The next day, the first thing Michelle did was look around to check she was back in her own bed. She almost yelled in joy when she saw she was. This would be the day. Today, she'd get the cuckoo clock and the spell reversed.

She could never quite get used to seeing herself in the mirror. She felt like she was looking at a stranger this time. She was nine, with a childish youth to her features. She'd almost call herself cute. She had floppy hair, freckles all over her cheeks, and a round, chubby face.

As she walked into the bedroom, she wasn't surprised to see the decorations and waffles on the table. She was, however, surprised to see her mother eating them along with her father. Her plate didn't have whipped cream like his, but she was eating just as ravenously. She paused to offer Tommy a piece, which he happily accepted. He was two now, as Michelle did the math, with a mop of sandy blonde hair and a bowl of chocolate yogurt in front of him. He seemed far more interested in the waffles.

"Save some for me," joked Mrs. Webster as she offered him another piece. She had mousy brown hair that framed her face, one side tucked behind her ear, and glasses. So did Michelle's father. She had forgotten her parents wore glasses when they were younger.

Michelle took a seat at the table, scooping waffles onto her plate and slathering them with whipped cream. They tasted as amazing as her mother's cooking usually did. That is, her mother's less healthy cooking. Michelle found it ironic she was such a health nut, and yet so much better at cooking unhealthy food.

Tommy looked up, his mouth coated with crumbs and whipped cream. His face lit up upon seeing Michelle. "Shelly! Shelly!" He clapped his hands excitedly.

"He's been asking for you all morning, Michelle," said Mrs Webster.

"But the waffles quickly took his mind off you," added Mr. Webster jokingly.

She decided to approach the subject. "Dad, about the cuckoo clock..."

"Michelle!" Her father sounded excited. "You remembered."

"How could she not?" joked Mrs. Webster. "You kept going on about how you fell in love with it as soon as you laid eyes on it at the store. I was starting to feel jealous."

"But you dozed off while I was talking about it," noted Mr. Webster.

"Oh. Well, I suppose that's true. You did as well, didn't you, Michelle?"

"I was wondering, have you got it yet?" asked Michelle with trepidation.

"No, thank god. If he did, he'd never shut up about it," her mother pointed out.

"Why the sudden interest, Shel?" asked Mr. Webster. "Do you want it as well?"

"Oh, no." Michelle paused. "I mean, not really. I was just wondering. It's at Anthony's Antiques, right?"

"Yes. More like Anthony's Overpriced," sighed Mr. Webster. "I really don't understand why he couldn't sell it to me. I asked so politely."

"Sure you did." Mrs. Webster rolled her eyes. She quickly turned her attention to Tommy, who was reaching to her plate across his high chair. She gently swatted his hand. "If you want your own plate, you could just ask."

"Pancakes," he babbled.

"Am I really that bad a cook?" Mrs. Webster asked Michelle. "He thinks my waffles are pancakes."

"And that pancakes are waffles," added Mr. Webster.

Once they finished breakfast, Michelle managed to ask, "What are we doing today again?" She knew she'd look weird if it looked like she forgot, but she didn't care. She needed to know if it was possible to get to the cuckoo clock.

"Oh, nothing much," replied Mrs. Webster as she stood up with her plate. "We're just having a nice, lazy Christmas at home."

"Christmas! Christmas!" chanted Tommy.

"Sounds like he likes the idea of that," noted Mr. Webster. "And you, Shel?"

"It's... fine," she replied, somewhat honestly. It'd be better if they were going out somewhere so she could get to the shop, but she supposed this was fine too. She could always ask her parents if she could go out somewhere.

"You know, I've been wanting to buy a new coffee table for a while," remarked Mr. Webster as he came out of the kitchen. "This one is rather worn out, don't you think?"

Mrs. Webster groaned. "Herman..."

"No, really! Just look at it. Come on." Mr. Webster disappeared into the living room, and Mrs. Webster reluctantly followed him. Michelle followed as well.

"See? It's practically falling to pieces." It was an exaggeration, but not by much. Part of one leg was missing, it was chipped and crooked, and the table was smeared with dried paint and mashed up food. Michelle didn't have to guess why.

"It could use some cleaning," conceded Mrs. Webster.

"Some cleaning?" Mr. Webster repeated incredulously. "What it needs is a replacement."

"I know you're just looking for an excuse to get to Anthony's Antiques."

"Well... yes," admitted Mr. Webster. "But just to get a new coffee table, I swear! You said it yourself, it's falling to pieces. And I'll go by myself later, so you don't have to come."

"I'll go with you." Michelle spoke up before she could stop herself.

"What? Why?" Her father sounded surprised.

"Uh... no reason." Michelle couldn't think of an excuse.

"That's a good idea, actually," said her mother. "Michelle can keep an eye on you and make sure you don't buy anything except a coffee table."

"And you can't do it yourself?" he asked.

"I have to watch over Tommy."

With a sigh, Mr. Webster turned to Michelle. "Well, you heard her, Michelle. You have to keep your dad in line."

"I will," she promised, sounding amused but inwardly excited.

"I'll hold you to it," her mother said.

When they returned to the den, Tommy was toddling around on the floor. Mrs. Webster scooped him into her arms and planted a kiss on his forehead. "What would you like to do today, honey?"

"Susie! Susie!" he squealed.

Mr. Webster sighed. "Not that video again... please, anything but that..."

"Oh, Herman. It's not that bad. And it's perfect for Christmas."

Soon the family was spread out in the den, watching A Holly Jolly Holiday on the television. Michelle cringed whenever she heard the main character's sickeningly sweet voice. Tommy had loved that movie, but she hated it. She stuffed one of the gingerbread cookies her mother had baked on the plate next to her into her mouth. It was as sweet as the movie, but far less sickening.

"Itty bitty please with Christmas trees!" chirped the main character, Susie Snowflake.

"Susie! Susie!" Tommy squealed that whenever she appeared onscreen. He seemed to think that was the title of the movie.

After the movie, it was time for presents. Well, actually, her mother wanted to open them later, but Tommy had made such a fuss about them. Michelle was surprised they were getting presents today at all. Her parents usually gave them their presents the day after Christmas, or even a few days after. She didn't know why. It was a weird tradition they had.

When they all gathered at the huge Christmas tree in the living room, Mrs. Webster slapped a hand to her forehead. "Oh no!"

"What?" asked Michelle.

"Michelle, I'm so sorry," she apologized. "I forgot to get any presents for you."

"It's fine," she replied honestly. Ordinarily, she would've been upset, but she couldn't care less about presents when her mind was on getting to Anthony's Antiques.

"I'll get you something tomorrow," Mrs. Webster continued. Trying to joke, she added, "Shame I can't blame it on Santa this time."

Michelle felt a memory resurface. She had found out Santa wasn't real when she was eight. She had suspected he favored her brother over her, since he always got so many more presents, and thought it was unfair. She had stayed up all night, intending to give Santa a piece of her mind, only for him not to come. Instead, her father did, and she saw him place the presents under the tree in the dead of night. The next morning, she confronted her parents about it, and they tried to come up with excuses, but had to tell her the truth.

Her parents returned their attention to the finely wrapped presents under the tree. Tommy toddled over to one and reached for it with his chubby little hands, tearing at the silvery wrapping. His mother clambered over to help him, and they quickly uncovered a stuffed animal that looked like some kind of horse.

"Cooz-ca! Cooz-ca!" Tommy babbled, hugging it to his chest.

"I think that Disney movie's the only one he loves more the Susie Snowflake one," Mrs. Webster told Michelle. She remembered how he used to be obsessed with The Emperor's New Groove. She liked the movie too, so she didn't mind it as much as a Holly Jolly Holiday, but it was still a little irritating to hear the main song so many times.

Michelle watched Tommy open all his other presents. She privately thought it was unnecessary for him to have so many. He was only two, after all. What could he do with a jigsaw puzzle?

"Shelly." Tommy toddle over to her, a huge grin on his dimpled face and a rubber ball in his hands. He dropped it onto the floor, and it bounced a good distance up and then back down before Tommy caught it. He held it out to her.

"No, Tommy." Mrs. Webster came over to him, taking the ball from his hand. "That's your present. Michelle can have her one later."

Michelle now knew Tommy wasn't so bad. It was her parents who ignored and excused his bad behavior. Even when he was trying to be nice, they didn't let him if it meant giving up something.

She remembered being jealous of Tommy after he was born. She was used to having her parents' undivided attention, and after her brother was born, she had to share it. She thought Tommy was boring and ugly. He was small and fat, and all he did was cry and poop. She couldn't understand why they thought he was more interesting than her, when she could do so many more things.

Her parents always told her how amazing Tommy was, how cute he was, how incredible his achivements were, even if they were only little things like learning to walk. They never fawned over her achivements like that, even when they were big things like getting a prize at school. They'd just smile and nod, and then go back to what they were doing. They certainly never celebrated it like they did with Tommy.

Michelle almost chuckled at her childish mentality back then. Of course, she knew now they paid more attention to him because he was the cute baby and couldn't express himself like her, but even when she was fifteen and he was eight, her parents pretty much acted the same. They still cooed over Tommy's achievements while ignoring Michelle's and scolded Michelle's behavior while ignoring Tommy's.

The day passed on in the nice, lazy way Mrs. Webster had described. They stuffed themselves with food that would normally make her grimace, but she was eating unapologetically with them today, watched Christmas movies and some non-Christmas ones (all better than A Holly Jolly Holiday, thankfully), and mostly just lazed around doing nothing.

After dinner, Michelle went with her father to Anthony's Antiques. The sky was a pale indigo, showing the start of dusk. It was quite a long walk to the shop. Michelle realized she had never gone there before. If it was this long, she wasn't surprised her mother hadn't liked going there.

When they got there, Michelle could've cried.

It was closed for vacation.

"No!" She couldn't stop the anguished cry that escaped her. She felt like pounding on the Closed for Vacation sign.

Her father was almost as disappointed. "How could I be so stupid? Why didn't I guess it was closed on Christmas?" He slapped a hand to his forehead, shaking his head glumly. "Well, I guess we'll buy the cuckoo– I mean, coffee table another day."

Michelle tugged his sleeve as he started to turn around. "No! We can't go."

"I wanted that clo– coffee table too, Michelle," he agreed. "But there's not much we can do. I mean, what can we? Break the door down and interrogate the owner?"

Just then, the door swung open and a tall, thin man with a brown pencil-thin mustache walked out. He stopped upon seeing Michelle and her father at the door. "Oh, were you two coming?" He had an Italian accent.

"Yes, but I see you're closed," noted Mr. Webster. "We'll be—"

"Can we come in?" Michelle asked suddenly. "Please? We won't take long."

Just as her father looked like he was about to scold her, the man spoke up. "Well, who am I to deny eager customers? Alright. You're lucky you came just now."

Michelle could've cried with relief. So could her father, from the looks of it.

They entered the completely dark store, and the man—Anthony, Michelle's father told her—switched on the lights. "Now, what were you looking for, sir?"

As her father and the store owner started talking, Michelle wandered off, inspecting the various antiques and furniture. It was a very small, cramped store, with all the items stored very close together. It felt like a cluttered attic instead of a shop.

Where was the cuckoo clock? Surely she'd notice something as big. Looking around frantically, she spotted a beak peeking out between two chairs. Pushing one out of the way as quietly as possible, she saw it was the clock.

She paused. What would she do now? Her only plan had been to get to the clock. She hadn't even thought about what to do afterwards. Surely the clock wouldn't have the injury she caused so many years later.

"Michelle?" She froze as she heard her father's voice. No doubt he had seen her. She had to act, and quickly.

Without thinking, she reached for the dials at the top of the clock and started frantically turning them, too panicked to remember which one did what. She was hoping to find the one that brought the bird's head out, though she didn't know why. Maybe because that was what had started this whole mess.

"Michelle, what—"

Michelle yelled and managed to jump backwards just in time as the bird's head shot out. To her surprise, she saw that the head was the wrong way around, like when she had damaged it. She didn't have time to ponder it as she reached her hand out, grasped the head firmly, and twisted it back the right way. Just as she let go, it disappeared back into the clock.

"Michelle—"

She heard her father talking, no doubt lecturing, but she couldn't hear him. All she could hear was the ringing in her ears as she felt her body become lighter and lighter, until it felt like she was floating away...