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claws.”
    Allie scowled. “I don’t care what they paid for. He’s still stuck living here and not with his real family.”
    Jonathan’s face clouded over. “You know, the world’s never going to be perfect, but that doesn’t mean you have to be a witch all the time. Try being grateful. Or get yourself a broom.”
    Allie and Jonathan stood, scowling at each other as the warm sun beat down on them and chickens poked around their feet.
    “Come on, you two,” Arthur said. “Jonathan, you teach Madeleine and Luke how to feed the pigs and cows. Allie, you can clean out the back pen—the one with the little calf in it. Just toss the manure out the back door into the manure spreader. I’ll deal with it later.” He handed Allie a pitchfork and walked into the barn. Leaving her standing there. With a pitchfork.
    “The calf is called Scooter,” Luke yelled from the window. “I named him. And it’s a good name,” he said, glaring at Madeleine.
    Allie gritted her teeth as she stomped into the barn. The pitchfork handle felt weirdly rough and scratchy in her palm.
    As Allie ducked under the bare bulb that dangled from a wooden beam, something light and feathery tickled her face. A spider web! She stumbled ahead, rubbing her free hand up and down her cheek, trying to pull off the strands. Allie avoided making eye contact with Blackie. True, he was standing there doing nothing. But you never knew. You just never knew.
    A second bulb hung from an old wire at the far end of the alleyway. And right in front of it was Scooter’s pen. Allie groaned.
    The manure was at least two feet deep. Its acidic smell bit at Allie’s throat, making her cough. And perched in the middle of the mess was Scooter the calf, his scraggly little legs quivering with excitement.
    Allie stepped carefully into the pen. Her boots slurped as the manure tried to suck her in.
    Five sticky steps, and it happened. Allie slid—skated, almost—across a patch of watery manure. In a flash, her feet shot out from under her and she landed, belly-flop style, on her back. She tried to sit up. No luck. Her hips and back had been sucked into the chilly muck like it was quicksand.
    The ground shook as Scooter bounded over. The calf leaned down and snuffled excitedly, then stuck out his raspy tongue and dragged it across Allie’s face. He spun around in a circle, smacking Allie’s lips with his manure-covered tail before bounding around the pen kicking up his heels and spraying poop everywhere. Allie sputtered frantically, trying to get the manure—which tasted oddly like warm Dr. Pepper—out of her mouth.
    If they ever found her, she was definitely getting first dibs on the bath.
    “Cripes, you’re useless.” It was Jonathan, of course. Allie hated that boy.
    Scooter, the scrawny little calf, was still racing around in circles—no doubt trying to confuse his prey before attacking her with his disgusting tongue again.
    “I hate you,” Allie said, staring up at Jonathan.
    “Would you like me to help you up?” Jonathan asked, using a sickly sweet voice that was even worse than his normal snotty one.
    “I hate you.”
    Jonathan smirked. “I can help you up, you know.”
    “I hate you.”
    “Just say the word. I’ll even clean the pen out for you if you do.”
    “I...” If Allie could have crawled down through the manure and straight to China, she would have done it. “I hate...”
    She closed her eyes and sighed. “Can you help me up?”
    Jonathan didn’t move.
    Allie’s skin crawled. “Can you help me up... please ?”
    Without another word, Jonathan reached down, grabbed Allie under the arms and heaved. She came out of the wet manure with a weird slurping sound.
    Then he grabbed the pitchfork and started shoveling.
    Allie scrambled out of the pen—being careful to not get knocked over by Scooter, The Incredible Running Calf—and stood in the alleyway. Jonathan was hunched over, tossing fork after fork of manure out the door and into the