Free Freaks Out! by Jean Ure

guilty in case it was my fault. A treasured possession will be lost… Suppose that really was the horoscope Skye had picked? Suppose I really was psychic?
    â€œWe can’t afford to let things just dribble on.”
    â€œBut you can’t bully a saint,” pleaded Jem. “Saint Anthony is very popular. He’s one of the most popular saints there is. There’s people all over the world asking him to find things for them. Surely we could just give him till Monday?”
    I said grudgingly that I would think about it. I knew we couldn’t expect an important saint like Saint Anthony to drop everything just for us. I could even see that some of the things people asked him to find might be considered more importantthan a mere pencil, even if it was a silver one and had belonged to Skye’s beloved gran. A child, for instance, or a dog or a cat. They would probably be at the top of the list. Unless, of course, it was all done strictly in order, like first come, first served?
    I asked Jem what she thought, but she crinkled her nose and admitted that she wasn’t sure.
    I said, “Well, I wish you’d find out. Couldn’t you ask a priest or something?”
    Jem said she didn’t know any priests.
    â€œYou could always try going to church,” I suggested. “Like you promised you would!”
    She wriggled, uncomfortably. “I said if he helped us.”
    â€œYes, but if you went before he helped us, that would show him you were serious.”
    I could tell she didn’t want to. I had to remind her rather sternly that it was for Skye.
    â€œIt’s not much to ask, I shouldn’t have thought.”
    Jem agreed that it wasn’t. She could hardlydo much else. I mean, just going to church! How difficult was that?
    â€œSo will you do it?”
    She sighed. “I s’pose so.”
    â€œYou promise?”
    â€œYes, all right!” she said. “I promise!”
    So there I was, all prepared to give Saint Anthony another two days to get his act together, when this weird thing happened. Something very shocking. Mr Hargreaves handed back our maths homework and Skye had been given a B-. I could see it, in Mr Hargreaves’s big, bullying handwriting, bursting off the page: B-. Skye! She’d never had such a low mark in her life before.
    My first thought was that I was glad I hadn’t done any copying off her. But then I caught sight of her face. All the colour had drained out of it so that she wasn’t just ordinarily pale but white like a mushroom, with beads of sweat.
    For a minute I was scared she might be going to faint. She used to faint sometimes at primaryschool when we had assemblies. I always thought it was something to do with her being so tall and the blood finding it difficult to get round her body, but I’d never known her to faint sitting down.
    I was all prepared to spring into action when she took a deep breath, hooked her hair back over her ears and sat up very stiff and straight with this glassy smile on her lips. I wasn’t sure whether Jem had noticed or not. I tried to catch her eye, but she was hunched over her maths book, drawing faces. She draws faces over everything. They all have these pouty lips and eyelashes sticking out like spokes. I poked at her, and nodded in Skye’s direction. Jem craned over. She obviously saw the B-, cos she turned back to me, this look of total incredulity on her face.
    As we filed out at the end of class Mr Hargreaves called Skye over to his desk. I heard him ask her, “What happened?” I could have told him. “Her gran has just died and she’s very unhappy.” Knowing Skye, though, she wouldn’t say a word.
    But that was it, as far as I was concerned. Saint Anthony had had his chance! I wasn’t waiting any longer. I told Jem, who immediately said, “Does that mean I don’t have to go to church on Sunday?”
    â€œThat is entirely up to you,”