break. “That would be ace.”
Cricket Crisis
Esme sat in the girl’s changing room and stared at her orange and yellow trainers. Normally she loved netball but Nat still wasn’t talking to her and neither were half the girls in her class. Being tiny, Esme always played centre, but it was hard to be the hub of the team if the team was ignoring you. Stupid Spelling Championships. She could tell Mr Night that she’d cheated, but Mum would be devastated. Besides, it hadn’t really been cheating, had it?
If only she could go and play cricket with Nat, at least she might be able to talk to him. She was ready to tell him about the pepper pot – who cared if he thought she was crazy as long as they were friends again. But girls didn’t play cricket with the boys.
Esme looked at the pepper pot in her PE bag. She carried it everywhere now, without really knowing why. It was as if the little face called to her, enticed her, like a particularly delicious bar of chocolate.
Grabbing the little silver figure, Esme muttered, “I wish I could play cricket with Nat.” Someone opened the changing room door and a gust of wind blew pepper in her face. Esme sneezed, twice, and the world shifted.
“Hey, new boy, are you going to sit there naval-gazing, or are you going to kit up?”
Esme looked up to see who was being shouted at by the cricket coach, and realised it was her. Cricket coach? New boy? Esme looked down and gasped. She wasn’t wearing her PE shorts and bright trainers, she was in cricket whites. She wiggled on the seat. Hmmm that wasn’t the only difference. She was a proper boy! Eew, way too freaky.
The pepper pot had gone too far this time. Cautiously Esme stood up and looked around for a mirror. Did they even have mirrors in the boys’ changing room? But she didn’t need a mirror to know that her body had changed. The floor looked further away and her pigtails didn’t swish when she moved her head.
“Come on, new boy!” the coach called again. “Stop faffing like a girl and get out there.”
Ha! If only he knew, Esme thought. New boy? So she wasn’t someone already on the team. She’d better think of a name and an excuse for being there.
Hurrying after the coach, Esme decided on Edward – it was close enough to her own name that she’d answer to it. She wasn’t sure about the new boy bit, but the pepper pot had fixed her wet clothes after her first wish, so hopefully it would fix that too. The important thing was to talk to Nat.
“You’d better field, as I don’t know anything about you,” the coach said grumpily. “No one ever tells me anything.” He pointed to deep mid-wicket and Esme dutifully jogged over to her position. Nat was at extra cover – too far away for conversation. This wasn’t going to work at all. Maybe when it was their turn to bat.
As soon as the game started, Esme realised the difference between playing cricket with the girls and the boys. The banter was ruder, for one thing. She heard comments that made her blush. And they threw the leather ball hard! The first time it came anywhere near her, she dropped it and hugged her stinging hands.
“Oi, new boy, you catch like a girl!” one of the bigger boys in her class called. What was all this ‘like a girl’ business, as if being a girl was something bad? Well, she’d show them!
What was it Nat always said? Keep your hands soft and relaxed and wrap your fingers round the ball once it lands. Her chance came almost immediately. Monty lofted the ball high into the air over her head. She squinted in the sun as the red missile dropped towards her. In the distance she could hear the other boys jeering. She ignored them. Slowly the ball fell towards her. Esme concentrated on keeping her hands loose as if she was cradling a baby chick rather than waiting for a rock to hit her. Ten metres, five metres, three. Esme held her breath and waited. At last the ball thumped into her hands. She held them together and closed her fingers like a clam shell. She had caught it!
“Hey, nice catch,” a voice called. Someone ran over and thumped her on the back, knocking the wind from her lungs.
“Thanks,” she gasped. Then, realising it was Nat, she grinned until he gave her an odd look. “My name’s Edward,” she said.
“Nat,” her best friend replied before running back to his field position.
Esme was exhausted before their innings was half over. She’d thrown herself around the boundary, catching ball after ball, throwing it overarm back to the wicket keeper. At least she had a good throwing arm. Massaging sore muscles and grazed knees, Esme thought longingly of the netball court.
When it was their turn to bat, Esme shuffled and sauntered until she was next to Nat in the line-up. At last she might get to talk to him.
“Hey, Eddie-boy, what’s your batting position?” the coach barked.
Esme stared blankly at him. “Er, like this?” She put her hands in front of her as if holding an imaginary bat. The boys guffawed loudly and Esme flushed.
“Ha! Nice one,” Nat muttered, assuming Esme was acting deliberately stupid. The coach ground his teeth.
“I’ll take no lip from you, boy! Do you bat top or lower order?”
Esme still didn’t understand, but she guessed lower order would require less skill. Then a phrase Nat used when she batted in the park popped into her head.
“I’m a rabbit, sir,” she said.
The coach gave an evil grin. “I figured as much. You look like a proper Charlie. You’ll bat last then. Right, Nat, you’re opening, with Freddie.”
Esme watched Nat strap on his batting pads and stride out into the middle of the pitch. She was never going to get to talk to him.
Thankfully the bell went before Esme had to bat. She did bat, when she played with the girls, and sometimes even hit the ball. But that was against a gentle toss, not a red bullet. Even then she’d rather be fielding.
As the boys trooped off the field, chatting and joking, the blood drained from Esme’s face. She was going to have to go in the boys’ changing room. With the boys. And get undressed. Suddenly getting a chance to talk to Nat was less important than being anywhere but here.
Come on magic pepper pot, she wished urgently, I’m ready to go back now. Nothing happened. How did the darn thing work? There had to be a trigger.
And then she figured it out. Sneezes! Every time it had worked, she had sneezed from the pepper. Not even just the pepper. In the park she’d sneezed from cold. But how could you make yourself sneeze?
Esme pinched her nose and strained her eyes, but she didn’t feel remotely like sneezing.
“What’s wrong, Edward?” It was Nat.
“I think I’m going to sneeze,” Esme said, still holding her nose, “But it won’t come out. My nose is all fizzy.”
“Ooh, that’s a nasty feeling,” Nat agreed sympathetically. “I find staring at a bright light sometimes makes me sneeze. You could have a quick look at the sun. Hurry up, though. Coach will start chucking shoes if you’re not changed when the bell goes.”
Esme smiled gratefully at Nat, but her tummy twisted when she realised he didn’t recognise her. Should she confess now?
“Er, Nat?” she called, as he turned to go. He looked enquiringly at her. “I need to talk to you. My name isn’t really Edward, it’s–”
“Nathaniel! Edward! Get your sorry selves in here now before I send you to lunch in your underwear!”
Nat hurried into the changing room, leaving Esme alone.
Feeling daft but desperate, Esme closed her eyes tightly, then opened them and stared towards the sun. Bright spots filled her eyes and her nose began to tickle. Then she sneezed, twice, and the world shifted.
Pink Disaster
Esme felt the hard wooden bench beneath her bottom. She was back where she started, staring at her trainers in the girls’ changing room.
“Where were you?” Mia asked as she stuffed the last of her kit into her bag. “You missed netball.”
“I didn’t feel like myself,” Esme said truthfully.
Mia gave her a strange look. “Well, hurry up, or you’ll be late for lunch. It’s sausage and mash.”
> “I might pass on lunch today,” Esme murmured. If she was missed in netball, that meant she was really there in cricket. She needed to think that through.
Mia shrugged and hurried out. The changing room fell silent, apart from Esme’s busy thoughts. She stared at the little silver pot in her bag. Was it smirking again? It seemed to pin Esme with a wicked glare until her skin crawled.
“You’re nothing but trouble!” Esme said to the revolting little figure. “I’m not going to make any more wishes. They all just go wrong anyway.”
“Talking to yourself? First sign of madness you know.”
Esme glanced quickly at the door and gasped. Nat’s familiar face was poking round, his hair a wild halo above his head after the exertions of PE.
“Nat! This is the girls’ changing room, what are you doing in here?”
“I’m not strictly in,” Nat said cheekily. “My body is still definitely out.” Esme raised her eyebrows at him. “All right, nit picking. I came to check on you. You didn’t come to lunch, and Mia said you weren’t in your PE class. Are you okay?”
A warm glow flooded through Esme at Nat’s concern. He was still her friend after all. “Can you keep a secret?” she said. Nat nodded. Esme patted the bench next to her. With a worried frown, Nat hurried in and sat down.
“I wasn’t in netball because I was playing cricket with you,” she said. Nat made a noise like a snorting horse. “It’s true!” Esme said. Then, before Nat could stop her, she explained about the magic pepper pot