Gemma half-jumps, half-falls from the lowest branch of the tree, cradling the soccer ball. There are sticks in her hair, her jersey and shorts are streaked with mud, and her face is red with exertion.

Wen Zhao, Gemma’s mother, stands at the foot of the tree, cursing and muttering to herself. “All the effort it’ll take to Obliviate all these people. What is the Ministry going to think of us now?” Wen takes Gemma aside, face pinched. “You need to be more careful in the future.”

“Yes, Mommy,” Gemma says. “Now can we get back to the game?”

Wen glances back at the field, where players and parents have started to disperse in the confusion. “I don’t know.” She sighs, lifts a hand to her temple, and leans back against a tree. The bark of the tree collapses, revealing a hole big enough for people to step through.