place, at some time I can't remember'but someone said that to me. Who was it? Who could it possibly have been? Who would tell me that a simple Boston sweatshirt was important?
I shake it off and turn back to Kelsey. 'Nothing,'I say. 'Nothing.'I shut off my light, and I follow her down the front staircase. The grandfather clock chimes one as we pass it.
x The football game is a success. We win, and Mike throws a couple of touchdowns, and afterward we go out for ice
cream, and Mike is sweet and cute and holds my hand and makes me laugh, and I am the envy of every girl at school, and I should be flushed and happy.
But all I can think of is the Boston sweatshirt. It's been haunting me. I cannot place where I got it. I feel like someone gave it to me, but I can't remember who. And I feel like the most important thing I will ever know in my life is the knowledge of who gave me this sweatshirt. It's driving me crazy that I can't remember.
As soon as I get home, I pull the sweatshirt off the shelf, and I stare at it for a long time. It looks like a normal sweatshirt. Why would it be important in any way? The thought that it might be important, tugging at the edge of my consciousness, feels like something that came from a dream. I try to remember if I've had a dream about this sweatshirt, but nothing rings a bell. I can think of nothing but that this is important'so important.
I pull the sweatshirt over my head'
It all rushes back to me, like someone has ducked my head in cold water, and I am gasping as it crashes over me'everything, my murderous mother, my ogre aunts, Will Blaxton of the Salem Which Museum, the sound of the chiming bells of the Seelie Court, and Ben. How could I have forgotten?
I get to my feet. The sweatshirt is warm around me, like the first hug I have had in a very long time. I go downstairs, and my aunts are sitting in the conservatory. They are knitting. They have been knitting a pair of socks for as long as I have
been alive. They are each in charge of one sock, and by now the socks are so large they could fit the biggest giant to ever live. I wonder now how many centuries they have been knitting these socks. The yarn of them is a bright pink snowdrift around the twin dark spires of my aunts.
They are knitting automatically, their eyes darting about the room for the sight of the hated gnomes, and I march in and I say, 'I remember everything.'
'Everything what?'Aunt Virtue asks blandly.
'That you are ogres. That my mother is a faerie.'
Aunt True laughs and says, 'A likely story.'
The two of them knit away.
'Where is Ben?'I ask.
They look at me. 'Who?'they ask. I don't believe their act, not for a second. As unbelievable as it seems, I know somehow that my real life is this faerie tale I've been told. This strange, Ben-less world, where I'm dating Mike Summerton, must be an enchantment.
'Ben,'I say. 'Benedict. Benedict Le Fay. Where is he? What happened to him?'
My aunts look at me for a long moment then turn back to their socks.
'Forget about him,'says Aunt Virtue. 'Forget about all of it. You're not supposed to remember. Not yet, not now.'
'But Ben told me to remember, I think. To remember this sweatshirt'What am I wearing?'I ask.
'Jeans,'says Aunt Virtue.
'No, for a top.'
My aunts peer at me.
'A green sweater,'says Aunt True.
'No, no, it's very clearly a yellow sweater,'says Aunt Virtue.
They exchange a confused look.
I am relieved. If Ben's enchantment is still working, then I am safe. And that means Ben must be safe too, somewhere, because it would be his energy keeping the enchantment going.
'Where's Ben?'I ask again.
'Don't you understand?'demands Aunt True. 'This is a different enchantment. An alternate enchanted Boston for you, one where you never even met Benedict.'
'And it's not nearly as good as the first one was,'says Aunt Virtue with a sigh. 'Look how quickly you figured it out.'
If I've figured it out, can my mother find me? If I've figured it out, are Ben's powers
I shake it off and turn back to Kelsey. 'Nothing,'I say. 'Nothing.'I shut off my light, and I follow her down the front staircase. The grandfather clock chimes one as we pass it.
x The football game is a success. We win, and Mike throws a couple of touchdowns, and afterward we go out for ice
cream, and Mike is sweet and cute and holds my hand and makes me laugh, and I am the envy of every girl at school, and I should be flushed and happy.
But all I can think of is the Boston sweatshirt. It's been haunting me. I cannot place where I got it. I feel like someone gave it to me, but I can't remember who. And I feel like the most important thing I will ever know in my life is the knowledge of who gave me this sweatshirt. It's driving me crazy that I can't remember.
As soon as I get home, I pull the sweatshirt off the shelf, and I stare at it for a long time. It looks like a normal sweatshirt. Why would it be important in any way? The thought that it might be important, tugging at the edge of my consciousness, feels like something that came from a dream. I try to remember if I've had a dream about this sweatshirt, but nothing rings a bell. I can think of nothing but that this is important'so important.
I pull the sweatshirt over my head'
It all rushes back to me, like someone has ducked my head in cold water, and I am gasping as it crashes over me'everything, my murderous mother, my ogre aunts, Will Blaxton of the Salem Which Museum, the sound of the chiming bells of the Seelie Court, and Ben. How could I have forgotten?
I get to my feet. The sweatshirt is warm around me, like the first hug I have had in a very long time. I go downstairs, and my aunts are sitting in the conservatory. They are knitting. They have been knitting a pair of socks for as long as I have
been alive. They are each in charge of one sock, and by now the socks are so large they could fit the biggest giant to ever live. I wonder now how many centuries they have been knitting these socks. The yarn of them is a bright pink snowdrift around the twin dark spires of my aunts.
They are knitting automatically, their eyes darting about the room for the sight of the hated gnomes, and I march in and I say, 'I remember everything.'
'Everything what?'Aunt Virtue asks blandly.
'That you are ogres. That my mother is a faerie.'
Aunt True laughs and says, 'A likely story.'
The two of them knit away.
'Where is Ben?'I ask.
They look at me. 'Who?'they ask. I don't believe their act, not for a second. As unbelievable as it seems, I know somehow that my real life is this faerie tale I've been told. This strange, Ben-less world, where I'm dating Mike Summerton, must be an enchantment.
'Ben,'I say. 'Benedict. Benedict Le Fay. Where is he? What happened to him?'
My aunts look at me for a long moment then turn back to their socks.
'Forget about him,'says Aunt Virtue. 'Forget about all of it. You're not supposed to remember. Not yet, not now.'
'But Ben told me to remember, I think. To remember this sweatshirt'What am I wearing?'I ask.
'Jeans,'says Aunt Virtue.
'No, for a top.'
My aunts peer at me.
'A green sweater,'says Aunt True.
'No, no, it's very clearly a yellow sweater,'says Aunt Virtue.
They exchange a confused look.
I am relieved. If Ben's enchantment is still working, then I am safe. And that means Ben must be safe too, somewhere, because it would be his energy keeping the enchantment going.
'Where's Ben?'I ask again.
'Don't you understand?'demands Aunt True. 'This is a different enchantment. An alternate enchanted Boston for you, one where you never even met Benedict.'
'And it's not nearly as good as the first one was,'says Aunt Virtue with a sigh. 'Look how quickly you figured it out.'
If I've figured it out, can my mother find me? If I've figured it out, are Ben's powers
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