I thought about Murphy’s story all the next morning, trying to come up with a good ending for it. I knew that the third gift wouldn’t be the end. There had to be something that came after, something that made you think everything was ruined until something or someone appeared to make everything right again.
I wasn’t very good at fairy tales, though. Granny Lane never told me any. She liked her stories real-funny or real-sad. She never much went in for make-believe.
“Maybe the bird’s going to give the queen a bottle filled with water from the fountain of youth,” I told Logan and Donita at lunch. “So that she’ll live forever.”
“Too boring,” Donita said, tearing the crust off her grilled cheese sandwich. “It’s got to be something with a little more spark to it than that.”
“Why don’t you ask her yourself,” Logan said, nodding toward the cafeteria entrance. Murphy hurried through the doors, holding something close to her chest. I waved to her, but she was headed for Olivia Woods’ table and didn’t notice.
Donita shook her head. “Murphy’s going to be sorry she ever got mixed up with that crowd, that’s my prediction,” she said, taking a bite of her sandwich. “They’re mean as a pack of jackals.”
I watched as Murphy sat down next to Olivia Woods. She smiled at everyone and chatted for a minute, leaning over once to touch Olivia on the arm. Katha Coleman and Jaycee Laws gave her some sniffy looks, but Murphy ignored them. She said something to Olivia and placed a black and white–speckled notebook on the table.
That’s when I knew what happened next in Murphy’s story.
“The bird brings the queen a magic book,” I said, standing up slowly.
“Are you okay, Maddie?” Logan asked. “Maybe you ought to sit down and eat something.”
By the time I reached Olivia’s table, she was gingerly fingering the speckled cover as though it might have something contagious on it. Cautiously, she began to leaf through the pages.
Then, to my everlasting surprise, Olivia Woods smiled.
It was an honest-to-goodness smile, not a smirk, not a sneer, not a grimace. I suddenly saw how she must have looked when she was six or seven, before she became the sort of person who made kids miserable because they’d bought the wrong brand of tennis shoes. It was like everything good that had gone into the Book of Houses—the afternoons spent in the fort making jokes and cutting up, the dreams of the day we’d have houses of our own with real families in them, the feeling that maybe we were a real family, just sitting there and telling each other stories—it was like all of that got under Olivia Woods’ skin for a minute and made her soft and new as a spring morning.
But only for a minute.
“What is this, Murphy?” Katha Coleman exclaimed, squinching up her nose as she looked over Olivia’s shoulder. “It’s really weird.”
“It’s something I’ve been doing with some friends,” Murphy said. “It’s like a story we’ve written, a story made up of a hundred tiny stories.”
“I don’t get it,” Olivia said, her face gone blank, like a switch had been flipped off inside her. “You cut out pictures of houses? I mean, why?”
“They’re houses we might want to live in someday.” Murphy was talking fast, like she was trying to run after the other Olivia, the one who, for a shining moment, had understood exactly what the books were about. “We talk about them and make up stories about them. It’s wonderful.”
“Sure, if you’re, like, eight years old or something.” Olivia looked over at Katha and shook her head, like she couldn’t believe what a baby Murphy was. “I mean, isn’t this a little . . . immature or something? Cutting pictures out of magazines?”
“I don’t know,” Murphy said, her cheeks reddening. “I don’t really think so. Actually, I thought you might like to do it too, sometime. It’s like making wishes, if you think about it.”
A small ringing sound in my ears was growing louder by the second. I wanted so bad to snatch that book from the table and run as far away as I could, but I stood there, frozen as winter, not able to budge an inch.
“Oh, come on, Murphy! What’s next? You’re going to invite me over to play paper dolls?” Olivia said.
Katha leaned over to pull the book closer so she could find something to make fun of too, and her arm knocked over someone’s Coke. The dark liquid seeped into the pages, turning the edges black.
“Oops!” she said cheerfully. “Sorry about that, Murphy!”
Two seconds later, Brandon Sparks swooped down on the table and grabbed the book. “I’ll save it!” he cried. “I’ll save Murphy’s book!” Then he tossed it to Jason Breem, yelling, “Speed dry!”
Jason shook the book out over his head so that a few of the pictures came unstuck and rained down on his hair. “What is this thing?” he yelled out so loud everyone in the cafeteria could hear him. “A recycling bin?”
Hands were waving in the air. “Here! Throw it here!” voices called. Olivia and Katha held their stomachs, like it hurt to laugh as hard as they were laughing. I looked around at Logan and Donita. They were both standing, yelling for everyone to put the Book of Houses down, to give it back, but one of Brandon’s friends stood in front of them, his arms out like a guard who wouldn’t let them pass.
Murphy sat as still as stone as the book flew from hand to outstretched hand. I couldn’t move for what seemed like years, and then I turned and walked away.
I didn’t ever want to see that book again.