I couldn’t sleep.
I tossed. I turned. I stared at the ceiling so long I could see patterns in the bumps. But no matter how many times I tried to tell myself to forget it, I couldn’t. That bracelet was burned into my brain.
Hillary had been wearing it for months, probably. Growing taller, getting curvier, while I stayed stuck at the same size, watching everyone else leave me behind. And she lied about it. She could’ve told me. She should’ve told me.
I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of my bed. My feet didn’t even reach the floor.
I clenched my jaw.
“Just for one night,” I whispered to myself. “Just to try it.”
The house was quiet. Mom and Dad had already gone to bed. Hillary’s room was across the hall, her door cracked open just a sliver. I tiptoed out of my room, the floor creaking under my weight (not much of it, but still). I stood outside her door for a second, listening.
Soft breathing. She was asleep.
Okay, Mollie. You can do this.
I slid inside and made my way to the closet. My hands were shaking a little. I wasn’t sure if it was nerves or excitement—or both. I found the wooden box right where I left it. Opening it, I half expected some dramatic music to start playing or a beam of light to shoot out of the gem.
Nothing. Just the silver bracelet, sitting there quietly, looking harmless. Normal.
I slipped it out of the box and ran my thumb over the little blue stone in the middle. It felt warm. Warmer than it should’ve.
Swallowing hard, I slid it onto my wrist.
For a second, nothing happened.
I sighed. Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe it was just jewelry. Maybe—
A pulse. That’s the only way I can describe it. A slow, thumping warmth spreading out from the bracelet and up my arm. It made my skin tingle, like I’d just touched a balloon and static electricity was zapping through me.
And then… the room got smaller.
No, I got bigger.
I watched the floor get farther away. My legs stretched out, my arms felt longer. I held my hands up and stared at them—my fingers were thinner, more elegant-looking. I could feel the hem of my pajama pants creeping up my ankles.
I ran over to Hillary’s full-length mirror.
And there I was. Me. But taller. My face looked a little different. Less babyish. My shoulders were a little broader. And… I had ankles! Real ones! Not just little sticks.
I laughed. A breathless, stunned laugh.
It worked. It actually worked.
I was still staring at myself when I heard the creak of a bed behind me.
“Mollie?”
I froze.
Hillary sat up, rubbing her eyes. Then she blinked at me—and I watched the realization hit her like a freight train.
“What are you doing?”
“I… I just wanted to try it,” I said. “Just once.”
Her eyes went to the bracelet on my wrist. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” she said, her voice sharper now, panic rising. “Take it off.”
“Why?” I shot back. “You’ve been using it! And it worked! Look at me, Hillary. I finally—”
“Take it off, Mollie!”
But I didn’t want to. I liked how it felt.
And then the warmth pulsed again. Only this time, it wasn’t warm. It was hot. Burning hot.
I gasped, grabbing at the bracelet, but it wouldn’t budge. It was stuck to my wrist, like it had fused with my skin.
“Mollie!” Hillary shouted, scrambling out of bed.
The room spun, the floor tilting. My legs gave out, and I dropped to my knees.
“Mollie! Let go of it! Think about something else! You have to—”
And then everything went black.
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