Words of Stone by Kevin Henkes

from. They bought hot dogs, soda, popcorn, and—best of all—cotton candy, whipped and spun onto paper cones like fancy pink hairdos. Joselle loved how cotton candy melted when it touched her tongue. She ate hers and nearly half of Blaze’s. Her teeth ached from all the sugar.
    â€œThis is fun,” Blaze said.
    â€œYeah,” said Joselle. “But I think I ate too much.”
    They were seated at a picnic table, among many, under a large yellow tent. The sunlight shone through the tent, casting a jaundiced look onto everything.
    â€œWant to walk around?” Blaze asked.
    â€œLet’s just sit a while longer,” Joselle said. “We can watch people.”
    â€œOkay.”
    Joselle played with the soggy paper cone from her cotton candy. “Did you ever wish you were someone else?” she asked.
    Blaze shrugged. “Not really.”
    â€œI do, sometimes.” Joselle waited for Blaze to ask: who? But when he didn’t, she continued. “Is there anything about yourself you’d change if you could? Is there anything you don’t like?”
    Blaze shrugged again.
    â€œI’d get rid of these awful teeth, if I could.” Joselle said, pointing to her mouth. “And I’d like to be smaller. Like you.”
    â€œI wish I was bigger ,” Blaze said. “And I don’t like my scars. From the fire.”
    Joselle played dumb. “What scars?”
    Blaze got off the bench and walked over to Joselle’s side of the picnic table. “These,” he said, turning his ankles and nodding. “I was in a fire one Fourth of July. I got burned—so did three other kids. It wasn’t that bad. They did some skin grafting. I think they could do more if I really wanted them to. . . .”
    Joselle leaned over and touched Blaze’s right ankle. “They’re tiny,” she said. “I’d take your scars over my teeth any day. I always wanted a scar. They make you look brave.”
    â€œReally?”
    Joselle nodded. “Yeah.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t lie to me?” said Blaze.
    â€œNever,” Joselle replied, feeling her cheeks turn pink as polished apples. “Let’s go,” she said, rising abruptly from the bench and running toward the crowd.
    â€œWait up,” Blaze called.
    They wove in and out of the artists’ booths. Sometimes Joselle ran ahead and hid behind a tree or a group of people, then rushed out in front of Blaze. Small red flags flapped in the breeze.
    â€œLook!” Joselle said suddenly, bending over. “A lucky penny.”
    â€œLet’s see,” said Blaze.
    Joselle handed the penny to Blaze. “It’s yours,” she said, “on one condition. You have to tell me your wish.”
    Blaze’s little fingers curled and uncurled around the penny. “Right now?”
    â€œThink about it and let me know. But if you don’t tell me, it won’t come true. True, true, true,” Joselle called, running ahead again, dodging in and out of the crowd.
    Throughout the afternoon, Joselle was content to sit and observe. She watched Claire interact with the shoppers and browsers. And she watched Glenn holding Claire’s money box, making change when he needed to. But when she and Blaze went back to the refreshment stand to get something for Glenn and Claire to eat, Joselle did more than observe. When a boisterous man cut ahead of Blaze in line, Joselle elbowed him. “Excuse me!” she said crisply. “My friend was here first.” She felt very protective.
    It wasn’t until they were driving home at sunset that Joselle remembered that she had taken the fox from Blaze’s room. And it dawned on her why she had done it. With the fox in her possession, she might have a kind of power over Blaze. It might add strength to her wishes concerning him. Unlike the key collection he had given her, the fox’s whereabouts were unknown to him;