23 The Soured Sweetshop

The Soured Sweetshop As Ebenezer beeped and honked the car over to the sweetshop, Bethany's conscience grew noisier and noisier. The closer they got to the party, the more she felt that she didn't have any right to be there. "When are you going to stop being annoyed with me?" asked Ebenezer. "You what?" said Bethany.

"About the beast," said Ebenezer. "You keep calling me Ebenezer, instead of gitface—it doesn't feel right." "I thought you hated being called gitface," said Bethany. "I did. But now that you haven't said it for a few days, I kind of miss it," said Ebenezer. "And I want to know what I can do to earn my nickname back." Bethany's noisy conscience wasn't getting any quieter with Ebenezer being nice to her. Normally, she didn't like discussing her problems, because she felt that it made them more real, but on this occasion she decided that a conversation was preferable to being left alone with her guilty thoughts. "I hate the beast," she said bluntly. "I hate it more than anyone else in the world. And I

hate you and everyone else who thinks the creature who ate me alive—TWICE!—could possibly be capable of change. So right now there's no flipping way I'm going to call you gitface ever again." Ebenezer parked the car on the next street—the last free space. It seemed as if pretty much the whole neighborhood was visiting the sweetshop. He didn't say anything until they were out of the car and walking on the street. "I know I did bad by taking the beast around the neighborhood without asking you first," said Ebenezer. "And I suppose… if I think about it… I've sort of been doing double bad by taking credit for all the beast's gifts, But I was inspired to do it, because of you." "You what?" said Bethany.

"Let's face it, Bethany. You're much better than me at do-gooding—it just seems to come easier to you," said Ebenezer. "I suppose I might have been taking some credit for the beast's work because I was jealous… because I wanted to feel what it was like to be successful at do-gooding like you." Bethany opened her mouth to tell Ebenezer that she really wasn't as good at do-gooding as he thought, but he wasn't quite finished. "Before we met, I was a selfish git who cared about nothing and no one but myself, and my pretty clothes," said Ebenezer. "While you… well, your idea of a good afternoon was to shove worms up poor Geoffrey's nostrils. But since we've teamed up to try and be better sort of people, I think we've changed. And if you can inspire me to change five

centuries' worth of bad habits, then there's no reason why the beast can't change as well." "The beast will never change," said Bethany. "I think it has," said Ebenezer. "Admittedly, that's mainly due to the whole memory loss thingy, but—" "Nah. Don't say that," said Bethany. "The beast doesn't deserve a second chance." "I don't think I really deserved much of a second chance either, but your friendship gave me one," said Ebenezer. "And I know it'll take a while. But when you see all the wonderful things we can do with a good beast in the world—I think you'll change your mind." They had made it to the sweetshop. Ebenezer stepped inside, but Bethany

lingered for a moment by the doors. She looked back toward the fifteen-story house, thinking about what was probably going on in there at that exact moment. It wasn't a good feeling.