Mira Morganstein: The Pink Lemonade Club 007
The old woman had lied.
The fairy doll shed glitter from her glossy pink ringlets like she had a pernicious case of sparkling dandruff. The glue holding the curls to the wooden head was already starting to pull away, and now that Mira was examining it closely, the fairy’s tutu was starting to shred along the edges.
“Bring me good luck?” Mira frowned at the doll lying limp as the dead in her hand. “Not likely.”
But still, there was something about the fairy’s face—two black dots for the eyes and a tiny rosebud mouth—that wouldn’t let her throw it away. A touch of whimsy that made up for peeling glue and clouds of glitter.
Besides, it had only cost her a favor and a quarter.