Chapter 5

five

ELLA

Until today, Charlotte’s cruelty had limits.

I’ve done everything she’s ever asked of me without complaint. Even when it means I have to gather eggs before the sun is up to fit it into my schedule. Or I have to forgo sleep to work on projects. I run errands, keep up with the farm—what little is left—cook, clean, all while balancing my job and school.

I claw my fingers in the dirt, not even caring what it might do to my manicure. I’m half tempted to just dig a hole and climb inside. Something about being here grounds me, makes me feel a little braver.

It’s a safe space.

Charlotte hit me with a double whammy today. I can recover from her antics pretty fast. Usually. Dread sits in the pit of my stomach as I think over her words: it’s life-changing . Something tells me she isn’t just referring to herself.

There’s a saying in the South: you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Charlotte has smothered my honey in the foulest vinegar imaginable. It’s not just her ripping the dress today. It’s returning the other dress. The catty remarks .

The only thing giving me hope at the moment is that she will finally be out of my life soon. Running to the one person I know could fix this would be a mistake right now. It would be a reaction. But no matter what my emotional status is in the morning, a visit to Gold Bank and Trust feels like the right decision. I need to find out the status of my parents’ farm.

As for the dress, I could call a fairy godmother. No amount of sewing will fix the damage she inflicted. But even in the wake of her assault, I don’t think I’m that desperate. Godmothers are nosy, and it’s never as simple as a granted wish or a magical nudge.

Nothing about magic ever is.

The likeliest solution lies in the house behind me. Between Gaby and all the other women, they’ll find me something to wear. But Charlotte forbade me from going. Do I want to risk her wrath?

I’m emotionally drained, so I lie down in the dirt and stare at the clouds. It’s a game that goes back as far as I can remember: stop looking at what is and look for what can be . When life is overwhelming, clouds are the easiest place to start.

One floats by that looks like a giant kiss mark, reminding me of my mother.

Okay mom. Let’s make lemonade.

Even if I don’t go tonight, people will have an amazing time. I poured my heart and soul into every piece of decor and the result should be positively charming.

And then there’s Patch.

While he doesn’t know everything there is to know about me, he doesn’t see me as a little orphan farm girl . The words sting more than I want them to. I know that I’m more than that, but the truth of them still hit their mark.

I haven’t exactly bared my whole soul in our letters, but he still knows things I don’t say to anyone else. He’s never made fun of me or chastised my ambitions. My rose-colored glasses still color my dreams and I don’t always realize how much I’ve shared until after when I overthink my honesty.

But there are some things I don’t even want to talk about with Gaby. She’d understand, but it’s easier to tell someone I can’t see the things that keep me up at night.

Patch is everything I could ask for: gently accepting and encouraging and kind.

If I pretend I still have something to wear to Midnight in the Hollow and Charlotte hadn’t forbidden me from going, I can find hope still tucked down inside. A spark of promise that perhaps meeting Patch tonight might change my life. Even without knowing who he is, there’s no question he’s important.

As a T-Rex shaped cloud floats by, I wish we hadn’t taken so long to meet in person. If we’d met earlier, he could be part of all the chaos as Mrs. Jackson documents every second of our departure. I’d have someone on my arm to escort me into my last fall dance, and dance with me under the harvest moon ambiance in the school gym.

I could belong to someone in more than a letter.

On one last deep inhale, I make a wish—a desperate one—that Enchanted Hollow could work its magic and give me a piece of that happily ever after. I know I’m only seventeen, but I’ve spent my whole life watching love stories unfold.

I’m tired of feeling like the square pumpkin in a patch full of round ones.

It’s a pretty frivolous wish, but I can’t take it back now that I’ve let it go.

Despite whatever secret Charlotte is keeping, I can’t allow her to ruin one of my favorite events during my favorite season. She doesn’t deserve that power.

I shove her back out of my mind and focus on the cool, crisp air. Cardigan weather. The spicy scent of the season wafts on the breeze mixed with the smell of warm drinks and baked goods. Probably from the Jackson’s house. They like to throw open the windows when it’s nice outside.

Fall is when change hovers on the horizon, the promise of something beautiful whispering in your ear.

I’m listening.

“Ella, are you trying to scare off the Great Pumpkin with that granny sweater?” A familiar gravelly voice comes from my left.

My heart does a couple of Olympic level flips in my chest.

He found me. The one person I wish would be Patch in real life. He’s never bought into the town magic long enough to do something like send a letter to begin with, but a girl can dream.

Luke Jackson, Gaby’s big brother.

He’s tall and handsome and the guy that scooped my books off the floor when I was in middle school. It’s a shame he doesn’t realize how perfect we’d be together. Unrequited feelings sounds romantic until you’re living it.

My feelings for Luke are sticky and complicated, so I keep them tucked away where no one knows they exist. It’s easier now that we aren’t in school together anymore, but he’s still working at his parent’s farm, so here we are.

Besides, I’m Gaby’s friend. I’m pretty sure that’s the only way he sees me. The only way he will ever see me.

“Luke, The Great Pumpkin wouldn’t care how I’m dressed. He’d care that I just believe.”

“Of course you do.” There’s laughter in his voice, so I risk a glance up in his direction to see if he’s actually laughing at me. He’s not, but there’s a crooked grin on his handsome face and my stomach joins my heart to form their own gymnastics team.

“Someone’s got to do it. ”

My reply is half-hearted, but I just don’t care.

He’s going to ask me why I’m out here alone and I don’t have it in me to come up with a witty response.

With a start, I remember I was just crying a few minutes ago and duck my head to wipe furiously at my cheeks. There’s no way to check and see if my waterproof mascara actually did its job or not.

How do I admit to him—to anyone—that my stepmother can just be cruel sometimes, and she picked a night that she knew was important to me to do her worst yet?

That I just, for once , want a little piece of that magic that seems to hug Enchanted Hollow this time of year?

I’ve sat by and watched couple after couple all throughout high school and I’ve yet to experience a kiss under the football bleachers or by the town’s wishing well under the moonlight. There’s been no time for dates at the coffeehouse or picnics on the town square lawn.

I know how ridiculous it sounds, but I can’t help how I feel.

Maybe I do want a sliver of the spotlight for once, for everything to be perfect—or at the very least—memorable. When I leave and start over somewhere new, all I’ll have are these memories to keep me company. I just desperately want a magical evening where I can shed this orphan farm girl persona. Where somebody looks at me like I’m beautiful and brings me flowers that match my dress and dances with me all night long.

I’ve got no idea if Patch will be that guy for me—and it’s probably really unfair for me to pin so much hope on him. If there was ever a moment for a guy to ride up on his proverbial white horse and save the night, it would be this one.

I’ve built tonight up to be my Cinderella moment, minus the mice and pumpkin carriage, and I’m realizing my mistake .

“That may be true, but I thought you had other places to be.” He extends his hand out to help me up, but I must stare a beat too long because instead he drops beside me. “What have you seen so far?”

“There was a balloon animal poodle. And a T-Rex. I may have also seen a dog chasing a cat.”

He settles onto the dirt on his back, brushing against me in such a small way I technically could have imagined it. It’s taken a lot of practice over the years, but I hardly flinch when the zip travels up my arm from his touch. To prove I’m unaffected by him, just a slight chill from the weather, I wrap my sweater even tighter.

“Do you think the T-Rex might have made the balloon poodle?”

This conversation is familiar, but also strong uncharted territory. It’s a game that Gaby and I have played a thousand times, usually with another Jackson sibling in tow. I can count on one hand how many times it’s just been me and Luke.

Well, maybe two. I definitely don’t hate it.

“His arms are way too short for that, silly,” I answer matter-of-factly. “But maybe there’s a clown hiding somewhere in there.”

“I hope not.” He pauses. “You really hate clowns.”

My heart resumes its Olympic pole vaulting. He’s right, I do.

Luke never misses the little things, and that’s why I can’t give up hope that he’s Patch. Not until the meeting proves differently.

There’s a long pause where there’s no sound in the air but the breeze, and the cicadas that haven’t gotten the memo that it’s officially fall, not summer. For the briefest of moments, the air is heavy between us. Then it vanishes.

He doesn’t look at me as he clears his throat .

“Look Ella, I’m going to cut to the chase. My mom and Gaby are looking for you. Why are you out here and not in there?”