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*the lore of four*

“Y OU’VE GOT TO CLIMB on that cow and ride—go!”

Nana Marie pushed me into the field, and as I stumbled over the tall grass, I saw the huge cow that was running in circles on the other side of the pasture.

“What do you mean?” I yelled, looking at her over my shoulder, because she couldn’t be telling me to try and literally ride a cow, could she? Although, to be fair, it was my “eccentric” Nana; her goading me into cow-jockeying was not an impossibility.

I watched the beastly animal, snorting and galloping while kind of mooing and growling all at the same time, and realized that thing couldn’t actually be a cow at all because it was ginormous.

We’re talking the-size-of-an-actual-food-truck ginormous.

No way.

“I know it seems too big, but you have to be brave and go through with it,” she yelled from where she was standing on top of the fence that bordered the field, her hands on her scrawny hips. “Or the magic won’t happen!”

“But.” My heart was pounding and I couldn’t breathe—no, I was breathing too much—as the monstrously large bovine creature appeared to be getting closer. “What does a gigantic cow have to do with the magic?”

“Nothing, kid,” she said, grinning. “He’s symbolic. That gargantuan cow does not want to become a hamburger, so he took matters into his own hooves and jumped the fence. Just like you need to do.”

“I need to jump the fence?”

Nana rolled her eyes. “You need to jump the fence of your fears and go find that magical portal. Be like the cow.”

“Emma?” Someone called my name from behind me, but I couldn’t risk looking away from the giant future hamburger to see who it was.

“Hmmm?” I murmured, my heart racing as the cow drew closer and made eye contact with me. His eyes were the weirdest color, like they were glowing amber.

“Em!”

I gasped as two hands squeezed my arm.

My eyes flew open, my pulse pounding as I saw that I wasn’t in a field with Nana Marie at all—I was on the bus.

I’d fallen asleep on the bus.

Somehow, among the chaotic sounds of fiftyish screaming sixth graders all crammed together inside a lumbering yellow vehicle, I’d fallen sound asleep in my seat. It would’ve been a weird thing to happen on a normal day, but since I’d been up all night, prepping for what we were planning to do when the teachers weren’t looking, I was exhausted.

“I can’t believe you were sleeping,” Allie said, grinning from her spot beside me.

I can’t, either , I thought, and a tiny part of me was sad my friends had woken me up, because I’d been with Nana Marie. I wanted to go back to sleep so I could see her again.

“Dreaming about the plan?” Kennedy asked teasingly, because it’d been all I’d talked about for the past week.

But who could blame me?

The boring nature field trip was taking us within a mile of THE magical place on the EXACT DAY it was spewing magical wishes.

If that wasn’t fate, nothing was.

“Of course I was,” I said, smiling, because I knew without a doubt that my dream had been more than a dream.

That’d been Nana Marie, making sure I’d go through with it.

Be like the cow.

Milo Mannington chose that moment to puke all over his window (he’d warned Mrs. Snurk that he didn’t feel good, but she’d refused to let him visit the nurse before we left), so I had that nasty little distraction to keep my anxious mind from spinning out of control as we finished the drive.

When we reached Platte River State Park, everyone on our bus lined up before heading out to do nature things. We trudged along with our classmates, identifying native Nebraska leaves, birds, and animal scat (gross), but I couldn’t concentrate on any of it because I was reviewing maps in my head.

We weren’t going to have much time, so I needed to be locked in on the coordinates.

There is no margin for error.

“Where should we sit?” Allie asked when we finally broke for lunch, the three of us clutching our brown paper sacks as we looked for a spot. “Over there?”

She pointed to a picnic table that was smack-dab in the center of everything.

“Did you not study the plan?” I asked, gesturing toward the outer tables. “We have to be on the perimeter, Al, remember?”

That made her smile like we were about to play a fun game. “That’s right.”

It’s not a game! I wanted to shout, but I knew it kind of was to them.

So I was calm— deep breath, Em —while we wolfed down our lunches, and I was composed when go-time finally arrived. We’d tossed our trash, moved to what I’d marked as the “jump point” on the map, and then the moment was upon us.

“Okay, on the count of three, we run for the forest,” I said quietly, glancing toward the trees that were just beyond the picnic area as my heart raced in my chest. “No looking back.”

Kennedy’s eyes were huge as she nodded and kicked out her right foot, like she was getting ready for a race, and even though Allie was biting her fingernails like they were lunch, she nodded, too.

Thank goodness.

This was the only day, the only time, the only way the magic could happen for us, but I’d been a little scared they’d change their minds and chicken out. It took a lot of guts— pluck , Nana Marie used to call it—to risk the wrath of Mrs. Snurk, the terrifyingly strict bullhorn-wielding teacher who’d once screamed at a student for breathing too loudly, but we had to risk it.

Being plucky today was our only chance.

“One,” I said, scanning the area for any teachers or parent volunteers who might be looking at us.

Thankfully (or not in a normal situation), we appeared to be invisible to everyone but ourselves.

“Two,” I said, my heart beating so loudly in my ears that I was surprised no one else could hear it.

“Wait,” Kennedy whispered, her eyes reaching peak bulge as she smacked my arm and said, “You’re sure you’ve got everything?”

“Positive,” I said, because I’d been planning this moment for years . I’d left nothing to chance. I’d literally gotten out of bed at 2:00 AM just to pace around my bedroom and go through everything one final time—my mental checklist, my best-laid plans—to make sure there were no mistakes.

I glanced at Allie as I sort of bounced on my toes, ready to bolt. “Are you good?”

She nodded, but didn’t stop with the fingernail ingestion.

“Two and a half,” I whispered, then said, “Three!”