The Land of Stories: The Wishing Spell (6 page)

The critical wheels in Alex’s head stopped turning. She knew she’d done the right thing—not as a student, but as a sister.

“I want you all to get out your homework from last night,” Mrs. Peters commanded, “and I would like you to briefly present your work in front of the class.”

The teacher regularly surprised the class with impromptu presentations to keep them on their toes. She took a seat on a stool in the back of the room uncomfortably close to Conner’s seat so she could keep an eye on his consciousness.

One by one, the students presented their assignments to the class. Besides a boy who thought “Jack and the Beanstalk” was about an alien abduction and a girl who claimed “Puss in Boots” was an early example of animal cruelty, all the students seemed to have interpreted the tales correctly.

“It was so hard to choose just one fairy tale to write about,” Alex said as she animatedly presented her seven-page paper to the class. “So, I selected the story the theme of which is present in virtually every fairy tale and every story ever written, ‘Cinderella’!”

Her excitement was not shared by her peers.

“Many people have had issues with ‘Cinderella,’ saying
it has anti-feminist elements,” Alex continued. “But I think that’s completely ridiculous! ‘Cinderella’ is not about a man saving a woman, it’s about
karma
!”

Most of the class began daydreaming about other things. Mrs. Peters was the only person in the room who seemed even slightly interested in what Alex had to say.

“Think about it,” Alex went on. “Even after years of constant abuse from her stepmother and her stepsisters, Cinderella remained a good person with high hopes. She never stopped believing in herself and in the good of the world. And although she married the prince in the end, Cinderella always had
inner happiness
. Her story shows that even in the worst of situations—
even when it seems no one in the world appreciates you
—as long as you have hope, everything can get better….”

Alex let her mind linger on what she had said. She questioned the last point she had made in her presentation. Was that really what “Cinderella” was about, or was it what she
needed
“Cinderella” to be about?

“Thank you, Miss Bailey! Very well said,” Mrs. Peters said with the closest thing to a smile her face was capable of making.

“Thank you for your time,” Alex said, and nodded to the class.

“It’s your turn, Mr. Bailey,” the teacher announced. She was sitting so close to him that he could feel the warm breath from her nostrils on the back of his neck.

Conner went to the front of the classroom, dragging his
feet as if they were encased in concrete. He had never had trouble talking in front of the class, but he’d rather be anywhere in the world than presenting something in front of a teacher. Alex gave him an encouraging nod.

“I chose ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf,’ ” Conner said, going against his sister’s advice from the day before.

Alex slumped in her seat, and Mrs. Peters rolled her eyes. This was very disappointing.

“I know you’re all thinking I went with the easiest one,” Conner said. “Except, reading it again, I don’t think the story is about the importance of honesty. I think it’s about
high expectations
.”

Alex and Mrs. Peters both raised an eyebrow. Where was he going with this?

“Sure, the boy was a brat. I can’t deny that,” Conner continued, gesturing to the half-page paper he had written. “But can you blame him for having a little fun? Clearly his village was having a bit of a wolf problem, and everyone was stressed out about it. He was just a kid; did they really expect him to be perfect all the time?”

His presentation may have not been the best, but it certainly was catching the class’s attention.

“And it makes me wonder, why was no one watching this kid?” Conner added. “Maybe if his parents had kept an eye on him, he wouldn’t have been eaten. I think the story is trying to tell us to keep an eye on our kids, especially if they’re pathological liars. Thank you.”

Conner never tried to be funny. He was just painfully
honest about his thoughts and opinions. This honesty always amused his classmates, but never his teacher.

“Thank you, Mr. Bailey,” Mrs. Peters said sharply. “You may sit down now.”

Conner knew he’d blown it. He took his seat, resuming his position under his teacher’s cold stare and warm breath. Why did he even bother trying anymore?

It wasn’t the end of a school day unless Conner left feeling completely worthless. There was only one person who was capable of making him feel better when he felt this way. Conner only wished he were still around….

Mr. Bailey always knew when his son needed to talk to him. It didn’t have anything to do with observation or intuition, but with location. Occasionally, Mr. Bailey would get home from work and find his son sitting up in the oak tree in the front yard with a contemplative look on his face.

“Conner?” Mr. Bailey would ask, approaching the tree. “Is everything okay, bud?”

“Uh-huh,” Conner would mumble.

“Are you sure?” Mr. Bailey would ask.

“Yup,” Conner would say unconvincingly. He wasn’t as vocal about his troubles as his sister was, but you could see it in his face. Mr. Bailey would climb up the tree and have a seat on the branch next to his son and coax out what was troubling him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Mr. Bailey would continue. “Did something happen at school today?”

Conner would nod his head.

“I got a bad grade on a test,” he admitted on one occasion.

“Did you study for it?” his father asked.

“Yes,” Conner said. “I studied really hard, Dad. But it’s just no use. I’ll never be as smart as Alex.” His cheeks turned bright red with embarrassment.

“Conner, let me fill you in on something that took me a long time to learn,” Mr. Bailey said. “The women in your life are always going to seem smarter; it’s just the way it is. I’ve been married to your mother for thirteen years, and I still have trouble keeping up with her. You can’t compare yourself to others.”

“But I’m stupid, Dad,” Conner said, his eyes filling with tears.

“I find that hard to believe,” Mr. Bailey said. “It takes intelligence to be funny and tell a good joke, and you’re the funniest kid I know!”

“Humor doesn’t help with history or math,” Conner said. “It doesn’t matter how hard I try in school. I’m always going to be the dumb kid in class….”

Conner’s face went white and expressionless; he stared off into nothing, so ashamed of himself that it hurt. Luckily for him, Mr. Bailey had an encouraging story for every situation.

“Conner, have I ever told you the legend about the Walking Fish?” Mr. Bailey asked him.

He looked up at his father. “The Walking Fish?” Conner asked. “Dad, no offense, but I don’t think one of your stories is going to make me feel better this time.”

“All right, suit yourself,” Mr. Bailey said.

A few moments passed, and Conner’s curiosity got the best of him.

“Okay, you can tell me about the Walking Fish,” Conner said.

Mr. Bailey’s eyes lit up as they always did just before he was about to tell a story. Conner could tell this was going to be a good one.

“Once upon a time, there was a large fish who lived in a lake by himself,” Mr. Bailey told him. “Every day, the fish would watch longingly as a boy from the village nearby would play with all the horses and dogs and squirrels on land—”

“Is a dog going to die in this story, Dad?” Conner interrupted. “You know I hate stories when dogs die—”

“Let me finish,” Mr. Bailey went on. “One day, a fairy came to the lake and granted the fish a wish—”

“That’s random,” Conner said. “Why do fairies always just show up and do nice things for people they don’t know?”

“Employment obligation?” Mr. Bailey shrugged. “But for argument’s sake, let’s say she dropped her wand in the lake and the fish retrieved it, so she offered him a wish as a thank-you. Happy?”

“That’s better,” Conner said. “Go on.”

“The fish, predictably, wished for legs, so he could play with the boy from the village,” Mr. Bailey said. “So the fairy turned his fins into legs and he became the Walking Fish.”

“That’s weird,” Conner said. “Let me guess, the fish was so freaky-looking, the boy never wanted to play with him?”

“Nope, they became great friends and played together with the other land animals,” Mr. Bailey told him. “But, one day, the boy fell into the lake and couldn’t swim! The Walking Fish tried to save him, but it was no use; he didn’t have fins anymore! Sadly, the boy drowned.”

Conner’s mouth hung open like a broken glove compartment.

“You see, if the fish had just stayed in the lake and not wished to be something else, he could have saved the boy’s life,” Mr. Bailey finished.

“Dad, that’s a horrible story,” he said. “How does a boy live by a lake and not know how to swim? Dogs can swim! Couldn’t one of them have saved him? Where was that fairy when the boy was drowning?”

“I think you’re missing the point of the story,” Mr. Bailey said. “Sometimes we forget about our own advantages because we focus on what we don’t have. Just because you have to work a little harder at something that seems easier to others doesn’t mean you’re without your own talents.”

Conner thought about this for a moment. “I think I get it, Dad,” he said.

Mr. Bailey smiled at him. “Now, why don’t we get down from this tree, and I’ll help you study for your next test?”

“I told you, studying doesn’t help,” Conner said. “I’ve tried and tried and tried. It never helps.”

“Then we’ll come up with our own way of studying,” Mr. Bailey told him. “We’ll look at pictures of people in your history book and make up jokes about them so you’ll remember their names. And we’ll create funny scenarios to help you with all of those math formulas.”

Conner slowly but surely nodded and agreed to it.

“Fine,” he said with a half smile. “But for future reference, I liked your story about the Curvy Tree much better.”

The walk home that day was very quiet. Alex could sense that her brother’s presentation had left him a little tense. She tried breaking the silence every few steps with supportive comments—or at least she thought they were supportive.

“I thought you made a good point,” she said sweetly. “Granted, it’s not a point I ever would have made.”

“Thanks,” Conner replied. She wasn’t helping.

“You may have overanalyzed it, though,” Alex said. “I do it all the time. Sometimes I read a story and interpret it the way I want to, rather than the way the author wanted me to. It just takes practice.”

He didn’t respond. She still wasn’t helping.

“Well, it’s our birthday today,” Alex reminded him. “Are you excited to be twelve?”

“Not really,” Conner admitted. “It feels just like eleven. But aren’t we supposed to be getting a new set of molars soon?”

“Come on, let’s be positive,” Alex insisted. “Even though we aren’t doing anything exciting for our birthday, we should stay optimistic. There are plenty of things to look forward to! One more year until we’ll be teenagers!”

“I suppose,” Conner said. “Only four more years left until we can drive!”

“And six years left until we can vote and go to college!” Alex added.

That was all they could come up with. Their cheerfulness was hollow, and they both knew it, so they just stayed silent for the remainder of the walk. Even if they had the most extravagant party in the world waiting for them at home, birthdays were always going to be hard for them.

School had been predictable. The walk home had been typical. The whole day had seemed normal. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary to make their birthday feel special at all… until they got home and saw a bright blue car pull into their driveway.

“Grandma?”
the twins said in perfect unison.

“Surprise!”
yelled their grandmother, getting out of her car. She was so loud, the entire neighborhood could hear her.

The twins ran up to her with huge smiles on their faces.
They only saw their grandmother a couple times a year and were stunned to see her in their driveway with no prior warning.