You probably know someone who is like Poppy Miller. Like how she used to be, that is.

You know the kind of person who stands out in a crowd? Who everyone turns to stare at, for no particular reason, when they walk down the street? The type who always know the right answer to everything their teacher asks them, even if they don’t seem to be paying attention? The kind that comes first in every sport they play, even if they’re not really trying?

Well, Poppy Miller was nothing like that.

Not that there was anything wrong with her. Far from it. She had a pleasant face, and long, straight brown hair that she wore in a ponytail, just like lots of girls her age.

She definitely wasn’t tall, but she wasn’t the shortest girl in class either. She wasn’t the top student, but she also wasn’t the worst one. She wasn’t bad at sport, but she never seemed to win ribbons or trophies.

Do you see what we’re getting at? Poppy Miller was like lots of other girls her age. Normal. Average. Ordinary.

But then, on the evening of her twelfth birthday party, Poppy found something that changed her life forever. Totally, utterly and completely. Something so incredible that nothing would ever be the same again. It was a …

But hang on, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. To understand properly just how amazing this thing was, we need to go back. Back to the start of the party.

Sunday 17th October, 3.05pm.

The moment Poppy walked into the lounge room where her twelfth birthday party was being held, she knew she’d been totally wrong about the event. It wasn’t going to be terrible, embarrassing and painfully awkward at all. Oh, no.

It was going to be the most terrible, most embarrassing, most awkward event in the history of terrible, embarrassing and awkward events. And if you think Poppy was overreacting, let’s look at the facts.

Firstly, Poppy’s mum had insisted on having a ladybird theme, so the whole room – in fact, the whole house – was decorated with spotty little red bugs. Poppy’s dad was passing around ladybird cupcakes while wearing ladybird feelers on his head. It looked like a party for someone turning three years old, not twelve.

To make things worse, there wasn’t a single person in the room who Poppy considered to be her friend.

Plus she was wearing jeans and her favourite bright red top, which was nice but not exactly party material. The final straw was when Poppy looked down at her feet and realised she still had her slippers on. Her bunny slippers.

OK, time to go and find a place to hide, Poppy decided. But before she could escape from the lounge room, Poppy’s mum put a firm hand on her shoulder.

‘Look, everyone!’ she announced cheerfully. ‘It’s our big birthday girl!’

Everyone in the room turned and stared. Instantly, Poppy felt her face flush with embarrassment. Great, she thought. Now I look like a tomato. A tomato wearing bunny slippers.

You have to admit, it wasn’t a great start to being twelve years old.

Poppy had tried very hard to talk her mum out of throwing this party.

‘Twelve is such a nothing-y age,’ Poppy explained. She meant it, too. Being twelve meant you weren’t a little kid anymore, but you weren’t a teenager yet, either. You were stuck somewhere in between. Everyone knew being twelve was bad. Everyone, it seemed, except Poppy’s mother.

‘It’s not a nothing-y age!’ she cried indignantly. ‘You’re a tweenager. That’s a terrific thing to be, darling. We threw a wonderful teddy bear party when your sister turned twelve. Astrid said it was her favourite party ever.’

Of course she did, thought Poppy darkly.

Poppy couldn’t have been more different to her sister Astrid if she’d tried. She was different to her whole family, really. Poppy looked completely different, for one thing. Her parents and her sister were all fair and athletic. Poppy was dark and – well, let’s be honest here – she was kind of short and skinny.

But the differences weren’t just on the outside. Poppy’s parents and sister thought the perfect day was one spent hiking, or doing a thirty kilometre bike ride together. Or hiking and then bike riding. Poppy much preferred to spend the day in one of her favourite hiding spots, reading, listening to music or just daydreaming.

The mantelpiece in the Millers’ lounge room was covered with trophies and certificates, and not just for sporting events, either. Astrid had won awards for maths and for spelling competitions. Poppy’s mum had won a trophy for being on a quiz show. And Poppy’s dad had even won a trophy for inventing a brand-new style of trophy.

Visitors to the Millers’ house always exclaimed, ‘What an extraordinary family you are!’

But none of the prizes belonged to Poppy because there were only two things that she was good at. One was touching her nose with her tongue. The other was squeezing into tiny hiding places. She’d been doing these things since she was a baby, and the family photo album was full of pictures of the different boxes and cupboards Poppy had squeezed into over the years. But, of course, no-one gave out prizes for those kinds of skills.

I MUST be adopted, Poppy told herself a thousand times a day. It’s the only way to explain how different I am!

After all, if Poppy’s mum really was her mum, she would have guessed the other huge reason why Poppy didn’t want to have a party this year. It was because there was no-one she wanted to invite. Absolutely no-one.

‘Go and chat with Claudette and your other little friends while I get the cake,’ Poppy’s mum instructed, pushing her towards a group of smirking girls.

Poppy groaned inwardly. She and Claudette had been really good friends in primary school. But since they’d started high school this year, it felt like they had nothing in common anymore. All Claudette talked about these days was fashion and the school magazine she’d started called School Style. She and her new friends all wore identical outfits and hairdos. Worst of all, they were always hassling Poppy to let them give her make-overs.

Poppy secretly called them the Clothes Club, and if she’d been given a choice between being thrown into a cage of hungry lions or talking to the Clothes Club girls, Poppy would’ve said, ‘Where’s that cage?’.

But Poppy hadn’t been given a choice, so she walked reluctantly over. The Clothes Club girls were all wearing stripy black and hot pink dresses over black leggings. And they all had their hair pinned back with matching sparkly clips.

‘Hi, guys,’ said Poppy, trying her best to smile. ‘Thanks for coming. Can I offer you a ladybird crunch? Or a spotty jelly, perhaps?’

Claudette didn’t seem to hear. She was too busy looking at Poppy’s clothes. ‘What on earth are you wearing, Poppy?’ she said, sounding horrified.

The other girls giggled.

‘You could be so cute if you tried,’ Claudette added. ‘Maybe even cute enough to be in School Style – but then you go and wear things like those.’ She pointed at Poppy’s feet.

Oh, yeah. The bunny slippers.

Right then, Poppy knew she had a choice. She could curl up and die of shame. Or she could pretend she’d worn the slippers on purpose. So Poppy smiled proudly and stuck out her foot. ‘Aren’t they divine?’ she said. ‘They’re from Paris, you know.’

‘As if!’ Claudette snorted. ‘Now, why don’t you let me give you a make-over? It can be part of my present to you.’

‘Ummm,’ said Poppy, backing away. ‘Well, I – ahh … ’

Then she walked straight into someone. It was her big sister, Astrid. Recently, Astrid had started insisting that Poppy must have a really special talent for something – especially in a family where everyone else was so exceptional.

‘Happy birthday, sis!’ smiled Astrid. ‘Now that you’re twelve, I’m sure we’ll find something about you that’s, you know, really special.’

Poppy sighed. Not this again! Most of the time Poppy just ignored it when Astrid talked like this. But sometimes it really got to her. And right now was one of those times.

‘Listen carefully, Astrid,’ Poppy said as calmly as she could. ‘I really am this ordinary. I’m a normal, average girl. No incredible talents, no surprises up my sleeve. Got it?’

‘Oh, don’t talk like that,’ tutted Astrid, patting Poppy on the shoulder. ‘I’m sure there’s something you’re good at!’

Just then, the lights dimmed and Poppy’s mum appeared carrying an enormous red and black cake. No prizes for guessing what it was shaped like.

‘Blow out the candles and make a wish!’ said Poppy’s mum, after everyone had sung ‘Happy Birthday’.

Poppy looked down at the cake. This was it. The moment she’d been dreading. The point at which she officially became a tweenager.

What should I wish for? wondered Poppy. There were so many things she wanted to change right now. Too many things to sum up in one little wish. So Poppy just made the best wish she could think of: I wish EVERYTHING were different.

Poppy didn’t really believe in wishes, but she still couldn’t help glancing around hopefully after the wish had been made. Nothing had changed. Not one thing.

And nothing ever will, thought Poppy gloomily.

When the party had finally finished, Poppy escaped gratefully to her room. The rest of her family were in the kitchen having a clean-up competition, but as the birthday girl, Poppy had been excused. She leant against her bedroom door, relieved that the day was over.

It was then that she noticed it. The thing that was to change her life forever.

Sitting on her bedside table was a strangelooking bottle, bright and glimmeringly green with a long, smooth neck.