The Popularity Spell by Toni Gallagher

Terri yet, so I let go of Toby with his leash on and head straight back to my bedroom. Dad hears me and says loudly, “Wash your hands and get ready for a sumptuous repast!” I guess he means dinner. He’s showing off by using big words for Terri—and by asking me to wash my hands. I don’t usually do that; why would I today? I run my hands under some water in the bathroom sink so he’ll hear the water, but I don’t use any soap.
    There aren’t any towels in the bathroom, so I go to my room and dry my hands on my comforter. As I’m walking out the door, I stop to check on Millie and Marty. But something is wrong.
    Marty isn’t moving. I poke her a little with my finger and try to tempt her appetite with a piece of old apple, but I know what’s going on. Marty, as they say on TV shows, “is gone.”
    I take an extra close look at Millie and he’s doing fine, squirming around in the grass acting like there’s nothing wrong. Maybe those two weren’t very close.
    I close my eyes tightly and make my mouth hard so I won’t cry. I don’t know exactly why I’m feeling like this. Marty was just a millipede, a little wormlike creature. She wasn’t energetic and fun like Toby, or fluffy and adorable like a bunny or a guinea pig, but she was still my pet and I took care of her like I was supposed to. I walk to the kitchen, where Dad and Terri are in the middle of making dinner. He’s got garlic sizzling in a pan and she’s slicing celery as some kind of old-timey music from the eighties plays in the background.
    “Dad,” I say real seriously. They don’t hear because they’re trying to figure out the lyrics from some song about balloons.
    “Dad,” I say louder, and they both turn. “Marty died.”
    Terri looks worried. “Who’s Marty? Someone you know?”
    “My millipede,” I say.
    “Well, it’s a good thing we bought two!” Dad makes it sound like a joke, but it’s not very funny. Terri must not think so either, because she says “Bradley!” in a kind of harsh way.
    “Is the other one okay?” Dad asks, his voice softer now.
    “Yes. But I’m sad. I don’t know why; I can’t help it.”
    Terri puts down her knife and wipes her hands on a rag on the counter. “Cleo, do you want to get Marty and do something nice for him?” she asks. I blink my eyes hard and nod. I don’t bother to tell her that Marty is—or was—a girl. “Why don’t we give him a proper funeral and say a few things on his behalf?” she says. “You could wrap Marty up in a little piece of paper or material or something. Carry him really carefully to the backyard. I’ll get a shovel from your dad, and we can dig a hole and say goodbye.” Normally I’d be mad that she’s being so friendly, but I’m too sad to be mad. We agree to meet in a few minutes.
    I look around in my underwear drawer and find a soft, silky scarf that my mom wore when I was a baby. It has little Eiffel Towers and French poodles on it, and Dad told me she thought it would be neat for me to wear when I grew up and traveled the world.
    I pick up Marty gently and wrap her in the scarf. I walk past Dad in the kitchen. He’s still working on dinner. “You okay, Cleo?” he asks. I nod without saying anything. “Do you want me to come outside too?”
    “No. Terri and I will do it.” I don’t want too many people around.
    In the yard, I can’t believe what I see. There’s a candle flickering on the grass and Terri is finishing digging a hole. Marty won’t take up much room, so it didn’t have to be too deep.
    I hold out the scarf that’s holding Marty.
    “Is that him?” Terri asks.
    “Her,” I say. “I found out she was a girl after I named her.”
    “Well, Marty’s a good name for a girl too.” Terri looks down at the hole, with the light from the candle making patterns over it. “Why don’t you gently put her in the ground?”
    I take a deep breath and get down on my knees. I gently slide Marty out of the scarf and into the hole. I