Free Who Needs Magic? by Kathy McCullough Page B

testimony—which details the many reasons why he and I are an inferior breed.
    No, thank you.
    “Oh, yeah. Great. But, um, unfortunately, they’re going away for the summer,” I lie. “Starting tomorrow. One of those RV ‘let’s visit every state park in the Pacific Southwest’ trips. Maybe when they come back, though.” If Dad asks again in the fall, I’ll say Ariella’s father was transferred somewhere far away, like Budapest, and then I’ll be safe until Dad gets an international book tour that includes Eastern Europe, which will hopefully be never.
    Dad pauses before he plugs in the cord and glances over at me. I can tell from his expression that he thinks there’s something I’m not telling him, when the truth is I’ve told him too much. I should’ve kept this all to myself.
    That’s been my mistake—asking for advice, begging for reassurance. All that does is let people see your doubts. It allows them to think you’re weak.
    I don’t need any help. Help gets in the way. I’m on my own here. Like always.
    The lights blink to life, shining together for a moment, illuminating my perfect design of spirals and loops and waves. Then they begin to twinkle, like little Tinker Bells, mocking me. I don’t care what Ariella thinks, or Dad. I
will
find a client. I
will
grant the big wish. I’m so sure of it, it’s like it’s already happened.
    I’m going to show them all.

    Later that night, Flynn calls, like he said he would, and tells me all about the lighthouse and the disgusting dead marine life inside it. I lean back on my bed and listen, relieved not to be discussing me and my inadequacies after a whole evening of it.
    But then Flynn runs out of things to say about barnacles and algae and rusted treasure, and he asks me what I did while he was out snapping photos of architectural debris.
    And there it is, the opening I need to tell it all to someone who is on my side. But I can’t start with Ariella’s claim that I’m a non-f.g. I’d have to go back further, to before meeting Ariella even. I’d have to tell Flynn that I haven’t had a client since I granted his wish.
    On the Night of the First Kiss, after I told Flynn that Iwas an f.g. and showed him some small wishes, he was so amazed. I explained that we only get one client at a time, and when he kept asking if I had a new one yet, I finally said I couldn’t talk about the big wishes because it was against the rules, that there’s an f.g.-client confidentiality that I can’t betray.
    I planned to tell him everything once I’d granted a big wish or two and got my magic up to speed, because then my flawed abilities would be in the past. In the present, I’d be the amazing supernatural creature Flynn believes me to be. But my next client is still stuck in the future. It doesn’t matter that Flynn liked me before he knew I was an f.g. He knows now. Without my powers, I’m no longer amazing. I’m ordinary.
    So when Flynn asks what I did tonight, I tell him, “Not much. I helped Dad put up some lights in the backyard.” I can’t see Flynn, but I can sense from his silence that he, like Dad, suspects there’s something I’m not telling him. Luckily, I know better now. I’m keeping my flaws to myself until they’re fixed.

chapter seven
    Okay, I’m open. I’m focused. I’m ready.
    So where is the client?
    I’ve searched and sensed and listened for the
ping
. I’ve even ramped up the small-wish granting—which is a lot easier to do without Ariella watching and judging—but I don’t feel any closer.
    I really thought it would happen, that my inner declaration of impending triumph would be the trigger, but it’s been two days and I’m still waiting.
    Waiting in a general sense and, at the moment, in a specific sense. Specifically: waiting in the Nutri-Fizzy line.
    As much as I don’t like venturing into Wonderland, this part of the mall does offer a constant crush of humanity. And among those hundreds of humans, I have to