“You can share mine,” I say. I made a painting for my mother in art class. It’s of a vase of roses. Mom loves roses. I’m feeling guilty for sneaking around the house at night, and I hope that giving Mom something she really likes will make me feel better.

I’m pretty sure she’ll like the painting. It’s great. At least I think it’s great. I’ll know tomorrow when it’s dry.

“Let me try knocking one more time,” I say. “Just in case.”

“No, no, no,” Jonah says. “I don’t want to talk to mirrors anymore.”

“Just one more —”

“No!” he snaps. “You’re starting to freak me out, Abby! We don’t have a magic mirror! If you don’t stop bugging me about it, I’m going to tell Mom and Dad you’ve gone crazy!”

“Wait, Jonah. Don’t go.” He has to remember! I need him to remember! “Let me get you a snack. Do you want another apple? A brownie? Or maybe a Popsicle?”

Prince wags his tail. Jonah blocks his ears and rushes up the stairs.

I guess he’s not hungry.

Chapter Two: Swoosh

The next day in art class, I discover I was wrong about my painting.

It did not come out great. It did not come out great at all.

I pick up my painting from the drying rack and slump down at the long table.

My roses do not look like roses. They look like red blobs. Red blobs that were dropped on the floor and then jumped on with Jonah’s soccer cleats.

“Good try, Abby,” Mrs. Becker tells me, standing over my shoulder.

Good try? GOOD TRY?

Everyone knows good try means you have no talent.

The truth is, she’s right. I am not good at painting. Or drawing. Or anything involving clay, either.

Frankie, Robin, and Penny all sit down beside me.

Frankie and Robin are my best friends.

Penny is Robin’s other best friend. She hogs Robin as often as she can. And I’m pretty sure she’s forcing Robin to wear a super-high ponytail to school every day so the two of them can match. The other day at recess, she referred to them as “twinsies.” Which, even with the ponytails, is impossible because Penny’s hair is blond and Robin’s is strawberry-blond, almost red. So there.

I prefer to wear a headband to school, thank you very much. And Frankie is wearing her dark hair back in two French braids. Frankie and I don’t need to wear matching hairdos to prove we’re best friends.

“Wow, Penny,” Mrs. Becker says, interrupting my thoughts. “The detail in your painting is exquisite.”

Exquisite? Really?

I look down at Penny’s painting.

I gasp.

It is exquisite. Seriously. Her roses are red and bright and beautiful. Her painting looks like an ad for Mother’s Day, if Mother’s Day needed an ad.