Grace wasn’t stupid. She knew that some of the other kids made fun of her for having an invisible friend, but she didn’t care. The kids in her class were stupid anyway.
None of them knew how quiet this planet could be, so they hadn’t learned to listen like she had. She was used to quiet. Her grandparents’ house was like a library sometimes.
There was something wrong with Grace. She’d known that her whole life, even if she didn’t know what it was. People didn’t like her, not even her grandma. Grace tried to be likable and nice and quiet, she really did, but none of it ever worked, and things just went wrong for her, no matter how hard she tried. She broke things and tripped over stuff and couldn’t seem to learn her letters.
Hey, Gracerina, Ariel said.
Grace looked down at the circle of glass. She couldn’t really see Ariel. It wasn’t like that. She just knew her friend was there now, and she could hear the voice in her head.
Grown-ups always asked Grace how she knew when Ariel was around or what her best friend looked like. Grace told them Ariel looked exactly like Cinderella.
It was sort of true.
She couldn’t actually see Ariel, but she knew when her best friend was in the mirror and when she was gone. And she did look like Cinderella. Grace would swear it.
She still remembered the first time Ariel had shown up.
Grace had been a baby, still in diapers. She’d been home with Nana, who used to babysit sometimes when Daddy was busy with school. All Grace remembered about those days was the sound of Nana crying. Everything made Nana sad: the music on the radio, the color pink, the dumb old green sweater hanging in the entry, the closed door upstairs. And Grace.
Just looking at Grace made Nana cry.
One day, Grace had done something wrong. She didn’t know what it was. All she knew was that one minute she was standing there with a stuffed pink puppy that she’d found in her grandparents’ room, and the next minute Nana was yanking the puppy out of her hands so hard Grace stumbled sideways and plopped onto her butt.
Nana burst into tears and so did Grace. She waited for her daddy, but no one came to get her, and finally she just sat there alone, sucking her thumb.
Then she’d heard someone say her name.
Gracie, come here … follow me …
She’d wiped her slimy nose and stood up. Holding her yellow blanket, she followed the voice up the stairs to the door that was always shut. No one ever played in this room.
Inside, it was like something out of a fairy tale, all pink and yellow and perfect.
Over by the dresser was a big mirror that was shaped sort of like a football, with a red and gold flag stuck into the hinge. A bunch of glittery gold stuff framed the oval mirror—bracelets and metal flowers and sparkly rainbows.
Gracerina?
She remembered peering into the mirror, seeing a flash of yellow and smear of pink.
You okay?
Grace frowned, looked harder, seeing … something. A girl, maybe, a little older than her. Are you okay? the girl asked.
“I’m bad,” Grace said, feeling tears start again. “Grace bad.”
You’re not bad.
“Who are you?”
I’m Ariel. I’ll be your friend as long as you need me. Here, Gracerina. Lie down on the carpet, go to sleep. I could tell you a story.
Grace had been so tired. She’d curled up on the soft carpet and pulled her blanket around her. Sucking her thumb, she’d fallen asleep to the pretty sound of her new friend’s voice. Since then, Ariel had been her bestest—her only—friend.
Why don’t you go play with the other kids?
Grace looked down at her wrist. “They’re stupid.” She poked a stick into the sand at her feet.
Boy alert.
Grace sat up straighter and looked around. Sure enough, Austin Klimes was coming this way. His face was big and fat, like someone had konked him in the head with a pan. “Uh, you wanna come play hopscotch with us?” he said, breathing heavily. His cheeks were flushed, too.
The teacher had made him come over here. Grace could see the other kids huddled together across the beach, watching her and giggling. They thought it was funny that no one liked her.
“Ariel isn’t allowed to hopscotch.”
Austin frowned. “Everyone’s allowed to play hopscotch.”
“Not a princess.”
“Your fake friend isn’t a princess.”
“Shows what you know.”
“You’re a big fat liar.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.” He crossed his big arms across his chest.