All those years of sisterhood were about to be chewed to pieces.
This is why mortals need magic.
Of course, they don’t realize it. Never has a fairy godmother been called upon to vanquish a grudge. Instead they settle for jewels, kingdoms, handsome princes, that sort of thing. It was this reason, by the way, and not laziness, disinterest, or time spent at too many Pixie dances—as some of my magic professors asserted—
that I concentrated my studies on jewels, kingdoms,and handsome princes. In fact, as you have seen frommy final reports, I spent more than the required timestudying handsome princes. This was due to the 31/431
extreme importance mortals put on royalty, and not, as Headmistress Berrypond suggested, that I am an in-curable flirt.
I hope you will see from the Wishes Granted budget report that I used my magic to the best ends and took on this project following fairy godmother protocol ensuring that the subjects, Savannah Delano and her sister, Jane, lived happily ever after.
From
the
Honorable
Master
Sagewick
Goldengill
To Mistress Berrypond
Dear Mistress Berrypond,
I am in receipt of Chrysanthemum Everstar’s report, yet it seems quite a bit has been left un-said about her time as a magical godmother for the mortal Savannah Delano. Can you please have the Memoir Elves elaborate so that the academy and I can more accurately assess her project?
Yours,
Sagewick Goldengill
From the Department of Fairy Advancement To the Honorable Sagewick Goldengill Dear Professor,
As you requested, we sent Memoir Elves to the mortal Savannah Delano’s home. Madame Bellwings, Memoir Elf Coordinator, was not at all pleased with this request, because elves who write the memoirs of teenage girls have the unfortunate habit of returning to the magical realm with atrocious grammar. They can’t seem to shake the phrases “whatever” and “no way,” and they insert the word “like” into so many sentences that other elves start slapping them.
They also pick up the bad habit of writing things in text message form (e.g., R U going 2 the mall?) and for no apparent reason occasionally call out the name Edward Cullen.
Currently the Memoir Elves who delved into Savannah’s mind while she slept are in detox.
They are doing well in their recovery process, although one still occasionally stands in front of the mirror and asks, “Do you think I look fat in this?”
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Savannah is none the wiser and the elves were able to compile a thorough report. You should be able to find out exactly what part Chrysanthemum Everstar played in granting wishes and whether she did indeed follow all fairy/mortal protocol.
The memoir report follows as told to the elves by the subject Savannah Delano.
Chapter 1
Here’s my definition of a bad day: your boyfriend of four months—who, until twelve seconds ago, you thought was the most perfect guy to set foot on earth—breaks up with you.
My definition of a truly horrible day: the aforemen-tioned boy dumps you for none other than your sister.
The definition of my life: he does all of this right after you inform him that you blew your last dollar buying your dream prom dress. He asks if you can get a refund.
It turns out he’ll be taking your sister.
• • •
I stared at Hunter across the restaurant table, so many thoughts shooting through my head that I didn’t know which one to pick first and aim in his direction.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Jane and I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“Really?” How do you not mean to ask your girlfriend’s older sister to prom? Do the words just trickle out by themselves? Was someone else in charge of your lips when this happened? I didn’t say any of this, 36/431
because there wasn’t a point. What he meant was: I didn’t mean to like her better than you.
I wanted to ask him why he did—like Jane better than me, that is—but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to ask the question. The answer would hurt more than not knowing.
Almost as if he’d read my mind he added, “It’s just that Jane and I have more in common. We’re both more
. . .” He moved his hand in a rolling motion as though trying to catch the right word somewhere over the tabletop.
During the pause, I thought of my own adjectives.
Smart? Talented? Good-looking? No, it probably wasn’t looks. Jane and I look too much alike for that. She’s pretty, true, but I always get noticed first. Jane always has been content to be known as the quiet, studious one.
The quiet, studious one who had now stolen my boyfriend.
“Organized,” Hunter said.
“Organized?” I repeated. “You’re dumping me because I’m disorganized?”
“I guess ‘responsible’ is a better word,” he said.
“So I’m disorganized and irresponsible?” He leaned toward me but his eyes distanced themselves. “Don’t take it the wrong way. You have lots of great qualities: you’re fun and you’re pretty, you’re just .
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. .”—more hand rolling, as though this somehow un-wound his tongue—“always late for everything.” I stared back at him, stunned. This was how guys chose girlfriends—based on their punctuality?
“I’m not late for everything,” I said, even though I hadn’t been ready when he came to pick me up that night. But I’d had a good reason. One of Mom’s hair clients had needed an updo for a fancy night out and Mom hadn’t finished with her perm appointment, so I’d stepped in to help out.
I nearly pointed this out, but then stopped myself. It hadn’t been tonight’s ten-minute wait that had decided my fate with Hunter. He’d only scheduled this date to break up with me. I should have sensed it by the way he’d hardly looked at me while he ate his dinner.
“Jane and I both want to go to college,” he went on.
“You don’t even want to go to high school.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I have never said I didn’t want to go to high school. I enjoy high school.
Well, at least the socializing part. Geometry I could do without. Ditto for world history. And really, why should I care what the symbolism in The Grapes of Wrath stands for? Do employers ask those kinds of questions during job interviews?