DEDICATION
For Ellen Evangelista
and Kate Zaparaniuk
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One: Ava
Chapter Two: Ava
Chapter Three: Ava
Chapter Four: Ava
Chapter Five: Emily, Age Eight
Chapter Six: Ava
Chapter Seven: Ava
Chapter Eight: Emily, Age Eleven
Chapter Nine: Ava
Chapter Ten: Emily, Age Thirteen
Chapter Eleven: Ava
Chapter Twelve: Emily, Age Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen: Ava
Chapter Fourteen: Emily, Age Thirteen
Chapter Fifteen: Ava
Chapter Sixteen: Emily, Age Thirteen
Chapter Seventeen: Ava
Chapter Eighteen: Ava
Chapter Nineteen: Ava
Chapter Twenty: Emily, Age Thirteen
Chapter Twenty-One: Ava
Chapter Twenty-Two: Emily, Age Thirteen
Prologue: eugolorP
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Lauren Myracle
Back Ad
Copyright
About the Publisher
I wish for the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all.
—KLARA BLOK, AGE THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER ONE
Ava
“My Wishing Day is in two days,” Ava said. Somehow, incomprehensibly, her sisters seemed oblivious to the urgency of the situation. That’s why she’d called this emergency powwow under the ancient willow tree—only they still weren’t taking it seriously. “We have to figure out what I should wish for. I’m our last hope!”
“Our last hope?” Darya said. “Like Obi-Wan Kenobi?” She leaned over and rubbed the top of Ava’s head with her knuckles. “You are so cute.”
Ava ducked free. “I’m not cute. Stop saying that!”
“Natasha, we’re not allowed to tell Ava she’s cute anymore.” Darya held up her hands, palms out. “Her words, not mine.”
Natasha half smiled. “But you are cute, Ava. You’re adorable, inside and out.”
Ava wanted to thwack her palm against her forehead. Labels like “cute” and “adorable” drove her up the wall. They were so . . . small. There was no way a handful of adjectives could sum up Ava’s essence.
The same held true for her sisters. Fourteen-year-old Natasha, for example, was usually described as pretty, with thick, dark hair like Mama’s. But she was so much more than “pretty.” She was solemn, bookish, and compassionate. She believed in fairness. She wanted to make the world a better place. Didn’t those qualities matter more than what Natasha looked like?
Darya was the middle sister, five and a half months older than Ava and ten months younger than Natasha. If Ava was cute and Natasha pretty, then Darya—it had to be said—was stunning. Her auburn curls tumbled down her back, a torrent of liquid gold. People stopped her on the street and asked if they could touch it—for real. Darya rolled her eyes, but only for show. In truth, Darya lapped up the attention.
Darya was also impatient, opinionated, and prickly, especially if things didn’t go her way. And she was funny, and she was loyal, and she cared about things far more than she let on.
Ava struggled to untangle her thoughts, which flew all over the place when she grappled with the question of identity. Like why were girls, especially, judged on how they looked?
When Ava was younger, things were simpler. If someone had asked her who she was, she’d have said, “Um, I’m Ava,” and she’d have given the person a funny look.
Now that she was older, Ava wondered if anybody knew who they were, really and truly. Yes, Ava was Ava. Yes, she was probably cute, as Darya and Natasha insisted. To them, she was the cute sister, the dreamy sister, the baby sister.
But surely she was more than that. She had to be, because her family was broken, and she was the only person left to set things right. She leaned against the rough bark of the willow tree and sighed. She looked pointedly at her journal, whose pages she’d planned to fill with Natasha’s and Darya’s advice. It remained closed on her lap, its pages blank. She sighed again.
“Omigosh, enough with the sighing,” Darya said.
“Then help me!” Ava pleaded. “Don’t you want our family to be whole again?”
“Our family is whole again,” Darya said. “Mama came back. She’s not missing anymore.”
Ava dragged her hand over her face. “Mama is back in Willow Hill, yes. But come on. She’s been hiding out in Aunt Elena’s apartment for over a year. No one knows except Aunt Elena and the three of us. Not even Papa!”
“So?” Darya said. “She isn’t gone anymore. That’s what matters. She returned from . . . well, wherever she was all those years. And for that, we have Natasha to thank.” Darya dipped her head at Natasha. “Thank you, Natasha.”
“You’re welcome?” said Natasha.
“And, Natasha didn’t force us into a group huddle before her Wishing Day,” Darya continued. “She made her Wishing Day wishes and moved on.”
“I don’t understand how you’re okay with this,” Ava said.
“I’ll tell you how. Because thanks to one of my Wishing Day wishes, Mama is going to tell Papa that she’s back,” Darya said. For just a moment, she faltered. “She promised.”
“She made that promise in October,” Ava protested. “It’s the middle of May, Darya. It’s been over half a year.”
Darya fluttered her fingers.
“Plus, Angela’s been added to the picture, also thanks to you,” Ava said. “I’m not saying that to make you feel bad, but it’s true.”
“I wished for Papa to be happy again, and he is. So sue me.”
“Happy?” asked Natasha. “Happier, maybe. But that wouldn’t take much.”
The three sisters fell silent, because when Mama disappeared so many years ago, Papa disappeared, too. No, he hadn’t abandoned them the way Mama had. He had probably even done his best to handle what had been thrown at him. Just, his best wasn’t all that great.
“For the record, I never intended for Papa to meet a hippie-chick jewelry maker at one of those craft fairs his life revolves around,” Darya grumbled. “She doesn’t even make good jewelry. Couldn’t she at least make good jewelry?”
“I like Angela,” Natasha said. She regarded the cuff bracelet circling her slender wrist. “I like her jewelry, too. That doesn’t mean I want her to be Papa’s girlfriend.”
Ava gathered her courage. “Mama hiding out at Aunt Elena’s is bad,” she said. “Angela hanging around Papa is also bad.” She tilted her head and studied the maze of leaves and branches above her. So many interwoven strands. Reluctantly, she brought her gaze down. “But the real problem
