Wishing Day by Lauren Myracle Read Free Book Online Page A

Molly’s wrist. Molly’s eyes widened. “Look out the window. The Bird Lady’s right there!”
    Molly turned and squinted through the glass. Snow fell thickly from the gray sky. The old lady was gone.
    â€œYou are so random, Natasha,” Molly said. “First you say there’s a bird in the cafeteria, only ha ha, not really. Then, ‘Look, there’s an old lady!’, only not really again. And then you completely zoned out, like you weren’t even here.”
    â€œThere was an old lady,” Natasha said.
    â€œYeah, this morning on your way to school,” Mollysaid. She took a sip of her Sesame Street smoothie.
    â€œAnd the bird—you saw the bird!” Natasha cried. “You fed the bird!” She gestured at the floor beneath Molly’s chair, where Molly had dropped the bread crumbs.
    They weren’t there.
    She glanced up and around the cafeteria ceiling.
    No bird. Not even a feather.
    â€œNatasha?” Molly said.
    Natasha looked out the window. Then she looked at Earbud Boy, who held a graphic novel in one hand and his sandwich in the other. There were bite marks on the sandwich, but no missing strip of crust.
    The little hairs on the back of Natasha’s neck stood up.
    It was as if the real world had collided with a hidden world, a world which other people couldn’t see. Possible and impossible, tangled hopelessly together.

     
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  I wish to be in charge of something,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  so I can boss people around
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  and they’ll have to listen.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  — V ERA K OVROV, AGE THIRTEEN

CHAPTER SEVEN
    N atasha stayed on high alert for the next several days, waiting for more odd things to happen.
    When nothing did, she felt curiously let down.
    Then, four days after her encounter with the Bird Lady, she overheard her aunts talking about her. It was Tuesday morning, and Natasha was heading downstairs for breakfast. She froze.
    â€œ. . . but what you don’t seem to understand is that I want what’s best for her too,” Aunt Vera was saying. “Natasha was five years old when Klara left. Five years old!”
    â€œYes, Vera,” Aunt Elena said. “I was there, too.”
    â€œShe’d started kindergarten only days before, and afterward, for weeks, she said, ‘Why isn’t Mama taking me? Why can’t Mama pack my lunch?’”
    â€œIt broke my heart,” Aunt Elena said.
    â€œ Klara broke her heart,” Aunt Vera said. There was an edge to her voice. “Klara broke everyone’s hearts.”
    â€œVera, please. I’m not trying to rewrite history,” Aunt Elena said. “I just . . . I don’t want you to erase history.”
    â€œThe past belongs in the past,” Aunt Vera said. “I told you that on Natasha’s Wishing Day. I told you nothing good would come of it.”
    â€œHow do we know nothing good came of it? How do we know if anything happened at all, since we don’t know what she wished for?”
    â€œElena, leave it alone,” Aunt Vera said.
    Aunt Elena lowered her voice, and Natasha strained to hear. “Klara never told me her wishes, either. Did she tell you?”
    Silence.
    â€œThe girls used to ask. They asked what our wishes were and what their mother’s wishes had been,” Aunt Elena said.
    â€œNot Darya.”
    â€œYes, even Darya. They adored talking aboutWishing Day—until they learned not to.”
    â€œ Learned not to. Exactly,” Aunt Vera said. “You say it as if I did something bad, but I did it to help them.”
    â€œWhy did you go with us to the top of Willow Hill, on Natasha’s Wishing Day?” Aunt Elena asked.
    â€œBecause . . . well, because . . .”
    â€œBecause one thing we do know is that Klara