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Authors: Kathy McCullough
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right. It’s really not you.”
“Thank you.” I
cannot
get the sweater and headband off fast enough. I hold them both out to Ariella, clutching them between two fingers like a dirty diaper. Ariella takes them but doesn’t return them to where she got them, because she’s still looking at me like I’m some complex math equation that she’s
this close
to solving.
“I wasn’t sure, but now I am: You’re not one.”
“One what?”
Ariella waits for a pair of pink-and-green-clad tweens to pass by.
“You know.”
She twirls a wandlike finger in the air.
“I am so.”
Ariella hangs up the sweater and slides the headband over her hair. Naturally, it looks perfect on her.
“Think about it, Delaney. You’re fifteen and you’ve never done any real magic. You haven’t granted one big wish.”
“Flynn got his wish.”
“See, that doesn’t make any sense. You can’t be emotionally involved with your beneficiary. And then there’s the way you look.” Ariella glances into the shatterproof mirror and adjusts the headband.
I step between Ariella and her reflected self. “I have the wand. I’ve felt the wish. I can do the magic. You’ve seen me.”
“You felt
one
wish, and you got it wrong. It doesn’t count.”
“My dad
told
me I was one.”
Ariella takes off the headband and waves it at me. “There you go. More proof. A fairy god
father
? There’s no such thing. When Justine was little, she called herself my fairy godsister, but her powers were all pretend.”
“My dad’s not a pretend anything. He’s granted like a million wishes.” I follow Ariella to the cashier line. “I have the phone number of one of his clients, because we’re going to her
wedding
. You want me to call her?”
Ariella lowers her voice when we get in line. “Okay, maybe you’re some sort of distantly related magical entity.”
“Like because my Dad’s half-Irish, maybe we’re leprechauns?”
“Sure! That’s possible.”
“Then I would
want
to wear green.” I say this
loud
and get a barrage of quick glares from the princesses in line behind us.
Back outside the store, Ariella swings her shopping bags in one hand and gestures with her other. “Don’t you see, Delaney? It explains everything. Your people, whatever they are, start later in life. They don’t have as much magic, and they look like … you.” As she waves and swings, the big bold mall lights bounce twinkling beams off her headband and off her embroidered jacket and even off her hair. I’ll admit this difference between us: she reflects light; I absorb it. “So that means there’s nothingwrong with you at all! You’re probably only
meant
to do small wishes.”
“But my dad—”
“You said he’s some kind of therapist guy, right?” I’d told her about him on the way to the Princess Shop. She’d never heard of “Dr. Hank.” (“Oh, I don’t have time for TV or any of that sort of stuff, and I get all my books from the library.”) “That means he’s good at figuring out what people’s wishes are. And then he uses his minor magic to help them come true.”
“He turned a rusted heap of metal into a red convertible. That’s not minor magic.”
“But he’s been doing magic for a long time, right? So he’s gotten better at it. Twenty years or so from now, you’ll be a tiny bit better too.”
“You are so completely—”
Ariella’s cell tinkles its wind-chimes tune. “Hold on.” She checks the text. “Mom’s here.”
On the way to the car, Ariella continues her pep talk, offering to take me “small-wish hunting” anytime, because I should definitely keep trying to improve my skills even if they’re limited by my inferior birth. She babbles on as if nothing’s wrong, saying we should come to the mall again soon, because she didn’t get to show me the Accessories Plus store or the Starlight Organic Makeup Bar, and wouldn’t it be cool if I slept over one night?
I say nothing, because what more is there to
“Thank you.” I
cannot
get the sweater and headband off fast enough. I hold them both out to Ariella, clutching them between two fingers like a dirty diaper. Ariella takes them but doesn’t return them to where she got them, because she’s still looking at me like I’m some complex math equation that she’s
this close
to solving.
“I wasn’t sure, but now I am: You’re not one.”
“One what?”
Ariella waits for a pair of pink-and-green-clad tweens to pass by.
“You know.”
She twirls a wandlike finger in the air.
“I am so.”
Ariella hangs up the sweater and slides the headband over her hair. Naturally, it looks perfect on her.
“Think about it, Delaney. You’re fifteen and you’ve never done any real magic. You haven’t granted one big wish.”
“Flynn got his wish.”
“See, that doesn’t make any sense. You can’t be emotionally involved with your beneficiary. And then there’s the way you look.” Ariella glances into the shatterproof mirror and adjusts the headband.
I step between Ariella and her reflected self. “I have the wand. I’ve felt the wish. I can do the magic. You’ve seen me.”
“You felt
one
wish, and you got it wrong. It doesn’t count.”
“My dad
told
me I was one.”
Ariella takes off the headband and waves it at me. “There you go. More proof. A fairy god
father
? There’s no such thing. When Justine was little, she called herself my fairy godsister, but her powers were all pretend.”
“My dad’s not a pretend anything. He’s granted like a million wishes.” I follow Ariella to the cashier line. “I have the phone number of one of his clients, because we’re going to her
wedding
. You want me to call her?”
Ariella lowers her voice when we get in line. “Okay, maybe you’re some sort of distantly related magical entity.”
“Like because my Dad’s half-Irish, maybe we’re leprechauns?”
“Sure! That’s possible.”
“Then I would
want
to wear green.” I say this
loud
and get a barrage of quick glares from the princesses in line behind us.
Back outside the store, Ariella swings her shopping bags in one hand and gestures with her other. “Don’t you see, Delaney? It explains everything. Your people, whatever they are, start later in life. They don’t have as much magic, and they look like … you.” As she waves and swings, the big bold mall lights bounce twinkling beams off her headband and off her embroidered jacket and even off her hair. I’ll admit this difference between us: she reflects light; I absorb it. “So that means there’s nothingwrong with you at all! You’re probably only
meant
to do small wishes.”
“But my dad—”
“You said he’s some kind of therapist guy, right?” I’d told her about him on the way to the Princess Shop. She’d never heard of “Dr. Hank.” (“Oh, I don’t have time for TV or any of that sort of stuff, and I get all my books from the library.”) “That means he’s good at figuring out what people’s wishes are. And then he uses his minor magic to help them come true.”
“He turned a rusted heap of metal into a red convertible. That’s not minor magic.”
“But he’s been doing magic for a long time, right? So he’s gotten better at it. Twenty years or so from now, you’ll be a tiny bit better too.”
“You are so completely—”
Ariella’s cell tinkles its wind-chimes tune. “Hold on.” She checks the text. “Mom’s here.”
On the way to the car, Ariella continues her pep talk, offering to take me “small-wish hunting” anytime, because I should definitely keep trying to improve my skills even if they’re limited by my inferior birth. She babbles on as if nothing’s wrong, saying we should come to the mall again soon, because she didn’t get to show me the Accessories Plus store or the Starlight Organic Makeup Bar, and wouldn’t it be cool if I slept over one night?
I say nothing, because what more is there to
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