“I kind of do,” Katie said. She closed in on herself then, like a flower. “But I don’t expect you to understand why.”
They were both silent for a minute. Finally, Katie smoothed Mikey’s hair and stood up. “I’d better go home.”
“Okay,” Ana said. “See you tomorrow?”
Katie paused in the doorway. “At school, I guess. But you can’t come over after. I have to . . . go somewhere.”
What a fake excuse for a best friend to come up with. Ana could think of plenty of wrong things to say right then, but for once, she was smart enough not to say them.
Mikey scrambled up and grabbed Katie’s hand, and she smiled down at him.
“Would you like to walk me home?” she asked.
Mikey nodded, and they disappeared together without even looking back. All that work, and now her best friend had stolen her little brother away, at least for now. Ana pictured them out on the sidewalk—Mikey chattering, Katie listening and nodding and saying just the right words until he hugged her too. All those months she had spent helping her mom, and Katie was the one she hugged.
For the first time all day, Ana felt cracks in her confidence. How was she ever supposed to put her family back together, when even her best friend found new ways to break them apart?
Katie
Chapter 11
KATIE WALKED TO school early the next morning, dodging every crack in the crumbly brick sidewalk. She’d wanted to walk alone because she wasn’t sure what to say to Ana, but that ended up making things awkward all day. As the final bell approached, Katie hoped something could bring them back together before it was time to walk home.
When Ms. Decker started handing out permission slips, Katie tried to give Ana a smile, but she seemed lost in her own world.
“This field trip is about coming together as one big fifth-grade family,” Ms. Decker said. “And okay, it’s about rewarding you for all your hard work too.” She nodded at the new poster at the front of the class. “See where hard work can get you, folks? That’s what I love about the Olympics.”
The poster showed Elena Korsikova, the beautiful Russian skating star with the quadruple toe loop. Somehow she looked impossibly strong and incredibly graceful all at once. The Olympics were only a few weeks away, and Elena was suddenly everywhere.
Katie had spent the first ten years of her life without once wanting to skate, but the idea had been growing in her mind ever since the pond. She couldn’t stop imagining herself gliding across the ice, carving graceful, lazy curves. Finally moving fast enough on her own two feet to feel the wind in her hair, even with her fragile heart.
If she could just get on the ice, it wouldn’t matter that she was small—so was Elena Korsikova. It wouldn’t matter that she’d had to leave her birth parents. Hadn’t Elena Korsikova done the same thing when she left her family to train for the Olympics? Wouldn’t she leave them an ocean behind when it was time to go for the gold?
Ms. Decker paused to make sure everybody was listening. “You’ve got two weeks, folks. If you have any assignments missing or forget your permission slip, you’ll have to stay behind with Mrs. Truman in the library.”
Katie loved Mrs. Truman, and she’d loved libraries ever since her afternoons with Grace back in Salt Lake. But this was ice-skating. She had to get her mom to sign the permission slip. That seemed like an Olympic-size feat on a day like today, though, when her mom would already be stressed about the appointment with Katie’s new cardiologist.
After school, Katie found Ana and Mikey waiting outside, even though she’d said they couldn’t come over. Even though everything had ended so awkwardly the day before.
“Hey,” Katie said.
“Hey.” Before any of them could figure out what to say next, Katie’s car pulled into the pick-up circle.
“Oh,” Ana said. “You really do have to go somewhere.”
She seemed relieved, but Katie wasn’t. Did her best friend think she was a liar?
Katie’s mom rolled down her window. “Hop in, honey,” she urged. “Ana, you’re welcome to go grab a snack at our house, but we’ve got to get downtown.”
Ana smiled at Katie, like everything was smoothed out between them already. “Sounds fun. Hey, Katie’s got a permission slip for you to sign.”
No, no, no. Stop talking.
But Ana didn’t get the message. “Skating will be much safer this time, Mrs. Burton. I promise.”
Katie jumped into the car and swung the door shut before Ana could say another word. She cringed, hoping her mom hadn’t heard.
But she had. As they buckled up and pulled away, Katie’s mom asked, “What’s this about skating?” She checked the mirrors, even though Katie’s dad was driving. “Ana doesn’t think you’re going ice-skating, does she?”
“Couldn’t I?” Katie asked. “Carefully? It’s a school trip. The whole fifth grade is going.”
“I don’t see why not,” said Katie’s dad. She wanted to hug him.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Katie’s mom. “You’d be so vulnerable out on the ice with all those other kids. But I suppose it all depends on how things go today with Dr. Samha.”
It all depends. Katie watched the city pass by her window. She’d gotten used to heart checkups with her old doctor in the hospital on the hillside. But what if this new doctor found new things wrong with her? What if her mom had been right about her heart all along? Katie still got out of breath so easily. Even now, she could feel her pulse quickening.
With every mile, her mom’s words sank into Katie’s skin and snaked through her veins.
It all depends on today.
Whether I can skate.
Whether I can keep pretending to be normal.
Whether I can start actually being normal.
Katie looked at her parents sitting in front of her and realized what it meant that they were both there. That her dad had stopped grading his final exams to drive them. That her mom was letting him drive, which only happened when she was fast asleep or too nervous. They were anxious about this too.
It all depends, she thought as they sped down the parkway, past bicycles and buses and T trains full of people with the same healthy hearts they were born with. They had no idea how lucky they were.
It all depends.
Dr. Samha was about ten years older than the picture they’d seen online, but he was still younger than Katie’s parents. He wore scrubs with alligators on them and perfectly round glasses. “Now then, young lady,” he said. “What brings you here today? Chicken in your biscuit? Pigs in your blanket?”
Katie stared. First of all, was he serious? And second of all, she was used to doctors talking to her mom, as if they spoke a different language than Katie and needed an interpreter. And sometimes, they did. Katie wasn’t sure what to do with a doctor who asked her questions. Especially questions like that.
“She had a transplant seven years ago,” said Katie’s mom, gripping her note-taking pencil so tightly Katie was afraid she might snap it in half. “And she has a faulty mitral valve.”
“Well, of course,” the doctor said, and he snuck Katie a smile. “I’ve read all about that in her chart.”
It was hard not to feel a little better when your new doctor was wearing alligator scrubs and didn’t seem the slightest bit worried.
Dr. Samha listened to Katie’s heart, of course, and took her temperature. He weighed her and measured her height. “You’re pocket-size!” he declared. “Perfect for a ten-year-old.” He checked the chart. “But you’re growing, and that’s good. Still staying away from contact sports?” he asked. “No tackle football or tackle tennis?”
Katie shook her head.
“We’re very careful,” said her mom. “Extra careful. We know how vulnerable she is.”
“That’s good,” said Dr. Samha, looking serious for the first time.
Not always, thought Katie. She cleared her throat.
“What about ice-skating?” she asked.
>
“No ice-skating,” said Katie’s mom, before Dr. Samha could even answer. “Absolutely not.”
Dr. Samha looked back and forth between the two of them. “I believe I will let you and your mother sort that out. But it might be best to be careful until we see what these tests say. Okay?”
Which meant no skating. They never got all the results back until at least a couple of weeks had passed, so Katie had lost again.
Dr. Samha tapped the screen of his tablet. “I’m not sure her chart transferred properly,” he said, showing them a big, blank rectangle in the middle. “There’s nothing here for family medical history. And I know this girl has a family.” He gave Katie a wink, and she looked down at her lap.
“Of course she has a family.” Katie’s mom started to pop out of her chair, but Katie’s dad put his hand on her arm.
“Katie is adopted,” he said. “We don’t know anything about her birth family.”
Dr. Samha fiddled with his tablet and bowed his head. “Of course. So sorry. So sorry.”
“It’s all right,” said her dad.
But it wasn’t. Katie had come to the doctor hoping for good news, and he’d told her to keep holding back. He’d shown her a whole part of her past she’d never realized she should be worried about.
What if her birth family had scary diseases and the heart was only the beginning? Katie would never know until it was too late. Her mom’s words sliced through her again.
It all depends.
It all depended, all right. On things Katie couldn’t control, like her heart, and things she couldn’t know, like her past.
That night, Katie and her parents curled up together in front of the TV. At every commercial break, there was Elena Korsikova and her stupid quadruple toe loop.
Except it wasn’t stupid. It was magnificent. She leaped from the ice in her red firebird costume, turning and turning and turning and turning. Katie loved how it was the moment she landed and spread her wings that you got the feeling she had really taken flight. That was the moment they’d captured in the poster.
Babushka’s words echoed in her mind.
If you find the feather of a firebird, a great quest has found you. You must return the feather to find your destiny, to make all your dreams come true. It is never easy, and it almost never works. It is a lonely and dangerous task. But you must try.
Even if she didn’t believe in the magic part, Katie felt the truth in the story. In the corner of her homework, she drew a bird like the one on her pocket watch. It couldn’t be a firebird, could it?
From the moment she’d found the box, Katie had felt something awaken inside her. But the bigger words—quest, destiny, dreams coming true—seemed so far beyond what she could hope for. Somehow, she’d gotten stuck in the lonely and dangerous part.
When he saw her drawing, Katie’s dad told her about the phoenix—another fiery bird reborn from its own ashes, able to give light and life. Katie’s worry eased a little as she felt the truth in that story too. Sometimes your life could start again.
Later, when Katie’s dad came in to tell her good night, he held the two Thankfuls they’d read at dinner. “What are the odds,” he asked, “that we would both read the ‘new heart’ Thankful on the same night? And that it would happen right after we met your new cardiologist?”
Katie didn’t answer. It did seem like a coincidence, but not necessarily a happy one.
“Well, then,” he said, as he bent his achy knees and sat at the edge of her bed. “Perhaps you don’t want to talk about the doctor, do you?”
Katie shook her head.
He cleared his throat. “Or the fact that you’d probably better not go on that field trip. I’m so sorry.”
“That’s what I figured,” Katie said. “Maybe next time.”
Her dad laid the Thankful links on her nightstand and lined them up neatly. “Definitely next time.” He didn’t pretend like that was good enough, and Katie was glad for that. “Let’s change the subject. Did you know I’ve forgotten to ask what you want for Christmas? What kind of a father am I?”
“The best kind,” Katie said, and she meant it. “But I’m not sure you want to know what I want for Christmas.”
Her dad smiled. “Try me.”
Katie looked away. “Ice skates. That’s all I want.”
“Oh, my girl,” he said. “I would give them to you in a heartbeat if I could.”
A heartbeat. It was just a saying, since heartbeats were supposed to be so quick and insignificant. Still, she wished he’d picked another word.
“Are you sure that’s all you want?” he asked. “I thought I had an even better idea, but if that’s all you want . . .”
Katie’s mind raced. Had she forgotten something better she’d already hinted at? “Well, I wouldn’t turn down another gift, I guess.”
Her dad laughed. “That’s my girl. Now, I don’t want you to worry one bit about all this medical stuff. Take care of yourself—that’s your job. The worrying is your mother’s job, and mine. And another thing: don’t worry about that history nonsense.”
Katie had never thought she’d hear her history professor dad say those words. She pictured the blank spot on Dr. Samha’s tablet, white as snow and glowing with all the space where her birth family should have been.
Her dad took both her hands and laced his fingers through hers. “We’re connected, you know. You have a family history, because you’re part of this family.” He held up one pair of hands. “My pioneer ancestors are yours too. They were tough, just like you. They lived in caves their first winter out west, and when spring came, they realized they’d been sharing the caves with a hundred hibernating rattlesnakes. So they ate a few for supper and chased the rest away.”
Katie shivered. She wasn’t sure she was that tough.
“And your mother’s family,” he said, holding up her other hand in his. “Oh, you are smart like them. Did you know her great-grandfather, your great-great-grandfather, was a famous scientist? He invented a way to purify water that still saves lives today!”
After Katie’s dad had left, she tried to imagine those words in the blank space on Dr. Samha’s screen. Family history: Tough as a pioneer. Smart as a scientist. She imagined telling those stories to her own children, or somebody telling her grandchildren those things about her someday.
But as much as she wanted to, Katie couldn’t hold on to those stories and claim them as her own. She couldn’t quite believe those things about her heart or her mind.
Who was she, then?
Katie still hadn’t found any kind of answer when her mom came in much later and sat in the rocking chair beside her bed.
“Sweetheart,” she whispered. “Are you still awake?”
“Yes.”
In the darkness, Katie heard the rhythm of the brim-brum as the chair began to rock. “Go to sleep, my love. The morning is wiser than the evening.”
Deep under the covers, Katie pulled her watch closer. She knew her mom would always be there, willing to carry both their worries. So after a while, Katie gave them over and closed her eyes.
And in her dreams, she skated.
Ana
Chapter 12
THE MORNING OF the big fifth-grade skating trip, Ana tried to hustle Mikey along so maybe they’d get to school early for once. It didn’t work.
Mikey added the new candle they’d light that night at the very end of the menorah.
“No,” she sighed. “You have to put it in the next empty spot.” Babushka would disapprove if they left the menorah like that. In fact, Ana was starting to lose track of all the things Babushka disapproved of. The list was too long and only getting longer.
She disapproved of their totally unkosher kitchen.
She disapproved of Hanukkah presents.
And she definitely disapproved of their relaxing Saturdays.
“Instead of buying them things they don’t need,” she’d said, “take these children to the synagogue and give them the gifts of
God.”
So the first Saturday of December, when Ana should have been hanging out at Katie’s house, they’d all dressed up and gone to services. The most annoying part of all was how much Ana actually liked it. She loved the way everybody seemed to know what to do, and it wasn’t too hard for her to figure out when to pray and what to say either, even though she was new. Plus, the old ladies were so nice, and when they told her what a good girl she was, Ana sort of believed them. She was almost looking forward to going tomorrow.
But not as much as she was looking forward to the field trip today, if she could ever get Mikey out of the house.
Mikey wiggled one of the Hanukkah candles. “Are you sure I can’t wish on these too? I think I’d wish to be a superhero.”
Ana held out his coat. “They’re not birthday candles. And the puck wasn’t supposed to be for wishes either. You’re just supposed to tell it when you have a problem.”
Mikey pointed to a hole in his jeans. “This is a problem. Superheroes don’t have holes in their pants.”
Ana rolled her eyes. “Superheroes don’t even wear pants!”
Mikey looked a little disturbed by that, so Ana decided to change the subject. “Plus, if you’re going to be a superhero, you’ll need a superpower first.”
“Like the puck?” he asked.
“No, Mikey. A superpower is something you can do, not something you have.”
Mikey nodded, letting it soak in. He began putting on his boots in little-kid slow motion.
“Babushka says if I want new pants, I have to get a job so I can pay for them myself. And Jarek says kids with holes in their pants pee their pants too.”
Sometimes Ana wanted to give Jarek a kick in the pants. What kind of fifth grader picked on a first grader?
“You know how I got that hole?” Mikey asked. “Jarek tripped me on the playground. He said nobody in my family can stay up on the ice.”
Ana grabbed Mikey’s other boot and started shoving his foot inside. “Don’t talk to him. And definitely don’t tell him about the Winter Classic or the puck or any of that stuff or he’ll ruin that too.”
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