Page 9

*catastrophic carpools*

“L OOK. A T. T HAT!”

We were in the middle of the crowded hallway, where everyone was rushing to the exit because the day was finally over (thank God ), when I glanced at the trophy case, where Allie was pointing.

And there, taped to the glass and written in perfect cheerleader handwriting, was a huge poster.

CHEERLEADING TRYOUTS!!!!!!

“What about it?” I asked, really hating that she was slowing down. I was desperate to escape the school after a very not great first day.

“You’re not going to believe this,” she said, slowing to a stop. “But I think I want to try out.”

Okay—that definitely made me stop.

Stop so that I could stare at her like she’d lost her mind.

“You’re kidding, right?” I said, shocked that Allie was smiling at that poster like she was serious.

Not that there was anything wrong with cheerleading.

It was more that Allie was the opposite of graceful. In addition to being clumsy in general, she’d never been a particularly good dancer.

Or coordinated in any sense of the word.

We’d given up on trying to learn trendy dances—at all—because it was impossible for her. And that wasn’t me being mean. She was the one who always said it, who laughingly pointed it out every time she tripped over something or did something “sprawly.”

“Okay, so in addition to the whole appearance thing,” Allie said, moving close to us and lowering her voice so no one else could hear, “I also woke up on the fourth with an entirely different sense of coordination.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, suddenly irritated with my friend’s great fortune. I wanted her to have all the great things, but my day had been too awful for me to be able to receive more good news pertaining to people who weren’t me.

And, like, it was still the first week, so she couldn’t already be getting another wish.

Was this like Ken’s ability to suddenly be cool about her gaming? Like a bonus to her first wish?

“It means that suddenly I’m a little bit graceful,” she said between her teeth, like it was the most confidential thing in the world. “Like, I can do a backflip now.”

“Shut up ,” Kennedy squealed, tiny-clapping. “Are you serious right now?”

“Totally.”

“And you want to be a cheerleader?” I asked, but instead of waiting to hear her answer, I was wondering how to get a definitive confirmation on grantee versus non-grantee status.

Because it was looking like I wouldn’t be getting any wishes.

Which couldn’t be possible, could it?

I brought my attention back to Allie and said, “I never knew this was something you were interested in.”

“That’s because I was always too klutzy to even consider it,” Allie said, squinting in the afternoon sun as we walked outside. “But now that there’s a chance, I kind of want to.”

“You totally should,” Kennedy said, lifting a hand to wave at some dude who yelled “Later, Holford!” as we passed his friend group.

Such a strange, strange day.

“But I’m so nervous. The first practice is after school tomorrow, then tryouts are next week. That’s not very much time to learn the cheers.”

“But why are you nervous?” I asked, pulling my sunglasses out of my backpack. “You’re beautiful and already hang out with the girls we all know will be cheerleaders. And apparently you can do a backflip now. Feels like a slam dunk.”

“I wouldn’t say we hang out ,” she said, but she was smiling. I imagine it felt pretty amazing to have a first day like hers, where everyone looked at you when you walked by and treated you like you were a celebrity.

I was so jealous it was starting to hurt my stomach.

But not in a mean way.

I wanted her to have this. I loved Allie to pieces and was so happy for her, but I wanted it for myself so badly, too, that I felt a little queasy.

“Well, compared to me, you’re already one of them.” I tucked my hair behind my ears and looked for my mom’s minivan. She hated sitting in the pickup line, so she usually parked at the church across the street and made me walk over. “None of my wishes have even popped yet.”

“Shhhh—do not talk about it,” Allie said, her eyes bugging out of her face.

She was right. The last thing I needed was to do anything to jeopardize the magic.

But also—why was she telling me how to behave around the magic?

The magic was my thing; I was the one who’d brought it to them.

“It’s your turn, though,” Kennedy assured me as she pulled out her phone and started scrolling through her Gamestagram feed. “I know it is.”

“EMMA!” I heard the voice, heard the obnoxiously loud honking, and even though I couldn’t see him yet, I wanted to kill my brother. “EMMA ROCKFORD!”

I glanced across the street, and yep—my mom was parked at the church.

And my brother was leaning out the window, hollering at me.

“I have to go,” I said, pointing and shaking my head. “Noah only gets louder the longer you make him wait.”

“He’s hilarious,” Kennedy said, her hand shielding her eyes as she tried to see my idiot brother. “And I love him so much.”

“He used to put me in armpit jail,” I said, yelling as I walked away from her. “He literally shoved my face in his armpits because he thought it was funny. You cannot love someone like that.”

“I know, but I do,” she yelled back, giggling.

“You’re a weird, weird girl,” I said, turning around and walking backward so I could see her face. “He’s a monster.”

“HURRY UP, EMMA!” Noah screamed from the car.

“YEAH! HURRY UP, EMMA!”

That made me spin around, because no no no no —please, no.

There, in the middle row of my minivan, yelling out the window beside my brother, was Jackson Matthews.

In that stupid, stupid hat.

I couldn’t catch a break, could I?

I ran across the street, desperate to shut them up before someone like Evan Winters walked outside and connected me with them in his head. (I was already going to have to override his brain image of my meganose and nerd shirt, so I didn’t need the additional work.) I slid open the van door, climbed into the back row, and barely had my seat belt buckled when my brother said, “I cannot believe you wore that shirt the entire day. Why didn’t you call Mom?”

“Oh my gosh, hon—you should have called me,” my mom said, her eyes growing wide as she looked at my face and shirt. “You had to wear that on the first day of school? What on earth happened?”

“Him.” I pointed at Jackson and gave her the short version of what’d transpired that morning.

“It was an accident, I swear,” Jackson said, but I didn’t want to hear it.

“Of course it was,” my mom replied, but she didn’t take her eyes off my face. She pursed her lips, her forehead wrinkled with worry as she asked, “How does it feel, sweetie? Does it still hurt?”

“It’s okay now,” I said, not wanting her to worry while at the same time wanting to snuggle up with the comforting sound of her voice. Because after a bad first day, it felt really good to have her concern.

“Do you think ice cream will help?” she asked, tilting her head and giving me a little smile.

“Definitely.” I smiled back at her and already felt a little better.

“Ice cream isn’t going to make that thing shrink, though,” Noah said.

“Can you not talk to me, please?” I shut the door and immediately pulled my phone out of my backpack.

“Don’t be rude, Emmer,” my mom said as she started driving out of the church parking lot.

“Yeah, Emmer ,” Jackson said quietly from his spot in front of me.

I pretended not to hear him.

I did an amazing job ignoring him and my brother on the way home, mostly because they started talking about the Cubs, and I couldn’t care less about baseball. But when my mom got to our driveway, she said to Jackson, “So we’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow, okay?”

“Wait, what?” I asked, leaning forward between the seats. This wasn’t going to be an everyday thing, was it? I couldn’t handle riding with Jackson each and every day.

“You weren’t the only one on the street to make honors band, honey,” my mom said, smiling proudly that her daughter was finally in an extracurricular. I’d been notified last night via telephone that I was selected (auditions had been in July), and even though I was excited about making it, the disappointment of everything else had snuffed out the joy.

What was band when magical wishes were at play?

“Jackson made it, too,” my mom said. “So sometimes we might be giving him rides on early days.”

Noooooooooooooooooooooo.

“Great—we’ll now be known as the nerd bus,” Noah said, smirking at his stupid joke. “Maybe mom should get a ‘Bandie on Board’ sticker.”

Jackson laughed, apparently comfortable with my brother’s mockery, but I rolled my eyes and growled. The last thing I wanted was additional Jackson time after he totally destroyed my first day (and my face), so this was not the news I needed to hear.

“By the way, Emmer,” he said as he slid open the van door, “feel free to drop off that shirt later.”