“You mean, to find out that I’m not like them.”
“Of course you are,” Miss Patel says. “Amber doesn’t change who a person is.”
It sounds as though she really believes that. Clearly she’s never had to live a day in her life without magic.
“Will you let me send the story in?” Miss Patel asks. “The deadline is next week. It can’t hurt, can it?”
“I guess not,” I admit. And the idea of my story being published in an actual magazine is too amazing to ignore. “Okay.”
She smiles. “Good. And, Mira, I thought you’d like to know that you’ll be getting an A− on this assignment.”
“An A−?” Not an A+. Not even an A.
“I’m afraid there were some spelling and grammar errors that I couldn’t ignore. But your voice and your imagery were so lovely that they made up for most of the points I had to deduct.” Her smile fades when she sees what must be a look of disappointment on my face. “I thought you’d be excited. This is the highest grade you’ve gotten all year.”
“I know,” I say. And I should be excited. It’s the highest grade I’ve gotten in my entire life. But it seems that even my absolute best will still never be perfect.
* * *
When I get to lunch, I’m surprised to find Yuli sitting at our table. Now that she’s in our dance group, I guess Krysta’s giving her a chance to prove she can be one of us.
The other girls are almost done eating. I plop down into the empty chair next to Krysta and pull out my purple lunch bag, identical to the ones Krysta and Eileen have. Yuli’s is green, but if she keeps sitting with us, I’m sure it won’t be for long.
“What did Miss Patel want?” Krysta asks. “Are you in trouble?”
Eileen gasps. “You’re in trouble?”
“No, nothing like that,” I say. And then, because the news is so fresh, I can’t help blurting out, “You know that story I showed you, the one about spring?” Krysta nods. “Well, Miss Patel asked if she could enter it in a contest.”
“A contest?” Krysta repeats, her voice suddenly too high. The overly bright smile on her face tells me I’ve made a mistake. “Congrats!”
“Wow,” Eileen says, but she doesn’t congratulate me. Instead her eyes are on Krysta. Because if anyone should be asked to enter a contest, it’s her. Those are the rules. How could I have forgotten that, even for a second?
“I won’t win or anything,” I rush to say. “I bet she asked me out of pity, because, you know…”
Krysta smiles. “Well, we’ll keep our fingers crossed for you,” she says, doing a Good luck finger wiggle again, but it looks forced this time. Then she glances at the other girls. “Won’t we?”
“Totally!” Eileen says while Yuli only nods, her eyes wide. Why can’t I be more like Yuli? She’s so quiet that she never has to worry about saying the wrong thing.
I mutter, “Thanks,” and then focus on unpacking my lunch, hoping the bell will ring soon.
“Egg salad again?” Krysta asks, eyeing my sandwich over her turkey wrap. “I don’t know how you can eat that every day. The smell makes me gag.”
This is news to me. Krysta was the one who insisted that we all bring egg salad every day last year. Tata got so tired of hard-boiling eggs that he had me start making my own lunch. Across the table, I see Yuli tucking the rest of her sandwich back into her bag. She probably has egg salad too.
My stomach grumbles, but I put my sandwich away, untouched, and open my carrot sticks instead, hoping those will pass muster.
Krysta laughs suddenly, and I freeze midchew. “Remember when you brought that dog food sandwich for lunch one time, Mira?” she asks.
I nearly spit out my bite of carrot. It’s been ages since she brought that up. I was hoping she’d forgotten. But of course, Krysta never forgets. This is the side of her I can’t stand, the one that lashes out like a cornered snake.
“What?” Eileen shrieks. “I don’t remember that!”
“It was before you moved here,” Krysta says. She turns back to me. “What was that thing you were eating again?”
“Liverwurst,” I say softly. “It’s like a paste made out of liver.”
The truth is, Tata still eats it all the time, but I haven’t been able to look at the stuff since that day in second grade when Krysta sent me fleeing to the bathroom during lunch.
“Whatever it was, it looked—and smelled—like something a dog would eat. And you had tomatoes on it,” Krysta says with a piercing laugh. “Dog food and tomato sandwich! Is that what people eat where you’re from?”
Eileen howls with laughter while Yuli stretches her pink lips into a stiff smile.
I want to say, No. No, they don’t eat dog food. No, I don’t eat dog food. But I only stare at my purple lunch bag, the one I bought because Krysta told me to. My appetite is gone.
7
After school, I catch up to Daniel and ask if he wants to go work on our project at the town library. “We can sit by the encyclopedias where it’s quiet,” I suggest, hoping that tucking ourselves in an unused corner of the building will keep anyone from seeing us together.
But Daniel shakes his head. “I have to go pick up my brother, Mikey, from kindergarten and walk him home. You can come over, if you want. My aunt won’t mind.”
I hesitate for a second, imagining the two of us parading through town, making everyone think that we’re friends. But the lower elementary school is only a couple of blocks away. If Daniel’s house is close by, maybe no one will see us.
Daniel is already walking ahead, so I hurry to catch up to him. As we go, I can’t help noticing that he’s wearing shorts even though it’s cold out and that he’s pulled his mismatched socks so high, they almost touch his knees. His curly hair is even wilder than usual, as if he hasn’t brushed it in days.
He catches me staring at him, and I snap my gaze away. But he keeps looking at me as he says, “Sorry you have to work with me.”
I’m so stunned that for a second I can’t say anything. “Wh-what do you mean?” I finally manage.
“I know you’re friends with Krysta and Eileen, and that you all hate me.”
I start to object, but then I remember how I called him “Four-Eyes” during gym class. I should be the one apologizing, but my tongue won’t form the words.
“I guess I kind of hoped you were different,” Daniel adds.
“Why?” I snap. “Because I don’t take Amber?”
He looks surprised. “No, because you’re like me. You notice things. You pay attention. At least, I thought you did.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Of course I don’t hate him, not really. But doesn’t he care what people think of him? Isn’t he afraid of standing out? Judging by his clothes and his hair, maybe not.
We walk past the park, and I do my best to hide my face behind my bangs, in case any kids from school are there. But luckily, the playground is empty and the field is bustling with high school kids playing football.
When we’re safely on the other side of the park, I can’t take the silence anymore. “You live with your aunt?” I ask.
Daniel obviously doesn’t want to answer my unasked question, but finally he says, “My parents are still up north. They couldn’t get through the border.”
I want to tell him that I’m sorry, but I’m not sure if that’s the right thing to say. “I thought you were born here,” I say instead.
“I was, but my parents weren’t. My aunt Flora’s been here for years, and she’s a citizen now, so she took Mikey and me in.”
Daniel’s brother is waiting for us by the flagpole. I can tell right away that he and Daniel are related. They have the same long noses and wild hair, but Mikey looks as big and strong as the other kids pouring out of the school, not scrawny and angular like Daniel. Maybe the magic works more quickly when you’re younger.
“Who are you?” Mikey demands, coming up to me. “Are you Danny’s friend?”
“I—I’m Mira.”
I have to laugh. “No.”
“See?” Mikey says to Daniel, beaming in triumph. “I told you.”
Daniel rolls his eyes, but he’s almost smiling. “Yeah, okay. Come on.”
As we walk, Mikey asks me dozens of questions about my favorite foods and TV shows and toys. I can barely keep up with his word tornado, but when we get to Daniel’s house, I’m actually a little sad that the walk is over.
Mikey instantly darts toward the kitchen, hollering about how hungry he is, while Daniel and I follow behind.
Daniel’s house is bigger than mine but much older. The floor creaks and groans with our every step, and the narrow stairs that lead to the second floor are so uneven that I’m nervous just looking at them. Still the house is beautiful, like something out of a fairy tale or a ghost story.
As Daniel grabs a bag of pretzels from one of the cupboards, I hear jazz music wafting down from upstairs.
“That’s Aunt Flora in her studio,” Daniel explains. “She used to be a nurse back home, before I was born. Now she’s an artist. Come on. We can work on our project in here.” He waves me into the dining room, where the walls are covered in large framed pieces of old fabric with paint splattered all over them.
“Wow. Did your aunt do those?” I ask.
Daniel nods. “She takes antique quilts and rugs and makes new things out of them. She says it’s a way of keeping history alive.” He shrugs, as if he doesn’t quite agree. “I think they’re ugly, but people actually pay her for them.”
I spot some drawings on the table. They’re of towering buildings straight out of the future, with sharp, clean lines and flying cars zipping around them. “Did she make these, too?” I ask, picking one up.
“No.” Daniel snatches it away and jams all of the pictures into a sketchbook.
I realize they must be his. “Those are really good,” I tell him.
“Thanks,” he mumbles. Then he shrugs. “Sorry. I just… don’t really show my stuff to people.”
“That’s okay. No one reads what I write either.” Except for Krysta, but I don’t want to bring her up again. I glance back at the sketchbook. “So what else do you draw besides magical flying cars?”
He must think I’m making fun of him, because he says, “They’re not that far off, you know. In other countries, people are working on cars that drive themselves.” Now I’m not sure if he’s making fun of me, because that really does sound like magic.
We get to work on our project, brainstorming places to search for wildflowers. Daniel says there’s a field near his house where he can go look for some. I make a note to poke through the weeds in Tata’s garden to see if any of them are in our wildflower guide.
“When we have ten flowers each,” I say, reading through the instructions Miss Patel gave us, “we pick our ‘top five’ to talk about in our presentation.”
Daniel frowns. “How are we supposed to decide which ones are the best?”
“I guess we pick the ones we like the most.”
Suddenly a crash echoes from upstairs, followed by Mikey’s loud cry.
Daniel is out of his chair and thundering up the stairs before I even realize what’s happening. “Mikey!” I hear him calling. “Are you okay?”
I hurry after him. From the other side of the house comes a woman’s urgent voice. “Are you hurt? Are you sure? Any cuts? Michael, look at me! Did you cut yourself?”
Upstairs, I stop at the bedroom at the end of the hall, and find Daniel and a woman kneeling over Mikey. He’s sprawled on the floor, looking a little stunned. There’s a tipped-over chair nearby and a mound of pillows on the carpet. Judging by the cape around his neck, I’m guessing that Mikey must have been jumping off the chair, pretending to be a superhero.
“I’m okay,” he says. “But my head kind of hurts.”
“He must have hit it when he fell,” Daniel says to the woman, who I assume is Aunt Flora. I can’t really see her face, but for some reason, she seems familiar.
“Michael,” she says. “I’m going to sit you up, okay?” She glances at Daniel. “Go get the emergency Amber from the bathroom.”
Daniel rushes off. Mikey groans as his aunt pulls him to a sitting position and checks the back of his head.
She lets out a sigh of relief. “No cut,” she says. “Not even a scrape. But I bet you’ll have a bump.” She reaches out for the small bottle of Amber that Daniel’s brought back along with a piece of gauze. She carefully soaks the gauze in the Amber and then dabs it onto the back of Mikey’s head. “Just in case,” she murmurs as she works with a steady hand, and it’s clear that she used to be a nurse.
I watch the Amber soaking into Mikey’s hair, and I’m a little disappointed that it doesn’t glow, even though I know that’s not how it works.
“Maybe he should go to the hospital,” I find myself saying, remembering one of Tata’s lectures about the dangers of head injuries.
Aunt Flora looks at me, as if realizing for the first time that I’m here. That’s when I notice the scar on her cheek, and I know why she seems so familiar. I saw her at the protest a couple of days ago. She was the woman in the planet Earth outfit who thinks Amber should be for everyone.
“Thank you, but I don’t think that’s necessary,” Aunt Flora says flatly. “Daniel, why don’t you see your guest out?”
I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?
Daniel only nods. Then he gives Mikey one last anxious glance and escorts me downstairs.
“He’ll be okay,” I tell Daniel as I pack up my bag in the dining room. “Not even a scrape, right?”
“Right,” Daniel says, chewing on his lip. “It’s just… Mikey was really sick when he was little. I guess my family and I are kind of weird about him, you know?”
I think of my parents’ whispered fights whenever they talk about Henryk. I haven’t told anyone about him, not even Krysta.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I know.”
8
When I get home, Tata is drinking tea and watching the news like he usually does in the afternoon when he’s not working. He claims it’s to help him learn the language, but most days he sits on the couch shaking his head in disgust and then winds up dozing off before dinner.
I settle in on the couch beside him and lean against his warm shoulder. I don’t actually care about the news, but it’s nice to spend some quiet time together that doesn’t involve gardening gloves.
But today, Tata is watching with worried eyes as Mayor Perez makes a speech behind a tall podium. It’s strange to see Krysta’s dad on TV, looking so official and serious in his dark suit. When I see him at Krysta’s house, he’s usually in sweatpants, rushing around yelling about all the things he needs to do.
“What is the mayor saying?” Tata asks me. Then he lets out an embarrassed cough. “I understand the words, but he talks too fast.”
I listen for a minute and then translate. “There are rumors that an Amber reservoir has gone dry. The mayor is saying that we have nothing to worry about in Westbrook.”
I pause again to listen.
“There’s plenty of Amber to go around,” Mayor Perez says through a wide smile. “That means our town’s rationing policy won’t be changing anytime soon.”
That sounds like good news, but the mayor’s voice doesn’t match his face. “Why does he sound so serious?” I ask.
“Because when a politician tells you that something won’t happen,” Tata says, “it almost always means that it will.”
Suddenly Mama throws open the front door, clutching a letter in her hand.
“It’s here!” she cries, pressing the paper to her chest. “It came!”
It takes me a second to understand what she means. Then I jump off the couch and run over to her. I scan the words underneath the official
-looking seal. Citizenship application accepted… Swearing-in ceremony… Please report to… Ration cards will be issued…
“Next week!” Tata grumbles when Mama reads the letter aloud. “You’d think they’d give us more warning.”
But Mama’s eyes gleam, and I can tell what she’s thinking. We’re safe. Even if her job disappears, we’ll still be able to stay. We’ll finally be able to use Amber like everyone else.
9
I’m so glad you came,” Krysta says, pulling me into her enormous foyer. “This party is going to be such a snooze fest.”
“Krysta,” Mrs. Perez says in a warning voice, patting down her flawless hair. “This fund-raiser is very important to your father. I expect you to be on your best behavior.” She glances at me. “Do you want to borrow something to wear, dear?”
I look down at my skirt and blouse, the fanciest things I own, and realize they look like gym clothes compared to Krysta’s sparkly dress.
“I think I still have some stuff from a couple of years ago,” Krysta says. “It should fit you.”
As she leads me up to her room, caterers bustle around getting everything ready. The way Krysta explained it to me, the party is so that her dad can convince people to give him money for his reelection campaign.
When I’m decked out in Krysta’s hand-me-down, she takes out a pair of shiny earrings. “Here. Try these.”
“Can’t,” I say, showing her one of my ears. “No piercings until I’m an adult, remember?”
“Well, at least let me put some glitter on your eyelids!”
I’m pretty sure my parents wouldn’t approve of that, either, but I don’t object.
“You look so good,” Krysta says when she’s done making me over. I’m surprised there’s not a hint of jealousy in her voice. She really means it.
I glance at the mirror and have to smile at my reflection. I may never compare to Krysta, but for once, I actually feel pretty.
“Here. You should take this,” Krysta says, trying to give me the glitter.
“Thanks, but my mom and dad will never let me use it.”
The Wonder of Wildflowers Page 3
