by Shari Green
to work with a third-grader.
My breath catches.
I wish I’d made a leaf
for Ms. Eklund.
You can bring snacks to share
she says.
For a moment
I’m lost
—snacks?
The party will start
after you’ve finished cleaning out
your desks.
Oh.
The year-end party
which I should be excited about
but honestly
my feelings
are a tangled mess.
I’m halfway living at the new house
wavering
between an end
and a beginning
—some of my things are there
some are still at my Pemberton Street home.
The school year finishing
means even more change.
It means no more walking with Olivia
every morning
no more zipping over to her house
for no particular reason
at all.
I don’t want to think about it.
Can you believe
we’re going to be in middle school?
says Olivia.
I just know
it’ll be magnificent.
Olivia’s always been very good
at enthusiasm.
I’m planning to re-invent myself
she says.
Pink hair, maybe.
Start seventh grade fresh
—a whole new me.
I like the old you
I tell her.
She ignores my comment
slings an arm
over my shoulder
gives me a quick
sideways hug.
We’ll have so many adventures
she says.
It’s true—if there are adventures
to be had
Olivia will find them.
An image of Olivia’s leaf page
leaps
into my brain
—the blank space
on her story lines.
I never finished
filling it in!
The instant we’re dismissed
I dash to the front
paw through the projects
on Mr. Tanaka’s desk
searching
for mine.
There!
I grab my leaf book
flip to Olivia’s page
—her name
birthdate
the day we met
and our story lines written
along the leaf veins
best friend
expert crafter
___________.
I pop the lid
off a marker
fill in the final story line
firecracker.
Chapter 42
Iris moved out
a week after the wedding
all her furniture and kitchen things
donated
to a family in need
—except her floral recliner
which moved with her
to Rosewood Manor.
We’d finished sorting her books
the day before.
She had four KEEP boxes
including one stuffed full
with journals
photos
knickknacks—including
the hip-wiggling hula dancer.
Turns out
there are as many stories
in the bits and bobs
as there are in the books
but those ones…those are the kind of stories
that need to be shared
while drinking lemonade
and eating sugar & spice cookies
baked
by a rainbow goddess
the kind of stories that start from a seed
a scrap
a spark of memory
and then
when you begin to tell them
they burst into bloom
like a field of wildflowers
on the first hot day
of summer.
No wonder Iris doesn’t want
to lose them.
No wonder she hangs on
to books, clippings, memories.
They’re stories
all of them.
Someday maybe
I’ll have to tell them for her
and someday maybe
I’ll have to tell them to her
—and I will
because stories
are worth saving
sharing
hanging on to
and giving away.
On Thursday
I ride my bike
all the way to Rosewood Manor
—or as I like to call it
The Home for People with Amazing Stories
to Tell.
I wave at Natalee
say hello to Marjorie.
She scowls.
I smile
and go in search
of Iris.
I find her in the sunroom
with a stout
gray-haired woman
and Simon, the activity coordinator
(the one who made banana bread
the very first day
I visited).
They’re bending over a familiar box.
Iris glances up
beams
when she sees me.
“We’re making a library”
she says
and sure enough
all Iris’s KEEP books
are finding their way
into a sturdy bookcase.
Iris pads over
with her oxygen cart
hugs me
then steps back and signs
with her speckled hands.
Thank you.
Cookie.
Last time I was here
I cornered Simon
shared my idea
and he agreed
to help Iris bake cookies
whenever the need arises.
A rainbow goddess
needs to be able
to send messages.
Iris writes in her notebook
—a new dandelion yellow one—
then passes it to me.
I’m so thankful, but you know, dear one
the gods’ messages can be sent even without cookies
—messages of courage, hope, laughter, support.
They must be sent—through cookies or stories
quiet deeds or mountaintop proclamations.
Hearts are waiting, worrying, hurting
—in need of a message
you can send.
Me?
My thoughts zip to the airport
the light in Marjorie’s eyes
…to a garden bouquet
stress falling from my mother’s face.
Maybe Marjorie’s heart heard
Your story is important.
You matter.
Maybe Mom’s heart heard
I love you.
I support you.
The idea feels warm
light rising up
inside me.
But then I see stones kicked
words hurled
accusations, anger, fear
&nbs
p; and my spirit
sinks.
I jot a note
on a fresh page.
I’ve sent some terrible messages.
“We all have,” she says.
I wish I could unsend some of mine.
“Wouldn’t that be grand?” she says
reaching for the notebook.
All we can do
is try to send many more good messages
than bad.
We must aim to be kind
and brave.
Brave like a mouse
I say
brushing the end of my nose
with my finger
—the sign
for mouse.
Iris laughs.
Yes, brave like Despereaux
like a certain redheaded girl
like a boy wizard and his friends
like a convict and a priest.
A convict and… Huh?
Did I miss something?
“Les Misérables,” she says.
“You must read it someday.”
There are so many stories
of extravagant kindness
extravagant bravery.
I’d like my life
to tell such a story.
I don’t expect I’ll come across
any princesses
or evil wizards
—although
you never know…
There’s already a rainbow goddess
in my story
and I’m only eleven years old.
Chapter 43
The trunk and back seat of Mom’s car
are full
with the last of our belongings
from the old house.
Even the front is full
—odds and ends tucked at my feet
my “pack-last” box balancing
on my lap
carrying the books I’m reading
my toothbrush
random things I needed
or missed packing earlier.
We park in the driveway.
Alan comes outside
helps Mom unpack the car
lugging stuff inside.
Finally I climb out
trudge up the walkway
stare at the not-red front door
before pushing it open.
A flash of movement
as one of the twins darts past
and the other
streaks after her.
I close the door with my foot
take a deep breath…
and smell something delicious.
Peanut butter cookies?
But Mom doesn’t bake
and besides
we just got here.
I sniff the air
set down my box
follow my nose to the kitchen.
A pan of cookies
cools on the stove
more on the counter
already on a plate.
Alan bakes?
He appears beside me.
Help yourself
he says
nodding toward the plate.
They’re peanut butter.
I munch a cookie
while Alan readies another pan
for the oven.
Peanut butter cookies
—joy, laughter.
I hope that’s a promise.
I hope I really do have good things
to look forward to here.
Up in my lupine-purple room
I begin putting stuff away
trying to make it feel
like my own space.
Light flashes
from my door beacon
—someone’s knocking.
I pull open the door
still holding a stack of books
under my arm.
Bethany and Kaitlin stand side by side
antsy
but relatively still.
They look at one another
nod
then sign together
Welcome home.
Then they dash off
grinning.
Welcome home…
This is home now
truly
and it surprises me
to feel this way.
Sometimes life goes in directions
you don’t expect.
Sometimes you change in ways
you never imagined.
It’s hard
especially if starting new chapters
isn’t your specialty.
I never dreamed
I’d end up here
—in a new house
with a dad named Alan
two little sisters
and a mom
who seems extravagantly happy.
An idea flutters within me
takes a moment
to sink
into my soul
like a butterfly landing
on a blossom
shaking out its wings
before folding them
to rest.
Maybe finding home
is about following
your story.
Epilogue
Once upon a time
I moved
into a lupine-purple room…
Acknowledgments
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my wise and wonderful editor, Ann Featherstone, and to Gail Winskill and the fantastic team at Pajama Press—working with all of you is a dream come true. Thank you also to those who provided feedback during this story’s early stages, and special thanks to Kip Wilson Rechea and Beth Smith for their love and support, and for helping me more than they know. I am indebted to Kristen Pranzl, Erin Bentley, Carli Bolen, and Monte Hardy for sharing their time and thoughts with me—thank you! And thank you to Jenna Beacom, Master of Deaf Education, for reviewing the manuscript—I very much appreciate your input. Finally, much love and gratitude to my family, and especially to Skip, who shares my belief in the power of stories.
Cookie Recipe
Iris Gillan’s Sugar & Spice Cookies
1 cup butter
1 cup white sugar
1 cup brown sugar
2 large eggs
1⁄4 cup molasses
3 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 1⁄2 teaspoon ginger
1 1⁄2 teaspoon cinnamon
1⁄2 teaspoon salt
Preheat oven to 350°F.
Cream butter and sugars. Beat in eggs and molasses.
Combine flour, soda, and spices, in a separate bowl, then add to batter.
Mix well. Shape into balls and roll in white sugar.
Place on parchment-paper lined pan and bake for 10 minutes (longer for large cookies).
Let cool on pan until they settle—cookies will flatten and appear cracked.
Makes 4 dozen regular-sized cookies or 18 extravagant-sized cookies.
More by Shari Green
Hungry for more books from Shari Green?
Missing Mike is available now
A Dorothy Canfield Fisher Children’s Book
Award Nominee
An NCTE Notable Poetry Book
A USBBY Outstanding International Book
A Silver Birch Fiction Award Honour Book
A Hackmatack Children’s Choice Award Nominee
A MYRCA Sundogs Nominee
A Rocky Mountain Book Award Nominee
An OLA Best Bet
&nb
sp; Praise for Shari Green
Praise for Shari Green’s
Missing MIKE
“Tense, heartwarming, and masterful.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Cara provides a dramatic and youthful eyewitness perspective on wildfires, evacuation operations, the kindness and generosity of strangers, and the traumatic uncertainty of loss.”
—School Library Journal
“Green’s free verse novel fairly brims with gripping descriptions of both the fire and Cara’s taut emotional state, allowing readers a front-row seat to the devastation and fear that the fire generates….A fast-paced, compelling, and timely read.”
—Booklist
“Written in flowing prose, Missing Mike explores the meaning of home….The emotional intensity of the story never falters. It is full of the longing, loss, and desperation of losing everything.”
—Foreword Reviews
About Shari Green
Shari Green spent a large portion of her childhood summers reading stacks of library books, and she’s still in love with stories today. Her acclaimed novels for young readers include Root Beer Candy and Other Miracles, nominated for the Rocky Mountain Book Award and a Chocolate Lily Book Award, and Missing Mike, a Silver Birch Fiction Award Honor Book and nominee for the Dorothy Canfield Fisher Children’s Book Award. Shari lives in Campbell River, British Columbia, with her husband and children.
