A girl, probably thirteen years old, coughing and spluttering as she emerged from a lake.
Beside her was the Bird Lady. Grace! She looked the same as she had when Emily saw her yesterday, save for her outfit. In the vision in Emily’s head (was it a vision of the future? It felt like a vision of the future), Grace wore a sequined pantsuit. Wow.
“There, there,” Emily heard her say, patting the drenched girl’s back.
“Hey! Gentle!” someone else said. It was a girl with long, dark hair like Klara’s. She was older than Klara and Emily. Did Klara, in the future, have three daughters, just as she’d hoped? Was this Klara’s oldest daughter?
The older girl stood chest-deep in the water with Grace. Beside her were two other girls, one of whom said, “She’s fine, Natasha. You’re fine, Ava. Right?”
This girl laughed and did a victory dance in the water, her curly auburn hair gleaming in the light of the setting sun.
“Darya!” said the girl named Natasha, squealing and drawing back. “You’re splashing me!”
The third girl in Emily’s vision had her back toward Emily, her hands planted on her hips. Something about her made Emily’s heart leap, and Emily wanted to see her face. She suddenly and desperately wanted to see the third girl’s face, but before she did, the vision faded. Everything was obscured, as if by snow or static or a zillion mini-marshmallows raining from the sky, and Emily was back beneath the willow tree with Klara.
Goose bumps rose on Emily’s arms, and again she felt the rightness of Klara’s wish. To be a good mother implied growing up and being a mother, which underlined Klara’s desire for Ava to be safe. Also, good mothers were raised by good parents, which included mothers and fathers, as well as guardians of any sort. And since Klara included Emily in her wish . . .
Was this her way of honoring Emily’s request? Would Klara’s wish lend strength to Emily’s wishes, about both her mother and father?
Daddy, whispered eight-year-old Emily within Emily’s thirteen-year-old soul, and for an instant, Emily understood: All time was all time. It neither changed nor lent itself to explanation. It simply was.
She sensed her body rising into the air. She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers. Each finger floated apart, cells scattering like birdseed.
She wiggled her feet—only she no longer had feet.
She smelled ocean spray and the tang of citrus. She saw a man in a sunlit kitchen, holding a phone to his ear.
“Yes, we just got back from the airport,” he said. “I’ll put her on the phone.” The man covered the speaker. “Emily? Emily! Your mom wants to talk to you!” He spoke again into the phone. “Tell Nate hi for me, and that I’m working on his plane ticket for summer break.” His voice broke. “And Rose? Thank you.”
Then that vision faded, and Emily saw Klara, small and far away.
Or maybe Emily was small and far away?
She heard Klara’s voice, just barely.
“And for my last wish, the deepest wish of my secret heart,” her best friend said, and her words were bubbles, balloons, sweetly buzzing honeybees. “I wish for us to remember. To remember just enough, but not too—”
Not too what? thought Emily. Just enough, but not . . . too much? Was that what Klara said?
Emily’s thoughts became bees.
They hummed and buzzed.
“Klara?” Emily tried to say.
Emily’s thoughts, her cells, her dreams, her soul—they were one, and they were all. They transported her to a land of milk and honey.
And orange juice.
I wish for mysteries: infinite, beautiful, and magical.
—GRACE
PROLOGUE: EUGOLORP
“Okay, open your eyes!” Natasha cried, moving her hands from Ava’s face.
Nine-year-old Ava blinked. She sat cross-legged on the picnic blanket Mama had thrown onto the grass for the kids, her elbows on her knees and her hair tickling her back. Her hair was long now, really and truly long. Longer, even, than her oldest sister’s hair, because last month Natasha had asked if she could get a fancy haircut for her sixth-grade graduation, and Mama had said yes.
Immediately after her fancy haircut, Natasha had burst into tears and implored Mama to glue her cut-off hair back on.
“Oh, baby,” Mama had said, tucking the strands of Natasha’s pixie cut behind her ears. “The world doesn’t work that way, I’m afraid. We can’t turn back time. But it’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”
And that was true. It would. But until then, ha! Until then, Ava got to be the Blok sister with the longest hair!
She smiled, remembering the time she’d gotten gum stuck in her hair. Mama had suggested cutting the gum out, maybe cutting all of Ava’s hair to chin length, but when Ava had protested, Papa had swooped in and saved the day. He’d smeared peanut butter on the gum, and in the process smeared peanut butter over her whole scalp, practically—gloopy and sticky and awesome.
Her sisters had thought it was hilarious, especially Darya, who was the middle sister of the three Blok girls. Darya and Natasha begged Ava to hold her big, gooey peanut-butter head still and pretend to be a squirrel feeder, so they could catch a squirrel. Ava refused. They begged her to hold still while they threw cotton balls at her, to see who could get the most to stick to her head. She refused. They threw cotton balls at her regardless, until her head was a massive, fluffy cotton-ball explosion. She was a walking Q-tip, and secretly, she loved it.
And eventually, Papa did get the gum out, as well as the cotton balls. Win-win for everyone.
“Ava,” she heard. “Ava!”
She returned to reality to see Darya’s face a foot away from her own.
“Oh,” said Ava. “Hi!”
Darya rolled her eyes. To the others, she said, “Omigosh. Ava went off with the fairies again, people.”
“Because fairies are awesome,” Ava retorted. “Except—oh yeah. You wouldn’t know, would you?”
Darya was ten and Natasha was eleven, but even so, the two of them were in the same grade at school, both one grade higher than Ava. While Natasha was all about studying and getting good grades, Darya’s world revolved around makeup, fashion, and saying things like “omigosh” and “dude, that’s so savage.”
On top of that, Darya pretended not to believe in fairies. Not just fairies, but any sort of magic, period. Which meant that honestly, Ava had no choice but to make fun of her.
Darya stuck her tongue out.
Ava batted her eyelashes and smiled.
“Well?” said Tally, who sat on her knees, her fingers curled in anticipation. Tally was the reason they played the “Ava and the Fairies” game. Tally loved the idea of fairies and unicorns and every sort of magic there was.
Ava tapped her chin and gazed at the clouds. “Hmm,” she said. “Hmm, hmm, hmm.”
Darya groaned.
Natasha said, “Ava.”
But drawing it out was part of the tradition, as Natasha and Darya knew. They were just playing their roles—although Ava wondered how much longer Darya would agree to be part of it before deciding it was babyish.
Natasha already thought it was babyish, Ava suspected. But Natasha was the kind of girl who liked making others happy, and Tally and her mom only visited once a year. Tally’s dad came even less often, because he was a physicist and very busy with that and other grown-up stuff. He was Italian and had an accent and wore his hair in a man-bun.
Uncle Fio, Aunt Emily, and Tally lived in California, which to Ava sounded exotic. They wanted to move to Willow Hill, though, and Ava could totally understand why. Willow Hill wasn’t exotic. The small, tightly knit town of Willow Hill was the opposite of exotic, and it would be hard for Aunt Emily, who was an art curator, to find work here.
But Ava wouldn’t want to live anywhere else, ever.
She suddenly felt woozy with love. She loved Mama and Papa, and she loved their small, cozy house. She loved Aunt Emily, who was Papa’s little sister, and she loved her cousin,
Tally. She even loved slightly scary Uncle Fio. She loved her aunts on Mama’s side, too: Aunt Vera and Aunt Elena, who lived in Willow Hill and visited often. They were here now, chatting and laughing with Mama, Papa, and Aunt Emily.
The girls’ auntie Grace was here, too. Auntie Grace wasn’t related to Ava and the others, not technically. But she’d been part of Ava’s life since the day Ava was born. She was the best, kookiest Auntie Grace ever. She shared meals with Ava and her family once or twice a week, and she baked the most delicious brownies. She was rarely serious, and she told fabulous stories. Ava, her sisters, and Tally all adored her.
Ava knew with every fiber of her being how blessed she was. Even as a nine-year-old, she knew that her certainty was a blessing, too.
Ava exhaled, blowing the air out with a pfffft sound. She locked eyes with Tally, who was flushed with expectation. She cleared her mind and let things happen as they would . . . and there it was, the hum of energy Ava and Tally were sometimes able to call forth.
Natasha and Darya didn’t know about this part. This part was just for Ava and Tally, and it was why the two of them would go on believing in magic long after Natasha and Darya moved on to other things. Or so Ava hoped.
“The windowsill of the farthest window to the right, on the porch,” Ava said clearly.
Tally rose to her feet and sprinted off. Darya gave Ava a half smirk, but when Natasha hopped up and followed Tally, Darya dashed after them both.
“Hey, wait up!” she cried. “Wait for me!”
Ava grinned. She lay down on the quilt, extending her legs and resting the back of her head on her overlapping palms. A honeybee flew in a lazy circle above her, and Ava said, “Hola, bee. What do you see? Do you see me, bee?”
Bees had compound eyes; Ava had learned that in science. Each eye had thousands of lenses, which blew Ava’s mind.
Did that mean that the honeybee saw thousands of Avas? Or did it see thousands of different parts of Ava, parts that could be fit together like a puzzle to form a full picture of who Ava was?
She floated off for a bit, her thoughts like rising bubbles. When the bubbles popped, her thoughts joined the fabric of the universe. She joined the fabric of the universe.
Feet pounded the ground, and Ava propped herself up on her elbows. “Well?”
“We found something!” cried Tally, rosy-cheeked and shining. She flopped onto the quilt and held out her hand, her fingers cupped in a loose fist.
Natasha and Darya dropped down on either side of her. They glanced at Ava over Tally’s head, including her in what they thought was a shared conspiracy. Sometimes it was. Sometimes Ava had one of her sisters hide a stone under a sofa cushion, or asked them to place an especially lovely feather in the kitchen cupboard. Once, she persuaded Natasha to stick a dandelion in Aunt Vera’s bun.
Other times, Ava didn’t need their help. If Darya chose to assume that Natasha had planted the treasure, however, that was fine. Same for Natasha when Natasha suspected Darya of sneakily acting on Ava’s orders. Ava let her sisters believe what they wanted to believe.
“Show me,” she said to Tally.
Tally smiled and opened her hand to reveal four mini-marshmallows.
“Nice!” Ava said. “I didn’t know if they’d be marshmallows or acorns, but I was hoping for marshmallows!”
Tally passed them out, and each girl popped hers into her mouth. Magic, soft and sweet, melted on their tongues.
The honeybee made one last pass above their heads.
Bye for now, bee, Ava thought. See you later.
The bee hovered in front of her, frozen in time for just a moment before buzzing away.
I wish for children to play beneath my branches and nap in the shade of my leaves. I wish to know their stories: what they’ve done and what they will do. I wish to see the whole world unfold before them.
— THE WILLOW TREE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Ooo baby, this book was a tough one! One of my top writing challenges, for sure. Why? Because it’s the third in a trilogy. Trilogies are always hard. Also, because I ended The Forgetting Spell, book number two in the Wishing Day trilogy, with a fantastic cliffhanger ending. Yay me! Only, then it came time to write The Backward Season, which meant answering the momentous questions left dangling at the end of The Forgetting Spell, and . . .
I got it wrong. Many, many times. And each time, my amazing editor, Claudia Gabel, gently told me that I’d gotten it wrong. My bonus amazing editor, Alex Arnold, concurred. Each time. Many, many times. So many times.
We brainstormed, we talked things out, we plugged away and plugged away again. Claudia and Alex refused to settle for “almost, but not quite.” They refused to let me—or themselves—settle for less than our very best. Even though it was REALLY, REALLY HARD. So hard! And finally . . . we got it right. We told Ava’s story the way it needed to be told. Is it perfect? No. But it is the result of blood, sweat, and tears, and I sure am proud of it. The process made me a better writer, which is to say that Claudia and Alex made me a better writer. So, Claudia and Alex? THANK YOU. I acknowledge y’all and acknowledge y’all, with gratitude and love!
Also, tremendous thanks to the entire HarperCollins team, especially the two sweet Stephanies: Stephanie Boyar, for championing these books so tirelessly, and Stephanie Guerdan, for being so frickin’ tolerant of my (many!) requests to change things one last time. Stephanie G? You are a goddess to me.
Thanks to Anica Mrose Rissi, of course, for being awesome. Thanks to my agent, Barry Goldblatt, for believing in me more than—cough, cough—sales figures occasionally warrant. Thanks to Bob, the best water-cooler buddy ever, and a special thanks to Ermengarde Lockhart, Sara Zarr, and Tara Altebrando, for cheering me on in our Decemberists Club. And a bonus thanks to Ms. Lockhart, as well as the fabulous Sarah Mlynowski, for chatting with me almost every day and ALWAYS making me smile. ☺
As always, huge thanks to my friends and family. Y’all are the magic in my world.
And Randy, my sweet, strong, brilliant husband. You will always be my wish come true.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Randy Bartels
LAUREN MYRACLE has written many books for tweens and teens, including the bestselling Winnie Years series and the Flower Power series. She lives with her family in Colorado, and she thinks life is the most magical adventure of all.
www.laurenmyracle.com
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
BOOKS BY LAUREN MYRACLE
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Thirteen Plus One
The Fashion Disaster That Changed My Life
The Flower Power series
ttyl
ttfn
l8r, g8r
yolo
Peace, Love, and Baby Ducks
Shine
Kissing Kate
The Infinite Moment of Us
Wishing Day
The Forgetting Spell
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COPYRIGHT
Katherine Tegen Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
THE BACKWARD SEASON. Copyright © 2018 by HarperCollins Publishers. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
Cover art by Julie McLaughlin
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2017943403
Digital Edition APRIL 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-234214-0
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-234212-6
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1819202122CG/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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The Backward Season Page 16
