Meanicures by Catherine Clark Page B

seriously hurt. She always made such a big deal out of being so good at gymnastics. It was annoying.
    “No, she didn’t get hurt then, but—”
    “That’s great!” I said.
    “No, it’s not great! Listen, that’s not all that happened,” Taylor said. “I was trying to make up for causing her slip on beam by cheering
extra
hard for her when she did her bars routine, but somehow I yelled, ‘Watch out, Kayley!’ I broke her concentration, and she slipped and fell then, too. So now she has a sprained wrist and she’s completely
out
of competition for at least a couple of weeks.”
    “Oh. That’s not good.”
Or is it?
I wondered.
    “No. I tried to apologize but I ended up telling her that her timing was off. Madison? What’s going on? It’s like I say things that I don’t mean, and I can’t help it. Nothing I say is coming across right. Now other people are getting hurt,” Taylor said, “because of us.”
    “Taylor, listen to yourself. Do you really think that you had anything to do with Kayley slipping off the balance beam or bars?” I asked. “I mean, that happens all the time, right?”
    “Not with Kayley! And you know what I think? It’s the stuff we got rid of at your house that night. We have to get it back. My Shawn Johnson pendant—I need it.”
    “But that’s only a good-luck charm—”
    “I need it,” Taylor repeated. “Okay? Please, Madison.”
    “Sure. Okay.” I’d never heard calm, logical Taylor sound so worried before. “I’ll find that box. We’ll take everything out of storage and put it back where it was.”
    She sighed. “Call me when you find it and I’ll come over.”
    “Right. I’ll call in a few minutes.” I hung up the phone in the kitchen and went straight out to the garage.
    I nearly tripped on a ladder that had been left in front of the minivan. Why was there a ladder in front of the shelves?
    When I looked up, I saw why. The shelves were empty. The garage had never looked cleaner. All the boxes with extra products? Gone. All the boxes ofexcess nail polish? Gone. Vamoose. History. And with them, our own, very historical, once-upon-a-time-we-were-friends box. Nowhere in sight. Vanished into thin, stale garage air.
    I rushed back inside and found my mom in her office, which was looking equally sparse. “Mom? What happened to all the stuff we kept in the garage?” I asked.
    “Oh, that? I’m getting ready for a new phase in my career, so I wanted to throw out the things I didn’t need anymore, to open up the space for new projects.”
    I really didn’t need her granola-speak at a time like this. “But where did you
put
everything?”
    “Well, some of it went to recycling, some went to hazardous waste, and some was donated to charity …”
    “Charity? But what about me?”
    “Why, what do you need? If it’s a product, look no further.” She opened the walk-in closet in her office to show me shelves of shampoos, conditioners, and various other hair treatments. “How about some Refreshing Raspberry Rain Shower Rinse? You look a little stressed.”
    I laughed, feeling out of control. “Yeah. You could say I’m stressed. I had left something in the garage—in a box. It’s gone now. And I really, really need it back.”
    “Oh. Did you have something important in there?”
    Would I say I really, really needed something
un
important back? “Yeah.” I laughed again, sounding borderline crazy. “You could say that.”
    “Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She shrugged, all innocent-like.
    “You should have asked!” I said.
    “Fine, but since when do you store anything in the garage?”
    She had a point. I hated that she was taking the fire out of my argument.
    “What was it, anyway? What was in the box?” Mom asked.
    “Just some old things. Prized possessions.”
Apparently ones that possess magical, mystical powers
. “Don’t worry about it.”
    “Oh. Well, let me know if I can help,” she said.
    I wish you could
, I thought as I went