“Some of this I assume you already know,” Miss Patel says. “Have any of you broken an arm or a leg or maybe gotten a bad cut or burn?”
Several of the kids in the room raise their hands, and I realize that I’ve been lucky. The only real injury I ever had was a bad fall off a kitchen stool when I was four. It left a faint scar along my hairline that I cover up with my wispy bangs.
“Then most of you were probably given Medical Amber,” she continues. “Some of you might not have even had to go to the hospital. For certain types of injuries, simply applying Amber to the wound can do the trick.”
I think of Daniel’s aunt dabbing Amber onto the back of Mikey’s head, just in case. Maybe that’s why she reacted so strangely to my suggestion of going to the hospital, because here people don’t need to be treated by doctors for those kinds of things.
“When I broke my collarbone, I had to go to the hospital,” Yuli volunteers in her thin voice, half raising her hand as she speaks.
“Yes,” Miss Patel says. “For broken bones, the doctors might give you more concentrated doses that will help mend the break. They might even inject it into the bone once they’ve set it, so that it will heal faster.”
“Mine healed in a week,” Yuli says.
I’m the only one who seems impressed by that number. In fact, a few of the other kids shout out that their broken bones healed in a matter of days.
“All right!” Miss Patel says, getting them to quiet down. “The point I’m making here is that before we had Amber, this kind of healing would have been unimaginable. But Amber has revolutionized medicine. People heal more quickly and are sick less often. Many major illnesses can be cured or prevented.”
“But not all of them?” Anton asks.
“No,” Miss Patel admits. “Amber can strengthen one’s body so that it can endure more, but it can’t win against everything. Some diseases are still untreatable. And we have yet to find a cure for baldness!”
She chuckles, but I shiver as I remember the bald man behind Krysta’s house the other night, taking Amber from the Perezes’ secret well.
“Although people who use Amber live longer than people who don’t,” Miss Patel goes on, “they still don’t live forever.”
I glance at Mister Whiskers, who’s lazily chewing on a piece of lettuce. It’s strange that people have to die, even here where we have magic flowing underground. Mama seems convinced that Amber could have saved my baby brother, but I guess we’ll never know for sure.
“Also, because of the use of Amber in medicine,” Miss Patel goes on, “we have fewer hospitals and doctors and medications than other countries.”
Before I know it, my hand shoots up into the air. “That’s why my dad can’t get a real job here,” I say when Miss Patel calls on me. “He was a doctor before we came here, but he’d have to go to medical school all over again. Even though we’re citizens now.” I drag out the last three words, testing out how they feel in my mouth.
Some of the kids flash me uncertain looks. Meanwhile, Miss Patel nods and says, “Yes, there’s very little exchange of information between countries these days. We don’t know much about the healing methods of other places, for example.”
“My dad says we don’t need other people’s stuff,” Eileen chimes in. “He says we’re the greatest country in the world.”
“It’s nice to think so, isn’t it?” Miss Patel says with a laugh. “I imagine other countries feel that way about themselves too. Perhaps that’s part of being human.” She starts handing out a worksheet. “All right. I’m going to have you go through these on your own, and then we’ll review the answers.”
I scan the fill-in-the-blank questions based on the chapter we’ve been looking at, which test us on the different diseases that have been cured because of Amber, and the various ways to treat burns and scrapes and cuts. The other kids grumble as they get to work, but my mind is still humming with excitement. It feels as though an entire world has been unlocked, one that’s been behind an iron door for my entire life.
12
A couple of days later, I meet Daniel after school so we can look for more wildflowers. So far we only have half of the flowers we need, and we still have to press them and label all the parts.
“I spotted some purple asters near the park this morning. We should go check,” Daniel says. Then he starts walking so quickly that I consider hopping onto my bike to keep up with him.
“Hey, wait up!” I finally call when he’s almost at the end of the street.
He stops and waits for me, his toes tapping with impatience.
“What’s the hurry?” I ask.
Daniel shrugs. “I want to get this project done. It’s taking up way too much time.”
His words sting. Does he hate having to be around me? I’m the one who should be wishing that this project were finished!
“Fine,” I say. “Let’s get it over with.”
He pushes up his glasses and heads off again. As we walk, I keep glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. Now that I’ve done more reading about Amber, I realize that Daniel shouldn’t need his glasses anymore. Not if he’s taking his full rations. But I don’t want to ask him about it, especially when it’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk to me.
When we get to the park, though, my curiosity finally wins out.
“Does your aunt take Amber?” I ask as we go through the wrought iron gates.
“My aunt?” he asks.
I park my bike near the playground. “Her scar,” I say. “If she were taking Amber, wouldn’t it be gone by now?”
“Probably,” Daniel admits.
“Is that why you don’t take yours, because of your aunt?” I’m guessing, but it makes sense. If she’s not using Amber, then maybe she doesn’t allow Daniel to either.
“I take half,” he says. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“But why? If you took the full dose, your eyes would be as good as everyone else’s by now.”
Daniel still doesn’t say anything for a minute. Then he turns to me and says, “I’ve worn glasses since I was in second grade. If I didn’t have them anymore, it would be weird, you know? I’d kind of be less… me.”
When I see Mama without her glasses, when she’s getting out of the shower or on the rare occasions when she’s putting makeup on, she looks like herself and yet like a stranger. Even though she’s pretty without them, you can also notice the bags under her eyes more when the glasses aren’t there to cover them up.
“That’s why you only take half the ration?” I ask. “So you don’t change too much?”
He shakes his head. “No, but… but I guess it’s something I think about a lot. Everyone else here has been using Amber since they were born. But you and me, we know what it’s like to be average. And maybe… maybe sometimes that’s a good thing.”
I think of the story Miss Patel sent in to the writing contest, the one that was my best work by far but still only got an A−. “How is being average a good thing when it means you’re so much worse than everyone else?”
“But we’re not worse, are we? I mean, I don’t feel worse.”
“That’s because you’ve been taking Amber for years now,” I say, my voice rising. “I just started, and I’m still my same old average self. Trust me, it doesn’t feel good.”
I dash off toward the other end of the park. When I glance over my shoulder, I see Daniel struggling to catch up to me. Suddenly I realize that I’m not merely running. I’m sprinting. The world is rushing past me. My legs are flying as if they’re barely attached to my body.
Regular me could never run this fast.
The Amber.
It’s working.
13
Every time I swallow a dose of Amber, I still feel a thrill. With each day, I notice more and more changes. In gym, when we play basketball, my aim seems better, and for the first time in my life, I score two points for my team. When I get my science test back, there’s a gleaming ninety-
two at the top of it. My highest science score yet. It’s still an A−, but suddenly I know that an A is right around the corner. Any day now, I’ll have it.
Mama says that Amber doesn’t change who you are, but it heightens the abilities you do have. That’s why my grades are improving, because I’m able to concentrate longer, memorize facts better. It also makes your body more efficient, so your muscles are stronger, your balance is better, and your aim is truer.
Like me, Mama has started taking her two doses a day. She’s been writing all her observations in a notebook like a good scientist. She says she can sometimes take off her glasses for a minute and see clearly, but then she has to put them back on again.
But even after a week, Tata still won’t touch his Amber. When our extra rations are finally approved and Mama picks them up, he leaves the bottles in the basement and refuses to use them for his garden.
“But your plants will finally stop dying,” I tell him as we spend yet another afternoon replanting.
“People have been growing flowers without magic for thousands of years,” he says. “I haven’t found the right soil acidity yet.” Then he goes back to sprinkling powdered limestone over our entire yard. He’s convinced it will improve the soil so that something will finally grow besides the yellow flowers—black-eyed Susans, according to my wildflower guide—that have been taking over.
I think the wildflowers look pretty, but Tata tears them up by the handful. I’ve started rescuing the yellow buds from Tata’s wheelbarrow and replanting them near the trees where there’s hardly any sun. Tata says if I can make them grow there, then I can keep them. So far, they seem to be doing okay.
Tata groans and grabs his lower back. It’s been aching from all the yard work.
“Amber would help your back, too,” I remind him.
“Sore muscles are proof that you’ve been working hard,” he says.
“But aren’t you ever, you know, embarrassed that our yard is so much uglier than everyone else’s?” I can’t help seeing what Mrs. Perez must see, a patch of dirt with a scattering of grass and weeds.
Tata looks at me, adjusting his sweaty cap. “Embarrassed?” he repeats. “Since when do you care what people think?”
Since always. But I don’t dare say that.
“You sound like one of them, you know,” Tata goes on. “Those silly girls who think a bad haircut is the end of the world. Soon you’ll be asking me to drive you to the mall.”
I stifle a groan. “That’s not what I’m saying. It’s just… we have Amber sitting in our basement. Why don’t you use it?”
He only shakes his head and tells me to keep digging.
* * *
At recess on Wednesday, the dance routine suddenly feels easier.
“Good job, Mira!” Yuli says during practice, and this time she really means it.
I spin and twirl and dip. I may not be as graceful as the other girls, but I’m no longer a chicken among swans. More like a goose. I’d still rather be writing than dancing, but it’s nice to finally fit in. I can practically feel my braid growing thicker and longer by the second.
By the end of recess, I’m still sweating but my hair isn’t dripping. Eileen gives me a little smile and pretends to wipe her own forehead.
“Maybe we could play tag again sometime,” I find myself saying to Krysta when we slide into our seats.
She gives me a surprised laugh. “If you want. I’ve always hated that game.”
My smile fades when I realize that Daniel’s not in school. The kids here don’t get sick with colds and flus and stomach bugs, not like I do. Maybe Daniel isn’t as immune as the rest of them, since he only takes half his rations. I’ve never noticed before when he’s been absent, and normally I wouldn’t care, but we’re supposed to check in with our partners in class today about our wildflower projects. We can’t fall behind, or we’ll never catch up.
When I talk to Miss Patel, she doesn’t seem worried that Daniel’s absent. “If you meet tomorrow, you should still be in good shape,” she tells me.
But the next morning, Daniel still isn’t here. I’m so close to an A. I can’t let Daniel ruin it!
After school, I hurry to his house even though I know Tata is waiting for me at home. When I get there, Aunt Flora opens the door.
“Oh, Mira.” Her face looks drawn and tired. She doesn’t invite me in.
“Is Daniel home? Is he sick?”
“I’m sorry. He’s not here. He’s out running some errands for me. But it’s nice of you to check on him.”
“We have a lot of work to do on our project.”
She nods. “I’ll tell him you stopped by, all right?”
It’s clear she wants me to leave, but I hesitate.
“Is there something else?” she asks.
I nod slowly. “I saw you at the protest, holding up a sign that said Amber is for everyone,” I say. “If you really feel that way, why don’t you take any yourself?”
Aunt Flora looks a little startled. Then she absently touches the scar on her face and says, “It doesn’t seem right to take it when there are people who need Amber but can’t have it because of where they happened to be born.”
“My dad, he doesn’t want to take it either. And I don’t think he likes that I’ve started.” It’s almost as if Tata thinks that not taking Amber makes him better than other people, stronger. Does he think I’m weak?
“It’s a personal decision,” Aunt Flora says. “I don’t judge anyone for taking what’s rightfully theirs. I simply want them to remember that many others don’t have that right.”
Suddenly I hear Mikey’s faint voice calling from upstairs.
Aunt Flora’s face tightens. “I’m sorry, Mira. I have to go.” She closes the door without saying good-bye.
14
Tata is taking apart an old shed in the yard when I get home the next day. “Not a job for you,” he says, grunting as he heaves one of the rotted planks of wood out of place. “Go do some homework.”
I happily hurry into my room and close the door. It’s Friday. Homework can wait. I take out one of the new notebooks my parents gave me for my name day. I choose a purple pen and flip to the first page. I’ve been so busy with the wildflower project and the dance group that I haven’t had a chance to try my presents out yet.
I tuck myself into the far corner of my bed, surrounded by a nest of pillows, ready to write.
Usually the poems tumble out of my brain and onto the paper, as if they can’t come fast enough. Snippets about things that happened at school, or things I noticed throughout the day, or things I’ve imagined.
This time, my brain feels empty.
I end up doodling on the blank page instead, but even that feels forced. Restless, I put the notebook back under my bed and head outside to see if Tata needs help after all.
He’s struggling with the last plank of wood, and it’s clear from his groans that his back is hurting.
I rush over to help him before he tips over.
“No!” he says. “It’s too heavy.”
But I’ve already grabbed the other end. I shuffle toward where Tata’s stacked the other planks. It’s only after I’ve put the wood down that I realize Tata’s no longer holding the other end. I somehow managed to carry the entire thing on my own.
Tata stares at me with his mouth slightly open. “You… you are so strong now,” he says. “Maybe even stronger than me.” He sounds impressed, but also something else. He sounds scared.
* * *
“We’ve had a breakthrough in our research,” Mama says at dinner that night.
“Did you figure out how to make more Amber?” I ask.
She gives me a careful smile, and I suddenly notice that her glasses are perched on top of her head instead of on her nose. Her eyesight is finally getting better.
“Not exactly, but it’s almost as exciting. I’ll be able to tell you more soon.” She glances at Tata. “It means I might have to stay at work late a few extra nights.�
��
I expect Tata to put up a fight. He has a thing about us eating dinner together as a family every night, and he hates the “take-out junk” that Mama’s coworkers order at the office when they need to stay late. But he only nods. Ever since this afternoon, he’s been oddly quiet.
“Are you taller since yesterday?” Mama asks me suddenly. “You look taller!”
“My pants did seem short when I put them on this morning. I had to change my outfit.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re having a growth spurt,” Mama says.
Tata grumbles half to himself about the cost of buying new clothes, but Mama is smiling.
I smile too, wondering if I’ll finally stop being the shortest kid in the fifth grade. But my smile fades when I remember my blank notebook.
“Mama, do you think the breakthrough in your research is thanks to the Amber?” I ask. Now that Mama has her ration card, it means almost everyone on her team is using it.
She considers my question for a minute. “Perhaps,” she says. “When you bring a lot of smart people together, ideas will flow. And if their brains are working more efficiently, it’s possible they would produce even better results.”
“So Amber doesn’t hurt your creativity?”
She frowns. “I haven’t heard of that. But it’s possible that Amber affects the brain in ways we don’t yet understand. There’s still so much for us to learn.” She looks at me. “Why do you ask?”
“I was just curious,” I say. Of course the Amber isn’t causing writer’s block. It’s probably the stress of finishing the wildflower project and keeping up with the other girls in the dance group and waiting to hear back about the magazine contest. I haven’t even been taking Amber for two full weeks. I bet once it really kicks in, my writing will be better than ever.
15
Good news!” Krysta says on Monday morning. “Miss Patel said we can perform our dance for the whole class after lunch today.”
The Wonder of Wildflowers Page 5
