“Actually,” I say while the others start packing up, “I did have one other idea.”

“Let’s hear it.” Cludd drums his fingers against the back of his laptop screen while Joakim scratches at the scraggly patch of hair still attached to his mostly bald head.

“An interview with Morgan O’Connor.”

“That punk kid who’s like twelve but a senior?” one of the seventh graders asks.

“How about a weather report rather,” Sini suggests, straight-faced.

“Oh, I know Morgan. An interview with him might be interesting. Why not?” Cludd doesn’t sound overly excited by the idea. “We always have space for column shorts. Can you get it to me by Friday?”

I nod, vigorously, my hair lashing my ears, and with that, the meeting is over.

“Not to worry–” Sini glances at me on her way out. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something good for next month’s paper.”

I slam my notebook shut and shoulder my backpack, not bothering to help this time when the pile of tests explodes out of Joakim’s hands again.

Sini ambles down the corridor, staring at her phone.

“Hei, Sini, odota.” I switch to Finnish.

“Tä?” She doesn’t even look up.

“Is Natalie okay? I heard she’s sick.”

“Seriously, would you get over it?” Sini turns around only to give me an eye-roll. “She isn’t your friend anymore. She wants you to leave her alone.”

Her words pummel my gut. She sashays away, leaving me gasping for breath like a dying fish.

If only you could make people disappear the same way sorrows get burned up during Kekri. Maybe if I write Sini’s name down on the paper the twelfth graders feed to the bonfire, she’ll vanish— or at the very least leave the school, the country, the continent!

Taika the Talentless, the Useless, the Friendless, the voice at the back of my mind jabbers relentlessly as I leave the school and head down the forest path toward home. It’s fully dark now and the streetlights fight a losing battle against the rain and mist.

Taika the Talentless. I can’t get my headphones on fast enough, hoping I can drown out that voice with Morgan’s music, but before I can find the band, every little hair on the back of my neck stands at attention.

I’m alone on the path. Trees crowd the edges, shadows thick as porridge stuffing the spaces between the birches. A flutter of wings and a harsh croak pull my gaze toward the nearest tree where my crows shift restlessly in the branches. They flap and caw, and then fall silent.

My heart beats faster; my hands slick with sweat inside my mittens.