How to Ditch Your Fairy Read online

  “If you want,” she said, not looking at me. Not very encouraging. This really was my punishment: death by sunstroke and boredom.

  “Does it matter what color the streamers are?” I asked. If this worked I was going to do it for Nettles. She’d always wanted a fairy.

  “Yes.”

  “Or what they’re made of?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are the colors in any particular order?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious. Would it work if you did it inside?”

  “No.”

  “You know, Dr. Burnham-Stone—”

  “Tamsin.”

  “Tamsin. I think you’ll have to give more detailed answers when you turn The Ultimate Fairy Book into a real book.”

  “The what?” This time she looked at me.

  “Your book. When it’s a proper book with a pretty cover and everything. It will have to have detailed answers. You’ll have to stop being vague.”

  “Is that what you call it? The Ultimate Fairy Book?”

  “That’s what Fio calls it.” I paused. “Because she thinks it’s so doos. It’s the ultimate fairy book. The book which there is no book more ultimate than. I think it should have glitter on the cover.”

  “Not a very scholarly title. Maybe if I used a colon . . .”

  Wasn’t a colon part of your intestines? I decided not to ask. She’d gone back to her thinking place. At least the air wasn’t thick anymore. I wondered how much longer I had to lie here sweating. The deck wasn’t very clean. I could feel the grit under my hands and just to my right was a big pile of bird droppings. I hoped I wasn’t lying on any. Erk! My stomach growled and I realized I hadn’t had any breakfast and it was now well into lunchtime.

  I wished the stupid fairy would hurry up.

  Not that I meant that negative thought. I didn’t want to attract a cranky fairy. Though Tamsin said they couldn’t hear your thoughts or your words. If they did, then they would have known that we’d been planning to scare them and that we weren’t going to die and they wouldn’t have jumped off us. Or maybe there really had been a chance that we could’ve died? I wondered what Ravenna was like. Steffi said he used to surf a lot so it must have decent beaches too.

  Tamsin stood up. “All done.”

  “You’re sure?” I didn’t feel any different. Well, hotter and sweatier, but I didn’t feel particularly fairied. I couldn’t feel an extra weight on me.

  “There’s one way to find out.”

  Back in the magic fairy room the mirrors reflected a dirty, sweaty me surrounded by a brilliant green aura. I squealed. “Fairy! I have a new fairy!”

  “Congratulations,” Fiorenze said. “I hope it’s better than the last two.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. “So what do you think it is, Tamsin?”

  She shrugged. “Could be anything. You’ll find out.”

  CHAPTER 45

  True Best Fairy Ever

  Demerits: 0

  Game suspensions: 3

  Public service hours: 45

  bobsleds dragged up the ice: 1

  bobsleds ridden down the ice: 2

  Near deaths: 1

  Visits to the principal: 1

  Monkey Knife Fight concerts seen: 1

  Friend acquired: Fiorenze Burnham-Stone

  Good fairies acquired: 1?

  The basketball tryouts passed by like a dream, except that my eyes were open, I remembered most of it, and my friends were there to cheer me on.

  I made the team.

  More than that: they zapped me past D- and C-stream and straight into B-stream basketball.

  And I found out what my new fairy is.

  I thought I would find out a lot sooner. I went shopping with Rochelle, Sandra, and Fiorenze every day for a week, but the only time the shopping fairy worked for me, it also worked for Sandra and Fiorenze, but mostly it worked for Ro. I didn’t have a loose- change- finding fairy either, my hair was as messy or tidy as I made it, and my demerit for being late to tennis ruled out a fairy as doos as Steffi’s.

  I was starting to think that Tamsin’s mirror was lying or that my new fairy was the subtlest fairy in the known universe.

  Until the basketball tryouts. Steffi watched with Rochelle, Sandra, and Fiorenze.

  I shot twenty out of twenty free throws. And after the dribbling drills Rochelle gave me the thumbs-up. Then they paired us off with C- and B-stream players for a little defensive practice under the hoop. They shot and us wannabes had to stop them. Simple.

  They paired me with Lucinda Hopkinson.

  She turned to me and grinned. Evilly. Lucinda’s even taller than Rochelle. Wider too. There’s more of her in every possible direction.

  Have I mentioned that I’m short? When Lucinda held the ball, just casually resting against her stomach, it was at my eye level. Barely.

  I looked across at where my friends were sitting. They all waved. Steffi held up his hands so that I could see that his fingers were crossed for luck. I was going to need more than luck.

  Coach Suravein threw Lucinda the ball and blew her whistle. I trotted over and looked up at Lucinda. Her head wasn’t far from the basket. She was still grinning.

  I stood in front of the basket with my arms out, bouncing on my toes ready to try and look like I had a chance of getting between her and scoring. Or at least trying to look as if I could stop someone if they happened to be considerably shorter than Lucinda. It was like a quokka trying to take down a dinosaur.

  The coach blew her whistle again.

  Lucinda dribbled the ball a few times lazily, like she didn’t even have to try in the face of my underwhelming defense. She lofted it up, over my head—

  —and off the tips of my fingers, the ball bouncing from the backboard, all momentum gone, glancing the outside of the rim as it fell.

  I had blocked her shot.

  Lucinda stared at me. I stared at her. Both of our mouths were open.

  I looked at my fingers to see if they’d suddenly turned into meter-long snakes or something.

  I’d blocked her shot. Tiny me had blocked gigantic Lucinda’s shot. The first in my entire basketball career.

  “Did you . . . ,” Lucinda began and then trailed off.

  “I saw it,” Coach Suravein said. She shook her head. “Okay, let’s go again.” She tossed a ball to Lucinda.

  This time she didn’t mess around. She dribbled, stepped back, and executed a fade- away rainbow shot, arcing high over my head.

  I jumped. Straight up as if my legs were made of bouncy rubber. I smacked the ball away with the center of my left palm.

  “No way,” Lucinda said. “How is that even possible? How did you do that?”

  I showed her my palms. The left one was still red. I had no idea how I’d done that.

  “Is that usual for you?” Coach asked.

  “Um,” I said. It felt natural to leap up and smack the ball away, as if I’d been blocking shots all my life.

  “Another try?” Coach said, looking at Lucinda.

  “I guess so.” She cracked her neck in both directions.

  The whistle blew.

  Lucinda dribbled to my left. I went with her, waving my hands at her chin. She switched right, then left, then back again. I stayed with her, kept my hands and feet moving. She bounced the ball between her legs, feinted left, and then shot.

  I was already jumping, already swatting it away.

  “Shot-blocking fairy,” I thought as I landed.

  “Shot-blocking fairy,” Fiorenze said, coming over and holding out her hand.

  We shook. Rochelle grabbed me in a bear hug. Then Sandra. And last of all Steffi.

  He kissed me too. On the mouth. It made my head throb and my heart swell and all sorts of strange feelings flood through me. Just like our first kiss and nothing like the fairy- driven ones.

  “You are doosness personified,” he told me when he finally let me go. “Awesome new fairy.”

  “Isn’t i
t?” I said, smiling so hard it almost hurt. Steffi, Rochelle, Fiorenze, and Sandra grinned right back at me.

  This fairy was a keeper.

  DEMERITS AND SUSPENSIONS

  Every time a teacher catches a student committing an infraction (doing something they’re not supposed to) they issue them or more demerits. Game suspensions mean that you have to miss your next game. Here’s how you rack them up:

  8 demerits=1 game suspension

  12 demerits=2 game suspensions

  16 demerits=3 game suspensions

  20 demerits=4 game suspensions

  25 demerits=5 game suspensions=1 school suspension

  After that you’re venturing into expulsion territory, and no one wants to go there.

  LIST OF KNOWN FAIRIES

  All boys will like you: Fiorenze’s fairy.

  Bacon: Ensures your bacon is always cooked just how you like it.

  Bladder: You never need to go in the middle of a movie, and when you do need to go there’s always a bathroom around.

  Cat: All cats like you even if they bite or scratch everyone else.

  Charisma: A fairy that seems to mostly hang out with Ours; or maybe they becomeOurs because they have this fairy.

  Clean clothes: No one will ever spill ketchup on your white sweater again. Boring but useful.

  Clothes shopping: Rochelle’s fairy. I am so jealous.

  Dog: All dogs like you even if they bite or pee on everyone else.

  Ears like a fox: The existence of this fairy is only rumored. Oddly enough, only teachers and parents seem to have it.

  Eyes in the back of the head: Another rumored fairy, which is also supposedly possessed only by teachers and parents.

  Footpath: Your guess is as good as mine.

  Getting out of trouble: Steffi’s fairy.

  Good hair: This would also be nice.

  Good skin: As would this.

  Good story: Even when bad things happen to you, this fairy turns them into an excellent story. When writers have this fairy, they always get great ideas—which is not that fabulous given that writing the good ideas is the hard part, not getting them.

  Grip: Danders Anders’s fairy: Whatever he picks up stays in his hands until he decides to let it go.

  Jukebox:Waverly Burnham-Stone’s fairy.

  Knowing what your children are up to: Charlie’s mom’s fairy.

  Loose change finding: One of the most common fairies.

  Monkey: All monkeys like you even if they bite or scratch or fling poo at everyone else.

  Never being late:This sounds a bit more like a curse than a blessing.

  Never getting cold: Another fairy I’d love to have.

  Never getting lost: I’ve met a couple of people with this one. Dead useful.

  Parking: Charlie’s fairy. Something only crazy car- loving types would want.

  Photogenic: The fairy that means you look great in every photo ever taken of you.

  Serving (tennis): Sandra’s fairy.

  Setting students on fire: There’s no proof this fairy actually exists.

  Sleep: I’m not sure about this fairy. I really enjoy sleeping, but on the other hand, being able to get by with little or no sleep without being cranky or hallucinating or having accidents—that’d be good.

  Stealing: The Burnham- Stone family fairy. Definitely dodgy.

  Surfer:With this fairy you can catch any wave.

  GLOSSARY

  astral: excellent, wondrous, fabulous

  benighted: horrible, bad, miserable

  dirty on: cranky with

  doos: cool, ace, brilliant

  doxhead: an annoying person

  doxy: crappy, irritating, terrible

  fairy dung: a cranky expletive

  hoick: to hoist abruptly, to pull sharply

  injured: lame, uncool, the opposite of “doos”

  knackered: tired, exhausted, drained

  malodorous: hideous, wrong, dismal

  Our: a celebrity from New Avalon. So called because New Avaloners think all celebrities belong to them, thus Our Zora- Anne

  pox: exclamation of dismay

  poxy: badly behaved, mischievous, exasperating

  pulchritudinous, pulchy: beautiful, good- looking, attractive

  spoffs: breasts

  stellar: superlative, splendid

  stoush: fight

  torpid: boring, injured, sucktastic

  XI: in cricket the team is called an “eleven,” because there are eleven members on the team—only it is spelled in Roman numerals, as in the New Avalon XI. Charlie is a member of the New Avalon Sports High B Stream XI

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book is a bit of a departure from my previous publications, so I was nervous about finding the right publisher. My fabulous agent, Jill Grinberg, never had any doubts. She gave me brilliant feedback and found it the perfect home at Bloomsbury. Thank you for everything, Jill. Thanks also to Katherine Cremeans and Kirsten Wolf. Not sure what I’d do without you three.

  I don’t want to think about what this book would have been without my editor, Melanie Cecka. She improved it in a million zillion different ways. She’s a genius. I’d also like to thank everyone at Bloomsbury for being so welcoming and supportive. And Regina Castillo for doing such a great copyedit.

  Stephen Gamble has a parking fairy, and it was he and Ron Serdiuk who gave me the idea for this book in the first place. Christine Alesich asked me to write a story for her Aussie Bites series and so I started writing, but what I thought would be a longish short story became a novel. Sorry, Christine!

  Many of the first names of the characters in this book are borrowed from teenagers I met doing appearances in libraries, schools, and book shops in Australia and the USA. It’s been a blast meeting you all. I hope you enjoy the little shout-out, and if I didn’t borrow your name it doesn’t mean I love you less!

  Thank you so much to my first-draft readers: Holly Black, Gwenda Bond, Pamela Freeman, Maureen Johnson, Jan Larbalestier, Diana Peterfreund, Ron Serdiuk, Delia Sherman, Scott Westerfeld, and Lili Wilkinson. This book would be crap without you.

  Thanks also to the New Bitches and all the folks at YA drinks night, especially David Levithan, who organizes it and keeps us all in touch with one another.

  Maureen Johnson, Jennifer Laughran, Diana Peter -freund, Cherie Priest, John Scalzi, and many others came up with some great ideas for fairies. Bless. And thanks for all the procrastinatory online chats. Knowing there are others avoiding work is all that keeps me going.

  Thank you so much, Libba Bray, for coming up with the title for this book. What would I do without you?

  A million thanks to the readers of my blog for all their encouragement, conversation, and general fabulosity while I was writing this novel (or, as it used to be called, the Great Australian Elvis mangosteen cricket feminist monkey knife- fighting fairy book).

  Five years of being a New York Liberty season ticket holder has completely transformed the way I think about women and sports and was a direct inspiration for this book. I’d like to thank the Liberty and the WNBA and all women athletes everywhere and at every level. Charlie would not exist without you.

  This novel owes a huge debt to all the wonderful books on cricket I’ve read over the years. The books of Mike Coward, Ramachandra Guha, Gideon Haigh, and C. L. R. James in particular have been wonderfully in-spiring. Thank you.

  Lastly, all the love in the world to Jan, John, and Niki Bern and Scott Westerfeld.

  Justine Larbalestier definitely has a novel-writing fairy, and her next book is totally different, kind of scary, and completely honest . . . probably.

  Read on a for a sneak peek

  PROMISE

  I was born with a light covering of fur.

  After three days it had all fallen off, but the damage was done. My mother stopped trusting my father because it was a family condition he had not told her about. One of many omissions and lies.

  My father is a liar and so am I.
>
  But I’m going to stop. I have to stop.

  I will tell you my story and I will tell it straight. No lies, no omissions.

  That’s my promise.

  This time I truly mean it.

  BEFORE

  The first two days of my freshman year I was a boy.

  It started in the first class of my first day of high school. English. The teacher, Indira Gupta, reprimanded me for not paying attention. She called me Mr. Wilkins. No one calls anyone Mr. or Ms. or anything like that at our school. Gupta was pissed. I stopped staring out the window, turned to look at her, wondering if there was another Wilkins in the room.

  “Yes, you, Mr. Micah Wilkins. When I am talking I expect your full and undivided attention. To me, not to the traffic outside.”

  No one giggled or said, “She’s a girl.”

  I’d been mistaken for a boy before. Not often, but enough that I wasn’t completely surprised. I have nappy hair. I wear it natural and short, cut close to my scalp. That way I don’t have to bother with relaxing or straightening or combing it out. My chest is flat and my hips narrow. I don’t wear makeup or jewelry. None of them—neither students nor teachers—had ever seen me before.

  “Is that clear?” Gupta said, still glaring at me.

  I nodded, and mumbled in as low a voice as I could, “Yes, ma’am.” They were the first words I spoke at my new school. This time I wanted to keep a low profile, be invisible, not be the one everyone pointed at when I walked along the corridor: “See that one? That’s Micah. She’s a liar. No, seriously, she lies about everything.” I’d never lied about everything. Just about my parents (Somali pirates, professional gamblers, drug dealers, spies), where I was from (Liechtenstein, Aruba, Australia, Zimbabwe), what I’d done (grifted, won bravery medals, been kidnapped). Stuff like that.

  I’d never lied about what I was before.

  Why not be a boy? A quiet sullen boy is hardly weird at all. A boy who runs, doesn’t shop, isn’t interested in clothes or shows on TV. A boy like that is normal. What could be more invisible than a normal boy?

  I would be a better boy than I’d ever been a girl.

  At lunch I sat at the same table as three boys I’d seen in class: Tayshawn Williams, Will Daniels, and Zachary Rubin. I’d love to say that one look at Zach and I knew but that would be a lie and I’m not doing that anymore. Remember? He was just another guy, an olive-skinned white boy, looking pale and weedy compared to Tayshawn, whose skin is darker than my dad’s.