How to Ditch Your Fairy (2 page)

Days walking: 60

Demerits: 4

Conversations with Steffi: 5

Doos clothing acquired: 0

I
had chocolate and strawberry in a crunchy nut and brioche cone, and Rochele had lemon and lime in the vanila cone. Neither of which put us over our fat or sugar limit for the day, though it did mean dinner was going to have to be lean. Worth it!

When I went to pay, Rochele stopped me. “My shout. A little apology for my fairy not working for you.”

“That’s okay, Ro. She hardly ever does.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t usualy actively sabotage you …”

“No worries. I’m used to doxy fairies.” I took a bite out of my ice cream and my brain went on the frizz.”Oh! Oh! Oh!” I clutched my right temple, trying not to drop the cone.

“Shouldn’t take such big bites,” Rochele said, demurely licking her lemon and lime to demonstrate how ice cream
should
be eaten.

“Smal licks and nibbles, Charlie, not big bites.”

I nodded even though stating the obvious is the most annoying thing in the entire world. Maybe her fairy did double duty as a saying- the- fragging- obvious fairy? The freezerization in my brain started to ebb away. “Steffi isn’t—”

“Steffi?”

“The new boy. Stefan.” His family had moved in just around the corner from my place, so we’d been hanging out.

“The wholy pulchritudinous one?” Rochele said.

I felt my cheeks get hot. He
is
vastly pulchy—cheekbones so high they almost touch the sky, and glorious long black curls; not to mention his skin, which is the color of a chocolate kiss, my favorite candy.

“You stil with me, Charlie?” She took another demure bite of her ice cream.

“Oh, sorry. Yes, that boy. He says where he comes from everyone cals him Steffi.”

“He does, huh? Isn’t that a girl’s name?” Rochele said, mock punching me.

“Ow!” Her mock punches are harder than most people’s
actual
punches.

“Baby.”

“Am not.”

“Are.”

“Not.”

“Are. Infinity times a milion.” Rochele punched me again, hard.

“You lose, I win!”

“Don’t tel anyone else about his nickname, okay?”

“Fairy’s honor,” Rochele said solemnly. She always keeps her promises. “You been hanging out with him a lot, have you?”

“Um,” I said. So far we’d had five conversations. Not that I was counting. “He’s smart. Funny too.”

“And pulchy.”

My face got hot again. I took a smal bite of my ice cream. “It’s not just that. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met before. It’s hard to explain.” I thought I’d had crushes before. But this was different. As different as imagining summer on a cold winter’s day. When your cheeks sting from the cold, it’s hard to imagine being out in the waves under the sun, surfing. How I felt about Steffi was real; my other crushes had been vapor.

“You realy like him, huh?” Rochele said.

I nodded.

“And he likes you?”

“I think so. I mean, he likes me as a friend. He laughs at my jokes, but it’s not like he has stacks of other friends. He only just got here.” I shrugged. “It’s hard to tel what kind of like it is.”

“Wel, at least you get to hang out, right? Remember Sandra’s crush on Freedom Hazal?”

I nodded. He hadn’t given Sandra the time of day. There was I nodded. He hadn’t given Sandra the time of day. There was much suffering before she realized that while Freedom was pulchy, there wasn’t much more to him than clear skin, big eyes, and moppy hair.

“It could be that she’s in a bad mood,” Rochele said.

“Who? Sandra?”

“No, my fairy. My aura’s been kind of thick today. You know?

Soupy, almost.”

I pushed air through my teeth, mocking her. “Auras? Please!”

“Fiorenze says fairies create an aura around you. If your fairy’s in a bad mood they make it al hazy around your head.”

“You don’t believe anything Stupid-Name says, do you?”

“Just because Fiorenze’s vile,” Rochele said, “doesn’t mean she doesn’t know about fairies. Both her parents have PhDs in Fairy Studies.”

“From an old- country university. That doesn’t count! I bet they only have those degrees ‘cause they paid for them. You know how rich her family is.”

“But her mom teaches at UNA now. She wouldn’t have a job
there
if her degree was dodgy.”

“Oh.” My mother studied biology at UNA. It’s the best university in the city, which, naturaly, makes it the best in the world. “Wel, I heard they’re only rich because they inherited the money.”

“I heard that too. Apparently her grandmother invented some kind of computer thing.” Rochele shrugged. “That’s not the point.

Fiorenze’s parents know about fairies, and fairy auras are her mom’s pet theory. She has these special mirrors and you can see your fairy’s aura floating al around your head. Mine’s purple.”

“You went to Fiorenze Stupid-Name’s house! To our sworn enemy’s home? You talked to her parents?” How could she?! We had a pact that neither of us would ever have anything to do with poxy boy-magnet Fiorenze Burnham-Stone, who’s even more annoying and pretentious than her name.

“Basketbal, Charlie. She’s captain. Remember? It wasn’t just me. The whole team was there! I
have
to socialize with her. Plus she was sick al last week and I agreed to fil her in on al the stuff that isn’t in the notes.”

“Stupid basketbal team.” Mention of it did not make me happy.

I’m astral at sports—we’re both at New Avalon Sports High, the best Sports high school in the city, probably in the world—but I’m not very tal. Okay, I’m not even slightly tal. I’m the opposite of tal. The shortest girl in my class and I always have been.

My mom says that makes me more environmentaly sound than everyone else, because I take up less space and use less resources.

But that is no comfort when you try out for the basketbal team and everyone laughs at you. “Hey, shorty,” they caled.”You need a stepladder?”

Back at Bradman Sports Middle School I’d been the star point guard, averaging six assists a game. Six! And my ten points a game wasn’t bad either. Tragicaly, none of that was on show at my high school basketbal trial. I was one for twelve from the floor with only two assists. It was like there was Vaseline on the bal. And my two assists. It was like there was Vaseline on the bal. And my strength, free throws? I didn’t make a single one.

I wasn’t even selected for D-stream basketbal. Al because of one poxy day.

As long as I could remember al I’ve ever wanted to do is play cricket and basketbal. I couldn’t wait for the New Avalon Sports High tryouts. It never occurred to me I wouldn’t blitz in basketbal.

I’d actualy worried that by the time I got to the final year of high school and had to pick one, I wouldn’t know what to do. But I might not get to make that choice. My next chance to try out for basketbal wasn’t until the beginning of next year! So many months away … But I practiced whenever I could. Next time I was determined not to have a bad day.

“Our basketbal team is not stupid,” Rochele said. “Anyway, none of us like her. But she
is
our captain. I can’t avoid her!”

Fiorenze Burnham-Stone wasn’t liked by any of the girls at school because she’s stuck-up and won’t talk to the rest of us, but mostly because of her every- boy- wil- like-you fairy. Even though she’s not that smart, or fun, or pulchy, or anything realy—al the boys want to be with her.

“I wasn’t at her house for fun, you know,” Rochele said. “It was pep-talky and strategy and you know.”

“Is her house as big as everyone says?”

“Bigger,” Rochele said. “I only talked to her mom ‘cause there were al these books about fairies, but not supermarket-lite books, serious books, with not-fun covers and long titles. I was curious.

You’re the one who always wants to know about fairies. You should talk to her parents. Her dad has written books about fairies.

Whole books! They’re, like, world experts.”

“Who believe in auras?”

“I saw mine in her mom’s mirror. And this morning I had to blink and blink before I could see right, it was so thick.”

“You don’t think it was just sleep in your eyes?”

“That’s what I used to think, but now I know better.”

“Realy?”

Rochele nodded earnestly.

“Do you think fairies can read our minds?” I asked.

“No. They’re not psychic or anything.”

“So auras, yes; mind-reading, no?”

“Yup,” Rochele replied, ignoring my mockage.

“Hmmm, so how do they know if we’re mean or not?”

“Don’t you know
anything
, Charlie?”

I shrugged, not conceding ignorance, but not pretending I knew vast reams either.

“They can see what we do. That’s al anyone needs to figure out if someone’s mean and doesn’t deserve a fairy. I mean, we can’t read Fiorenze’s mind, can we?”

I shuddered. “The horror. Can you imagine? Who wants to go into her malodorous mind?”

“Exactly,” Rochele said, finishing off her ice cream.

I wasn’t sure what was
exactly
about it; our not reading Stupid-Name’s mind didn’t have anything to do with whether fairies could read our minds. “My mom reckons it’s random—what fairy we have. No merit involved,” I said. “Why can’t we see them, anyway?”

“Because they’re
in- vis-i-ble
. Why can’t we see dust mites?”

” ‘Cause they’re realy, realy smal. But, Ro, we
can
see them.

Through a microscope.”

“That’s cheating.”

“Do you reckon we could see a fairy through a microscope?”

“Please!”

A car honked. Rochele’s dad roled down his car window and yeled at her, even though she’d already stood up. “Sure you don’t want a lift?”

I shook my head. Even if I hadn’t been on my walking-only regimen, I wouldn’t have taken a lift with Rochele’s horrendous father.

“Stil walking everywhere?” Rochele asked as her dad honked again. “You realy think it’s going to get rid of your fairy?”

“Hope so.”

Days walking: 60

Demerits: 4

Conversations with Steffi: 5

Doos clothing acquired: 0

I
have a parking fairy. I’m fourteen years old. I can’t drive. I don’t like cars and I have a parking fairy.

Rochele gets a clothes-shopping fairy and is always wel attired; I get a parking fairy and always smel faintly of gasoline. How fair is that? I love clothes and shopping too. Yes, I have a fine family (except for my sister, ace photographer Nettles, and even she’s tolerable sometimes) and yes, Rochele’s family is malodorous. She does deserve some kind of compensation. But why couldn’t I have, I don’t know, a good- hair fairy? Or, not even that doos, a loosechange-finding fairy. Lots of people have that fairy. Rochele’s dad, Sandra’s cousin, Mom’s best friend’s sister. I’d wholy settle for a loose- change fairy.

It can be arduous hanging out with Rochele. She always looks doos in her perfect clothes. And sometimes I get bored going shopping with her al the time, even when her fairy is working for me. Sometimes I look forward to rainy days even though it means we have to play tennis indoors. Her fairy doesn’t work on rainy days.

My fairy has no objection to rain. She just doesn’t do anything useful except make sure that whatever car I’m in finds the perfect parking spot. That’s why I’m walking home and not getting a lift from Rochele’s dad: it’s al part of my campaign to get rid of my fairy. I’m starving her of opportunities to do her thing so she’l want to go and be someone else’s fairy. Our Zora-Anne says this is the best method for getting rid of a fairy you don’t want. It’s how she got a charisma fairy after having been born with a never- getting-lost fairy. Our Z-A never went anywhere for five years so she couldn’t get lost and then one morning she woke up with a brand-new fairy, and before she knew it she was a star.

It could happen to me too.

So I walk. I could take the bus or the ferry or the lightrail, ‘cause it’s not like they need to park, but somehow walking seems much more wearisome for a parking fairy. For two months now I have walked everywhere. I haven’t even ridden my bike or board. For al I know my fairy may be gone already. But I can’t be sure and there’ve been no signs of a new one.

I’ve read everything in the library about fairies, especialy anything that touches on the question of how to get rid of one, which hardly any of them do! Talking to Stupid- Pants Fiorenze’s parents was tempting. But al they’d have would be theories. That’s al anyone’s got— even the Fairy Studies experts—but there aren’t any that fit al the facts, and make sense, and can be proved.

No one has ever seen a fairy. There are lots of fake photo sites, No one has ever seen a fairy. There are lots of fake photo sites, but, wel, they’re clearly fake. Or they’re so indistinct and smudgy it could be anything. Like Steffi said, some people don’t think it’s a fairy that makes sure that every car I’m in gets a parking spot.

Some say they’re ghosts or some kind of spirit, and some people, like my dad and Steffi, don’t believe it’s anything but luck.

My mom has many theories. She’s the one who figured out what my fairy was. I was stil a baby. She’d had to go into town every day for a week because she was giving evidence in a court case (she’s a microbiologist) and Brianna, who used to look after me back then, was sick, so Mom had to bring me in and hand me to the lawyer’s associate to mind while she was on the stand. Anyway, every single day I was with her she got a parking spot in front of the courthouse in the only spot without a parking meter. It didn’t matter how late she was running or whether it was raining or anything. The only time it didn’t work was when Dad took a day off work to mind me. Mom ended up having to park practicaly where we lived and catch a bus in.

“Bingo!” she thought. “My daughter has a parking fairy.” After that she put it to the test and found parking spots outside the Opera House, in the ranges, and right near the NACG on the first day of the Milennium Test. Incontrovertible proof that her first child had a parking fairy.

And the beginning of my life in cars. I’m always being borrowed by Mom, or one of her sisters, or her best friend, Jan, or Nana and Papa, or just about everyone in our neighborhood, whenever they’re going to the doctor’s, or grocery shopping, or anywhere that parking might be a problem. Every single day of my life someone asks me to get in their doxhead car.

I hate cars. I hate drivers. I hate their little squeals of joy when they find a parking spot.

But mostly I hate my benighted parking fairy.