Tiffany Tumbles: Book One of the Interim Fates by Kristine Grayson Page A

worked.”
    “Oh,” I say.
    “I don’t know anyone like him, and I doubt you do either.”
    “Okay.” My face is so hot it hurts. My eyes are filling with tears and I don’t want Mom to know. This is embarrassing. First Jenna tells me I use ancient slang, and now Mom thinks I’m hilarious because I’m trying to get along.
    “I’m not sure how to show you how things really work,” Mom says, more to herself than to me.
    “I’m sure I’ll pick it up.” I shake my hand free of hers and get up. I go over to the counter and grab some sharp scissors. Then I head for the box.
    Mom is watching me as if she expects me to do something wrong. And I probably will.
    I should’ve thought this through. Before I gave up my powers—voluntarily, to learn how to be a proper mage, how dumb was that?—I should’ve spelled real world knowledge into my head or taught myself how to behave like mortals or something.
    But spells can backfire, and even if I’d thought of it, I probably would’ve done it wrong. Me and Crystal and Brittany might’ve been powerful, but we were sadly lacking, even in the magical side of our education.
    “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Tiffany,” Mom says.
    I keep my back to her. I use the blade of the scissors—like I’ve seen on TV (so there, Mom!)—and slice open the box.
    “You didn’t,” I say.
    “I didn’t mean to laugh,” she says again.
    “I know,” I say. “You couldn’t help it.”
    The box tears open, and white foam stuff falls everywhere. On top, there’s a letter in calligraphed handwriting, and the signature on the bottom is Crystal’s.
    Who knew she could do that?
    I set the letter aside. I’ll read it after I see what she sent.
    I reach inside the white foam packing stuff and pull out a box. On top, it says iPhone , and it has a picture of a gadget on the cover.
    Mom comes over and makes one of those frowny sounds.
    I ignore her. I don’t want her here, seeing my stuff—which is not a bomb, just like she knew (I feel so dumb)—but I don’t tell her that. I can’t, really. I don’t have any power here. I’m not sure what to do when I get angry. I can’t cast a spell, I can’t run away, and I sure can’t tell her to get lost (is that modern slang?) because she’s the one who owns the house.
    I’m dependent, worse than I’ve ever been in my life, and it frightens me.
    She picks up the letter. I snatch it from her hands.
     
    Tiff—
    We’re not supposed to e-mail or chat or call, except on Saturdays, but no one said anything about texting. I discovered it here in New York and it’s wonderful. I got us a subscription to a network. You, me, and Brit are on a family plan. We can send each other notes all day and no one’ll be the wiser.
    I wish I could show you how, but the instructions that come with the iPhone should be clear for someone as smart as you. We'll probably have to tell Brittany what to do on the phone on Saturday.
    I miss you so much!!!!!!!!!!!!
    Love,
    Crystal
     
    “No one’ll be the wiser, huh?” Mom’s looking over my shoulder, reading my mail. I thought Americans value privacy. The movies say that too, but what do I know? I have a skewed sense of reality.
    “I don’t think she thought you’d be here,” I say. And if I hadn’t had that bomb moment, she wouldn’t have been. No one would’ve been the wiser.
    “I see your sister hasn’t learned about money yet,” Mom says.
    “What?” I pick up the box. It doesn’t look expensive, but what do I know? Everyone says coffee is expensive, and it doesn’t seem that way to me. Clothes seem expensive, and so do cab rides, and I can’t figure out food prices at all, but coffee seems pretty consistent from café to café.
    “Networks,” Mom says. “They’re expensive.”
    “But Crystal already bought us into one,” I say.
    “She subscribed ,” Mom says. “She didn’t pay.”
    It takes nearly a half an hour for Mom to explain to me the difference between subscribing and