Chapter One: The Enchanted Garden CHAPTER ONE THE ENCHANTED GARDEN
Time stamp: Four days earlier
I SLIP THROUGH THE CROWD, gripping the strap of my backpack as I make my way to my locker. Head down, I walk around the girls who cluster together like cackling witches, then sidestep the group of kids who form an immovable island within the rushing stream of students, their booms of “No way!” and “Yeah, dude!” making me flinch. I merge with the flow of other kids circumventing them, dodging the elbows of those frantically shoving things into their lockers, then hopping aside when someone pushes their way through the crowd in their haste to rush home.
It’s always like this—me, trying not to bump into any of my classmates as they do their best to make it impossible for anyone to walk around them. Sometimes I wish I could glide through crowds like a ghost. I’m already practically invisible to them, so it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to become a ghost entirely. I shrink a little more and squeeze through the gaps between my classmates. The scent of vanilla lip balm wafts by me as I pass by the popular girls, followed by the foul stench of forgotten gym socks as I walk past a boy’s locker.
I meet eyes with a girl I used to be friends with—Lauren. She quickly looks away, then turns her back to me while her friends give me the side-eye. My cheeks burn. I don’t blame Lauren for not wanting anything to do with me, not after she left my house shaking and in tears a few years ago. That was the last time we ever spoke.
Someone screeches and my shoulders jump to my ears. Heartbeat rabbiting in my chest, I glance around. The sound came from the group of people behind me—it is only a girl laughing at something her friend is showing her on her phone. Someone jostles me, and I snap out of it.
I tell myself it is okay, everything is okay.
A locker crashes shut. I jump, clutching onto my backpack straps as if they were a lifeline. My muscles lock as more kids shout around me, slamming their locker doors as they rush off to the bus or to wherever they go after the final bell rings. I stand, trembling, a tiny boat tossed in a sea of running kids, and try not to shrivel into myself. It’s all too loud, too fast, too much.
“Hey, Anya! You okay?”
I latch onto my best friend’s voice and turn to see her hurrying to my side. Her blue-tipped hair falls across her eyes as she reaches out, cupping my elbow. The ice holding me in place melts a little. Lizzie, my best friend since second grade, smiles at me, her silvery braces gleaming in the fluorescent lights.
“Yeah.” I uncurl my fingers from my backpack strap. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“Come on, let’s get our stuff and walk home.”
I focus on the enamel pins on her denim jacket as she presses close to my side. There’s one with the name of her favorite K-pop band, and a pin of the band’s youngest member wearing his signature floral blazer. Next to these is a lavender heart pin with the word borahae that I bought her for her birthday. Lizzie had once told me that borahae is a phrase coined by one of the band members. In Korean, it translates to “I purple you,” which means “I’ll love you until the end of days.” I thought it was the perfect gift.
I take in these familiar things as she guides me through the trio of boys standing like roadblocks in our path, then past a girl with ink-dark freckles, her head bent toward a Black girl holding a stack of what looks like sheet music as they chatter away.
“Coming through!” Lizzie crows. Amazingly, everyone steps aside. Lizzie has a knack for making people see her. I wish I had that skill. Well, no I don’t—I’m perfectly happy remaining invisible.
Invisibility means they won’t notice me at all.
I am glad to have Lizzie, though. One of us needs to be able to function around others. And that definitely isn’t me.
Lizzie’s locker is right next to mine, which is yet more proof that the universe brought us together for a reason. It was kinda the same in second grade. When Lizzie first moved to Portland, Oregon, our teacher placed her at the desk next to mine. During reading time, Lizzie pulled a book from her backpack, and I couldn’t help myself from blurting out that The House of Haunts was my favorite book. I had it with me that day too, so I held my copy up to prove it. Lizzie said she’d already read it three times, and I admitted I’d only read it twice. Still, we grinned at each other as if we shared the biggest secret in the universe.
We’ve been best friends ever since.
“Do you want to go to our park today?” I swing my backpack to my front so I can stuff my English Language Arts folder into the biggest pocket—we’re studying Greek mythology and all the handouts have added about two extra pounds of weight. My heart is still racing, but the panic has dwindled. Now that Lizzie is by my side, I feel like everything will be fine and I’m exactly where I need to be. I touch the battered notebook I have hidden in the same pocket, tucked beside a library book—it’s a secret notebook I’ve been filling for months, and I just finished writing the last story in class. Lizzie doesn’t know about this notebook, not yet. I take a deep breath, telling myself that today is the day I’ll show it to her—but not right now. School is completely the wrong place to share what I’ve written.
Lizzie glances at me from the corner of her eye. “What is it?”
I realize I’ve been standing with my hand in my backpack for far too long. I quickly withdraw it and zip up the pocket. “Oh, well, I found a book on trees at the school library today, so we can look up what kind of tree shades our park.” We’ve called the park located halfway between Lizzie’s house and mine “our park” since we were little. “Did you know that dendrology means the study and identification of woody plants, while botany is the study of all types of plants?”
“Huh, that’s cool,” Lizzie says distractedly.
Glancing at her, I catch her mouth dipping in a frown. “What is it? Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?”
Lizzie looks at me, her lips hooking up at the corners, but there’s a wobble to them. “No, of course not. Sorry, I’m just thinking about something.” She shuts her locker quietly. It is really hard to close a locker without making noise, but I know she tries just for me. “Hey, how about we just walk the long way to my house today? I kinda need to get home, but I can take a little more time getting there.”
“Oh.” I blink, mentally checking that it is Monday, and Mondays are the days we can spend our after-school hours hanging out at our park. My stomach twists a little, wondering why the sudden change—Lizzie would never normally back out of plans without telling me first, and it’s not like her to get serious like this. “Um, sure, of course.”
With minimal clanging, I close my locker and sling my backpack onto my shoulders. Then I follow Lizzie, dread rising with every step.
The other kids have cleared out, so it is much less of a battle to exit Mountain Heights Middle School. We take up the whole sidewalk, our shoulders bumping as we walk together. I fiddle with my friendship bracelet as I wait for her to say what’s on her mind. Lizzie has a matching bracelet—we made them together last summer. As the silence stretches on, the books seem to weigh more heavily in my backpack, as does my worry.
Soon, Lizzie diverts from the concrete sidewalk and onto a grassy trail. It’s the little-known path we take as the “long” way to Lizzie’s house—both to avoid our classmates who stick to the main sidewalks and also to see if we can catch a glimpse of the local witch who lives in a cottage down the lane.
None of the other kids dare take this path because of the rumors about the witch. It makes me like it even more.
The lady isn’t really a witch, I don’t think. But Lizzie and I would like to believe she is—the good kind, I mean. Who else would have a seemingly enchanted garden filled with pumpkins, fruit trees, and cabbages as big as my head? When we were in second grade, we’d pretend we were part of the witch’s coven, and with a single spell we could banish our problems and turn those who had done us wrong into frogs. In those days, my brother was often the frog, but I never told Lizzie why. She never asked. She has a younger sister who annoys her sometimes, so maybe she understood in her own way.
I’ve never seen the witch-lady up close, but I have caught a glimpse of her. Lizzie wasn’t with me that time, though. It was an evening when Lizzie was already at home, having dinner with her family, and I needed to get away from mine. At my house, my parents’ shouts rattled the walls and my brother was looking to take out his anger on someone…. But never mind about that.
That night, I’d been walking down this same path. When I approached the gates to the garden, I saw a sudden flash of light from the corner of my eye. I scuttled into the shadows of a nearby tree, worried that it was my brother out looking for me. It wasn’t him, though.
Instead, the witch stood in the middle of her garden. I was surprised to see that she wasn’t old-old, and she had long, dark hair that fell to her waist. There was a gleam surrounding her, as if moonlight had been caught in a jump rope at its highest point. In a flash of brilliance, she was gone. Vanished, like something my mind made up to nudge out all the problems I wanted to forget.
When I told Lizzie what I’d witnessed, I could tell she wasn’t sure if she should believe me. It’s okay, though, I barely believe it myself.
Even though I’ve never said it out loud, I love walking past the garden, where Lizzie and I can make up stories about the witch-lady who lives there. We used to wonder if she’d bake us in her oven or brick us in a tall, tall tower if we dared eat her greens. Once, Lizzie went right into the garden to see if the giant, glossy pumpkins were real. I was terrified she’d get caught, but even more terrified of what would happen to her if she did. I couldn’t abandon her, so I shout-whispered for her to come back to me while I stood with my sneakers firmly outside the fence line. Lizzie did scramble her way back to me, eventually. We ran away shriek-giggling, while I thought my heart would burst from my chest. I was so scared for her, but also so proud? I could never be as bold as Lizzie. Ever.
As we ran home, her eyes were wide as pancakes, shining with wonder. “The pumpkins, Anya! They sparkle, like they’ve been dipped in glitter!”
She told me of all the wondrous things she saw up close in that enchanted garden. Things I knew in my heart I would never see for myself.
Lizzie has always been the brave one. I’m the coward.
I follow Lizzie, kicking up dirt with my faded sneakers while the nearly-autumn breeze runs its fingers through my hair. This is my favorite time of year, when the heat isn’t too horrible and you can feel the promise of coolness coming on right before the sun sets behind the trees, letting you know that fall is tiptoeing ever closer. I shoot side-glances at Lizzie, wondering what it is that’s weighing on her mind right now. Are her grandparents okay? I know Lizzie had said she was going to visit them soon, so maybe that plan changed? It wouldn’t explain why she needs to go home so early today, though. As I wrangle the courage to ask her what’s going on, she gestures at something and says, “Do you think I’ll finally get to see her today?”
Swiveling my head, I look in the direction she’s pointing. It’s the witch’s house, the garden as green and vibrant as a painting. Before I can stop her, Lizzie is walking right up to the witch’s property line.
“Lizzie, no! Wait!” I’m already breathless, fear squeezing my chest as she strides up to the gate.
But she doesn’t go through it. Instead, she leans against the little fence surrounding the garden and stares at the swirling leaves of lettuces and curlicue vines from the bright orange pumpkins. “Please come out so I can meet you, before it’s too late,” she whispers, staring longingly at the house. “I need you to grant a wish or cast a spell, or… or something.”
I stand next to her, shifting from foot to foot. I’m not sure I want to get any closer to the garden, or to the witch. I glance nervously at the house, with its white curtains hiding whatever’s inside. “Lizzie, what’s going on? Why do you want to see the witch so badly?”
She inhales slowly, as if preparing herself for whatever words she’s about to unleash. “Because it’s my last chance.”
I stop fidgeting and squeak a nervous laugh. “What do you mean? We can try again on a different day.”
“No, Anya, we can’t. I’m moving.” Lizzie lays her cheek against the fence post. Her blueberry-tipped hair falls from her eyes, exposing the tears now rolling down her cheeks. “My parents are getting a divorce, and they’re both moving back to California. Mom is taking me to my halmeoni’s early while they settle some things here. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
A buzzing sounds between my ears. I could swear she just said she was leaving for her grandma’s house, which is in Irvine, California, and so very far away. “No. You can’t.” The words slip from me before I think them through. “I mean, what?”
If I was writing this story, I’d have Lizzie turn to me and laugh, saying it was a joke, that she said it to see how I’d react, as if my misery would prove to her how much I care. But this isn’t one of my secret stories, and I don’t have the power to change Lizzie’s future, much less my own.
I watch, breathless, as Lizzie’s eyes fill with truthful, heart-wrenching tears. She snuffles and wipes her nose on her jacket’s sleeve. “I know, right? My parents only told me this morning. Apparently, they didn’t want to ‘upset me too soon.’?” She claws out the air quotes, then lets her hands fall to her sides where they swing, defeated. “Like that went over well.”
I didn’t know her parents weren’t happy together. It makes no sense at all—they never fight, are always there for Lizzie and her little sister, and her dad makes pancakes on weekends. From scratch! So why are they getting a divorce and making Lizzie move away? Heat builds behind my eyes. My instinct is to run and hide, to get away from the overwhelming pain of it all. Lizzie will be gone and I will be alone and I’m so, so scared, but I can’t find any words to express my feelings and they all seem too big anyway. I’m afraid if I open my mouth to let them out they will squeeze together into one big, long wail.
But I can’t run from Lizzie—I’ve always run to her whenever I needed her. And right now, she needs me. So I press all these feelings deep inside me, clamping them down where they can’t be seen or heard, and reach for her hand.
Before my fingers graze hers, Lizzie straightens up. “Anya, look!”
I dart a glance at the house, where Lizzie is laser-focused. I’m not sure what she wants me to see, but then I notice the curtain on the front window twitch. Hovering lights glow behind the gauzy fabric. I blink, and the lights disappear.
I back into the shadows of a nearby tree. “Was it her? Did you see her?”
“I saw…” Lizzie blinks. “No, it couldn’t have been, I’m imagining things.” Her phone buzzes. She pulls it from her pocket, and when she reads the screen, her face falls. “Ugh. It’s my mom. I have to get home, like, now.”
She straightens up and hooks her arm through my elbow. “I know this is really sudden. I would have told you earlier but I was so angry, and I hoped my parents would text me to tell me that they changed their minds. I didn’t want to say it aloud and make it true, but I know that I can’t stop it.”
I have no words. They clump together, forming a sticky ball in my throat. What can I say, anyway? No mere words can make this situation any better. Instead, I throw my arms around her and hug her as tightly as I can, wishing I never had to let go.
Lizzie huffs a laugh, then leans her cheek against my forehead. “I’m gonna miss you so much, Anya. I promise, we’ll talk on the phone every night.”
I nod, but my tongue turns to ash. I don’t have my own phone, and there’s no way my parents would let me use one of theirs to talk to Lizzie for any length of time. Deep in my heart I know this is a real goodbye, one that lasts forever. I would do anything to keep her close, but I can’t rewrite this story so we can spend every day together.
“Walk me home, okay?” Gently, Lizzie pulls me along beside her. “I know my mom wants to say goodbye to you too.”
I curl into her, my best friend, my only friend. My friend who is leaving in the morning. I don’t know how I’ll hold myself together, but I know I need to, for Lizzie’s sake. I’ll be a blubbering mess tonight once the lights are out, once I’m alone. I’m always alone whenever Lizzie isn’t around, and even more invisible than usual.
I thought the Curse of Anya had finally been broken, that enough time had passed that my friendship with Lizzie was safe. Oh, I was so wrong. It was just biding its time, waiting for the moment when it would crush me the most.
As we stride away, I look over my shoulder at the witch’s house, squinting against the sun’s glare. For a heartbeat, I swear I see someone peeking out from the curtains.
It’s a girl with ink-dark freckles, and brightly glowing moths surrounding her.
