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  • Philippa Fisher and the Fairy Godsister
  • Written by Liz Kessler
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  • Philippa Fisher's Fairy Godsister
  • Written by Liz Kessler
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Philippa Fisher and the Fairy Godsister

Written by Liz KesslerAuthor Alerts:  Random House will alert you to new works by Liz Kessler

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New from the author of the best-selling Emily Windsnap series! A tale of a girl and her reluctant fairy guardian sparkles with magic and charm.

Philippa Fisher would like nothing more than to summon a fairy. Still, she is taken aback when Daisy, the new girl at school, announces that she is Philippa's fairy godmother — or godsister, since they're both the same age. Though the fairy is none too pleased with her mission, she is obliged to see it through and grant her human charge the customary three wishes. Now, if only Philippa would wish for something that makes her life better, not worse! With warmth and whimsy, the creator of Emily Windsnap whisks a traditional theme into a contemporary setting to tell a story of friendship, luck, and how we decide what we really want.


Sunday morning began with the awful realization that I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.

It had all started on Saturday. The weekend began like any other. Mom and Dad were rushing around packing puppets and balloons and facepaints into the van for a party in the afternoon. There’s nearly always one going on somewhere on Saturdays. They’re party entertainers; the weekends are their busiest time. I used to go along to the parties, but then I -- well, I just don’t anymore.

Birthdays, anniversaries, passing your piano exam -- anything you want to celebrate, they’ll be there singing, pulling rabbits out of hats, throwingpies at your big brother. Whatever it takes to make you smile.

Everyone thinks it must be great to have them as my parents. They think my home life must be a nonstop party. Um. Not quite.

It used to be fun, I suppose. When I was young enough not to get bored with making dogs out of balloons every week; when I actually liked beingdriven around in a bright yellow VW camper with pictures of clowns and jesters and rabbits on the side; when I didn’t know that there was any such thing as a problem that couldn’t be sorted out with tickle therapy. I used to think that my parents were the most incredible human beings on the planet.

Now I just think they’re embarrassing.

This Saturday I didn’t mind, though. I hardly even noticed them. I was busy putting the final touches on a present that I was making for my bestfriend, Charlotte.

"Philippa, we’re going now!" Mom called up the stairs.

"OK," I shouted back.

"There’s tofu rolls and veggie burgers for you and Charlotte."

I rolled my eyes. Once, just once, it might be nice to have something normal like grilled cheese or fish fingers for lunch.

"Great!" I replied, hoping I sounded more sincere than I felt.

I looked up as my bedroom door opened. It was Dad. He had a bright orange sun painted on one cheek and a black night sky with a crescent moon on the other.

"Which hand’s the penny in?" he asked, grinning widely as he held his palms out.

I pointed to the penny in his left hand. "That one."

"Are you sure?" Dad winked. Then he closed his hands, shook them, got me to blow on them, and then -- presto -- the penny had disappeared. It was a good trick. It was probably even better if you hadn’t already seen it approximately three times a week for eleven and a half years, and if you didn’t already know how to do it yourself.

Still, I’d never say anything. It would only upset him, and I did secretly enjoy his magic. I liked it when he showed me how to do a new trick. I’d go away and practice it for days afterward. Not that I’d ever do it in front of anyone except Charlotte. Just the thought of performing made me tremble. I’d never do that again.

"Neat," I said, smiling.

Closing his hands again, Dad reached forward, tickled my ear and opened his palms. "Hey, look where I found it! It was in your ear the whole time," he said. "Now why didn’t you tell me?"

I kept smiling. "They’ll love you, Dad," I said.

He leaned over to kiss the top of my head. "Be good, sunshine," he said before leaving me and bounding downstairs to join Mom.

I watched the van drive to the end of the road, and then I got back to the friendship bracelet I was making for Charlotte.

Charlotte had been my best friend since the first day of school. We had even been in preschool together, so we’d known each other for nearly seven years -- and this weekend she was moving away. Her parents had bought a farm hundreds of miles away. They were "getting back to nature." All homegrown food and solar panels and no phone or TV. They weren’t even going to have a computer, and it was so completely in the middle of nowhere that they probably wouldn’t even have cell phonereception. They might as well have been leaving the planet.

They were really excited about going, though. Even Charlotte. All I knew was that it felt as if someone were about to chop off one of my limbs.That’s how close we were. Charlotte said she felt the same way, but I knew she was looking forward to her new life, too. She was going to have a pony of her own, and her parents said they’d get a dog and chickens. I was happy for her. Really, I was. But how was I ever going to be happy without her around?

The friendship bracelet! She’d be here any minute. I wiped my eyes and got back to work. It was a really complicated pattern in turquoise, pink, and purple: all her favorite colors.

I’d just threaded the last piece of cotton into place when the doorbell rang. That’s the last time she’ll walk over to my house, a heavy voice said in my mind.

I looked in the mirror, wiped my eyes again, and practiced smiling. Don’t think about it. Don’t let her see how sad you are; don’t make it hard for her, I said to my reflection.


"Girls may fall upon Liz Kessler's story with joy. . . . A funny, wise book about finding confidence and friendship." — THE TIMES (London) — Times, The (UK)

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