Jack was herding the reluctant Wander away from the house. They were almost out of sight. Naomi gabbled and waved. Eleanor popped a cheesy puff into her hand, and Naomi shrieked in delight, momentarily distracted.

“Is it that kid who was helping you with that language arts project—what was his name—Andy?” Jenny asked as Naomi slammed the cheesy puff enthusiastically against the table. “He was super sweet. And cute, too, if I’m not mistaken.”

Andy Park was sweet and cute, it was true. And he had sort of asked Eleanor to the spring dance, though she’d turned him down because she and Otto were spending the evening experimenting with a spell for locating lost objects. (They weren’t sure if it had worked, since it had led them to an expired membership card for something called Blockbuster under the back seat of Ben’s truck, which, while certainly lost, was not precisely missed.)

“What about what’s-her-face who always waves when I pick you up?” Jenny asked. “Mabel, wasn’t it? She’s very pretty.”

“She’s not just pretty, she’s also super smart,” Eleanor put in quickly, because people always assumed Mabel’s qualities ended at her expert use of lip gloss. Jenny and Ben gave each other knowing looks, and Eleanor dropped her head into her hands, groaning. This had been a terrible idea. Now they were going to think she had a crush on Mabel. Or Andy. And she didn’t have a crush at all. Because she didn’t have time for crushes, and she was probably completely doomed and wasn’t going to live to see fourteen anyway, so what was even the point?

As Jenny and Ben debated the relative strengths of her “suitors,” as Ben instantly dubbed them, Jack appeared at the kitchen door, looking out of breath.

“Hey, Jack!” Eleanor chirped. “How’s it going?”

“Everything is under control for the time being,” he said, his voice layered with meaning. He probably thought he was being subtle. Subtle was not Jack’s strong suit. It wasn’t really his fault—for the past forty years he’d been kind of a fairy tale himself. He even looked a lot like a fairy tale, though he’d traded his fantasy-world clothes and sword for T-shirts and jeans. He had wavy blond hair that fell around his shoulders and a neatly trimmed beard, and since the Story had left him, his eyes had turned from slate gray to a startling bright blue.

“I left your cocoa on the stove,” Jenny said, standing. He waved her back to her seat.

“Please don’t trouble yourself. Actually, I am afraid I must miss out on Hot Cocoa Night, and steal my daughter away as well. There is something we need to discuss.”