You have so much, Tally had said, as if that made her betrayal okay. You have no idea how lucky you are.
Maybe, but Tally had no idea how lucky she was, either. Like with her art, and how talented she was. Darya could . . . she could wish to be even more talented than Tally! That would show her!
Something shuddered through Darya. She whirled around, but saw nothing except for the swaying, frost-laden branches of the willow.
And down will come bay-bee . . .
But no, nobody had to come down, and she would not use her final wish that way, whether the ritual was real or make-believe. That’s what Mama had done. Darya refused to follow in her footsteps.
“I wish Papa would be happy again,” she said in a rush, and there, see? She did wish that, and she’d been unselfish, and . . . it was done.
It was done.
She pushed through the willow’s canopy of branches and stepped back into the real world. A breeze made goose pimples raise on her flesh, but other than that, she felt like the same old Darya. Well, what else did she expect?
Back at the house, she took off her boots and tiptoed upstairs, planning to turn around when she reached the top and clatter back down. She could get breakfast started as a surprise for Aunt Vera. She could continue to be unselfish. She could turn over a new leaf.
But she was so drowsy. Impossibly drowsy.
She climbed into her bed and nestled under the covers, intending to take a power nap. The next thing she knew, an enormous owl grabbed her with its talons. The owl soared up, and Darya found herself on top of the owl’s broad back, holding tight to its feathers and clamping her thighs around its huge warm body.
The owl became a car. Darya was the driver. The steering wheel spun loosely, and the road came at her with whips and curves and then the steepest hill she could ever imagine. A roller-coaster hill that the car relentlessly climbed, crick crick crick. And then the road ended, and the car kept going, soaring into . . . nothing.
And yet, as she floated through silence, she wasn’t gripped by terror. Instead, she felt bubble-wrapped in safety.
Let go, her dream self told her. Everything’s going to work out.
Someone rapped on her door, and she woke up.
“Yeah?” she said.
“It’s your Wishing Day!” Ava crowed, bursting into the room. She hip-hopped to Darya’s bed and dropped onto the mattress. She bounced Darya up and down. “Aren’t you excited? Aren’t you so so SO excited?!”
“No,” Darya said.
“Yes you are. Don’t say that.” Ava punched Darya in the shoulder, then stopped bouncing. She peered at Darya, taking Darya’s face in her hands and turning her this way and that. “Something’s different about you. What’d you do?”
“Nothing,” Darya said.
Ava stroked Darya’s cheek.
Darya swatted her away.
“What? I can’t touch you now?”
“You can touch me. Just, stop being weird.”
Ava made a whatever gesture. “Anyway, Natasha and I think we should go with you to the willow tree instead of the aunts. Do you want to go now or after breakfast? Or would you rather go tonight?”
“Um . . . I’ve already gone.”
“You already went? By yourself? Did you make your wishes?”
Darya’s heart constricted at Ava’s need to double-check that not only did Darya go to the willow tree by herself, but that yes, she remembered to make her wishes when she was there.
She flung back her covers to show Ava her pajamas, socks, and army jacket.
“Oh,” Ava said. She glanced at Darya as if for permission. Darya sighed, then nodded. Ava ran her finger over the vine on Darya’s jacket. “It was cold, huh? You must have been up early.”
Darya could see her sister framing her next question. She answered before Ava could speak.
“I’m not telling you, Ava.”
“Right,” Ava said, blushing. She scanned Darya’s room. “Well, you didn’t wish for a pony, or we’d see it.”
“Because the pony would be in my bedroom?”
Ava furrowed her brow. She hopped off the bed and went to the window, and Darya half smiled.
Natasha appeared in the doorway. “Happy Wishing Day.”
“Thanks.”
Ava filled Natasha in about how Darya had already made her wishes. Natasha listened and nodded. She studied Darya in a way that made Darya want to pull the covers over her head. Natasha wasn’t going to try to touch Darya too, was she?
Darya kicked the covers all the way off, stood up, and herded her sisters out of her room.
At her dresser, she leaned forward, examining her reflection in the attached mirror. Clear skin, curly hair, the same unruly cowlick as always, a thick lock of hair that refused to lie the right way. She looked good. Not great, not horrible, but good. Normal.
The only real difference was that she was wearing her army jacket over her pajamas. The shirt part was white and soft and had a picture of a kitten on it, and there was something . . . interesting about the contrast between squishy adorable cute and army jacket tough.
Hmm.
She decided to switch out her PJ bottoms for jeans (duh), but to keep on her PJ top and let that be her shirt for the day (after wiggling into a bra). (Duh.) She left her hair bedhead messy and didn’t attempt to tame her cowlick. When she gave herself a final glance in the mirror, she liked what she saw. She felt kind of cool.
She felt cool for the entire day, strangely enough. It was some sort of fluke, obviously. But she deserved a fluke, she decided. She’d take what she could.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Friday was Halloween, and at Willow Hill Middle School, kids were allowed to celebrate Halloween by going to school in costume, as long as there weren’t guns, knives, or gore involved, or skirts that left too little to the imagination.
Darya decided to go as herself, but gypsy-style. A wild girl, striding through life with her wishes behind her and the future hers to claim. She wore a flowy skirt, a cream-colored peasant blouse, and a gauzy scarf from Ava. Dangly earrings that chimed when she moved. Sandals to show off cherry-red toenails, despite the chilly weather, because gypsies and bare feet went together like jam and toast. To top it off, her army jacket.
She gave herself a once-over in her mirror, noting that again, she looked kind of . . . good. She adjusted a curl, and there. Done.
On the way to school, two middle-aged mom-types complimented her costume, one of them saying to the other, “Now that is a cute outfit. Cute and hip. We were never that hip, were we, Doris?”
“Never,” Doris said. She smiled at Darya, then made a surprised O with her mouth. “You’re Nate Blok’s daughter, aren’t you?”
“Um . . . yeah?” Darya said. Outside of their family, people called Papa “Nathaniel,” not Nate. She put on a friendly face and crinkled her nose to say, And you are . . . ?
“Oh, I’m Angela’s friend,” the Doris lady said. “So nice to meet you!”
Well, that clears it up, Darya thought. Who’s Angela? She looked at the other woman. Was she Angela?
“I’m Nina,” the woman said, offering her hand. Darya shook it, but shaking hands with grown-ups was weird, she decided.
“Tell your dad hi from us!” Doris said.
“Okay, I will!” Darya replied.
“Have a great day!”
“You, too!”
Weird, she thought again when the women moved along.
School was fine. Her friends were fine. They asked questions about her Wishing Day, but they knew better than to push overly hard. Anyway, it was Halloween.
Steph had dressed up as a princess. Her blond hair cascaded in complicated twists and braids down her back. Her skin glowed. Her lips, as red as Darya’s toenails, formed a perfect lush bow. When she spotted Darya, her eyes lit up and sparkled and did all of the shiny, marvelous things eyes should do.
That was magic, Darya thought.
Suki was an emoji, or maybe
an anime girl with big anime eyes. She looked adorable.
Tally was absent.
Darya had geared herself up for seeing her—might as well get it over with, she’d told herself—but it turned out she didn’t have to. Great. Terrific. Only, where was she?
After third period, when she should have seen Tally in the art room, Darya found Suki and dragged her into an empty classroom.
“Do you know where Tally is?” she said.
Suki’s eyes widened. She kept her gaze firmly on Darya’s, but maintaining eye contact at all costs was actually Suki’s tell. When Suki glanced here, there, and everywhere, that was Suki being Suki. When Suki looked straight at you, she was saying, Look! I’m looking straight at you! I’m not hiding anything, no way!
“She’s sick?” Suki said.
What is Suki hiding? Darya wondered. “Bummer. With what?”
“The flu?”
“Wow, poor Tally. I hung out with her on Wednesday, and she was fine.”
“It came on quick.”
“Yeah, that happens. What did she not want you to tell me?”
“That her mom might be coming to visit! Isn’t that awesome?”
“Huh,” Darya said.
Suki clapped her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t say that. I really didn’t!”
“Why didn’t she want you to tell me?”
Suki squirmed.
“Suki . . .”
“She thinks you’re mad at her. She . . . didn’t want you to be jealous.”
“Well, I’m not,” Darya said, not knowing how she felt. “But, so what. She stayed home in order to see her?”
“She skipped. She didn’t want to miss her mom’s call, if she called.” Suki frowned. “It was kind of random, actually. Like, why all of a sudden? And couldn’t her mom text?”
It broke Darya’s heart a little. Couldn’t Tally’s mom just text? Sure, in Suki’s world. In Tally’s world, things weren’t as straightforward. In Darya’s world, even less so. Darya didn’t even have a cell phone.
“Maybe she didn’t want to get busted for using her phone at school,” Darya said. “I mean, teachers. Am I right?”
Suki tilted her head.
“I think that’s awesome, about Tally’s mom. Tell her that for me, will you?” She squeezed Suki’s shoulder. “When she gets better, I mean.”
That evening, Darya went trick-or-treating with Ava—just to be a good big sister, of course. Strangers filled their pillowcases to the brim with fun-size Snickers and baby Kit Kats and miniature Reese’s Cups.
When they returned home, Papa had a treat for them as well. Or maybe a trick, as his gifts gave Darya a funny feeling. He gave both Ava and Darya a slim silver cuff bracelet, each with a different word or saying stamped into it. Ava’s said “Dreamer.” Darya’s said “Stay True.”
“Thanks, Papa!” Ava said, flinging herself at him and hugging him. “Did Angela make them? They look like the ones Angela makes. Did you give Natasha one, too? What does hers say?”
“Angela?” Darya said.
“Papa’s friend from the art festival,” Ava said. “I told you.”
Papa turned red. “She hoped you girls might like them. I hope you like them.”
Darya had no words. She seriously had no words. Was Papa blushing?!
Papa cleared his throat. “And, ah, Natasha’s says ‘Wisdom.’”
Ava slipped hers on. “It fits! It’s actually small enough to fit my wrist!”
“I told her what a hard time we’ve had, finding bracelets that don’t slip off you,” Papa said.
Darya found her voice. “No, we haven’t.”
“Yes, we have,” Ava said, looking at her funny.
“Really? Just how often have you and Papa gone bracelet shopping, and where was I all those times?” She felt a tumble of emotions. “And why does Natasha’s say ‘Wisdom,’ but mine says ‘Stay True’? Stay true to what?”
“Angela, I told her about all three of you girls, she picked them out,” Papa said.
“Well, fantastic,” Darya said. “Did Doris help? And Nina?”
Papa retreated into his shell. “I don’t know Doris and Nina. I’m going back to my studio. I’ve got some work to finish.”
“Thanks for the bracelet, Papa!” Ava said. “And tell Angela thanks.”
She elbowed Darya.
“Thanks, Papa,” she said. She wiggled the bracelet onto her wrist, then promptly wiggled it off once Papa left and gave it to Ava. “Here, now you have two bracelets small enough to actually fit.”
“You don’t want yours?” Ava said. “Angela’s not . . . there’s nothing wrong with her.”
“Never said there was.”
“She’s Papa’s friend, that’s all. If you were thinking anything different.”
“I wasn’t. Were you?”
“Not until now!” Ava fidgeted. “No. She’s his friend, and that’s all, and I’m glad he has her—but not in that way.” She stomped her foot. “You’re making things weird. Don’t you want Papa to be happy?”
Darya’s stomach flipped. Of course she wanted Papa to be happy.
“You’ve met this Angela person. I haven’t. So sure, I’ll go with whatever you say.” She tossed the bracelet, and Ava caught it. “You can stay true for both of us.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Thursday was Darya’s Wishing Day, Friday was Halloween, and Saturday, November first, it was Natasha’s birthday. The days felt crowded, bam bam bam.
“Crap, I forgot to get you a present!” Darya said over breakfast. She, Natasha, and Ava sat at the table by themselves. Aunt Vera was upstairs, and Papa was in his workshop.
“Don’t worry about it,” Natasha said, waving her hand. “There’s been a lot going on.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Maybe you did give me a present, and you just don’t know it. Or maybe it’s invisible.” She gave Darya a cryptic look and took a bite of her muffin.
“No,” Darya said. “Sorry . . . but no.”
Natasha chewed and swallowed. She looked at Darya probingly. “You didn’t make a wish about Mama? You didn’t make a wish about Emily?”
Darya felt like growling.
“If you say so,” Natasha said. “Anyway, I don’t need presents. It’s all good.” Natasha took another bite of muffin, and something shiny caught the light. A silver cuff bracelet, reminding Natasha of all the wisdom she possessed.
“Hey, we’re stair steps again,” Ava said. She was referring to the fact that for four and a half months, Natasha, Darya, and Ava would each be one year older than the next: Natasha, fourteen; Darya, thirteen; Ava, twelve.
In March, Ava would turn thirteen, and Ava’s and Darya’s ages would overlap.
On the third day of the third month of Ava’s thirteenth year . . .
The world was moving forward. It would always be moving forward, and before long, Ava would have her Wishing Day. Poor Ava.
After breakfast, Natasha pulled Darya aside. “Later I’m meeting Mama at Little Bird Bakery. Do you want to come?”
“No thanks,” Darya said.
“Ava’s going to join us. So is Aunt Elena.”
Darya tightened inside. “No thanks,” she said again.
Natasha sighed. “Mama was afraid you were going to be like this. Well . . . she says hi, and that she hopes you’ll come see her soon.”
I wish Nathaniel would see me, really see me, the way I see him.
—ANGELA BROWN, AGE THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
After a week’s absence, Tally came back to school. Darya found her in the art room, sitting on a stool at the drafting table. Her head was bowed, and she was concentrating on her drawing.
“Finally,” she said, dropping onto the stool beside her. “Where have you been?”
“Sick,” Tally said. She smiled, but it wasn’t her normal smile. “The flu.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Think whatever you want,” Tally said. She r
eturned to her project, a sketch of a mother and daughter, holding hands. Or Darya assumed it was a mother and a daughter. The mother had long hair and a sad smile. The daughter looked a little like a much younger Tally.
“I’d rather think the truth,” Darya said. “How about you tell me that?”
Tally didn’t speak for a while. Then she said, “Fine. Yes, I saw my mom.”
The world split in two. There was Darya in the art room, and there was Darya on her Wishing Day, alone at the top of Willow Hill. The deepest wish of my secret heart . . .
She’d considered giving Tally her wish, knowing that Tally would wish for something good, something that had to do with her mother.
But she hadn’t.
And yet.
Darya grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper and dashed off a drawing of a mason jar filled with daisies. It looked like an illustration for a “Deepest Sympathies” card, only more generic.
“That’s awesome,” she managed.
“You sound jealous,” Tally said. “Truth: Are you jealous?”
Darya gestured at Tally’s drawing. “Is that, like, the two of you?”
“Is that a yes?”
Ms. Braswell, an English teacher, entered the classroom, followed by several members of the literary magazine. Suki, who was the poetry editor, grinned and waved.
“Darya, Tally! Hello!” Ms. Braswell said. Tally hunched forward to hide her drawing, but she was too late. Ms. Braswell gasped and held it aloft.
Darya and Tally stared at each other. Darya looked away first.
“Tally, this is extraordinary. Clean, simple, and without a pencil mark wasted.” She clearly didn’t see how uncomfortable Tally was. “Something like this would be perfect for the lit mag’s cover illustration.”
“Or you could use Darya’s,” Tally blurted. “It’s of flowers.”
Darya shot her a look.
“What? Everyone likes flowers.”
“Yes, and Darya, your picture is lovely,” Ms. Braswell said after giving it the briefest of looks. “But Tally, yours communicates such emotion.”