“When Mom and Dad see what?” my mother asks, coming up from the basement with an empty coffee mug.

Crumbs.

Since Jonah is staring at the broken lamp, my mom very quickly sees the problem.

“How many times have I told you two not to play ball in the house?” she asks. “A hundred? A thousand?”

“Probably a million,” Jonah says unhelpfully.

Mom shakes her head. “Okay, cleanup time, guys. First pick up the pieces very, very carefully and then get the vacuum cleaner.”

Uh-oh. My mother is looking at the golden ball. She’s picking up the golden ball. She’s examining the golden ball with squinted eyes. “Hey, where did you get this?” she asks us.

I raise my eyebrows at Jonah to remind him not to say anything about The Frog Prince. My parents don’t know that Jonah and I go into fairy tales. The fairy we met in Snow White told us we’re not supposed to tell them. And I am very good at following instructions. Most of the time.

“I can’t remember,” Jonah says, plucking the golden ball out of my mother’s hand.

He’s probably not even lying. Jonah is only seven. I bet he’d have to think pretty hard to remember which fairy tale we got it from. Especially since we went into The Frog Prince two stories ago.

I know it sounds crazy, but we really do go into fairy tales. I’m not sure why. All I do know is that it’s somehow related to Maryrose, the fairy who seems to have been cursed to live in the magic mirror in our basement. The mirror was already here when we moved into this house in Smithville. I guess Maryrose was already here, too.

How does the magic mirror work? At midnight, if we knock on it three times, it starts to hiss and swirl, and Maryrose takes us into a story. The only problem is that we don’t get to choose the fairy tales. We only discover where we’re going once we’re there. Surprise! You’re in The Little Mermaid! I hope you like to swim!

In case you’re wondering, I do not like to swim.

“Well,” my mom says, snatching the ball back from Jonah’s hand, “since you’re right that I’ve told you a million times not to play ball in the house, I’m keeping this for a while.”

“But it’s my favorite!” Jonah cries.

Jonah does not look happy. I’d better start vacuuming before my mom takes away TV for the rest of the night or something.

“And the two of you,” Mom says, “no TV, phones, iPad, or computer for the rest of the night. None. Zippo. That way, the next time you pick up a ball in the house, you’ll remember to take it outside.”

Noooooo! “Mom —” I’m about to defend myself, but the expression on my mom’s face tells me if I say one word, I’ll lose screens for two days.

“Aww,” Jonah whines.

I grab a garbage bag from under the kitchen sink and then very carefully pick up a jagged piece of broken lamp. It’s kind of like the shape of Florida.