The 11

by Kim Tomsic

  Alert!

  Category Five. Wind pressure 157 mph. Catastrophic Damage and Destruction.

  “Calm down. We have it handled.” Ally smiled at me.

  But with all the hot air swirling around, a word slipped from my mouth.

  “What’s that?” Rhena said.

  “Snow,” I repeated, my voice barely audible. “I’ll make it snow today.”

  “What do you mean, snow?” Shelby asked. “As in outside?”

  Yoona hugged her doodle-covered notebook.

  Ally looked worried. Speechless.

  “Umm.” I glanced toward the windows. Not a cloud in the sky. The rain was long gone, leaving just a blazing sun. Even the ice that had sloshed from Ally’s cup to the center of the table had turned into a puddle.

  Then Ally said, “Ohhh.” She winked at me. “We wanted to keep it a surprise, and we were just about to work out the details, but we’re thinking a snow theme, like a snow cone truck or something, right, Megan? We’re calling it Spirit Snow Cones. Or Chill Out.”

  I couldn’t stop my mouth. “Um. Not snow cones.” Typical me, nerves power-driving my jaw. “Just snow.”

  Ally’s expression landed somewhere between confused and embarrassed.

  Rhena looked toward the bright rays glaring off the windows. “Snow?” Her voice was patronizing. “In Scottsdale, Arizona?”

  Even the puddle on the table from the melted ice seemed to jiggle with mocking laughter.

  “Well, Ally,” Rhena said, “now you get to show everybody what kind of mentor and leader you are.” Shrug. “Or aren’t. I sure hope you don’t disappoint.”

  I wanted to backpedal, but I’d missed my moment.

  Ally dropped her chin and sunk back onto the bench. All I could do was hope that I wouldn’t ruin the election for her, not to mention my entire social life.

  CHAPTER

  7

  The only word I wrote in my notebook during my last class of the day was “snow.” Snow, snow, snow, snow, snow. Line after line after line. Like that would help. The odds of it snowing today were even worse than the odds of me dying from heat exposure: 1 in 10,784.

  The only thing that kept me going was the fact that Grams had never lied to me. But no matter what power she claimed for her own clock, she didn’t actually know if the clock in the history classroom was made by those Bellini brothers. I looked at the timer on my phone and gulped—I’d find out in exactly 3,480 seconds, aka fifty-eight minutes, every one of them grueling.

  I was sitting in English class, watching a film version of Macbeth with the blinds closed, my heart flopping around in the pit of my stomach. As the minutes inched along, the room felt cooler and cooler. Maybe the air-conditioning had finally kicked on, or maybe—

  The bell rang, crackling my nerves. The moment of truth. I shoved my notebook inside my backpack. Please, God. Please. Even before the lights flipped on, I rushed out the door and raced toward the end of the hall, past high windows where I could see the sun hovering bright in the sky. That’s okay, I told myself. Sunshine didn’t have to mean a snowless ground. There were plenty of days in Colorado when it was both sunny and snowy.

  At the end of the hall, I flung open the school door. The wall of heat smacked the breath out of my chest. And there, the dried yellow grass at the end of the walkway sat snow-free, portending my social suicide. I sunk down on a bench. Students blurred past.

  Utter failure. I’d be Motormouth Megan again. The girl who talked too much and delivered zilch.

  “You Megan Meyers?”

  I looked up. A beefy man in a dark blue mechanic’s uniform stood in front of me. His sewn-on name tag read “Bruce” and his eyes were as green as the delivery girl’s.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m Bruce,” he said. “From Backyard Blizzards. Right this way, miss.”

  I stood up. “Uhh?”

  “Megan!” My name erupted from voices behind Bruce. “Megan!” Ally, Mia, and Noelle ran to my side and words flew at me, about a hundred miles a minute.

  “I . . . wha . . .” They grabbed me by the elbows, pulling me along and saying stuff like “awesome” and “never seen before” and “whiteout.” Bruce turned left at the end of the front walk. We followed to the back side of the school, where squeals and happy screams rang through the air.

  And the ground. It was like my magical Colorado fairy godmother had waved an enchanted wand and created the most perfect sparkly scene. In defiance of the 110-degree heat, the back lawn of Saguaro Prep sat coated in brilliant, white, fluffy snow. Snow!

  “I can’t believe you managed this!” Ally said. “I’m sorry I doubted you. But I mean, how in the heck? Do you have a wealthy grandparent or something?”

  I must’ve nodded, because Ally said, “Lucky!”

  A boy from my history class, the one wearing the Cardinals hat, ran up to me. “Megan!”

  “Yeah?”

  He lifted me in the air and twirled me in a circle. “Thanks! This is awesome! You’re awesome!”

  Ally and Noelle laughed. He set me down and ran over to Turner, who said, “Dude, we can do a sledding Frisbee toss!”

  “Anything else you need?” Bruce asked. “We aim to please.”

  Five trucks labeled Backyard Blizzards spurted out the stuff, and from the looks of things, they’d been at it for hours.

  “Everything’s . . . perfect,” I said, my voice catching in my throat.

  “It really is!” Noelle said.

  “I know, right?” Ally agreed. “You’ve got everything. A sledding hill.” She gestured toward a small hill where workers dressed like Bruce handed each student a plastic red sled. “Snowmen-building competition. Snowball fights.”

  “Hot chocolate with giant marshmallows,” Mia said, holding up a cup.

  “Even free gloves!” Noelle said.

  “Definitely the most exciting thing that’s ever happened at this school,” Ally said.

  I caught sight of Piper across the white lawn and smiled. She was laughing and building a snowman with another girl. The last snowman we had built had been with Mom.

  “Well, well, well,” Rhena said, striding up with Shelby, Yoona, and a few other girls. “You made this happen?”

  “Mmmhmm.” I nodded, crossing and then uncrossing my arms.

  “Nice.” Skepticism edged Rhena’s tone. “But there’s something I’m not getting about you. Am I right?”

  “Whatever, Rhena,” Ally said. “Just admit it. Megan nailed the zap dare.”

  Ally smiled but Rhena kept staring at me, like she was trying to see under my skin. I don’t know why it made me nervous; it wasn’t like she could know about the wish.

  Could she?

  “Come on, let’s be honest.” Ally flung an arm across my shoulder. “Megan is uber-creative. Probably the most creative girl at this school. This is better than anything you or I could’ve managed.”

  Noelle and Mia smiled at me.

  “The snow is good.” Rhena shrugged and talked to Ally like I wasn’t even there. “But the most creative? Maybe Megan’s just a one-hit wonder.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. Look at what she’s pulled off.” Ally turned to me. “Tell her you’re not a one-and-doner, Megan.”

  This would’ve been an ideal time for me to clam up, but no; I’m Megan Meyers, Motormouth, Rambling Rookie, Yak-Attack. And so I said, “Ahhh . . . one-hit wonder? Ha!” The “ha” banged out too loudly, but I blitzed on. “Yeah. You should’ve seen me at my last school. I was always making fun stuff happen.” What a fat lie, but I had to impress, right? Sure, some articles on HSMS had said I should be myself, but that hadn’t worked out for me in sixth grade.

  “Like what?” Rhena asked.

  “What?” I stammered, all deer-in-headlights.

  Rhena crossed her arms. “What fun stuff did you make happen at your last school?”

  “Well . . .” Throat clear. “Once, I got lunch extended by ten minutes.”

  “Wow. So exciting,” Rh
ena deadpanned.

  “Ummm . . . and this one time, I turned the class into a game show.”

  Rhena twisted her mouth to one side.

  Ally nodded. “That sounds fun.”

  “And . . . and . . .” I swallowed a gulp the size of a Chihuahua. What else could I say?

  “Well?” Rhena said.

  Ally smiled and put a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t owe Rhena your résumé. You’ve obviously had plenty of practice creating exciting events.”

  Ally believed in me. She trusted I was all kinds of interesting. But Rhena narrowed her eyes. HSMS had said to impress, so maybe if I made up something good enough to impress Rhena, this inquisition would be over. Who would it hurt if I lied?

  “And another time”—I cleared my throat—“another time I did this covert scavenger hunt at my school.” That whopper made Rhena’s eyebrows lift, so with a little more confidence I said, “It was huge. Like ten-to-the-tenth huge. A blast. Everyone called me the Fun-meister.” Ugh. I needed to stop before this turned dorkier.

  “Really?” Ally asked, her face bright. “That sounds super-fun.”

  I nodded.

  “Hmm.” Rhena looked me up and down. Impressed? Skeptical?

  Everyone stared at me like I really could be known as the Fun-meister. Turner ran over holding up bright red gloves. “Look what they gave me for free!”

  Mia held up her hot chocolate again. “She’s thought of everything.”

  “They called her the Fun-meister at her last school,” a boy said to Turner. The girl next to him nodded.

  I felt weightless. Floaty. Joyful. Across the snow, a girl from my Spanish class waved, and I gave her a full arm wave back.

  Ally was amped, talking fast. “. . . and we’ve never done anything that interesting to kick off Spirit Week. Could you do one here?”

  My body stiffened.

  Rhena raised an eyebrow.

  “Huh?”

  “A scavenger hunt? Or some big event like that?” Ally asked.

  “Um.” Swallow. “Sure?” I said, my voice too high. I cleared my throat. “Sure. Of course.”

  “Not a scavenger hunt. I’m doing that at the mall on my birthday,” Rhena said. “But something. I’m sure you have plenty of ideas, since you’re the ‘Fun-meister.’” She added air quotes.

  “Sure. Okay.” My voice squeaked.

  “How about on Friday?” Ally asked, all animated and hopeful. “Can you do something for the Spirit Week election?”

  “That would be perfect,” Noelle agreed. “You could do a big event, then everyone votes for the Spirit Week Captain at lunchtime, and then the principal will announce the winner.”

  “And then”—Rhena placed her hands on her heart—“I will make the speech to reveal my themes for next week.”

  “Or I will,” Ally said.

  This felt like dividing by zero. A no-sum game.

  I stared blankly, wondering how to backpedal, but Noelle must’ve thought I was wondering about Spirit Week, so she continued.

  “The themes aren’t announced with the campaign,” Noelle said. “We have to wait until we get our winner. Mr. Scoggins says he doesn’t want it to be a popularity contest. He wants us to vote simply based on character and leadership skills.”

  “TBH, the themes are the best part,” Ally said. “Every day we dress up and show school spirit. Like last year we had Mardi Gras Monday and we wore beads, and face paint, and feathers and stuff. And then for Tie-Dye Tuesday we all made shirts, and—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Rhena said. “Can you do something for the election or not?” Her eyebrow arched to maximum doubt.

  I nodded, feeling sick. Words squeezed from my throat. “Of course.”

  Rhena made one of those laughing harrumph sounds and said, “We’ll see.” Then she marched off with her crew.

  Snowballs flew and screams and cheers echoed from every direction.

  Ally patted my back and said, “Number one rule here, ignore Rhena’s snarkitude. You’ve got this, Megan. I can tell you’re full of surprises.”

  Maybe Ally was right. Maybe I had this in the bag. My first wish had come true. The snow party was even better than I’d asked for, so the second wish would have to be just as good or even exponentially better!

  Erin ran over. “Why are we sitting here like a bunch of grapes? Let’s go build a snowman.”

  I started to follow when the smell of tangerines hit my nose and the green-eyed delivery girl sidled up next to me.

  “Hey,” she said, checking something off the list on her clipboard. “The snow turned out great, so wish one complete. Now wait till you see what’s in the box for wish number two.”

  CHAPTER

  8

  On my way down the sidewalk toward the Humane Society, I texted Grams about the snow. Her reply came right away.

  Grams: Glad it was fun! Now be on alert and put a stop to anything out of the ordinary before that second part of your wish is granted, the “give me some magic.”

  The green-eyed delivery girl was 100 percent out of the ordinary. I should’ve mentioned her to Grams. But I didn’t, because the way Grams was talking, I knew she’d make me throw away the package, and that was a hard no. Why would I cancel magic when I’d pay any price to make middle school easier?

  Still, I’m not going to lie, Grams’s warnings and that caution label on the mysterious box made me hesitate. I left the package tucked in my backpack and planned to do a cost-risk analysis at home before I opened it.

  I texted back:

  Me: OK! On red alert, Grams.

  When I arrived at the Humane Society, the gray-haired lady at the front desk was talking on the phone. Her name tag read “Mavis.” She glanced up and smiled, and I was happy to wait. It gave me time to casually look around for Mystery Guy.

  Mystery Guy had been at the Scottsdale Humane Society on Saturday, when the place was in chaos—cats had been let loose in the rabbit sanctuary, and they were sprinting after the bunnies. The poor, wild-eyed rabbits bounced in every direction. Naturally, I jumped in and helped gather up the cats. That’s when I saw mystery guy, the cutest boy I’d ever seen in real life, wrangling bunnies in the middle of the mayhem.

  Our gaze connected, his eyes light brown with flecks of gold and hair messy in just the right way. He smiled at me, and a dimple appeared, making my knees actually wobble. Then we got propelled in separate directions. After it was over, he had been whisked off to first aid to have his scratches cleaned up, and I had been thanked and asked to please just come back Monday.

  “May I help you?” Mavis said, hanging up the phone.

  “Hi. I’m Megan Meyers. I stopped by on Saturday to check out volunteer opportunities, and the personnel coordinator asked me to swing by after school today. Can you direct me to her office?” I smiled. “She said she needed to take a photo for my name badge.”

  “Sure, honey.” She lifted a penciled-in eyebrow. “Saturday, huh? Were you here when those doorknobs snuck cats into our rabbit sanctuary?”

  “Oh my gosh, yes. Did you guys catch who did it?”

  “No. But I’d like to ring their bell.” She held up a blue-veined fist.

  I smiled. “Me too.”

  Mavis directed me to human resources, and on my way, I looked around, still hoping I’d spot my mystery guy.

  The director gave me the orientation schedule, details about volunteer opportunities, and papers for my dad to sign.

  Afterward, I walked home, photo done. Schedule in backpack. Cute-boy sighting a bust.

  At home, Archimedes swished through the kitchen doggie door and ran to me. Dad says Archimedes is a mutt, but I think he’s a Schnocker—a mix between a schnauzer and a cocker spaniel. Mom used to say the lighter fur around his mouth and nose looked like a mustache. She called him Theodore Roosevelt’s twin. Then Dad would argue that he looked more like Einstein. I didn’t care. He was mine and loyal to me no matter who he looked like.

  “Hey, Archie.” I sat on
the tile floor, and he rolled to his back, ready for his belly rub. “Good boy. Did you miss me today?”

  He panted and stared at me like I was the most important person in the world.

  “Aww, I missed you, too.” I got up and refilled his water and food bowls. He followed me and rolled to his back again. My backpack beckoned, but I said, “One more rub, Archie, then I have to get down to business.” I gave his freckled belly a good scrubbing and then plopped my backpack on the kitchen counter and yanked out the mystery box. Archie rubbed against my legs, but I stayed focused on the package, half expecting it to burst into flames. The clock had delivered snow in Arizona, and the possibilities for the second part of my wish—“give me some magic”—felt limitless . . . and scary.

  I did the mental math: factoring in the snow (a positive), Grams’s warning (a negative), the package label (another negative), and the delivery girl (neutral), there was an 82 percent chance of an unfavorable outcome.

  But then I recalculated, considering the cost-risk analysis. It was as simple as zero times zero equals zero. Zero risk multiplied by zero benefits would equal the same old me. But a simple wish multiplied by a little effort could equal infinity.

  My hands shook. I turned the box, feeling its weight. Grams’s words spun in my head—Nothing in life is free, including wishes.

  But school had costs, too. Big ones. And middle school had its own set of rules. I should’ve asked questions when I was zapped, but since I didn’t, I’d ended up stuck in the middle of something between Rhena and Ally. Ally seemed super-nice—even though I didn’t like that she’d stuck me in the center of her feud, she’d also included me in lunch. And as for Rhena—I didn’t want her kind of attention. Maybe I could use the magic to get out of the middle of their rift.

  I took a breath and cracked my knuckles, hands shaking. I tugged at the twine. It wouldn’t budge. I opened and slammed kitchen drawers, looking for scissors. No luck. I gave the twine another hard tug. It held fast.

  The front door whooshed open, making me jump. Archie took off to the sound of Piper’s voice.

  What was Piper doing home? She’d texted me that after sledding she was going to a yearbook club meeting, so why was she back so soon? I set the box aside and headed to the front door to see if she was okay.