I blinked at Robin Hood, unbelieving. “But what about the poor villagers who depend on you?”

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He laughed, which surprised me, then held up The Adventures of Robin Hood for me to see. “You are as amusing as your history.” With the book still in his hand, he swung himself out the window and onto the rocks that bordered our lawn. The first few Merry Men were already running down the street.

I watched them disappear and sighed. I supposed they would come back when they realized what the world had become. They weren’t going to be able to forage for food. Once you left town, the only things around were cacti and a bunch of scrub brushes that were waiting to dry up and turn into tumbleweeds. I hoped the Merry Men’s survival skills would help them remember which house I lived in. That way, when they had second thoughts about living off the land, they would be able to find their way back.

I took some clothes into the bathroom and changed. Then I picked up the things the Merry Men had thrown around. Thankfully, most of the broken glass was on the outside of the window, so I didn’t have to clean up much of that.

I couldn’t even mutter angrily about them trashing my stuff. Not after I had just been to the police station for trashing city hall. Mr.

Handsome Undercover Policeman would probably find it fitting that I was finishing up the night on my hands, wiping up spit from my carpet.

When I finished, I sat on my bed calling Chrissy. No one showed up except for a few bugs that flew through the broken window. I shut my eyes to rest them, and the next thing I knew, it was Saturday morning.

• • •

Sandra opened my door and called out, “Rise and shine. Time to do your chores.” My dad usually woke me up on Saturday mornings, so 65/356

the fact that Sandra had done it meant he was still mad at me. I was probably in for something horrendous like scraping pigeon poop off the roof.

I pulled the sheet over my head.

Sandra walked over and sat on my bed. “Come on, look on the bright side: today has to be better than yesterday.” Sandra was one of those optimistic people who not only saw the glass as half full, but figured it was half full of her favorite drink.

I tossed the sheet off and sat up—not from optimism, but because I suddenly remembered the rest of last night. My fairy godmother.

Robin Hood. I didn’t want Sandra to see my astonishment, so I tried to keep my expression calm.

She wasn’t looking at me though. Her gaze zeroed in on the gaping hole in my window and she let out a shrill gasp of alarm. “What happened?”

I didn’t think she’d believe me if I told her a bunch of Merry Men broke it. In fact, I wasn’t sure I believed it myself. Could that stuff have really happened? Fairies and leprechauns didn’t pop into people’s bedrooms. Robin Hood and the Merry Men weren’t real.

But nothing was left of my window except for jagged shards. That part was real enough.

I chose my words carefully. My lies might have magical consequences. “I was in the kitchen, and I heard a crash. When I got back to my room, the window was broken.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It was late.”

She walked to the window, shaking her head. “You didn’t see who did it?”

“No.” Which was true. I didn’t know which of the Merry Men had shattered it.

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“It must have been Bo.” Sandra’s jaw clamped tight. “Well, he can pay for this window along with the ones he broke at city hall. I’ll call his parents and tell them so.”

“Don’t,” I said. “I’ll pay for it.” I hardly had any money to my name. I would have to find a job. I supposed that didn’t matter, since I wasn’t going to have a social life now.

She put her hands on her hips, watching my curtain flutter in and out of the frame. “I’ll ask your father to put a board across it for now. I doubt anybody will be able to come out to fix it until Monday anyway.” Sandra left, muttering about Bo, and I stood in my room staring at the window. “Chrissy?” I called.

No one came. Had she been a dream—the product of an over-stressed, overemotional brain? I walked to the closet tentatively. Last night I had hung up the long green dress. If it was still there, it would be proof I hadn’t imagined everything.

I opened the closet, but the hanger I’d put the dress on was bare. I flipped through every shirt, dress, and skirt hanging there. No green dress. I threw up my hands. “It’s official. I’ve lost my mind.” That’s how the day started. It didn’t get any better.

My chore list included hauling everything out of the garage, sweeping it out, and hauling everything back. Then I had to clean the bathrooms, mop the floor, and do laundry. Every once in a while, I whispered, “Chrissy?”

No twinkling lights erupted anywhere. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. The more the day wore on, the easier it was to convince myself none of the magical things had happened. I had dreamed it all.

Dad and Nick spent the day doing landscaping and painting the trim on the house, fixing it up for when we had to put it on the market.

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Nick had the radio on and sang along, but Dad worked with a stern expression, his eyes hard as stone.

Fine, I told myself. Let him think about what a disappointment I’ve turned out to be. He had chalked up a lot of points in the disappointment category himself.

It wasn’t until eight o’ clock that night when I was putting away my clean clothes that I saw the pathetic-o-meter sitting on my dresser.

I had completely forgotten about it, and I dropped the clothes on the floor and stared at the disk. The blue area had grown, and a new sentence read: Thinks criminals are cool. 82 percent pathetic.

I did not think criminals were cool, but that was beside the point.

I hadn’t dreamed the pathetic-o-meter into existence. It was real. And a fairy had given it to me.

Granted, the dress had disappeared, but then, Cinderella’s dress had disappeared at midnight. So maybe fairy fashions just did that.

Still only half believing in my sanity, I picked up the pathetic-ometer, walked to Nick’s bedroom, and knocked. He opened the door.

He wore a T-shirt that had pi written on it down to a thousand digits, but thanks to today’s chores, a lot of them were now paint splotches.

I held the disk out to him. “You can see this, right?” He squinted at my hand. “You think criminals are cool? Well, then it’s not surprising that you’re eighty-two percent pathetic.”

“Did you see me wearing a long green dress last night? And there were a bunch of medieval men in my room?”

“Yeah, where did you find those guys anyway? They made Bo look downright normal.”

I stepped into Nick’s room, shut the door, and leaned against it. I wasn’t sure whether to be happy or horrified about what had happened. “I really have a fairy godmother.” 68/356

Nick gazed at me, unimpressed with this pronouncement. “If you’re not careful you’ll really have a parole officer too.” He waved a hand in my direction. “Are you purposely seeking out every criminal you can find? Was there some sort of membership drive at the police station?”

Robin Hood and the Merry Men were real. And that meant they were out wandering around Rock Canyon somewhere. “This is going to be a problem.” I put my hand against my chest, trying to stop my panic from spreading. “I accidentally wished Robin Hood and his Merry Men here. I need to find them.”

“Yeah,” he said, “you and every police officer in town.”

Chapter 5

You and every police officer in town?

That was not a good sentence to hear Nick say. I clutched the pathetic-o-meter so hard its edges cut into my palm. “Why would the police be looking for them?”