Young Writers Society

Tuesday, February 4, mid-afternoon

Seven seconds before this story truly begins, Quinton L’Enfant hypothesizes that Catkill Street is only lucky because the wind sweeps all of its bad luck into Catkill Court and deposits it the front yard of the little white house at the end of the cul de sac.

To this, Midori Fukui says, “Oh my god, Quinton. You are so stupid. That’s not how luck works.” She rolls her eyes like the middle school girl she is and reaches over to fluff Quinton’s neat, dark brown hair.

Then Willow Lin steps out of the door of the little white house at the end of the cul de sac, the pastel blue cast on her arm winking despite the foggy, winter light. Someone shouts, and the Rube Goldberg device set up under Catkill Court creeps into motion.

Willow does not live in the white house. That house belongs to the McCrae family, which is comprised of only two people. The daughter, Brooke, races out after Willow, her honey-brown hair flying like a cape, and reaches for the other girl, only to stumble on the steps and skid to a stop. Her fingers are just shy of brushing Willow’s light green coat.

“This is interesting,” Midori says. She holds her hands up to her eyes, pretending they are binoculars. “What’s Willow doing over there? Usually when she comes out here, she’s here to see my parents.”

Quinton slaps Midori’s arm. “They can see us!” he hisses.

“Who cares? They’ll probably think we’re spying on the new neighbor,” Midori says, tucking a stray black hair behind her ear, “which is what we were originally doing. Besides, we’re all the way over here. They can’t see exactly what we’re up to.”

“If we can see what they’re doing, they can see what we’re doing.”

“We are literally hiding behind bushes. They can see the tops of our heads.” Midori shifts her feet so her knees won’t dig into the ground and shoves her nose into the bare winter branches. “Now if only we could hear them.”

With a stomp, Quinton stands, and a few stray brown leaves cling to his jacket sleeves. He frowns at Midori and crosses his arms. “This is stupid,” he huffs. “I’m going home.” He almost manages to turn on his heel and walk back across the street, but suddenly his face is in the dry grass, itching terribly.

Midori is on top of him, the dirty cheater. She digs her elbow under Quinton’s shoulder blade as he tries to look at her. “Are you sure?” she asks in her airiest voice. It’s like she’s trying and failing at a femme fatale purr. “I thought you said something about Monsieur L’Enfant working on his, ah, chemistry experiments, and you didn’t want to be around for that.”

“Please get off of me,” Quinton wheezes.

Sticking her nose in the air, Midori lets a smug grin creep onto her face shifts so she is actually sitting on Quinton’s back, legs criss-crossed in classic applesauce style. “You really should take up your dad’s offer to join in on his research. The neighborhood watch is interested in knowing what he does.”

“Please,” Quinton gasps.

“You’re such a wim—ooh!” Midori jumps up, waving both hands in the air. “Hey Willow! What are you doing here?”

Quinton wishes his spine didn’t feel so out of whack. As he pulls himself onto his hands and knees, he looks to the end of the cul de sac to see Willow and Brooke strolling towards him and Midori. The oldest girl—that’s Willow, naturally—waves back and jogs to meet Midori in front of the next house over.

“Hello, Midori!” Willow says. “I feel like I saw you just the other day!”

Maybe because Willow did visit the other day. She came on Friday, looking beyond green with illness, and emerged from the sparkling cream-colored Fukui house with her cheeks glowing, rosy, and healthy. Quinton has learned not to ask why Willow does this all the time now.

“What are you doing out here?” Midori asks. “Not that we don’t like your company. I’m just curious, since you usually come to see Toshio or my parents.”

Willow laughs sheepishly, fingering a lock of her straight, black hair. Then she drags her nails along the blue plaster of her cast and glances at the Fukui house. “Well, uh, Brooke and I were wondering if we could talk to Toshio. We kind of have a request.”

Narrowing her eyes, Midori puts her hands on her hips and peers at Willow with dramatic suspicion. “Did you tell her about the you-know-what?”

Quinton has no idea what the you-know-what is, and he isn’t sure he wants to find out. Behind Willow, Brooke looks just as confused, but she might actually be interested in the secret. She tilts her head and leans forward just enough to give away her curiosity.

“Of course not,” Willow says, fanning her face. “My neighbor and two of my friends know, but that’s because we were in some emergency situations. Brooke and I are here because she needs a new accompanist. I obviously can’t play piano with a broken wrist.” She gestures at her cast, and Quinton wonders if the row of silver sharpie hearts flashing on the elbow end is meant to be ironic.

Midori’s surprise at the situation is comical. She acts like she was expecting some huge and terrible secret about powerful folk. But after an awkward silence, she composes herself and jerks her thumb towards her house. “Well, Toshio is home right now, so go ahead. Can’t say he’ll say yes though.”

At this, Brooke pales, and her sharp, brown eyebrows knot together. She tugs on Willow’s coat and murmurs something in her timid, reedy voice.

“No, it’ll be okay,” Willow replies. “Toshio is nicer than he likes to admit. Besides, he was only skipping because there were some emergencies. Maybe he’ll tell you about it at some point.”

It is Midori’s turn to blanch. Quinton thinks the girls are definitely talking about powerful folk now, though he’s never seen any reason to suspect the Fukui family of being magical. If they are though, things might be much easier for him when the neighborhood watch figures out what his dad is up to.

Willow and Brooke continue towards the Fukui house, and Quinton wants to watch the exchange to see if he can pick up any hints, but Midori has other ideas. She drags him by the hood of his jacket to hide behind the giant white truck in front of the new neighbor’s house, and he’s not keen on choking to get away from her.

Back at Midori’s house, Willow and Brooke stand outside the pristine white front door. The faint chime of the doorbell has just faded, and a storm of heavy footfalls echoes through the wood and windows. Brooke cringes and tries to hide herself behind the older girl , despite being taller and wider than Willow.

“It’s alright, Brooke,” Willow says, giggling. “Toshio isn’t that scary.”

“But you hang out with a giant who never looks happy. Of course you don’t think Toby is scary.” Brooke finger combs her hair and peeks over Willow’s shoulder. Her stomach coils, dreading the moment that door opens.

Willow reaches over to ring the doorbell again and tries to push Brooke in front. “Martin is a nerd, and I beat him at dodgeball every week. If you find someone scary, you just have to see if there’s something funny about them.” She presses the doorbell, and the door bursts open.

Toshio stands in the doorway, scowling. His glare lands on Brooke first, and she stumbles backwards, shying away like he might bite.

“H-hi Toby,” she whispers, almost inaudibly.

Then he glares at Willow. “Did you tell her or something?” he asks.

Finger still on the doorbell, Willow sighs. “Why do you and Midori always assume that? We’re here because Brooke needs a new accompanist.”

Toshio softens a smidge and steps out, closing the door behind him. His cheeks are already red from the cold, and he has dry flakes peeling off, ruining the still youthful curve of his face. He looks up at Brooke, still stern but no longer angry. “Did you ask Art or Joseph?”

With a long, quiet whine, Brooke looks to Willow.

“I already passed two people to each of them,” Willow says. “Art has a trombonist in the time slot before Brooke’s, and Joseph has a tuba solo in the slot after hers.” She lets out a dry laugh. “And, well, you know where the low brass room is.”

Scratching his nose, Toshio groans. “There’s no way they’d make it from there to the high woodwind room in time.” Still looking very put-off, he turns back to Brooke and crosses his arms. “So? What are you playing?”

Brooke threads her fingers together and drops her gaze to the ground. “Um, the first movement of Martinu’s Concerto for Oboe and Small Orchestra. I understand if you don’t want to play it.”

“It’s an orchestra reduction, right?” Toshio asks. He runs a hand through his spiked hair and grimaces. “Midori won’t be able to learn that in two weeks. I guess I’ll do it.”

When Brooke sighs in relief, she loses at least three inches of height. Her eyes sparkle in gratitude, which Toshio finds unnerving, so he steps forward and peers down the cul de sac to avoid looking at her and see if he can spot his sister.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” Brooke squeals. “I’ll get you the music right away. Thanks for finding me a new accompanist, Willow!” Still glowing with joy, she squeezes Toshio and Willow tight in one, swift hug and races back to her house.

Toshio watches, face paler than usual, and he tugs on the neckline of his sweater. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that excited,” he remarks. “By the way, where’s Midori?”

After taking a moment to look down the street, Willow’s innocent smile turns sheepish. “Well, she was hiding in the bushes on your front lawn with some boy, but I don’t see her anymore. Do you want me to go look?”

“Nah, she’ll be fine,” Toshio says. He reaches backward and gropes for the doorknob, still leaning forward to catch a glimpse of his sister. “As long as nothing blows up, I assume she’ll make it back. Are the wards from Friday still holding up?”

“Well, I haven’t inhaled any more spirits, so I think I’m good for now. Should I come back on Friday for a new one?”

Frowning, Toshio slinks back through the door and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I’ll help you write another temporary one. My parents aren’t done figuring out which mantras will work for your situation.”

“Okay then.” Willow waves goodbye and starts down the steps from the door. “I’ll see you on Friday!” Then she is off, skipping down Catkill Street with all the speed of a champion sprinter.

Toshio slumps over, wishing he hadn’t agreed to learn an orchestra reduction in two weeks, and slams the door shut.