She flipped to the recent page and tried not to look at Lacy’s line. To change that event was impossible but she could make amends. Her dead friend’s parents might be able to recover with the help of the power of the book.

Even before she’d made a single mark, Mr. and Mrs. Peter Carmichael’s names had appeared on the last page. The plus sign wasn’t marked beside them yet. Each luck entry demanded an opposite to set the wheels spinning, like flashlights require two batteries.

That balancer would come once there was a matching minus entry. She’d have to work that one out, mindful of her new rule of not harming innocent people.

She paused, holding the pen over the paper, as she thought what to write. In her mind she saw herself handing the couple a baby. Her heart warmed at their smiles as Mrs. Carmichael took the swaddled infant and cuddled the little one to her chest. They gave Nem a nod of thanks before returning to the child, cooing and kissing her cheeks.

A smile touched her lips at the happiness she’d deliver; a pleasant rush traveled through her as she put pencil to the paper and wrote:

Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael get new baby.

She wasn’t positive how well this might work. Though she was sure they’d receive a replacement baby. Of what she was less certain, was where she’d find the person who would receive the bad fortune. Nem needed to find a worthy recipient to cement the swap and deliver a baby to the Carmichaels and soothe her guilt. If she could do this, everything would be right in the world again.

This task was not so easy. It was one thing to hurt people who deserved what they got, but another to search for someone you didn’t know who hadn’t personally harmed you.

As if delivered to order, it took only two days before she found her minus person. When she came upon Vice Principal Pension berating a young boy in an empty corridor after school she was at first curious, then horrified.

The kids called her Miss Detention, not just because of the rhyme with her name, but because she handed out more detentions than any other teacher. Most times for seemingly nothing. Dropping a Kleenex (“Cleanliness is next to godliness.”), walking too fast (“Walk or you’ll be losing those legs.”), untidy hair (“Have you no pride?”), along with many other minor infractions.

Ben was the kid’s name. Everyone knew what happened to him. He sported a white cast on his arm, now turning ash-gray and lacking any scribbled well-wisher autographs. The kid was a bit of a ‘loser’ (Lacy’s words not hers). His mom was a weirdo who wore too much lipstick and had creepy eyes. Her short, brown hair, even scarier, as if she’d pushed a finger into an electrical socket and then brushed the resulting mess. The effect: spiky, thick knots.

Ben had been shoved around by bullies a few weeks prior, and he’d come off the worst. She was sorry for the little boy. He had a lost, puppy dog look, and his response to Miss Detention’s harsh words was an impression of a beaten animal. But her tight-lipped mouth and deep-lined frown remained unmoved.