The Wonder of Wildflowers

by Anna Staniszewski

  “Well?” I finally ask. “Now do you see why I want to help Mikey?”

  “But the stuff with your family is different,” she finally says. “It happened before you moved here.”

  “It’s not Mikey’s fault that he’s sick. And it’s not his fault he was born somewhere else. He’s a little kid, and he needs our help!”

  Krysta lets out a long breath. “If I help you, my mom will kill me.” There it is again, that fear that surprises me every time I see it. How can Krysta be afraid of anyone when she’s the one who controls our entire school? “Sorry,” she adds. “About your brother. About everything.” I can tell she really is. But that doesn’t help.

  “You know what’s worse than being scared?” I tell her. “Doing nothing.” Then I turn and walk away.

  35

  Tata insists on coming with me to the mayor’s office. “You can’t go walking around town by yourself,” he says. “Besides, this is a matter for adults.” I know better than to argue with him.

  At first the mayor won’t see us, but I beg his assistant to tell him that I’m Krysta’s friend. That seems to get Mayor Perez’s attention, because he peeks out the door. “Oh, Mira. It’s you,” he says. “What do you need?”

  To my surprise, Tata steps forward and says, “Mayor Perez, we need speak to you about boy in hospital.” Maybe Tata’s done hiding too.

  The mayor sighs and waves us into his office. “I keep getting phone calls about that boy, and rest assured I’m handling it.”

  “You can’t send him back!” I cry.

  Mayor Perez lets out a surprised laugh as he sits down behind his desk. “I never thought you were the dramatic type, Mira,” he says. “Trust me, he’s getting the best care at the hospital, and when he is returned to where he legally belongs, he will be well cared for there—”

  “Without Amber, he not live,” Tata breaks in.

  The mayor flares his nostrils. “I cannot break the rules simply because you want me to. There are laws for a reason, to protect the Amber so that everyone can get their fair share.”

  “Everyone who can pay for it, you mean,” I spit out, taking a step forward.

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Mira,” Mayor Perez says evenly, but there’s sweat shining on his forehead.

  “I know that you promised to ration the Amber so that there’d be more for the people who helped you get elected.”

  The mayor clicks his tongue. “That’s a mighty strong accusation.”

  “I know it’s true,” I say. “If you don’t help Mikey, I’ll tell everyone.” I can’t believe the words came out of me, but now that I’ve said them, there’s no taking them back.

  I can see the mayor breathing heavily, as if my threat is a weight on his chest. But instead of answering, he lets out a gasp and grabs his arm as if he’s been stabbed.

  “Mr. Perez?” I say. “Are you okay?”

  But he doesn’t answer. Instead he starts to choke.

  “Help!” I cry. “Someone help!”

  But Tata is already there. He’s there to catch the mayor as he falls out of his chair and sinks to the floor. He’s there to cradle his head and check his breathing.

  The mayor’s assistant runs in. “What happened? Is he all right?” she cries.

  “Do not worry,” Tata assures her. “I am doctor.”

  * * *

  “I still can’t believe it,” Tata says as we watch the news the next morning during breakfast. “A man in his position overdosing on Amber!” According to the report, the mayor had far more than the recommended dose in his system when he was brought to the hospital.

  “I’m surprised I didn’t notice the symptoms earlier,” Mama says. “He always did seem jittery.”

  “And he sweats a lot,” I add, remembering the times when I saw the mayor at Krysta’s house, so unlike the cool, calm person he was on TV.

  “He’s probably been abusing Amber for years,” Mama says, shaking her head.

  It seems impossible that the man who cut everyone else’s rations would have a heart attack from too much Amber. And yet it makes sense when I think back to the conversation I overheard in Krysta’s garden, those “important people” thinking they deserved the Amber more than others because they were rich. But your body can only handle so much magic, no matter how much money you have.

  “He’s lucky you were there to help him right away,” Mama says, putting her hand on Tata’s arm.

  Tata shrugs, but he almost smiles. “I liked being a doctor again, at least for a few minutes.”

  “I bet the Amber shortages are from people like Mayor Perez using too much of it,” I say.

  Mama sighs. “That may be true. I suspect the rationing rules will have to be looked at, to make sure they’re fair and that people aren’t getting around them.”

  We glance back at the TV, where the news is showing clips of the hospital protest again. It’s bigger than ever, but some of the signs are different now. SAVE OUR CHILDREN! WE NEED MORE DOCTORS! In the crowd are a few people I recognize from the hospital waiting room. They’re angry—everyone’s angry. It feels as if someone has shaken a can of soda and it’s about to fizz open and explode.

  The doorbell rings, making us all jump. Tata goes to open the door, and I trail behind him, half-afraid of what might be waiting for us on the other side.

  Krysta stands on our front steps.

  “Krysta!” Tata says, sounding as surprised as I feel. “How is your father?”

  “He’ll need to be in the hospital for a few more days, but he’ll be okay,” Krysta says. “Thanks to you.”

  Tata nods. “I am glad,” he says in his thick accent. Then he goes back into the kitchen, leaving the two of us alone.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask her.

  “Aren’t you going to school today? I figured we’d ride our bikes together. Like we always do.”

  I stare at Krysta. Like we always do. Things haven’t been “like always” in days. I guess since Tata helped save her dad’s life, I’m forgiven.

  Part of me wants to laugh with relief and go with her. But another part—a part that’s been growing and growing over the past few weeks—isn’t ready to forgive yet. If I do, everything will simply go back to how it was.

  “I think my mom is going to give me a ride,” I say. “But I’ll see you there, okay?”

  Krysta’s face falls. But she doesn’t say a word. She only turns and heads off toward school by herself.

  36

  The morning goes by in a blur. I catch Krysta studying me out of the corner of her eye, but she keeps her distance.

  During recess, a group of kids comes up to ask me if my dad really saved the mayor’s life. I only nod and push past them to go sit by myself on a bench with my notebook. Then I eat my lunch alone at Daniel’s empty table, wondering how he’s doing and wishing I could ask him myself. I’m surprised by how freeing it is to simply eat my sandwich without anyone commenting on it.

  Near the end of the day, Miss Patel announces that it’s time to go to the auditorium for the Amber Centennial assembly. I’d forgotten all about it. Mayor Perez was supposed to make a speech. I wonder who will do it now that he’s in the hospital.

  When the national anthem fills the auditorium and our celebration of the anniversary of Amber’s discovery begins, it should be magical. Just a few weeks ago, I would have breathed in every moment of it, trying to feel as though I belonged here.

  But as the principal gets up to make a speech, I can’t help wondering what Daniel would think of all of this. Would he roll his eyes as he listened to all the talk about “our country” and “our Amber” when he knows the other side of it? When he knows the worry of being from the wrong country, of not having enough Amber when you desperately need it?

  I didn’t take my ration this morning. It didn’t feel right, not after I watched Amber hurt Eileen and Mayor Perez. Not after I placed third in the writing contest without it.

  The principal finishe
s his speech, and everyone applauds. Then he says, “We had hoped that our mayor would be here to speak to us today, but instead his wife is going to say a few words on his behalf.” Mrs. Perez stands up in the front row and gives a small wave. “But first we have a dance performance by our very own students!”

  Krysta, Yuli, Eileen, and Ava all come out, their heads held high. I’m surprised to see that they’re clutching pieces of poster board in their hands. They put them facedown on the stage before taking their places. The music starts.

  The dance is amazing. Every step and turn is perfect. But it’s not the fact that the four of them are perfect that makes them so fun to watch. It’s that you can tell they love dancing. Krysta, Yuli, Ava. Even Eileen. They’re dancing for the pure joy of it. No wonder I never really belonged in the dance group. I was only there to fit in, not because I wanted to do it.

  The music ends, and I expect the girls to strike their final poses. But instead they bend down and grab the posters from the stage. When they hold them up, I see that there are words written on them in Krysta’s perfectly neat handwriting. They spell out a message, like the signs at the protest.

  KIDS DESERVE TO LIVE!

  37

  The principal hurries onstage and shoos Krysta and the other girls off. They reluctantly go into the wings, still holding their signs.

  Mrs. Perez click-clacks up to the podium in her high heels, her cheeks pink with what I know is anger. I can’t imagine how much trouble Krysta will be in for making those signs.

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Perez says as the kids give her half-hearted applause. “Mayor Perez is recovering quickly and will return to work soon. He asked me to read a speech that he wrote for the occasion, but I’d like to say a few words first.”

  She glances out at us, and I can tell what’s coming. She has the same look she always gets when she’s about to scold Krysta.

  “I’m sure many of you know that a boy in this school and his family have broken the rules. They’ve used Amber when they weren’t supposed to. They’ve taken advantage of their community and have tricked us and lied to us. Westbrook is a wonderful town, and it will only stay that way if we hold true to our values. Of course children should be cared for, but they should also be taught to follow the rules. That’s why Michael Porter will be kept in the hospital until my husband returns to work. After that, he will be sent back home to his own country, where he belongs.”

  There’s a long pause as her words echo through the auditorium.

  “But what about the other sick kids?” a voice calls out, breaking the silence. For once it isn’t Anton asking a question. It’s Krysta. She comes out from backstage and stares her mother down. “What’s going to happen to them? The ones who were born here?”

  Mrs. Perez looks thrown for a moment. Then she regains her composure and says calmly, “Our doctors are doing the best they can, and we’re recruiting volunteer staff.”

  “But there’s not enough Amber, is there?” Yuli asks, stepping out onstage, with Ava at her side. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Yuli speak so loudly.

  “Not at the moment,” Mrs. Perez says. “But we’re looking into different options.”

  The principal rushes over to try to stop whatever this is, but Eileen steps out first.

  “Mrs. Perez, how can you talk about following the rules when your own family hasn’t been following them? When the mayor almost died because he took too much Amber?” Eileen’s voice cracks, and I can tell she’s remembering the day when she could have died too.

  Mrs. Perez opens her mouth, but then she closes it again, as if she’s at a loss for words.

  After that, the questions really start. “What if we get really sick?” Anton calls out from a couple of rows ahead of me. “What will happen to us?”

  “Why aren’t there more doctors?” someone else yells.

  More kids in the audience start calling out while the principal practically pushes Krysta and the other girls off the stage. Then he goes up to the microphone and demands silence or he’ll start handing out detentions.

  Finally the kids quiet down, and Mrs. Perez starts reading her husband’s speech. But no one’s listening; anger sizzles through the crowd like water boiling. It’s more than that, though. It’s fear.

  I realize that my parents were right. All of this—the protests, the attacks—are because people are afraid. Just as I’ve been afraid for years and years. Maybe for my entire life.

  I’m not afraid anymore.

  Suddenly I know what to do. I get to my feet and hurry toward the front of the auditorium.

  “Back to your seat,” the principal hisses at me when I get to the stairs leading up to the stage.

  The familiar warnings sound in my head. Careful, Mira. Don’t stand out. Blend. But I’m through listening to those warnings.

  “Mrs. Perez!” I yell, interrupting her speech. “I know the answer! I know how we can help the sick kids!” I’m surprised by how loud my voice sounds, how it booms through the auditorium, demanding to be heard.

  Mrs. Perez glances in my direction, and when she sees that it’s me, her face hardens. She turns back to the microphone, pretending she didn’t hear me, and continues reading.

  “I know how we can help the sick kids!” I shout again, even more loudly, but Mrs. Perez still ignores me.

  “Get back to your seat now, or you’ll be suspended,” the principal tells me. He grabs my arm, but a roar of protest echoes through the auditorium.

  “Leave Mira alone!” someone cries. “Her dad saved the mayor’s life!”

  The principal gives me a surprised look. “You’re Mira?” I guess he’s never had a reason to notice me before.

  “Hear her out!” a few of the kids yell. Some others join in, chanting, “Let her talk,” until Mrs. Perez can’t ignore them anymore.

  She stops trying to read her husband’s speech and comes down the steps toward me. Then she waves me out into the hall, clearly unwilling to let anyone else in on our conversation. As I follow her, I hear the principal scrambling to get the assembly back on track.

  When we’re alone in the hallway, Mrs. Perez puts her hands on her hips. “What is so important?”

  “I propose a trade,” I say. “My dad used to be a doctor. Mikey’s aunt was a nurse. If you let Mikey stay, they can help treat the people who are sick.”

  Mrs. Perez rolls her eyes. “One doctor and one nurse won’t be much help, when the hospital waiting room is spilling out onto the streets.”

  “Well, Westbrook only has one of each right now,” I say. “And my dad and Mikey’s aunt know how to heal people without Amber. They can help train your volunteers.”

  “Your father barely speaks the language,” Mrs. Perez says. “How will he train anyone?”

  “I’ll translate for him.” My brain clicks with an idea. “And I’ll help him write a training manual so that you’ll be able to teach lots of people how to heal without Amber.”

  But Mrs. Perez shakes her head, as if she’s barely listening. “My husband can’t simply let that little boy go. If we let him stay, what will that say to everyone else who’s here illegally?”

  “You mean to people like Grandma and Grandpa?” Krysta’s voice rings out behind me. “Dad’s parents came here when they weren’t supposed to, didn’t they?” She comes to stand beside me and links her arm through mine.

  Mrs. Perez looks surprised for a moment, probably wondering how Krysta knows the truth about her grandparents. Then she says, “There was a war. Your father’s parents did what they had to do. But they still broke the law. We can’t forget that.”

  As much as I hate to admit it, I see her point. The laws might be unfair, but like Miss Patel said, there’s a process to change them. It won’t happen overnight.

  “Then at least let the doctors cure Mikey before you send him back,” I plead. He might be stable now, but once the Amber works itself out of his system, he’ll start getting sick all over again.

  “Do you know how much
Amber it would take to cure him?” Mrs. Perez asks. “The hospital can’t afford to give that away, especially not to an outsider.”

  “But we can,” Krysta says. “I bet we have more than enough in our well.”

  Mrs. Perez’s eyes dart around the empty hallway, as if she’s afraid someone will overhear. “Without that well,” she says in a harsh whisper, “we’ll be—”

  “Just like everyone else,” Krysta breaks in. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

  Mrs. Perez lets out a hiss as she looks at me. “You,” she says. “You’ve put all of these foolish ideas into my daughter’s head. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

  Before I can say anything, Krysta breaks in and says, “You’re one to talk, Mom.”

  Mrs. Perez glares at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I know what you did,” Krysta says. “I followed you that night. I saw you throwing tomatoes at Mira’s house.”

  Mrs. Perez freezes for a moment. Then she rolls her eyes and says, “Who cares about a few tomatoes?”

  “Mom, I found the shoes you hid in the garage,” Krysta goes on. “The ones with spray paint all over them.” She turns to me. “It was the same color as the writing on your car.”

  I stare at Mrs. Perez. “You’re the one who put that sign on our lawn and broke our window?” I ask. I shouldn’t be surprised, not when we’ve made Mrs. Perez’s lovely little neighborhood imperfect with our accents and our scraggly lawn.

  Mrs. Perez’s face tightens. For once, she doesn’t look perfectly composed and flawless.

  Without another word, she turns and walks away. But she doesn’t go back into the auditorium. Instead she hurries out of the school as if she’s scared she’s being chased.

  38

  I failed. That’s the only thought running through my head as I sit in my room after school the next day, staring at my wildflower project with its bright A+ on top. I should be jumping around. I should be happy. This is what I wanted. But the grade barely matters anymore. In a way, it feels as though the Amber got the grade, not me. If I’d done it all without the magic, would I still have aced the project? I guess I’ll never know.