He left, and I staggered out of bed, got ready for school, and went to the kitchen to grab something for breakfast.
Dad and Sandra were in their bathrobes, sitting at the table eating cereal. The library didn’t open until nine o’clock, so they always left for 112/356
work after we’d gone to school. I sat down and poured myself some raisin bran.
“Drink a glass of milk,” Sandra said, sliding one to me. “It builds strong bones, and besides, it won’t keep long with the power out.” Dad didn’t say anything. I wondered if he was going to pretend I didn’t exist, like he’d done most of yesterday.
Nick walked to the front door, backpack slung over his shoulder.
He opened it, and I waited to hear the door click shut behind him. It didn’t happen. Instead, he called out, “Mom, Frank, you’d better come see this.”
“What is it?” Sandra asked. Neither she nor Dad moved from the table, but I jumped up and hurried to the front door. Chrissy is here, I thought. She must have realized she never gave me directions on how to turn things into gold, and now I’d have to explain her wings to everyone. My thoughts didn’t take me further than that. Because it wasn’t Chrissy. It wasn’t a person at all.
It was the neighborhood. It was gone.
Chapter 8
The street that ran by our house … didn’t anymore. My neighbors’
homes had vanished too. In their place a dirt path wound its way through towering, leafy trees. A brook ran by our yard, and a cylindric-al stone building stood next to our garage. Farther down the path, a few cottages poked out of the trees. A couple of the cottages were built of pale gray stone, but the rest were thatch. The scene looked like a storybook picture of the Middle Ages.
“How did those get there?” I asked.
Behind me, I heard the sound of a glass hitting the entryway tile.
Milk droplets splashed around my shoes. Sandra gasped. “What happened?”
My father pushed past me to go outside, but Sandra grabbed hold of his bathrobe sleeve. “Don’t go out there!” My father pulled away from her and stepped onto our front porch.
He looked around with a stern expression. “This isn’t right.” His brows furrowed at Nick. “How did this happen?” Nick held up his hands as though my dad had accused him of hiding the neighborhood. “I didn’t do anything. I just opened the door and this was here.”
A horrible, sick feeling came over me. This was Chrissy’s doing. I didn’t know why or what it meant, but it had to be Chrissy’s doing. You didn’t wake up one day to accidentally find your house transplanted into the Middle Ages.
I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “This might be a good time for me to mention that I have a fairy godmother. Well, she’s actually only a fair godmother.”
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My father’s eyes narrowed and his mouth pressed into a tight line.
“What are you talking about?”
I took a step back from him. This was not the facial expression I’d looked forward to seeing when I told him about my wish. “I didn’t ask for this,” I said. “I asked for a more controlled version of the Midas touch. I’m supposed to be able to turn things into gold. I don’t know why we’re here.”
All three of them stared at me for a moment, then my father said,
“You did what?”
I sighed. I’d heard that question too many times during the last few days. I shut the front door, then calmly told the whole story, even about Robin Hood and using my second wish to send him back to Sherwood Forest. I also told about the lights that circled my head if I lied. When I finished, my father grunted in disbelief. “That’s impossible. Fairies and leprechauns don’t exist.”
“I’m telling you the truth.” I pointed to my head. “See? No lights.” My father put his hands on his hips. “There is a logical explanation for this, and it doesn’t involve magic.” I put my hands on my hips to match his stance. “I love the way you always listen to me.”
Lights ignited around my head, shooting sparks down around my shoulders. It felt like I was wearing a hat made of birthday candles.
Nick, Sandra, and my dad all gaped. I knew what they were reading.
“See, that was a lie,” I said. “Actually, I don’t love the way you never listen to me.”
The sparks vanished.
My father walked to the living room couch and sank into it. He rubbed his forehead in bewilderment. Sandra pressed a trembling hand against her lips. “Oh my,” she said, and the words sounded lost and lonely, hovering between the four of us.
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Nick joined my father, sitting down on the couch with a thud.