Hattie.” I look up from where I’m patting a snowman’s belly into a perfectly round pooch in the little patch of snow-covered lawn in front of our town house. It’s New Year’s Eve day, and I plan on sticking a sparkler in this guy’s snow hand when midnight comes.

The white fake fur on the hood of Zooey’s anorak blends in with the low white sky behind her. Snowflakes snag as they fall, making it look like her face is surrounded by a crystal halo. She kicks at the snow with her Nordic boots, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. “I texted you,” she says, her breath puffing before it disappears.

I shrug, my snow pants making zippy zip zip sounds as I scoot on my knees to the other side of the snowman and start patting. “I saw.”

“Why didn’t you text me back?” she asks, her boots crunching through the snow as she moves closer to me.

“Why should I?” I ask, breathless from my work. I sit back on my heels, wipe my nose with the wrist part of my mitten.

Her huffy breath expands and dissolves in the cold air. “Because I have something to show you.”

I roll my eyes. “You showed me plenty.”

“Hattie, won’t you let me explain?” she says, annoyed.

“What? You explained just fine. You explained how I’m a loser, and we’re not even friends. I guess that’s what’s going to happen once my jinx breaks, right? What going back to normal means to you? You’ll go back to standing around while the Ts eviscerate people? Or I guess you’re going to be mean again? Making kids at summer camp cry? I hope the Ts never get on your bad side, because they may be mean, but you”—I shake my head—“you must have coal in your chest instead of a heart.”

Zooey reels back a little at this, and even though she hurt me, I’m immediately sorry I did the same to her.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, stepping forward, but she just shakes her head quickly and pulls a small flat package out of her pocket.

“Ms. Lyle was over for Christmas,” Zooey says, and then, in response to my confused look, “She was my mom’s teacher, too. We have her over every Christmas. Anyway, she was asking about our project, and she said she was disappointed we didn’t include anything about the Harvest Jinx. She gave me this, and asked me to give it to you.”

She holds the package out to me, but it slips from her mittened hand. I bend down to get it and she says, “Just stop!” She picks it up and shoves it against me, and before I can even see what it is, she’s hurrying across the snowy lawn away from me.

I kick as much snow as I can off my boots against the doorframe before I stomp into our foyer, dropping my mittens, flinging off my hat, and wiggling out of my coat and snow pants. It’s chilly in the foyer, and as I run upstairs with the package held against me, my skin stings when the warm air hits my cheeks.

“Hot cocoa?” my mom calls as I run past the kitchen and up the stairs.

“Later! Thanks!” I call back. In my room, I scoot under the heavy comforter on my bed, displacing Champ in the process. I’m still so chilly that I pull the blanket over my head, leaving just a little opening so I can see as I open the paper bag. It’s a book, an exact copy of the green one from the historical society, the one with half of the Harvest Jinx poem torn out.

I turn to page forty-three.

“Oh, CRAP!” I yell, jumping out of bed and running downstairs, holding tight to the book. Nothing I was wearing has had a chance to dry, and since I didn’t hang it up, everything has freezing-cold wet spots, but I pull on my snow pants, coat, mittens, and hat anyway and rush out the door. “GOING TO ZOOEY’S! I HAVE MY PHONE!” I yell up the stairs on my way out, just as I hear the teakettle whistle with boiling water for my hot chocolate.

Running in the snow is no easy task, and I totally understand the appeal of sled dogs. Zooey’s just turned the corner of our street when I see her, and I’m guessing the sound of me huffing and puffing and gasping for air is enough for her to turn around and mercifully wait for me to catch up.

“You saw it?” she asks, raising her chin.

I nod, holding up a finger for her to wait until I catch my breath. Of course, because I’m wearing mittens, it looks like I’m holding up my whole hand. She high-fives me.

“What … what … what are we going to do?” I ask.

“We need to find Maude,” she answers.

The little ceramic Christmas tree sitting on Maude’s big green desk at the historical society gives a festive glow to page forty-three as Maude bends over it, reading it for the third time.

“This is not good,” Maude says finally, looking up at us.

“We know!” we answer in unison.

She turns the book to the side, so we can all once again read the full text of the poem:

Every year at Harvesttime is the moment to remind

That what you say and what you mean should have nothing in between.

All twenty-four hours of Festival day,

Be aware of what you say,

For make a promise before you think,

And you could get a Harvest Jinx!

A jinx will last ’til the New Year dawns

One minute past midnight, and it will be gone.

Alone in this you will be,

Except your guide and the one who sees.

Tell no one else your tale of woe

Or you will see how wrong things can go.

It is up to you to find the ones

You have wronged with the things you’ve done.

Tell them the truth you sought to hide

With a promise that was a lie.

Tell the truth and be set free

Or you will stay jinxed for eternity.

“Eternity,” Zooey says quietly. “And I thought ’til New Year’s Eve was harsh.”

I look at her and Maude. “What am I going to do? It’s New Year’s Eve.” I look at the clock. “Midnight is just a few hours away!”

“It’s obvious!” Zooey says impatiently. “You have to find the ones you’ve wronged! You have to make it right or you’ll be jinxed forever!”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong!” I object. “The Friendship Pact was about lying and gossiping, and I didn’t do either of those things.” I’m in tears now, feeling truly hopeless.

Zooey blinks at me. “Really?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, gulping.

“I mean you’ve kind of been lying since you moved here.”

“I have not!”

“She’s right,” Maude says, giving Zooey an impressed nod. “You weren’t honest with your friends about what you like.”

“You think I got jinxed because I didn’t tell them I’m a nerd?!” I yelp. Then I get quiet. Then I whisper, “Holy crow. I bet you’re right.”