by Kim Tomsic
The legal notice felt like a big fat warning sign, so I pushed the tape back into place, whipped out my phone, and dialed my grandma—she’d love this. Plus, she’d give me advice without thinking I was nuts—nobody loved talking magic more than her. Voicemail answered on the first ring. “You’ve reached Esmerelda Meyers. I might be at the top of Kilimanjaro or eating pasta in Pisa, you never know. But if I were you, I wouldn’t hold my breath for a return call.” Beeeeep.
“Grams. It’s Megan. I know you’re traveling, but please call me as soon as you can.”
I stuffed the mystery box with its torn corner inside my backpack and stepped out of the stall to stand in front of the mirror. Not only was there a new zit on my chin, but I was also suffering from a serious case of the frizz. I tried to smooth my hair in place, when my phone rang, blasting the theme song from Mission: Impossible. “Grams!”
“How are you, dear?” Static filled the line, then music and laughter.
“I . . .” My mind raced with where to begin.
“Honey,” she said, “are you there?”
“I’m here,” I answered. “Where are you?”
“Paris, of course!” Her words bounced out like a song, all vibrant and happy. “Just finishing champagne and appetizers on the Seine and then off to a restaurant in Le Marais for dinner.”
“Dinner? What time is it there?”
“Around nine. Now tell me. How are you? How is Arizona?”
“Good.” I didn’t tell her I was camped out in a school bathroom. “Good.”
“Megan. Don’t play poker. Everyone knows you’re fibbing when you go repeating yourself. Give it to me straight. Your voicemail sounded urgent.”
Dad would definitely lecture me about a dare, but not Grams, so I unloaded, telling her about my day and how stressed I was about the zap. “This dare could either make or break my reputation. If I get it right, I could have a bunch of new friends. But if I bomb . . .” I shook my head. “I’ll get ‘the look’ and everyone’ll think I’m lame.”
“Okay, I’m not sure if I believe that.” She laughed. “But go on.”
“Anyhow, at eleven-eleven I made a wish like you did that one time. And—”
“What?” She stretched the word apart, her tone tipping to uneasy.
“Umm.”
“Sweetie,” she said with an odd quiver, “what did you say you did?”
A knot curled in my stomach, and it only now occurred to me that she could be mad I’d messed with that rhyme—the rhyme I’d accidently heard her say in front of her own cat clock. The one she’d told me never to repeat. Still, I needed to push forward if I was going to get answers, so I took a deep breath and kept my voice all faux-carefree. “I made an eleven-eleven wish. And on a clock that looks just like that cat one you had in your kitchen when I was little. Isn’t that hysterical, and—”
“You wished on a cat clock!” Her voice rose. “What exactly did the clock look like?”
“Just like yours. It . . .” An ambulance siren blared from somewhere outside the windows and down the street. Layers of alarm crawled up my back. “It had the whiskers to mark the time.”
“Three of them?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Was there a star?” she said, now frantic.
I gulped, wondering what was wrong.
“Megan. Was there a star?”
“Yeah? On the tail.”
“Oh, Megan!”
“And I said the rhyme,” I confessed, wanting it all out. “The one . . . the one you’d never talk about. The one that goes, ‘Pop. Click. Seconds—’”
Breaking glass rattled through Grams’s side of the phone line. “How in tarnation did you remember that?”
“I don’t know. I just did.”
“Is Piper with you now?”
“No, but—”
“Good. You cannot tell your sister any of this. Not a thing. She’ll be too tempted to use the clock. Okay? And furthermore, everything from here moving forward is for your ears only. Give me your word on that.”
I didn’t answer right away. I may fib here and there, but Grams and I never broke our promise when we actually said we gave our word. She knew it. And I knew it.
“Megan.”
“Okay. All right. You have my word. I won’t tell Piper.”
“Or anyone.”
“Or anyone,” I said, and as I agreed it occurred to me that this was special. Just between Grams and me. The apprehension crawling up my spine melted. She had a way of making everything I told her seem important. I smiled. “I love you, Grams.”
“That’s nice, Megan. I love you, too. But it’s time to focus. You’ve combined a magical cat clock with an eleven-eleven wish, so there’s no messing around. Tell me everything—every detail.”
My scalp tingled. Grams had just said “magical”—just like the delivery girl and package label—and I hadn’t even mentioned the package yet! My heart pumped fast and filled with hope.
“I need to know what you’ve triggered,” Grams said. “So out with it.”
“I wished it would snow today.” I snort-laughed. “Like there could be a winter wonderland right here at my school in Arizona. Ridiculous, right?” Please don’t say “right.”
“Winter wonderland? Okay. Okay. First wishes are generally free and people make weather wishes all the time for weddings and sporting events and such. No problem. We can deal with that.”
“We can?”
She didn’t answer. “Was that the whole wish? Is there anything else?”
I crossed my fingers. “I also said, ‘Give me some magic’?”
“Ooooooooh, Megan.” She sighed all dramatic, doom and gloom.
“Come on, Grams,” I said with a laugh. “You can’t seriously be upset. I saw you wish on your own cat clock and nothing bad happened. And my wish was just for fun. A little wish.”
“There’s no such thing as little wishes when it comes to that cat clock. Frivolous wishes will cost you, and lazy wishes—mmmhmm, don’t get me started.” She clucked her tongue. “That’s why I took mine out of the kitchen.”
The hair on my neck rose. “You really think my wishes are going to come true and my teacher has your cat clock?”
“Of course your teacher doesn’t have my clock,” she said. “Mine’s stored in the attic in a chest and under lock and key. But the clockmakers crafted eleven magical clocks, and this clock sounds the same as mine. It could very well be one of the eleven, which would mean your teacher is the owner of a timepiece crafted by the infamous Bellini brothers.”
“Who?”
“Giuseppe and Remy Bellini. Italian clockmakers. People say they dabble in wizardry and have a wicked sense of humor—not a pleasant combination. They like to lure their victims with the promise of magic, only to have high costs attached. You’ll get your snow, Megan. I’m not fretting over that. It’s the other wish I’m worried about.”
The quiver in Grams’s voice had disappeared. She was all business now, using her matter-of-fact tone, and it lifted my hope from a simmer to giant bubbles.
The odd delivery and snow-day magic may actually be real and could cinch my future at Saguaro Prep. Or better yet: “Grams, if this is legit, I could wish myself to Europe with you.” Pause. “Or I could rewind the clock a few years.” I reached into my pocket and felt for my mom’s guitar pick, running my thumb across its smooth top.
“Oh, honey.” Grams’s voice filled with so much love and sorrow it squeezed my heart. “There’s no such thing as wishing away the past. Wishing has no power over your mom. It also means moving is a done deal, too. And honey, if you disappeared to Paris, your dad would panic.”
The whole time Grams had been talking, the logical side of my brain had been trying to find a numerical explanation to make everything add up. But statistics, science, even the hypergeometric distribution of probabilities couldn’t cancel the weight of Grams’s words—she was 100 percent certain I’d found something magical, and I was on board. Tha
t’s the way it was with Grams—and now the more she talked, the more I was convinced I had Italian wizard clockmakers on my side. My heart raced. My smile spread.
“Megan. Are you listening? You could be in trouble.”
Yeah, the most exciting trouble ever!
CHAPTER
6
The smell of grilling burgers and french fries filled the cafeteria. Low-set windows lined the walls, and streams of yellow sunlight made the place seem cheery. The food service counter was set up at the entrance. Inside, students gathered at long bench tables in the four quads. Kids from my morning classes sat in the front on the right, so I guessed that’s where the seventh graders hung out.
The line inched forward. I grabbed a cold bottle of water and a red apple, scanning the room and hoping to spot a friendly table before my turn at the cash register. The boys behind me laughed and shoved each other.
“You’re new, huh?” the first boy said, bumping into me. I turned around and he pointed at my palm where Ally had written “EXCITING.”
“Is that from a zap dare?” the other boy said.
“Um. Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “I have to—”
“Excuse me,” the first boy said, sounding all concerned. He leaned in confidentially. “Did you know your wenis is showing?”
His buddy did one of those bogus laugh-coughs.
“What?” I faked an itch and wiped at my nose—okay, no danglers.
The first boy leaned closer and whispered, “We can see your wenis.”
I yanked up my shorts to make sure they hadn’t plunged to plumber depths.
They exploded in laughter. Now others in line were looking at me. Heat blazed from my stomach to my face.
“Go,” someone said, pointing.
I spun to face the front and realized I was holding up the line. “I’ll have a burger, please,” I mumbled to the lady with the hairnet and speed-scanned the tables again. Across the room, a girl from my first-period class caught my eye and smiled, and for half of a half second I had a lunch table to join. But the boys behind me busted out laughing again, and my courage dried up.
“Actually, never mind,” I whispered to the lunch lady, my throat tight. I tossed five dollars toward the cash register, scooped up my water and apple, and bolted for the exit.
“But dear,” the lunch lady called, “you forgot your change.”
On my dash toward the door I practically plowed into Ally.
“Hey, I’ve been looking for you,” Ally said, plopping a lemon wedge into her drink. “Come on. I’ll show you where the seventh graders eat.” She grabbed my elbow and directed me toward a long bench table.
I didn’t know how I felt about her after she’d put me in the middle of her feud with Rhena, but I followed her anyway.
The wenis boys passed us, mumbling, “I’d cover that up if I were you.”
I cringed. If Grams could see me in my new-girl glory, she’d get why I needed magic. She’d probably encourage me to use it.
“Ahhh,” Ally said. “I take it Nick and Jason hit you up already?” She hollered across the room to them, “You guys need to grow up. That’s so fifth grade.” Then she leaned close. “Just so you know, a wenis is the skin under your elbow. They try to embarrass all the new kids with their lameness. I should’ve warned you.”
I let out a breath.
“Come on. This way,” she said.
We arrived at a packed table. Ally set down her drink in the center. “Hey, guys. Can you scoot over a little and make room?”
Girls and guys scooted each way and a spot opened. “Here you go.” Ally gestured for me to sit next to her. “Megan, this is everybody. Everybody, this is Megan.”
I nodded at a sea of smiling faces while my body did its standard large-group reaction—blushing and butterflies. I forced my shoulders to relax and reminded myself that these people didn’t know anything about my snort-laughs or how my mouth fires on autopilot when I get nervous. They certainly didn’t know about me trying to be a big shot last year during sixth-grade Math Jeopardy—my jokes had been hilarious, my answers had been correct, and I was Miss Popular—or at least I’d thought I was, until Ronald Miller said, “You’d probably have more friends if you didn’t talk so much.” Then Jerry Plinker laughed, Sanji Bose laughed, and Brooke Sutherland held back a giggle (but not really). I sat super-still, trying not to cry and hoping nobody would notice the burn on my cheeks. When I told Hannah, she said, “Forget those jerks.”
But like Grams said, the past was a done deal. That was behind me.
Ice sloshed from Ally’s drink to the table as she swept a hand in front of the three girls closest to us, two on their phone and one with a book in front of her nose. “Specifically, this is Noelle, Erin, and Mia.”
Noelle set down her phone. Her hand had an intricate geometric pattern drawn across it.
“Nice henna,” I said.
“Thanks.” She held it out and admired it. “It’s a mandala. Took me an hour to do this one.”
Mia dog-eared a thin book she was reading called Metamorphosis. She set it on top of three other library books, adjusted her tortoiseshell glasses, and said, “Noelle can draw anything. On your birthday, she’ll make whatever henna you want. But watch out for Erin.” She elbowed the girl next to her. “Erin likes to slam people with her infamous produce slurs.”
“Huh?” I said.
Erin laughed. “Don’t be an artichoke, Ally.” She smiled at me. “Nice to meet you, Megan. I hear you’re the zappee.”
“Yep,” Ally said. “I zapped her, and Megan’s going to make something exciting happen today. Right?”
“Uhhh.” The butterflies in my stomach doubled and tripled. A minute ago, I’d felt certain about the snow. Now I had a sinking feeling that I needed a plan B. What if that clock wasn’t an authentic Bellini clock, or what if Grams was being dramatic? I couldn’t bet my future reputation on magic that might or might not be real.
“What’s your three p.m. plan?” Erin asked.
“You guys. Stop with all the pressure,” Noelle said. “Can’t you see you’re freaking her out?” She tucked a wisp of her white-blond hair behind an ear. “Sorry. Everybody here gets stupid-crazy about zaps.”
“You guys get that many new students?” I asked.
“Not really,” Noelle said. “That’s why Rhena’s going to be ticked when she finds out Ally zapped you.”
“Looks like she already knows,” Erin said, lifting her chin as Rhena rumbled toward us like a storm rolling in.
“Hi, ladies,” Rhena said, a frosty look on her face. Shelby stood to her right, and Yoona shuffled behind them. “Nice to see you, Ally.” Sarcasm danced in Rhena’s tone. Then she turned to me and plastered on a magnificent smile. For a nanosecond, I thought everything was going to be okay. “Hi, Megan.”
“Hi.” I held my breath.
She turned to Erin. “Hello, Ellen.”
“It’s Erin.” Erin huffed. “What a crock of cabbage. We’ve only gone to school together since kindergarten.”
“Whatever.” Rhena twitched her gaze back to Ally, who stood up.
The buzz in the seventh-grade quad went silent. Even the slurping from straws stopped, and attention sizzled on Ally and Rhena.
Ally broke the quiet. “So. Good luck in the elections on Friday.”
“Right,” Rhena said. “Well, I just wanted to thank you for taking care of the zap.” Her smile and sweet tone didn’t match the simmer in her eyes. “Coming up with a creative zap every single time we get a newbie has been such a chore for me, so I appreciate you stepping up and agreeing to take on the challenge for once.”
“Agreeing?” Ally scoffed.
“Like I said. So kind of you to do it for me. Especially with the pressure of it all. I mean, everyone here”—Rhena paused and graced a hand and a smile across the crowd as if they were her personal fan club—“everyone here knows I’ve never ever had a zap go poorly, so your first zap must make you feel a bit trembly, especia
lly right before the election. I sure hope it goes well for you and Megan.”
Rhena was like a tropical storm that deserved a ranking on the Saffir-Simpson Hurricane Wind Scale.
Category One. Wind pressure 80 mph. Very Dangerous.
“Right, you hope it goes well.” Ally rolled her eyes. “Trust me, it will. And it’s not like you’re the boss of zaps.”
“Nope. You’re in charge of this one. So listen up, people.” Rhena turned to the crowd, pausing between sentences to face each and every packed table. “Ally zapped Megan,” she said, rotating to face a new direction. “The dare: make something exciting happen today.” She turned again. “As you all know, I’ve never had a zap not go perfectly exciting. Now we get to see what happens when Ally’s in charge, especially since Megan says she’s going to deliver something Coachella-Lollapalooza fabulous right here after school. Right, Megan?” Her smile cranked up the flurry.
Category Two. Wind pressure 100 mph. Very Dangerous.
“Unless you don’t have anything planned. Had I zapped you, we’d have the details worked out by now.”
I nodded like a moron, making a note to self to Google the Coachella and Lolla thingy. Then I fuzzed out, wondering if I could really pull this off, and if I couldn’t, then what?
“Just so you know, Megan,” Rhena said, “you’re expected to deliver big.”
“Colossal,” Shelby added.
Storm upgrade:
Category Three. Wind pressure 112 mph. Devastating Damage.
“Exactly,” Rhena said. “We wouldn’t want to lead up to Spirit Week with something drab.”
Category Four. Wind pressure 130 mph. Catastrophic.
“Megan’s clever,” Ally said. “She’s got this.”
I looked at Ally and took a breath.
“If you weren’t over here trying to nose in on our squad goals,” Ally said, “we’d probably have it all worked out by now.”
“Whatevs,” Rhena said. “It’s your name, not mine.” She turned to me again. “You know Ally’s reputation and the election are tied to your zap, right? What are you going to do, Megan?”