“‘Yeah, right,’ what?” Ava said. “You know that a girl’s Wishing Day is determined by when her birthday is, don’t you?”
Tally looked wary.
“Well, when’s your mom’s birthday?”
“In March.”
“March what?”
Tally looked alarmed. Had she been hoping Ava’s face would fall? That Ava would admit that her mother’s birthday wasn’t in March?
“Just March,” said Tally.
“Okay, well, my mom’s birthday is March thirteenth,” Ava said. She kept an eye on Tally, but Tally had regained control. She kept her face blank.
“Anyway, my mom and Emily were going to make their wishes together, at sunrise,” Ava said. “But my mom made hers early.”
“Why?”
“Because someone gave her bad advice,” Ava said, oddly reluctant to throw the Bird Lady under the bus.
Then again, the Bird Lady had thrown Emily under the bus, so to speak.
“It was the Bird Lady,” Ava admitted. “The Bird Lady told my mom to wish that she’d won that contest instead of your mom. Hold on . . . do you know about the contest?”
“Yes, I know about the contest,” Tally said dangerously. Now, instead of drumming her fingers against her leg, she was clenching and unclenching her fist.
“And . . . so . . . she did,” Ava said. “My mom wished that she was the one who’d won the contest. She did it to impress my dad, and the Bird Lady said it was fine, and even your mom—I mean, Emily—well, my mom said Emily didn’t care all that much about the contest.”
“Your mother wished that she had won the contest, even though someone else had already won,” Tally said.
“Well, yes.”
“And now you’re telling me that the Emily who rightfully won the contest was my mom, whose name is also Emily.”
“Um. Yes.”
“Which means, if the Emilys are one and the same, that your mother erased my mother. That’s what you’re saying? That’s what you believe?”
It sounded awful. It was awful, and Ava tried to let Tally have her anger. She tried not to think about the fact that every second they spent on this now was a second lost for other things. Tick tock, tick tock.
“When your mom left, when you were three or whatever, she walked away on her own two feet,” Tally said. “When my mom left—and this is what you’re telling me, right?—when she left, it was because of your mom’s wish? As in . . . poof? Here one moment, gone the next? My mom did nothing wrong, and yet she’s the one who disappeared?”
“Yes, but I’m going to bring her back,” Ava declared. “And you’re going to help.”
“Like heck I am!”
They reached the lake. Tally stood beside her, radiating hostility. Gazing at the water, Ava explained what she was going to do.
Tally laughed, not in a nice way. “Yeah, that’s a great plan. Sheesh, Ava.”
“It might not be a great plan, but it’s the only plan I’ve got,” said Ava. “And you’re the only one who can help me.” She swiveled to regard Tally.
“Um, no. You could find a random stranger on the street to help you.”
“Yeah, sure, a random stranger. Because that’s how these things work.”
“‘These things’?” Tally barked a laugh. “There’s no such thing as ‘these things.’”
Ava leveled Tally with a stare. “Fine. You, Tally, are the only person with the incentive to help me.” She gave each word the weight it deserved. “Don’t you want your mom back?”
Tally made a sour expression.
Ava held her ground.
Tally scanned the lake, the path that circled the lake, and the vacant bench swing several yards from the lake. Then she looked at Ava. Then she looked at the lake again.
“Come on,” Ava said. “It’s really not that big of a deal.” All Ava was asking was that Tally stick around while Ava was underwater, which would take two minutes, tops. If Ava didn’t surface before the two-minute mark—which she would, but just if—then Tally would pull her out. Two minutes was the longest most people could hold their breath before passing out, but even if Ava passed out—which she wouldn’t—it wasn’t as if she’d die.
Ava took a step forward. She took another step forward. She made her feet move—step, step, step; again, again, again—until she reached the water’s edge, where she kicked off her sneakers and pulled off her socks.
Which she tucked neatly into her shoes, the left sock into the left shoe and the right sock into the right shoe.
“Ava,” Tally protested unconvincingly.
Ava found herself more nervous than she’d anticipated. “I’m going!” she called to Tally over her shoulder. “I really am!”
Tally made an antsy huff that meant do it or don’t. Ava didn’t check, but she imagined Tally crossing her arms, maybe even tapping her toes.
Just relax, Ava almost called, but she stopped herself in time, not wanting to give Tally any reason to storm away.
Her own thoughts looped through her brain, and she got the chills.
I stopped myself in time, she silently repeated.
I stopped.
Myself.
In time.
She imagined a bug caught in amber, trapped in time forever. Except not trapped, and not forever. That was why Tally was here to babysit her.
Ava stepped into the lake, and the shock of the cold water jolted her into a state of hyperawareness. The sky was infinite, with a feathering of dove-white clouds. Diamonds of sunlight danced over the lake. A breeze lifted her hair and swooshed through the leaves of the nearby wax myrtles, making them stir.
Ava waded deeper in.
“Wait!” Tally called.
Ava turned around.
“Aren’t you afraid?” Tally asked.
Ava lifted her eyebrows. Tally had gone on and on about how dumb Ava’s plan was, but this was the first time she’d shown any anxiety for Ava’s well-being.
“Yes,” Ava answered honestly. “But I’m still going to do it.”
Tally slipped off her shoes and socks and rolled up her jeans. She splashed through the water until she stood beside Ava.
Ava could hardly breathe. “Does this mean you’ll do it? You’ll spot me?”
Tally folded her arms over her chest, and Ava was overcome by a swell of gratitude. She loved that people were always more textured than they first seemed. She loved that there were layers and layers and layers to everyone.
