Graceful by Wendy Mass

Author:Wendy Mass
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2015-05-26T16:00:00+00:00

I stumble groggily down the bus steps while Connor leaps from the top step and is already on our lawn by the time the bus driver scolds him for jumping. This happens every day.

“Isn’t life grand?” he asks, tossing me my backpack, which apparently I’d left on my seat. “Sun is shining, parents are still normal — or as normal as parents can be — and I’m working on a top secret invention that’s going to change the way the world sees 3-D movies!”

“Huh?” is pretty much all I can think of to say. Now that I’m home, the quiet in my head is blissful. I think I’m still half-asleep.

Mom meets us at the door with a smile. “Greetings, offspring. How was school today?”

I want to tell her everything, and I can’t! That’s been the one downside to the whole forgetting thing. Instead, I fall into her arms and hang on. She hugs me back, and I don’t let go.

“Now that’s the best greeting I’ve had in months!” she says. “Everything okay, sweetie?”

I nod, relieved that the protective bubble is keeping her mind blank to me. “Just happy to see you!”

She gives me a last squeeze and pulls away. Connor has already disappeared. “Snack? Homework?”

“Actually, I was hoping you could drop me at the phone store? I’m supposed to meet Rory there. She’s going to help me work on a project at the library afterward.”

“Rory? Oh, that’s David Goldberg’s friend, right? She was in the play with you.”

I swallow past the lump that is forming in my throat. Another hazard of the forgetting spell — Mom no longer remembers how important Team Grace is in my life. Or even that there is a Team Grace, even though she was the one who named the group. “Yes,” I choke out. “She’s great.”

“Okay. Grab a snack, and I’ll meet you outside.”

I probably won’t be hungry for a week after the lunch I had, but I don’t want to make her suspicious, so I grab a bag of mini-muffins and a juice pouch and wait out in the driveway.

Connor is tinkering away in the garage, the door up to let in the air. I peek in while sipping the juice. “Are those my old costumes?” I ask.

“No,” he says, grabbing the muffins from my hand.

I point to the side of the plastic crate next to his work bench. “Then why does it say GRACE’S COSTUMES in big black letters?”

“Oh, those!” he jokes. “Yes, they’re your costumes.”

I sift through the pieces of old lace scarves and half-broken masks. Bailey and I have pulled apart most of this stuff to make new stuff over the years, so it’s not usable for much.

“What do you need these things for?” I ask, slipping on a pair of oversized, pink plastic sunglasses. I strike a pose like a movie star. “No autographs, please.”

“Those would be perfect!” he says, grabbing them off my face and taking a few hairs in the process.

“Ouch!” I rub my temple. “You could have just asked.

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