Macy McMillan and the Rainbow Goddess

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.