The Secret Destiny of Pixie Piper

by Annabelle Fisher

  Mom twisted her love beads around her fingers. “Do you think I should go?” I asked her.

  She reached over and took my hand. “I always expected you to join. I just wish it wasn’t so sudden.” She turned to Aunt Doris. “What about after the summer? Even if Pixie is safe at the farm, what will happen when she comes home?”

  “Hopefully we’ll have made peace with them by then. Raveneece was a fool, but deep down her sisters know it’s wrong to interfere with our apprentices, who are, after all, only children.” Aunt Doris stood up. “If we’re agreed, I’ll get started making the arrangements right away.”

  Both of my parents nodded, but they looked as if their hearts were heavy.

  “Heah.” Without coaxing, Sammy took off the black hat and returned it to his new friend. He was beginning to grow up. Suddenly it felt like everything was happening too fast.

  “Wait! Please!” I jumped up. “My friend Gray—I told him everything. I was so scared I couldn’t help it.”

  The look Aunt Doris sent me—skin crinkling around her soft, hazel eyes—was understanding. “It might be best for him to stay at the farm for the summer, too. The Sinister Sisters may be on the lookout for any kid who knows too much.”

  “Even boys?” I asked.

  “Boys have their roles, too, kiddo. I’ll speak with the others about him.” Aunt Doris grinned as she tied on her hat. Then she put an arm around me. “Now come and walk me to the door.”

  Mom and Dad took Sammy off to bed. They seemed to understand that Aunt Doris wanted a moment alone with me.

  “You’re going to be a big challenge, Pixie Piper, but you may turn out to be a great Goose Lady.” Aunt Doris looked me in the eye. “Did you learn anything from that horrendous experience?”

  I thought maybe I had. “Yes—about my power,” I said. “It seems as if the tornado of words that brings a stopping poem only comes when it’s super important.”

  Aunt Doris nodded. “A Goose Lady’s gift must be used sparingly and wisely. Now it’s time for me to go.” She reached for the doorknob.

  “Wait—aren’t you going to do that disappearing thing?”

  She put a finger to her lips and stepped outside. I stood there watching as she faded around the edges, became a soft and fuzzy image of herself, and turned into a sprinkle of glitter.

  Maybe someday I’d learn to do that, too.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Ye Olde Poet Laureate

  When Ms. Mosely announced her name, Sage strutted to the front of the auditorium. Her lips were pressed together in a smug smile that made a little part of me wish I’d entered the poet laureate contest just to keep her from winning.

  Up on the stage, Ms. Mosely and Uncle Bottoms were beaming like twin spotlights. Then Ms. Mosely shook Sage’s hand, and Uncle Bottoms presented her with the medal. As he hung it around her neck, a photographer from the local paper snapped a photo. Tomorrow she’d be smiling at me from the front page of the Winged Bowl News.

  Big whoop.

  Our teachers led us in a round of applause. Some of the kids were stamping their feet and shouting, just because they could.

  “Quiet!” hollered Ms. Mosely when it started to go on too long. “I’m sure you’re all anxious to hear Sage read her prize-winning poem.” She signaled Sage to begin.

  Sage stepped in front of the microphone and lowered it like a pro. “My Little Angel”—by me,” she began.

  “Clippity clop her nails wake me up

  Then she barks until I rise.

  Like a windshield wiper she wags her tail

  And doggy-kisses my eyes.

  “Sometimes she chews our chair legs

  Which makes my mother sore

  But though Angel gets sad, she never gets mad

  ’Cause she’d rather play than roar.

  “On days when the house is empty

  And there’s no one to talk to or care

  I never moan, though I eat alone

  Because my Angel is there.”

  Of course, we had to clap again. But I had to admit Sage’s poem wasn’t bad—which was super annoying.

  She was walking off the stage when Ms. Mosely caught her by the shoulder. “Hold on! There’s still one more honor for you. Mr. Bottoms will tell you about it himself.”

  Uncle Bottoms stepped forward. “That’s right! I’m going to give you your first official assignment as poet laureate.”

  Sage’s eyes seemed to grow bigger. I thought I saw her gulp.

  “The Museum of Rare, Historical, and Unique Toilets has a very exciting announcement,” Uncle Bottoms told the audience. “One of the most famous commodes in the world, the throne toilet that belonged to King Louis the fourteenth of France, is now a part of our collection.”

  Uncle Bottoms stepped back from the mic so we could applaud the toilet. I didn’t mind clapping again because I suddenly had an idea what Sage’s assignment was going to be. It made me pretty cheery.

  “The museum will be holding a special ceremony on the last day of school to unveil this priceless piece of history,” Uncle Bottoms continued. “As the first poet laureate of Winged Bowl, Sage, you will write an original poem in honor of the throne toilet. And you’ll be my special guest at the event where you’ll read your work before the public.”

  Whoopie!

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Ye Olde Secret Deal

  After Aunt Doris met with my parents, there were new rules. I had to come straight home after school every day for the next two weeks, which was when school ended. It meant that I wasn’t allowed to go to any parties, not even Alexa’s. The excuse I told anyone who asked was that I was being punished for sneaking out in the middle of the night to find Destiny. At least it was a little bit true.

  I didn’t argue. I’d been seeing the broken pieces of Raveneece in my dreams each night, especially her eyes. And I still heard the sweeping sound—or thought I did—whenever I felt a breeze. I wondered if it was the broom of doom. And if it had swept up those pieces of Raveneece.

  To help me keep busy, Dad had given me a special trunk to pack my things in for Chuckling Goose Farm. But I still missed my friends. Now that it was almost summer, they got to do things like go biking or swimming after school. Mom knew I was lonely, so she tried hard to be home more.

  “Anything new today?” she asked when I walked in the door on the day of the big announcement.

  I plopped my book bag on the kitchen floor and went to get a glass of water. “Sage Green won the poet laureate contest.”

  Mom made a little hmm of surprise. “You never know who’s got poetry inside them.”

  “Oh, Mo-om!” I rolled my eyes. “Destiny and I are going up to pack now.”

  Sammy grabbed my leg. “Me pock!”

  “Sure,” I said, taking his hand. The truth was, he liked to unpack what I’d just put in my trunk. But it didn’t matter—I had all afternoon. Besides, I was doing a lot of unpacking of my own. Twice I’d tucked in my poetry notebook and pulled it out again. Okay, so I was pretty sure all the other apprentices at Chuckling Goose Farm would write poems, too. But some of mine were about feelings that were private. Others were just plain silly. I wasn’t sure any of them were good enough to make me an apprentice.

  For the third time, I stashed the notebook underneath my PJs. Then I rolled up Leo’s drawing and put that in, too. I also added my lucky goose flashlight and the new copy of Ella Enchanted Mom had bought for me. Since I’d gotten into the habit of reading it each night to help me sleep, my copy had gotten pretty tattered. I was leaving it home so it didn’t fall completely apart.

  Sammy toddled off to his room and brought back his teddy bear, his nursery rhyme book, and a few diapers. When he plopped them in the trunk, I realized he thought he was coming with me. I had to squeeze my eyes shut to keep them from tearing up. But maybe someday he’d go to Chuckling Goose, too. As Aunt Doris had said, “Boys have their roles.”

  Mr. Westerly wasn’t too keen on Gray going to
Chuckling Goose with me. My parents and I had a meeting with Gray, his dad, and his grandma.

  We didn’t tell them everything. But we did explain that Chuckling Goose offered lots of fun and interesting activities like caring for farm animals, gardening, baking, magic, horseback riding, fishing, and performing community service. And if you got picked to go, it was free.

  “Why did they choose Gray?” asked Grandma Westerly.

  “The owners are relatives of Dana’s,” my dad replied. “I told them what a wonderful kid he is and how helpful he’s been to me here at Winged Bowl.”

  Gray’s grandma smiled at Mom. “Oh, Dana, I didn’t realize you were related to them. That’s different!”

  Huh. I hadn’t thought about the Goose Ladies being Mom’s relatives, but it was true.

  “I’d rather keep an eye on my son myself,” said Mr. Westerly. He looked at Gray. “I can take you fishing.”

  “But Dad, you’re at work all week,” Gray pointed out. “Besides, I really want to go!”

  “Rob—it’s a farm,” Grandma Westerly said calmly. “Gray will have fun and be safe. It will be good for him.”

  Gray’s dad finally agreed to let him go. Reluctantly.

  The plan was for Aunt Doris to pick us up at the toilet museum on the night the King Louis was being unveiled. She said since our friends and neighbors would be busy, it would be easier for us to slip away unnoticed.

  Still, every time the phone rang, I got nervous. I was afraid Mr. Westerly would make Gray cancel. So when Mom appeared in the doorway, saying, “Phone call for you,” I nearly dropped the trunk lid on my fingers.

  “Is it Gray?” I asked.

  Mom shook her head. “Nope, it’s Sage.”

  “Tell her I’m not here,” I said, without even bothering to whisper. Mom left the phone on my desk anyway. Then she led Sammy away, promising him a cookie.

  I eyed the phone. I knew if I didn’t answer, Sage would probably just call back. So I grabbed it and squeezed it like it was her neck. “It’s me. What do you want?”

  “Pixie, I made a mistake.”

  You made a lot of mistakes, I thought. But I was silent, so she’d have to do the talking.

  “I don’t want to be poet laureate. I never should have entered. I want you to have the medal.”

  “But I never even entered,” I said.

  “That’s because you got hit in the head.”

  “Yeah, thanks to you.”

  “I’m sorry, Pixie—really I am! You could still write a poem and give it to Ms. Mosely tomorrow. I’ll go with you to help explain.”

  “Look, there’s nothing to explain. I don’t want to be poet laureate, either. The difference is, I don’t have to. Enjoy your golden donut.” I hung up.

  The phone rang again.

  “Oh, please, Pixie! Please! You’ve got to help me. I can’t write a poem about a toilet. But you live next door to the museum. You’re used to them. You know what to say.”

  I thought about reminding her that she was used to toilets, too, especially since there were seven bathrooms in her house. You could say she lived in a toilet museum. But I didn’t feel like being mean anymore. I ran my hand over one of the stitched squares on my quilt. It was a piece of an old apron Mom used to wear—a print of a cow jumping over the moon. After everything that had happened to me, it almost seemed possible.

  “I’ll help you write it,” I said finally. “But I won’t read it at the ceremony. You’ll have to do that yourself.”

  “But—” Sage sounded as though she was about to argue. Then she stopped herself. “Thank you, Pixie.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Ye Olde Great Unknown

  I watched Sage follow Uncle Bottoms up onto the stage of the museum’s community room where the star of the evening, the King Louis throne-with-a-secret, was waiting. Sage lifted the skirt of the ruby red gown my mom had made her so she wouldn’t trip on the stairs. With the golden donut around her neck and her grandma’s tiara in her shining black hair, she looked like a genuine princess.

  There was such a big crowd that some people in the back had to stand. My entire class was there, as well as a lot of other kids from our school, and our teachers and parents, too. And almost all the residents of Good Old Days had come, because Mom’s theater group was going to perform a few songs from Grease as part of the evening’s entertainment. Of course, some people were there just to see what a throne toilet looked like.

  Uncle Bottoms cleared his throat. “Good evening everyone,” he said into the microphone. “Thank you for coming to help celebrate the museum’s newest treasure.” He waved a hand at the King Louis, which had a big red ribbon wrapped around it like a present. “This is a special night for all of us. From now on our town will be recognized as the home of one of the world’s most historically important commodes.”

  The audience clapped. Gray let out a loud burp of appreciation. Ms. Mosely turned around to glare at him. It was a good thing school had ended today or he might have gotten a detention.

  “Before we move onto the evening’s other festivities, we have a special treat,” Uncle Bottoms continued. “To commemorate the museum’s latest and greatest loo, our poet laureate, Sage Green, is going to recite her original poem.”

  When she didn’t move, Uncle Bottoms gave Sage a gentle nudge. Her eyes darted around like two guppies that had just seen a shark, until her gaze settled on someone in the front row. Grandma Gloria! I saw her give Sage a thumbs-up.

  Sage walked to the front of the stage, smiling. When she began speaking, her voice sounded as grand as if she were King Louis’s granddaughter for real:

  “I am a princess as you can see

  From crown to gown, I’m pure royalty

  But a princess can’t sit just anywhere

  She needs a throne, no simple chair.

  “It must be a thing of perfect beauty

  But also a place to do her duty

  Proclaiming laws to rule the lands

  Knighting knights and giving commands.

  “Oh, I am a princess, as you know

  A princess who really has to go!

  My legs are crossed in deep despair

  Until I spy a royal chair.

  “A coat of arms upon its back

  It’s not for any local hack.

  Polished to a sunny shine

  This chair is truly very fine.

  “But best of all beneath its seat

  Is something practical and neat.

  A bowl that’s hidden till I need it

  Now please excuse me . . . GET LOST, BEAT IT!”

  Sage pretended to shoo the audience away with a wave, just the way she’d practiced at my house. For a moment there was silence. Then Uncle Bottoms let out a great guffaw. It spread through the auditorium like a wave, until everyone in the room seemed to be laughing.

  Gray sent me a sideways look. “Sage is getting awfully good at writing poetry.”

  “Shh!” I jerked my chin toward the stage, where Uncle Bottoms was passing a pair of scissors the size of a barbecue fork to Sage. They were so heavy he had to help her use them to cut the red ribbon on the royal potty.

  When I heard the soft scuff of a door, I looked back over my shoulder. A figure in a hooded black cape had slipped inside the room. Her face was in shadow, but I could see a lock of frizzy red hair peeking out. It was Aunt Doris.

  I leaned closer to Gray and whispered in his ear. “She’s here. It’s time for us to go.”

  Gray looked back toward the door. “Is that her?”

  I nodded.

  “Did you find out where it is?’

  “Unh-uh. They never tell anyone.” I looked back again “She’s waiting. Des is already out in her van with our trunks. Ready?”

  “Yeah. I guess.” Gray was breathing quickly. He’d fought so hard to get permission from his dad, I was surprised he was nervous.

  I stood up and reached for his hand. “Braver than brave,” I whispered as I gave it a squeez
e.

  “Truer than true,” he replied.

  Pixie’s Notebook

  SAMMY POEM 1

  Moses supposes his toeses are roses

  Plump little raisins, delicious to eat.

  But Sammy supposes that toes go in noses

  Better for smelling his own stinky feet.

  GIRL IN A BLACK HAT

  There was a young poet who lived in an acorn

  (You thought I would say a shoe)

  With her mom, dad, and bro,

  and an egg sure to grow

  There wasn’t too much that was new.

  Until the egg cracked and out came a goose

  With blue eyes and feathers all white.

  But instead of honking, the goose came out talking

  At first all it said was “Write!!!”

  Then as it got older, the goosey got bolder.

  It ordered the girl to get busy.

  “For verse I’ve a yen, so with keyboard or pen

  You must rhyme until you get dizzy!”

  With the goose for a master,

  the girl wrote much faster

  Till a mountain of poetry grew.

  Then she put on a hat, very pointy and black

  And away the goose and girl flew.

  THE BROOM OF DOOM

  If you’re cracked to pieces

  And there’s no way you can mend

  The broom of doom can help you heal

  Though it is not a friend.

  It may put you back together

  But you won’t know your own face

  For your eyes and ears and other parts

  May not fit back in place.

  SAMMY POEM 2

  His hair’s a nest for food

  He cries to get his way

  He’s the center of attention

  Whenever friends come play.

  So why do I wait while he takes a nap,

  For Sammy to wake up and climb in my lap?

  HAIKU FOR MS. TOMASSINI

  BY PIXIE

  (5 syllables – 7 syllables – 5 syllables)

  Night. Geese are leaving.

  Wings beat against moon, saying