Paper Chains

by Elaine Vickers

  For a second.

  Mikey had barely enough time to reach for his water and bring the glass to his lips before the radish came back up and out. Little red chunks swirled in the water and settled on the bottom of the glass.

  “Revolting,” Babushka declared, waving the spoon at Mikey’s regurgitated radish soup. For the first time maybe ever, Ana and Mikey both agreed with her. Ana peeked over at Babushka. Even the old witch had to give Mikey credit for trying, right?

  Wrong. Babushka pointed the wooden spoon at the other two radishes. “Those two must stay down.”

  “Mom!” Ana called. No mother should stand by while her kid got tortured like this, no matter what kind of day she was having.

  Ana’s mom appeared from the kitchen. “What?” she asked, like that one word was exhausting. “What do you need?” Like anything they answered would be way too much.

  “She’s force-feeding Mikey!” Ana cried. “You’ve got to fix this.”

  “Okay,” she said. She took a step backward and pressed her fingertips to her forehead.

  It’s not okay, Ana thought. You can’t shut down right now. You’ve got to do something.

  After a long silence, Ana’s mom finally spoke. “Okay. Babushka, could you help with dessert?” She shuffled back into the kitchen with Babushka close behind, clucking instructions at her.

  As soon as they’d disappeared again, Ana set down the bowl she’d been carrying on the closest counter. She peeked into the kitchen, where her mom and Babushka seemed to be talking pretty seriously. They were only in the next room, but Ana had never missed her mother so much.

  No. Feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t get them anywhere. Babushka was busy, so it was time.

  “Okay, Mikey,” Ana whispered. “Close your eyes.”

  Mikey let his eyelids close, which pushed two round tears down his cheeks.

  “What about the radishes?” he asked. “I can’t eat them. Don’t make me do it. Is this a trick?”

  “Don’t worry about the radishes. Think about your pie wish, as hard as you can. And don’t open your eyes until I tell you.”

  Ana grabbed the slimy radishes from Mikey’s plate and dashed out the back door. She tossed them over the fence and into the darkness, then hurried to where she’d been chilling Mrs. Burton’s perfect candy bar pie on top of a pile of snow. She tried to plan out the best way to get a pie slicer and a plate without Babushka noticing, but then she had a much better idea.

  Ana crept back to the dining room and traded Mikey’s dinner plate for the whole pie, with its golden, flaky crust and gentle waves of whipped cream.

  “Open your eyes.”

  Mikey’s eyes popped open and bugged right out. “Thank you thank you thank you,” he said. And right before Ana said “You’re welcome,” he looked up toward heaven (or at least Ana’s bedroom) and added, “I owe you one, magic hockey puck.”

  Ana was okay with the fact that the puck had gotten all the credit. Especially when Babushka came in with a cold raisin pudding jiggling in one hand and a Jell-O salad with trapped celery curls quivering in the other.

  “Oh, don’t those look scrumptious?” Ana asked, before Babushka could say a word. “I think Mikey’s all set, so let’s dig in! Hey, is that celery in there?”

  “Hay is for mules,” Babushka growled. She narrowed her eyes as she scooped one shivering glop of pudding into a bowl and dropped it in front of Ana.

  Ana knew she’d won, even though Babushka’s pudding tasted like salty gray mud with raisin slugs. The smile on Mikey’s face as he ate his candy bar pie still made it feel, just for a second, like the best Thanksgiving ever.

  His smile, and the huge piece of pie Ana snuck after everybody else had gone to bed.

  Ana

  Chapter 8

  THE CANDY BAR pie was long gone by Sunday, but Ana took great satisfaction from knowing that Babushka would soon be long gone too. That morning, she woke up extra early to get the laundry done so Babushka could start packing. No way was she going to let anything mess up this departure. Ana wanted Babushka gone so bad she was willing to touch her dirty underwear.

  With a basket of fresh clothes against her hip, Ana returned to her room to fold. She dumped the laundry onto her bed and grabbed an armful, letting herself relax for one second while everything was still warm and clean.

  “Hey, Ana!”

  Ana yelped. Some people had monsters under their beds. Ana just had a little brother, but sometimes that was even scarier.

  “Mikey. Do not sneak into my room. You’re going to give me a heart attack. And hay is for mules.” Ana clamped her hand over her mouth. Had she just quoted Babushka? Should she wash her mouth out with soap or something?

  Mikey scrambled out and pulled the puck from under his shirt. “I’m ready to make my next wish.”

  Oh, geez. Ana was half tempted to tell Mikey the real story behind the candy bar pie, but she couldn’t do it when he’d finally started to believe.

  She shoved the laundry over and sat next to Mikey. “Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

  Mikey closed his eyes and whispered to the puck. “If I can’t wish for Dad to come back, I wish Markov could live here instead of Babushka.”

  Markov. Two years ago, he’d lived with Ana’s family during his rookie season. At first, Ana hadn’t been sure about the brand-new Bruin their dad had brought home, and neither had her mom. He was just so huge and hard to understand. But Mikey had known right away what a good guy he was. Ana smiled at the memory.

  Mikey giggled. “Remember when I taught him how to play hide-and-seek and he got stuck under his bed?”

  “Remember when he came to my hockey games and had to sit in the back because he got so worked up?”

  Ana realized that she’d been worried about Mikey’s crying for so long she’d almost forgotten how much she loved his little laugh, straight up from his belly, true as could be. For a second, she almost believed in the magic herself.

  Then Mikey lowered his voice to a whisper. “Remember when he sneezed on mom’s lasagna and he felt so bad he made a new dinner?”

  Ana could almost taste Markov’s dinner then, even though she could only remember that it was warm and creamy and a tiny bit spicy. “Remember how his cooking actually tasted good?”

  Then other memories flashed into Ana’s mind. She felt herself skating beside Markov as he told her how he’d learned to play hockey on a frozen pond in one of the poorest parts of Moscow. The game had saved him, and he’d wanted to do that for other kids. That’s why he’d helped her so much, Ana knew, and why he’d started Bruins Giving Back.

  Every home game, the Bruins gave away tickets and BGB jerseys to kids from after-school youth programs. The kids got to watch the game and go into the VIP area to high-five the Bruins in the tunnel at the beginning of the third period. The whole thing had been Markov’s idea, but Ana’s mom had helped make it happen—which was why there was still a box of BGB jerseys in their basement.

  “Markov was the best,” Mikey said. Ana agreed, but it wasn’t just that. He made them be their best too. Made her mom part of big projects, made her dad want to be at Ana’s games, made Ana want to practice and really improve. And for one whole season, he’d slept right in the bedroom where Babushka was staying now.

  Ana remembered Mikey’s wish. “It would be awesome to have him back,” she said. “But remember, our wishes can’t control anybody else. Keep thinking, okay buddy?”

  Mikey nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” He let the puck fall from his fingers and walked away without another word.

  The puck had let him down again. No, Ana had let him down again. She had to figure something out.

  Ana went to her closet and pulled out the big Bruins poster from that two-years-ago team when Markov was a rookie. As she unrolled it, she remembered her dad’s strong, scarred hands spreading it out in the locker room for everybody to sign. The Bruins had clinched the division that night, but he’d still told everyone how Ana’s team had won their d
ivision too. How she was the top scorer on her team.

  Had he thought of her when he’d stood for team pictures with the Flyers this year?

  Nobody else could have read the signatures on the poster, but Ana still knew every one, and suddenly the Bruins felt like another family she’d lost.

  The Bruins had been good two years ago because they were strong in every position. Consistent goalie. Tough defense. Strong, slippery scorers. The same thing had been true of her own team last year. Take away any of those pieces and they wouldn’t have won a single game. How many times had her coach said it?

  Then Ana knew.

  She couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before.

  The reason her family couldn’t seem to win, or even stay in the game, was that they were missing one of the most important positions. How were you supposed to be a family with an empty spot in the roster?

  She had to get her dad back. She had to.

  So what if he hadn’t answered when they’d called on Thanksgiving? He hadn’t known Ana was there too. He’d probably thought it was her mom and they’d start fighting. He probably didn’t know there wasn’t any fight left in her anymore.

  So what if he thought he belonged in Philadelphia? He’d just forgotten how good things could be in Boston. He was always saying what a terrible memory he had from getting hit so much on the ice. Maybe it had gotten worse, but she could help him remember. She could do so much better than she’d ever done before.

  Ana grabbed her tablet and looked up the Flyers’ schedule. Maybe they were coming to town and she could score some tickets. Maybe going to a game would ease some of her own ache from missing hockey so much.

  Then Ana saw something even better:

  Flyers versus Bruins in the Winter Classic. Her dad would be facing off against his old team right there in Boston in the best game of the season.

  Once a year, two NHL teams battled it out in an outdoor game at New Year’s. Seeing the players under the big blue sky always felt so right, like the game was pure again. Like pond hockey between kids, even if the kids had million-dollar contracts and were playing in a billion- dollar stadium.

  And this year it was happening in Boston. Ana could help her dad remember right here—a fresh start on New Year’s Day during his favorite game of all.

  Plus, it gave her some time to plan things out. Ana wasn’t the world’s best planner, and she couldn’t risk this ending up as badly as her first attempt at ice-skating this season. Better to get it right than to rush. And definitely better to do it after Babushka was gone. Best of all to do it at the Winter Classic.

  Ana kept plotting and planning as she folded, then gathered all Babushka’s clothes into a basket and delivered them to the corner of the guest room. She grabbed the old suitcase and swung it up onto Babushka’s bed. Time to get the witch on her way. But when she unzipped the suitcase and swung the lid open, there, shining up at her, was a fancy silver pocket watch, looking totally out of place. Babushka hated anything fancy or pretty.

  “What the heck is that?” she asked, not expecting an answer.

  “My property,” said Babushka.

  Ana whipped around. “Hey,” she said, trying to act natural. “Do you want me to help you pack?”

  “I have told you, hay is for mules,” Babushka grumbled. “Not children. Not even wild ones.”

  Babushka shut the suitcase and swept it out of sight. “This watch is no business of yours. And there is no packing because there is no leaving.” She jammed the suitcase back under the bed. “When you finish the wash, look for my new red socks. They disappeared from my knitting bag.”

  “You’re not leaving?” Ana felt her eyes bugging out. “Does my mom know?”

  “This was her idea,” said Babushka, calmly putting all her clean laundry into the drawers instead of into the suitcase.

  Ana raced down the hall and burst into her mom’s room. This time, she knew exactly what she wanted to say.

  “She’s not leaving?”

  “Ana,” said her mom, looking somewhere over Ana’s shoulder. “How would you feel if Babushka stayed with us for a while?”

  Ana had been tiptoeing around her mom too long, and this was too much. “Do you mean ‘How would I feel?’ or ‘Here’s the deal’? It sure sounds like you already decided.”

  Ana’s mom fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. “We’ve only been talking about it the last couple of days, but it’s been so nice having another adult around to help.”

  There were about six thousand words Ana would’ve used to describe Babushka’s visit before she picked “nice.” And didn’t all the work Ana had been doing the last four months count for anything?

  “Are you serious? How long?”

  “Until winter break, maybe. I’m going to start working from home again, part-time.”

  Ana stared. “I thought that was what you’d been doing all year.”

  Her mom looked away. “I took a leave of absence, but I’m going back.”

  Ana couldn’t believe she was about to receive the ultimate Babushka punishment because her mom had been slacking. But then her mom stood in front of her and rested her hands on Ana’s shoulders, and Ana could see the tired in her eyes.

  “I promise you, this will help us get back to normal.”

  Normal. That was the whole point of the plan—to get their family back to normal. She had to admit that Babushka had helped a little.

  The house didn’t look like a tornado zone so much anymore. Some of the Russian food actually tasted okay now. And most of all, Babushka had started taking Ana’s mom on long walks around the neighborhood, even in the snow. Ana could barely believe it, since her mom hadn’t been going anywhere lately and she wasn’t really related to Babushka. Babushka was just the mom of the guy who’d broken her heart.

  Ana did a quick calculation in her head. Winter break was twenty-seven days away. It would be terrible, but she’d survive, if this was what it would take to get their normal family back.

  “Until winter break—or maybe less, if we don’t need her anymore?”

  “Until winter break, or maybe until the end of the school year.”

  Ana didn’t even try to count how many days were left until the end of the school year. She didn’t need to—it was way past the deadline. Past the Winter Classic. What if Babushka tried to stick around even after her son came back? No way was Ana piecing her family back together with Babushka still part of it.

  “She can stay until New Year’s,” Ana said. “But that’s it. I’ll start the countdown. New Year, new us. That’s my final offer.”

  Ana couldn’t look at her mom or she’d cave. Getting upset was as easy as jumping off the diving board, but it was never long before Ana splashed down and cooled right off. How did people stay mad? It was a mystery. Ana hadn’t even been able to stay mad at her dad.

  “Okay,” said her mom, and she tried to smile. “I’ll do my best.”

  Ana wanted to hug her, but she didn’t. If she didn’t learn to stay mad, nobody would ever take her seriously. If she didn’t stick to her plan, Babushka would be here forever, and she’d never get things back to normal. Instead, she just nodded, then walked away with her arms pressed to her sides.

  That night, Ana heard sniffling and sobbing coming from Mikey’s room.

  He was crying.

  Again.

  Babushka had undone all Ana’s hard work, all her magic, and tomorrow Mikey would have to go back to school in worse shape than ever. She crept out of bed and paused at his door, where not even a hint of light glowed in the crack underneath.

  So the witch still had his night-light. At least Ana could do something about that, even if she’d already gotten in trouble once today for snooping.

  Ana steeled herself as she stole into Babushka’s room and rifled through her dresser. The old pocket watch gave a faint chik-chok, and Ana half expected to find it every time she opened a drawer. But she found Mikey’s Zamboni night-light first.

  As
Ana creaked Mikey’s door open, he swooshed the covers over his head. “Mikey,” she whispered between his wails. “It’s me.”

  Mikey peeked out. “Oh good,” he said, giving one last little shuddering sob. “It’s even darker tonight.”

  “Not for long,” Ana said.

  “I thought she was leaving.” His little voice wavered through the darkness. A soft chik-chik told Ana he had the marbles in his hands. “I thought I’d get my night-light back, but Mom says Babushka is staying.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have your night-light back.” She plugged it in, and Mikey’s face lit up as she sat at the edge of his bed.

  “We can’t control her, kiddo,” Ana said. “She has her own magic that’s even stronger than ours. But we can still win. You know why?”

  Mikey shrugged.

  “Because there are two of us. Things are always better in pairs.” She took his hands and tapped the lucky marbles together. “You’re the one who taught me that.” With her thumbs, Ana wiped Mikey’s cheeks dry. “But we have to be brave.”

  “Pairs are better,” Mikey agreed. “I can be brave.”

  “It won’t be that much longer,” she said. She went to Mikey’s messy desk and clicked on the lamp. “Do you have paper?” she asked. “And scissors and a glue stick?”

  Together, they cut ten new links and attached them to the end of Mikey’s chain.

  “There,” Ana said. “By the time we get to the end of this, your first wish will have come true. You’ll be having happy days again.”

  The stairs creaked, and Ana and Mikey froze as the spooky melody of Babushka’s humming floated down the hall. Her bedroom door shut with a whine and a click, and Ana crossed her fingers, hoping she’d put everything back in exactly the right place.

  After a few minutes, Ana figured they were safe. But still, she kissed Mikey’s little head and stayed by him until his breathing grew slow and even, hoping that before Mikey’s chain ran out, she’d get everything back in the right place for her family too.

  Katie