Chapter 8: A Lot Like Magic

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Thirteen years ago

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Thirteen years ago...

I hated wearing dresses. If I wore a dress, I couldn't run, or cartwheel, or try to stand on my hands anytime Liam told me I couldn't walk with my feet in the air. I couldn't of course, but it didn't stop me from trying. Unless I had to wear a stupid dress, and this was one of those times.

Mommy said I had to look nice. It was Liam's eighth birthday, and he was having a big party at his house with balloons of all colors, a magician, and a bouncy house in the backyard. The house smelled of cake and smelly boys who were currently running all through the house, yelling at each other and shooting nerf guns.

I was heading to get some juice, because I was thirsty after eating all that yummy cake shaped as a magician's hat, when a dart flew out and hit me in the butt. Immediately, I reached out and started rubbing my hand over my behind to soothe the sting. I turned my head looking for who shot me, only to see Liam's head peeking out from behind the tan colored couch.

"Liam! I know it was you!"

"Nuh-uh! The magical Liam has disappeared!"

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at his dumb head bobbing behind the couch.

"I can see you Liam!"

He poked his head out from the side, his eyes sparkling with mischief. A cheesy grin spread across his face as he stood up, gun in hand. He pointed it back at me with his finger on the trigger.

"Don't you do it! I mean it."

"You mean it?"

"Yes!" I huffed.

"Well, since you mean it." He slowly lowered the gun, and I blew out a breath of relief ready to tell him thank you, when he swiftly brought it back up again, shooting me two more times.

I quickly brought my hands up to cover my face as I squealed. "Ow! You're a big meanie head Liam Tucker!"

My mommy always said my full name anytime I was in trouble. Madalynn Nova Reese! she'd yell. And for some reason, it made me more scared. So, I always did the same to Liam whenever he would make me mad. Except I didn't call him James. His daddy called him by his middle name James, and I don't know why, but I knew he didn't like it. And even though he made me mad, he was still kind of my friend.

He walked up to me, tossing his gun on the couch. "Take it back."

I stared him down, unbothered by his words. "Nope." I said, popping the p.

"It's my Birthday."

"Yeah, so?"

"So that means you can't be mean to me on my Birthday. I only turn eight once."

I pushed my lips to the side as I thought about what he said. He was right. I hadn't turned eight yet. I was still seven, but I wouldn't turn seven again, just like he wouldn't turn eight again. Plus, I didn't like anybody being mean to me, especially on my Birthday.

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