By the time Skye had gotten dressed and eaten breakfast, the others were already back. Rosalind and Iantha were looking at her curiously, and Jane wouldn't be quiet. She was going on and on about wishes, and curses, and magic, or something.

Skye was sitting on the couch, staring at their piano—yes, Batty had gotten one—when Jeffrey decided to come sit with her. "Hey Skye," he said. "About last night…" She glared at him.

"Jeffrey Tifton. Please do not ever talk about last night. Please." She felt bad for a second, because he looked a little bit hurt. "I'm sorry, but I just can't think of it. I just don't know." She looked away for a while, and then looked back. "Maybe later. Maybe. If you're lucky." Jeffrey looked satisfied at that answer.

"Look, Skye, I'm sorry just—"

"I meant it…" Skye said warningly. Then she grinned and stabbed him in the stomach. "C'mon, let's go play soccer!"

After Skye hollered for Jane, the three started a rousing game of soccer in the front yard. They were so loud that their shouts and cries of joy were heard, and Tommy and Nick eventually came over, followed closely by Rosalind, Batty, and even little Ben.

It was a fair match—Jane, Tommy, Ben, and Skye vs. Jeffrey, Nick, Rosalind, and Batty. So far the score was 3-4, for Skye's team, but Jeffrey swore they would win. Maybe they would win, or maybe not, but it was hard to tell because as the sun began to rise into the warm spring air, the Penderwicks and Jeffrey were called in for lunch.

The two teams shook hands, and maybe it was just Skye, but she felt her hand stay in Jeffrey's for a little longer than all the others.