The Sugar Mountain Snow Ball (3 page)

“
The Snow Ball?
”

If I didn't know Eleanor as well as I did, I'd say she almost sounded angry.

“Ruby, I have to be home in thirty-two minutes. This psychic lady is free today only. And don't you remember what you just told me about how perfection can be harmful?”

The Outers had crossed the street and disappeared into Chez Neige, one of the fanciest, trendiest ski boutiques that practically no one from Paris, New Hampshire, can afford.

“But, Eleanor, don't you wish you were one of them?”

“You know nothing about them,” she replied as she studied the poster, “only what they appear to be, roaming through town in ostentatious clumps.”

“I guess you're right. I get so obsessed sometimes—the same way I do about a gorgeous charm necklace or a new kind of candy bar—that I think I'm going to lose my mind if I don't get to—”

“Wait a minute, Ruby, look at this.”

“What?”

“At the bottom of the poster, it says:
Located on Apparition Way, the alley beyond Wonderland's Used Books.
Where is that?”

I had never noticed an alley behind Wonderland's, or heard of a street called Apparition Way, and I knew this town like I knew the
TV Guide
schedule.

“It must be a typo.”

Eleanor smiled one of her curly smirks and said, “C'mon, let's find Madame Magnifique!”

I was shocked. Eleanor was never daring. She always thought everything over slowly and carefully to make sure she wouldn't get in trouble.

“But you only have, like, thirty minutes left, and anyway, what if someone sees you sneaking around in some spooky dark alley and tells your parents?”

“I don't care. I have to do this, Ruby.”

And before I knew it, she was gone.

3

Eleanor raced along the snowy sidewalk like a contestant on one of those reality shows where you have to be the first one to find some clue that leads to some other clue or you're out of the game.

I moved more slowly, slipping all over the place, until I fell flat on my bum.

“Wait up! It's not like she's going to vanish if we don't find her today.”

“I see it, Ruby,” she said, waving. “It's right here. Hurry!”

I rolled over onto my knees and stood up, although it was hard to balance on the super-slippery sidewalk. When I finally caught up to her, Eleanor squealed and pointed at the back wall of a brick building where an old wooden sign was nailed to the corner.

“
Ap-pa-ri-tion
Way,” I read out loud, then peered down the narrow road. “I wonder why we've never noticed it before?”

Suddenly Eleanor scrambled up and over the mound of crusty snow.

“Whoa! There's no
way
I'm going down there,” I said. “It's too deep.”

“But Ruby, I see a door with a light up ahead. Come on—it's not that far.”

I took one step and immediately broke straight through the packed snow past my red boots to the middle of my orange leggings. Eleanor, on the other hand, scurried across the surface like a rabbit.

“This is
crazy
, Eleanor! Why isn't this plowed if it's a real alley?”

I trudged down the tiny street, hoisting one leg out of the packed drifts as the other one plunged through to the bottom. Eventually I caught up to Eleanor, who was gazing at an open door. My wheezing had really kicked in, so I took a moment to catch my breath again.

“Is this it?” I puffed.

But before she could reply, a head with a mountain of white hair appeared sideways in the doorway.

“
Bonjour!
”

Neither of us said anything.

“
Bonjour, bonjour, les filles!
” the head greeted us again.

Eleanor gawked at the woman like she was staring at a ghost.

“
Bonjour
to you too,” I said, since I knew some French. “Are you the psychic lady?”

“
Oui, oui
, indeed, I am,” she replied with a glamorous accent. “All
rrrr
eadings free today. And let me see, you must be—?”

“Ruby,” I said, “like the color of a rose. But I bet you already knew that, huh?”

“
Non
, I don't believe we've met before.”

She definitely wasn't the kind of psychic they showed on television ads. Those psychics knew everything about you just from talking to you on the phone.

Madame Magnifique turned to Eleanor, who continued to stare like she was in some sort of trance.

“And who is your silent friend?”

“This is Eleanor. She's kinda quiet at first, until she gets to know you.”

“
Bien! S'il vous plaît
, come in, girls.
Vite, vite!
I have much to tell you.”

Madame Magnifique was very round, and almost as short as I was. Her fancy white dress dragged across the ground, and a thick sparkly shawl kept her shoulders warm. She wore fuzzy white gloves with rings slipped over each finger, and on her feet were cherry-colored boots that looked exactly like something a fairy godmother would wear. Strangest of all, a long red feather poked out of her curly white hair.

After slipping off our boots, we followed her through a narrow hallway (which smelled like warm gingerbread) to a square room shimmering in golden light. Thick, soft velvet covered every inch of the space: velvet curtains, velvet furniture, and a velvet cloth draped over the round table in the middle of the room. Even the carpet felt like velvet beneath our socks.

“Holy ravioli,” I said, “this is
wicked
cool
.
”

“Please sit,” said Madame M. “Be comfortable.”

Our chairs were so low, my shoulders pressed against the edge of the table, while Madame M perched high on a stool across from us. She said nothing as she lit two tall candles in the center of the table. It all felt very serious.

“You know what this reminds me of?” I whispered to Eleanor, who looked like she'd seen a ghost. “That movie with the boy who ate too many tacos and saw flying dragons; do you remember that? The part where the—”

“
Excusez-moi!
” said Madame M. “There is not much time. I have a manicure appointment in fifteen minutes.”

Right then Eleanor looked at me—her eyes bulging out of her head—because I knew, on top of being scared, she suddenly remembered the time and didn't want to get in trouble with her mother for being late. I searched the room for a clock, but before I could find one, Madame M began to hum loudly. She gazed up at the ceiling and stretched her arms over her puffy white head and red feather. Then all at once, she stopped her humming and arm-waving and slapped her hands on top of the table.

I glanced at Eleanor and could tell she had already forgotten about the time.

“
Maintenant, les filles
: You must place your hands flat and lock your thumbs like this.”

We immediately copied her, our hands shaped like those bird shadows you make on the wall.

“Now, close your eyes tightly and say these words:
Stars and moons and worlds that beam, lead me to my deepest drrream!
”

I had to force myself not to giggle as we repeated the funny chant.

“
Ouvrez!
” she cried, and blew out the candles. “Open!”

The sweet smoke clouded the space in front of us as Madame M squeezed the top of our bird hands at the same time.

“You!” she said, studying Eleanor. “Once your creativity is unleashed, there will be no stopping you from realizing your fullest potential and achieving your deepest
drrream
.”

Eleanor's mouth dropped open in amazement.

“And you!” she said, facing me. “In order to unlock your deepest
drrream
, you must go outside your world, to the unfamiliar, reaching far beyond your comfort zone.”

Now
I
was amazed, like she really could see into our minds.

Madame Magnifique lifted her hands and blew across her palms as if scattering magical dust. Then she smacked them together and back and forth like she was trying to wipe off the extra magic.

“And girls . . . if this does not come true within four months, come back and see me. I'll give you a refund.”

“But it was free?” I reminded her.

“It was?” said the psychic. “What a bargain!”

We followed her back through the narrow hallway (that still smelled like warm gingerbread) and stumbled out of the alley door into the late-afternoon light. I felt a little dazed, like I had just woken up from a deep sleep.

“Thank you,” we mumbled at the exact same time.

Madame M smiled as she gave a tiny wave with the tips of her fingers.

“
Rêvez bien!
Dream well, Ruby and Eleanor.”

4

As soon as Madame M shut the door with a thud, my heart began to pound. I was so excited I practically screamed, because I knew
exactly
what her reading had meant, and I couldn't wait to get Eleanor's opinion.

“Eleanor!
Ohmygosh
, ELEANOR!”

But Eleanor didn't turn around. She was already darting back across the mounds of snow toward the street.

“You have to slow down, Eleanor. This snow is way too soft for me.”

I managed to find my tracks from before, but this time I was sinking even deeper, which made me even slower, and made my breathing raspier from all this crazy rushing around.

“I need to hurry, Ruby—I'm late.”

Now I could see only the top half of her body behind the snowbank at the end of the alley.

“But what about our psychic readings? Was that freaky or what? And Madame M was
so
good; she read my mind like my head was a crystal ball!”

Eleanor bobbed up and down, glancing back and forth like she was expecting to see her mother leading a search party.

“We'll talk tomorrow.”

“But, El—”

“I
really
have to go,” she called. “See you at school.”

And just like that, she disappeared. Our one free afternoon together had ended.

My orange leggings were so damp and freezing as I walked home that I could barely feel my legs, making my excitement grow colder too. I knew what I wanted to do about Madame M's dream reading, but I wasn't absolutely sure without first talking it over with Eleanor. And when I thought about that very thing—talking stuff over with Eleanor—I realized I
never
got to talk stuff over with her. We only talked between classes in the crowded hallways, or sitting on the bleachers in gym class, faking injuries, or during lunch, where we were always surrounded by the Math Squad boys, who drooled all over Eleanor, even though she had no idea they all liked her—especially that Anton Orlov. He was so in love with Eleanor that he couldn't stop insulting everyone around her, especially me.

It didn't seem fair that her mother forced her to do all these special activities and classes, and then run home instantly every single day. I had never heard of anyone who had so many rules and chores and lessons, like the cello, not to mention all the other junk she had to sign up for.

The funny thing is, she was never expected to work at her father's gas station. If kids had any extra time to do anything around here,
they would work, especially if their families owned businesses. But Eleanor said her
thaththa
(which is “Dad” in their Sinhala language) told her she had the rest of her life to worry about making money; he believed childhood was the time to learn and explore. The problem was, her
amma
(which is “Mom”) told her what to learn and where to explore. And none of it ever included me.

On my way home, I had to stop again and catch my breath. For some reason, my wheezing had been acting up more than usual lately. I rested against the tall iron fence in front of the town's only mansion near the far end of Maine Street, at the corner of Bon Hiver Lane. Mim had told me that the people who built the giant stone house back in the 1800s were rich railroad folks, and their relatives had lived there for more than a hundred years, until the train business went belly-up and they moved away.

All I know is, I'd never seen a bigger front yard in my entire life, except in pictures of those humongous castles over in France. Come to think of it, this mansion reminded me of a real French castle with its tower at each end, and an enormous rectangular section in the middle with lots and lots of windows.

After the train family left for good, other millionaires bought and sold it, but no one ever knew who they were—probably rich Outers who wanted somewhere to ski. But since the economy had been bad for a while now, that old mansion had been sitting empty. Until today.

In the distance, beyond the front yard, an eighteen-wheeler (the kind Pop drove) was backed up behind the house with several guys moving furniture down the ramp. I pressed my face between
the cold metal bars to see if there were kids or dogs or horses or anything interesting.

And that's when I saw him.

A boy stood way over to the left side of the property, far from all the commotion. He was even taller than Eleanor, and skinnier, too, and I mean stick-figure skinny, like someone who doesn't even
like
food. He had a mess of brown hair hanging down around his face, and I think he wore glasses—it was hard to tell from so far away. His baggy green jacket came down to his knees and it was unzipped, even though a cold wind blew down from the mountains.

He peered at me through a pair of binoculars like he was a spy, so I jammed my arms through the fence and waved, pretending to surrender.

“I give up! Come on over and arrest me.”

But instead of laughing, the boy dropped his binoculars like he thought it was a real holdup.

“Sorry, I'm only goofin' around,” I yelled. “What's your name?”

I couldn't tell if he could hear me or if I had truly scared him, because all of a sudden he turned and took off around the corner of one of those towers. It seemed like everyone was running away from me today.