“I knew you could do it!” Berry’s eyes grew wide as she grabbed me by the shoulders. “You’re the LEAD!”

“Anne is the lead?” someone in the group exclaimed.

“Anne is the lead.” A face poked out of the crowd. It was Minnie, the girl who wanted to be a non-human, gushing, “And I’m TINKER BELL!”

“I’m the DOG!” The guy with the drums from auditions did a fist pump.

“ANNE IS PETER PAN!” Berry cheered.

So wishes were just coming true all over.

FOURTEEN

Berry and I celebrated by watching what I thought was a fairly okay movie about Iron Man that still needed way more women in it. Berry agreed and said it was only her third favorite series.

Millie helped us celebrate by ordering us Chinese food and specifically ordering me my very own pork fried rice, which I would proceed to consume in small doses for the next several days.

“Way to go, kid,” she said, handing me a set of chopsticks.

“I’m Pan!”

“I mean, yes, you are.” Millie nodded.

“Like, perfect role for a spritely person like myself.”

“I was just thinking that.”

Lucy eventually got home from school and came up to my room to congratulate me.

“Mr. Davidson said you stole the show,” she said, giving me a squeeze.

“I sang Gloria Gaynor.”

“Did you?” Lucy sat back on the bed. “You know who loved that song? Your grandma.”

“You know who else loves that song? You and Millie. It’s a great song.”

“You know we played that song at our wedding.”

“I hadn’t heard that,” I added, mocking. Because of course I’d heard that story a thousand times. Maybe more times than I’d even heard the song.

“Stop.” Lucy gave me a light shove and I flopped back onto the bed. She scooched down on the quilt, where Bjorn was curled up and snoozing. “This is pretty hard, huh? This Greenville.”

“It’s not easy,” I agreed.

“Too hard?” Lucy’s voice got smaller. “Anne?”

“No.” I sat up. “Just hard enough. So far. Too hard for you?”

“Well, let’s say Principal Lynde isn’t exactly my fan either, and the PTA wants a constant update on every email and memo I send, and they’re all convinced I’m going to cancel soccer and turn the whole school into a pornographic art gallery.” Lucy took a breath. “But no. Not too hard.”

“Good.” I nodded. “Did I tell you I get to be Peter Pan?”

“You did.” Lucy gave me a serious face. “Anne. We’ll tell each other if it gets too hard, right?”

“Right,” I said, not that I was sure what “too hard” would mean.

Was Greenville getting harder? Maybe not. Was it getting be tter?