seven

“Tug! TUG! T—U—G!”

Alasdair’s team was winning the tug-of-war, and Goldie was almost out of her seat with excitement.

It was the morning after the welcoming banquet. Clara had saved the day.

“You were very smart to make us all some real food,” Julia Jellicoe had told her. “Sorry we didn’t bring the tomatoes.”

Clara smiled. The banquet had worked out perfectly, even if it did wear her out more than she thought it would. There was piping-hot food (helped along by Rosy and Rowan), and everybody was thrilled with all the desserts. The dining hall itself was as magnificent as it had ever been—thanks to Clara’s magic. Queen Mab had given Clara a warm smile when she saw the decorations. Maybe she knows? Clara thought.

Fairies and gnomes alike had enjoyed themselves enormously. They’d all had a good night’s rest, and now the Games were in full swing.

“Come on, Alasdair! Win it for me!” Goldie cried.

With an enormous last PULL, Alasdair’s team of gnomes yanked the other team across the centerline and won the contest. “Hooray!” Goldie cheered. Alasdair waved at Goldie in the stands. “I’m fainting!” said Goldie.

“You are such a goose!” said Sylva. “He doesn’t really care about you. Look—now he’s waving at Iris Flower.”

Poppy, in the seat next to Sylva, beamed. “I think he likes Iris too,” she said.

“Alasdair is a little show-offy,” said Rosy.

“He’s not show-offy. He’s just the best.”

“We’ll see about that, Goldie,” said Clara. “Alasdair is doing well, but the other gnomes are right behind him.” She looked at the scoreboard. Alasdair was in first place; Rowan was a distant fifth. Come on, Rowan, she thought. You can do it.