Sprinkles had one handful of candy sprinkles left, and she could not waste it. She stood outside her sprinkle-covered house, the little candies glowing warm in her palm. All her life she had only to think of sprinkles, and they appeared. But lately, when she thought hard, fewer came. This handful might be the last. She had to give it to someone who truly needed it. That was her whole reason for being. The trouble was, she could not tell who deserved them. All morning she had watched people pass. A man had grinned and begged for sprinkles just to sell them. A rich woman had wanted them for her cake. If Sprinkles guessed wrong, her last magic would vanish on the wrong hands. Her fingers tightened. The candies rattled softly. Then a girl came up the path, dragging her boots. Sprinkles knew her by sight. Nora Grimsby worked the factory floor, longer hours than any grown-up. Her gray shirt hung wrinkled. Dark circles ringed her eyes. She did not smile. She did not ask for anything. "You're the sprinkle girl," Nora said. Her voice was flat and tired. "I heard you give candy away. I don't want any. I just wanted to see the house before my shift." That stopped Sprinkles cold. Everyone else had asked. This girl, who looked like she needed sweetness most, refused it. Sprinkles studied her. Nora's hands were rough and cracked. A smear of factory grease darkened her cheek. She looked at the sprinkle house the way a hungry child looks through a bakery window, then turned to leave. "Wait," Sprinkles said. Her heart pounded. This was the choice. She had watched all day for someone who deserved her last handful. The people who begged wanted candy for themselves. Nora wanted nothing, and needed it more than any of them. That was the difference. The ones who truly needed her gift never came asking. Sprinkles ran forward and pressed the sprinkles into Nora's cracked palm. "These are for you," she said. "Not to sell. To keep." Nora stared at the tiny candies. For a moment her tired face cracked open. Her eyes went wet. "Nobody's given me anything in a long time," she whispered. She closed her fist around them gently, like they might break. Sprinkles smiled, and then her stomach dropped. She looked at her own empty hand. She thought of sprinkles, hard as she could. She waited for the warm tickle in her palm. Nothing came. Not one candy. Her hand stayed bare. The magic she had trusted her whole life had gone quiet. She had given the last of it away, and given it well. But now she had nothing left to give the next person who needed her. Nora walked off clutching her small treasure, and Sprinkles stood alone, staring at empty fingers, wondering how she would ever make sprinkles again.