this is going to sound funny, but we simply cannot find the cause. If you ask me, it’s as if the house spontaneously combusted.”
I remember learning about spontaneous combustion in science lab last year. A Radical Idea begins to form in my mind.
This Radical Idea starts out small but gets huge by week’s end. It’s so big, in fact, I can’t get it out of my head.
See, everything I know about Liat, and the Cursed House, tells me it’s absolutely right. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to share it. Very few people would understand.
It’s only when Gayle brings it up that I even say it out loud.
It’s two weeks after the fire, and Gayle and I are walking home from school. We’re silent most of the way until Gayle suddenly blurts out, “I think the Cursed House killed itself.”
I inhale sharply. My teeth make a whistling sound. “I think so, too,” I say.
I struggle to fashion my jumbled thoughts into coherent words. “I think that when Liat moved in … she … defeated the Curse. She beat it. So the Cursed House … destroyed itself. And now, without it, there’s no Curse anymore.”
Gayle nods vigorously.
We never mention it again.
But some people on the block, like Eddie, don’t see it our way.
They say the fire is only the latest example of the terrible reliability of the Curse. Even when we point out that no one got hurt in the fire and that the Cursed House itself is now gone, they insist the Curse struck again.
Some people even believe a new house will be built on that spot one day, and that it will be Cursed, too. But they’re wrong. Gayle and I are right.
Even if a new house goes up on that spot one day, the Curse itself is gone. Liat conquered it.
chapter twenty-three
it’s almost thanksgiving now, and I’ve decided I won’t let it be like Rosh Hashanah. Just because
Ema
can’t be here doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate. And this year, we’re going to have Israeli foods on the menu in addition to the traditional American foods. I’m going to make Old-Fashioned Yankee Spiced Cake—and
jachnun
too. I’m going to invite Liat, Yossi, and Rivka. It’s going to be the best Thanksgiving ever.
I’m in my room, writing out the giant list of ingredients I will need from the supermarket. Liat’s with me. We’re both sprawled on the floor, blowing giant green bubbles that are collapsing stickily on our cheeks.
It reminds me of the first day I met Liat, that afternoon I saw her sitting alone on the stoop of the Cursed House, blowing big green bubbles.
Liat is unusually quiet. She scrapes three strands of gum off her face. “We’re leaving, Roxanne,” she says softly.
“What?” I ask absently.
Liat looks down at the floor. “We’re going back to Israel,” she says in a low voice.
I nearly choke on my wad of Bubblicious.
“What?!”
Liat nods solemnly. Her face is pale.
“When?”
“In a couple weeks.”
I can’t find words. Finally I stammer, “But what about school?” It’s a dumb question, considering everything.
Liat clears her throat. “I guess I’ll go to school in Israel.”
“No,” I say. “You can’t go. What about Thanksgiving?” “I’m really sorry, Roxanne,” she says sadly. Her eyes are shiny.
I blink back tears of my own. “But why?” I ask. Liat sighs. “My dad. He says it was a sign. He says it’s time.” “A sign? You mean the fire?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “He says it’s a sign that it’s time we went back to Israel.” “But that’s crazy!”
“I know. I tried talking him out of it, but when he decides we’re moving, we’re moving.”
“But—,” I start, then stop. The tears feel like they’re about to gush. I blink furiously. “It’s not a sign about Israel,” I say, my voice breaking. “It has nothing to do with that. It’s the Curse—it happens to everyone who lives in that house. Don’t you know?”
I want to tell Liat she beat the Curse. I want to tell her about the Radical Idea—the
I remember learning about spontaneous combustion in science lab last year. A Radical Idea begins to form in my mind.
This Radical Idea starts out small but gets huge by week’s end. It’s so big, in fact, I can’t get it out of my head.
See, everything I know about Liat, and the Cursed House, tells me it’s absolutely right. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to share it. Very few people would understand.
It’s only when Gayle brings it up that I even say it out loud.
It’s two weeks after the fire, and Gayle and I are walking home from school. We’re silent most of the way until Gayle suddenly blurts out, “I think the Cursed House killed itself.”
I inhale sharply. My teeth make a whistling sound. “I think so, too,” I say.
I struggle to fashion my jumbled thoughts into coherent words. “I think that when Liat moved in … she … defeated the Curse. She beat it. So the Cursed House … destroyed itself. And now, without it, there’s no Curse anymore.”
Gayle nods vigorously.
We never mention it again.
But some people on the block, like Eddie, don’t see it our way.
They say the fire is only the latest example of the terrible reliability of the Curse. Even when we point out that no one got hurt in the fire and that the Cursed House itself is now gone, they insist the Curse struck again.
Some people even believe a new house will be built on that spot one day, and that it will be Cursed, too. But they’re wrong. Gayle and I are right.
Even if a new house goes up on that spot one day, the Curse itself is gone. Liat conquered it.
chapter twenty-three
it’s almost thanksgiving now, and I’ve decided I won’t let it be like Rosh Hashanah. Just because
Ema
can’t be here doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate. And this year, we’re going to have Israeli foods on the menu in addition to the traditional American foods. I’m going to make Old-Fashioned Yankee Spiced Cake—and
jachnun
too. I’m going to invite Liat, Yossi, and Rivka. It’s going to be the best Thanksgiving ever.
I’m in my room, writing out the giant list of ingredients I will need from the supermarket. Liat’s with me. We’re both sprawled on the floor, blowing giant green bubbles that are collapsing stickily on our cheeks.
It reminds me of the first day I met Liat, that afternoon I saw her sitting alone on the stoop of the Cursed House, blowing big green bubbles.
Liat is unusually quiet. She scrapes three strands of gum off her face. “We’re leaving, Roxanne,” she says softly.
“What?” I ask absently.
Liat looks down at the floor. “We’re going back to Israel,” she says in a low voice.
I nearly choke on my wad of Bubblicious.
“What?!”
Liat nods solemnly. Her face is pale.
“When?”
“In a couple weeks.”
I can’t find words. Finally I stammer, “But what about school?” It’s a dumb question, considering everything.
Liat clears her throat. “I guess I’ll go to school in Israel.”
“No,” I say. “You can’t go. What about Thanksgiving?” “I’m really sorry, Roxanne,” she says sadly. Her eyes are shiny.
I blink back tears of my own. “But why?” I ask. Liat sighs. “My dad. He says it was a sign. He says it’s time.” “A sign? You mean the fire?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “He says it’s a sign that it’s time we went back to Israel.” “But that’s crazy!”
“I know. I tried talking him out of it, but when he decides we’re moving, we’re moving.”
“But—,” I start, then stop. The tears feel like they’re about to gush. I blink furiously. “It’s not a sign about Israel,” I say, my voice breaking. “It has nothing to do with that. It’s the Curse—it happens to everyone who lives in that house. Don’t you know?”
I want to tell Liat she beat the Curse. I want to tell her about the Radical Idea—the
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