Sadie, what if something happened to Wink’s good eye and she can’t see her way home? But, Sadie, I’ve had four purple days in a row, and I can hold my breath really long. Watch.”

  He could hold his breath a long time. Scary long. He stopped right where he was in the middle of the sidewalk and held it so long I thought he was going to pass out. He was actually turning purple. At last, not knowing what else to do, I tickled his belly until his curls started to jiggle and he was laughing so hard he couldn’t help but suck in sweet fresh air.

  “Okay! We’ll stop by the fence,” I said, glancing nervously at the darkening skies overhead, “but nothing more.” It kind of hurt watching how bursting with hope he was as we approached the cemetery. Since Mom had been picking him up from preschool, this was his first opportunity to pass by it since Wink went missing. I could tell he just knew she was going to stick her one-eyed, pirate dog face through the iron posts, wag her tail, and follow us back home.

  I made Petey stand a few feet back from the fence. That way, we could call out Wink’s name at the same time, and neither of us would have to hold our breath.

  “WINK!” Petey cried at the top of his lungs, drowning out my significantly less optimistic yell. But at least I was yelling. I missed her so much, and it would certainly make planning how to phrase my birthday wish simpler if she did show up.

  My brother might never have given up calling for Wink, if the sky hadn’t started to rumble. The storm was getting closer.

  “Petey, we have to go,” I said. “We can try again—” This time it was me cutting myself off. I’d been about to say tomorrow, but there was no way we were stepping foot anywhere near the cemetery on Friday the thirteenth. “On Saturday,” I finished.

  My little brother didn’t put up as big of a fight as I’d expected. Most likely it was because the thought of being caught in the rain terrified him.

  We beat the storm home, and Mom arrived shortly after Petey and I had devoured our apples. She was carrying grocery bags stuffed with black socks, cotton balls, and black feathers. “Help me, Sadie,” she said. “We need to get these up tonight.”

  The wind had picked up, but the ground was still dry. I nodded my head. Cooper and I had plans to meet at the park again. But that was before Felicia told me about the dance and before the sky started grumbling. When I didn’t show up, he’d assume it was because of the storm, but it had every bit as much to do with what Felicia had said. I felt betrayed, and that was almost worse than feeling unlucky.

  “You stuff. I’ll stitch,” Mom said.

  Petey helped for a little while and then wandered off to play. Mom and I sat at the kitchen table, and I piled cotton ball after cotton ball into the black socks. She sewed them closed with a needle and thread, and then tacked on the feathers. “What do you think,” she asked, holding up our first completed specimen.

  “Looks like a dead crow to me.”

  “Good.” Mom went back to sewing. Thunder rattled in the distance. I was pretty sure neither of us cared to be standing near a tree when it reached our house. Still, it was important to get the fake crows up early, before Friday the thirteenth actually hit.

  Crows are remarkably smart creatures; they don’t scare off easily. But, apparently, the sight of their own species hung upside down from the branches usually does the trick. Lucky CharmZ and some of the luck boutiques carry incredible effigies—imitations that look just like dead crows. But, of course, we couldn’t afford them, so we had to make our own.

  Mom’s brow was creased. Her features sagged with worry as she worked.

  “I tied for co-champion of the spelling bee today,” I announced. Since I hadn’t told her about my winning streak plan, I knew the news would make her happy—lift her spirits a little.

  “Ouch!” Mom’s finger shot to her mouth. She sucked a droplet of blood from where she’d pricked her finger with the needle. “That’s fabulous, Sadie! You just surprised me.”

  After that, I decided to keep my mouth shut. When we’d finished with the crows, we tied long pieces of cord around their necks and carried them outside. I handed Mom the fake birds as she looped the cords over the tree branches and knotted the ends securely. “There. Those should make it through the rain, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely,” I said, though I wasn’t sure about anything going the way I wanted it to anymore. We finished just in time, racing inside as the first droplets hit the ground.

  As soon as our feet hit the hardwood floor, the phone started ringing. Mom continued the mad dash, sprinting to the kitchen to answer. I ambled in behind her.

  “Yes, Mr. Keen, I know you’re short-staffed and that a power outage does create a huge problem … No. I do value my job. It’s just that my nursing exam is tomorrow, and it’s also going to be my daughter’s birthday. It’s not the best timing for me to be up all night working … I see. Can you hold, please?”

  My mother looked at me, more frazzled and distraught than ever. She pleaded with her eyes. “Sadie girl,” she said. Mom hardly ever used my old nickname. I’d always liked it when Dad called me that, but it felt wrong coming from anyone else’s lips.

  “I have to go into work,” Mom continued. “It’s a night shift. If there was another way … I’m sorry, honey. Do you feel comfortable watching Petey?”

  I watched my little brother all the time. What she was really asking was if I was comfortable watching Petey alone, all night. In the middle of a raging storm.

  Not really.

  “Sure, no problem,” I said, and nodded my head. I was almost twelve now, old enough to know when uncomfortable things were unavoidable.

  Mom kissed me on the head, sinking through my wild curls until her lips connected with skin. “Why does everything always have to hit at once?” she whispered, more to herself than me.

  I turned my attention out the window, at the wind and the lightning and the rain, and thought about all the things in my life and all the things, as Mom had said, “hitting at once.” Dad used to call that a perfect storm—when all these random, unpredictable things came together to cause one gigantic blowup. Is that what I was headed for?

  My thoughts were interrupted when Mom turned back to the phone and said in a low, strung-out voice, “Okay, Mr. Keen, I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  “Chutes and Ladders or Candy Land?” I asked Petey.

  “That one,” he said, pointing to the board game with jolly children barreling down slides, having a rip-roaring good time. They were obviously Luckies. I sighed, opened the lid to the game, and s
pread out the board and spinner on the kitchen table between us. I couldn’t wait until Petey was old enough to play games that rewarded strategy rather than chance.

  My kid brother beat me seven times in a row. I kept landing on the same spot. The spot where the girl falls down, breaks all the dishes, and then goes sliding back to the beginning. Just as Petey landed on the spot where a boy rescues a cat from a tree (a cat!) and shoots up fifty-six places on the board, a clap of thunder boomed so loudly that we both jolted and I knocked my knees on the table, sending the game pieces flying.

  As I scrambled to pick up the pieces, my brother ran to the window.

  “Petey, back away from there!” I shouted. It wasn’t safe to stand near windows during electrical storms.

  “But there’s lightning!” he said.

  “Which is exactly why I want you to move away from the window,” I said, trying to rein in the panic in my voice.

  “But, Sadie, Wink hates lightning!”

  “I know, Petey.”

  Petey turned back to face me, his fists like small rocks at his sides. “She hates storms, Sadie. I bet she’s sad. Sad, like after-Dad-died sad.” My brother’s face was framed in curls, and with his stark white shirt, he looked like a little cherub. He was so upset, so close to tears, that my heart broke a little just watching him unravel. Behind him, the rain was turning to hail and pelting the window with a vengeance. “We have to find her. We just have to,” he pleaded.

  “I know, Petey. I want to find her as badly as you do. I swear I do. But we can’t go out in the storm. It’s too dangerous. Please, come sit down.”

  Just as Petey began inching back toward the table, I heard the window shatter. The noise was deafening—glass hitting the floor, wind swooping in, blasting the room with all its might. A piece of hail the size of a baseball landed on the hardwood in the middle of the broken glass.

  Petey screamed, and I reached out for him. “No!” he shrieked. “Don’t touch me. This is your fault. Everything’s your fault. You lost her and … and …” Now Petey was crying, gulping for air, even. “And it’s your fault Dad died. I’m sick of everything being broken because of you. You’re unlucky.”