“Whatabouther gumballs?” Calliope repeats.
“You’re supposed to give some to her.” Fifi points to her own bag of gumballs, which are sitting on her nightstand right under her framed labors. “So she can reach you when she needs help.”
“So this is kind of an ongoing thing, huh?” In a not-so-stunning twist that surprises absolutely no one, Calliope looks clueless.
“A six-years-ongoing thing,” Fifi answers, and now shesounds as exasperated as she looks. Maybe even more. “She’s got to be able to contact you if she needs you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Of course she does.” Calliope starts patting her jacket pockets like she’s looking for something—first the outside ones, then the ones on the inside. “Gum, you say?”
“Gumballs,” Fifi responds firmly.
I’m not holding out much hope that she’ll find a forgotten sack of gumballs in there—but apparently, she’s determined to try.
She’s on the very last pocket when she crows with triumph and pulls out a smashed, already opened package of gum.
“I knew I had this somewhere.” She holds the torn-up, half-empty package out to me. “Here you go.”
But Fifi snatches it before I can reach for it. “There’s three pieces of gum in here,” she growls, outraged.
“That’s three more than she had thirty seconds ago,” Calliope shoots back, obviously aggrieved. “How many times is she going to need to talk to me anyway?”
“This is fine,” I tell them both as I pry the pack of gum from Fifi’s surprisingly strong grip.
“Awesome. Good talk, kid.” Calliope gives me another little half wave as she heads toward the window.
“Wait!” Fifi gets her voice back in a rush. “This isn’t enough—”
But Calliope’s already gone, tossing a rueful smile over her shoulder as she vaults out the window.
22.Playing Ketch-Up
FIFI WHIRLS ON ME. “SHEdidnotjust leave in the middle of our conversation!”
“Pretty sure she did,” I answer as I look back down at my labors, trying to decipher what they mean.
“That issouncool.” She shakes her head so hard that the beads at the end of her braids rattle. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll totally share my gumballs with you.”
“Um, that’s really sweet, but I don’t think it works that way. Won’t your gumballs just call Frankie and not Calliope?”
“Yes, and I don’t see the problem with that. I’ll share his advice with you too. Anything’s got to be better thanthatwoman,” she huffs. “Are we even sure she’s really a muse?”
“She’s a muse,” I answer absently, my mind on my labors,which I am dying to read. “Some even say she’s the most important muse.”
“If by important, you mean jerkish, sure.” Fifi narrows her eyes as she studies me. “I have to say, I’m a little surprised at how calmly you’re taking all this.”
“That’s because you didn’t see my total and complete meltdown before you came in and saved the day,” I snort. “Thank you for helping us figure out that she reallydidhave my labors.”
Fifi gives a not-so-fake shudder. “I’m not exactly sure that ketchup-and-mustard monstrosity deserves the honor of being called your labors. But I’m glad I was a little bit of help anyway.”
“You were a lot of help.” In a spontaneous display of affection that shocks me way more than it does her, I throw my arms around her shoulders and give her a quick hug.
Or what’s supposed to be a quick hug, considering she grabs on and squeezes, long and hard, in return.
“That’s what friends are for.” As soon as I move away, she’s back to peering down at my paper. “Well, that and helping you decipher this mess.”
It’s my turn to shudder as I process what’s on my list. “Areyourlabors anything like this?”
She shoots me a look. “Um, no. If they were, I would have had Frankie take them right back out of here.”
