That evening years before in the woods, they had walked down the hill toward the stream. As her dad helped her hop from rock to rock across the water, he said, “There’s more to the story. Ancient Greek tapestries, they told stories. When Arachne became a spider, her webs held stories, too. Some people still have the blood of Arachne in them. Some spiders, too.”
“That’s who made this Story Web?”
“Yes.”
“The spiders or the people?” Alice asked.
“Both. The people tell the stories out loud or on paper, and the spiders weave them into the web. We’re always making it and remaking it. It’s a very fragile thing. It needs constant monitoring. If you ever see another strand like that, you let me know. We’ll follow it together and check on the web.”
“Can everyone see the web?” she asked.
“No, only special people.”
“Can Mom see the web?”
“Oh, most definitely.”
“Can Uncle Donny?”
“When he’s not being a reprobate,” her dad replied.
“What’s a reprobate?”
“A punk up to no good.”
Alice considered this. “So you have to be good to see it?”
“You have to be quiet and pay attention. Uncle Donny can have a hard time being quiet.”
“I see,” Alice said, although she was not sure she did. Years later, she still wasn’t sure. She liked listening to her dad tell stories, though, so she said, “I see,” so that he would keep telling them. His book started off with a scary message about what would happen if stories weren’t shared—the Freezing. She had never liked that part and always flipped right past it. But she had liked the other stories, liked sitting in her father’s lap or curled up with her mother while he read them aloud.
They were all just stories, though. The Story Web was no more real than the gingerbread man or Red Riding Hood and the wolf.
But how had Melanie known about any of this?
All morning she wondered. It was nice to have something to think about other than her own invisibility. Maybe that’s why Izzy bumped into her on the way into the cafeteria. As a reminder. “Whoops,” Izzy said. “Didn’t see you there.”
Alice thought that would be the end of it, but then Izzy said, “So Lewis ditched you for the witch’s daughter?”
Alice realized then that Melanie was walking right in front of them.
Sadie, who was behind Izzy, started singing, “There’s a witch in the woods, woods, woods. She’ll get you good, good, good.”
Melanie’s back stiffened. Alice felt her palms itch, and she started to sweat. She remembered what her dad had said about the Bird House and the story of the witch living there. “You can tell a lot about a person by the stories they tell.”
Brady Sykes, who was walking by, joined in, louder than Sadie: “Her birds fly high, high, high. They’ll get your eye, eye, eye.”
Melanie hurried ahead.
“You don’t have to be so awful,” Alice muttered.
“Excuse me?” Izzy asked. She stopped just inside the cafeteria and glared her icy stare at Alice. It wasn’t so long ago that things were different.
It used to be that when Alice walked with Sadie and Izzy down the hall, people parted to get out of their way. Even kids in sixth and seventh grade would slide to the side to let them through. Alice liked the feeling. She missed it. She wasn’t sure why they weren’t her friends anymore. There were so many possible reasons. She hadn’t worn braids to the fifth-grade social the way they had agreed. When Brady asked her to dance that night, she said yes, even though Izzy had wanted to dance with him. But then she’d started crying right there on the dance floor. Was that it? Maybe there was no reason at all. Whatever the cause, now she was on the other side with no one behind her.
“Nothing,” Alice said.
She scurried over to the cafeteria line. Once she had her lunch, she planned to head to the library. All of a sudden, though, it was like something grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a good shake. She felt her jaw tighten the way it did when a player was racing down the ice toward her, puck dancing on his stick. She heard her dad’s words in her ear: Be Bold, Be Brave, Be Fierce. Maybe she couldn’t be bold or brave or fierce enough to stand up to Izzy, but she wasn’t going to run away. Not this time.
She sat at a table in the corner and started eating a fruit cup, invisible again, telling herself that the fruit didn’t feel like mush in her mouth.
Caw, caw, caw-caw!
Alice looked up just in time to see a crow swooping around the beams on the ceiling of the cafeteria. She ducked as it swooped. It shot back up and landed on one of the thick wooden crossbeams. Caw! Caw! It called out again, turning its head from side to side.
“What the—” Alice heard Sadie say.
“Is that a crow?” Emma Roberge asked. “A crow in the cafeteria?”
Ms. Bly, the lunchroom monitor, rushed forward. She stopped short beneath the crow. “Hey!” she yelled.
Caw! the crow called back.
That made everyone giggle, but the laughter was cut short as the crow, spotting something, took off from the crossbeam and dove.
The crow landed without a sound at the center of Alice’s table. Alice waved her hands at it frantically.
The crow lifted its beak and cocked its head to the side. It narrowed its red-rimmed eyes at her. Caw! Caw!
Alice clamped her mouth shut. The bird hopped around the table. It shook out its feathers.
Caw?
It sounded like a question. Before Alice could respond, a small trash can slammed down on top of the crow. The janitor, Mr. Charlie, said, “There we are. Safe and sound.”
Alice wasn’t sure if he meant the bird was safe or the kids.
“Go on along, Alice.”
Alice stood up but wasn’t sure where to go. She guessed it was the library after all. She felt eyes on her and turned. Izzy stared back at Alice, her lips twisted into a smile.
Waxwing knew that most of the other animals had little faith in her. She was small. Her call was not as loud as other birds. But Moose, who always loved a good story, pointed out that a small but mighty character was what this tale needed. Moose’s faith in her was what propelled her. She would not let him down.
She flew out of the woods and through the mist, dodging the dastardly cars and the cats who, as usual, had stayed away from the animal council. They were far too aloof for group gatherings.
Waxwing arrived right on time, flapping her small wings as the building came into view.
Closer.
Closer.
Smack!
Her whole body shook.
An invisible wall!
She flapped her wings and lifted into the air to try again.
Smash!
The same result? What enchantment surrounded this building?
She would remain undaunted. She had a mission to complete. A final time she tried. She circled above, round and round, and encountered no obstacles. Surely there was some way to defeat the spell that held the castle so protected.
Faster, she decided.
So she dove down.
Fast, fast, fast.
Crash!
She landed on the ground, her wing crumpled beneath her.
Her eyes filled with tears. She was glad none of the other birds were here to see that. Birds so rarely cry. But she was absolutely devastated. How could she be the messenger with a broken wing?
Alice watched a small bird with a yellow crown throw itself against the glass front door of the ice rink. It smashed into the glass, fell back, then flew up and tried again with the same result.
She stepped closer. The bird flew into the sky, a whir of gold and gray. Alice thought that was that, but then it rocketed back down and slammed into the door again. This time it fell backward and landed with a soft crash in the juniper bush that crept along the front of the ice rink.
Alice dropped her backpack and hurried toward the bush.
The bird’s body trembled. It was too far into the bush for her to reach, so she crouched and reached out with her damp pink palm.
She waited. Cold mist settled on her hand in tiny droplets.
A rustle came from the bush. She leaned forward, her hand curled in an invitation. Her breath came in white puffs above her blue and red scarf. She held still, stiller, stillest. The bird in the shrub held even more still. She thought if she could just stop moving long enough, the bird would forget she was a person, forget she was alive. It would hop right over to her hand, dainty as you please.
It’s hard to keep still, though. Hard to keep quiet, even when you’re an invisible girl.
It was no use. She was not going to be the type of girl who birds and forest animals flocked to. She was no Snow White.
“What are you doing?”
Startled, Alice rocked back and landed on her bum on the damp ground. “Oh,” she said. “It’s you.” She couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice. Lewis stood behind her with his hockey bag hooked over his shoulder. His Bruins hat with the stupidly large pom-pom rested toward the back of his head.
“Why are you beckoning that bush?” he asked.
“I’m not beckoning the bush.”
Lewis, a careful listener, asked, “What are you beckoning?”
There was a time when she would not have thought twice about telling Lewis that she was trying to help an injured bird. She would have told him because she told Lewis everything. Now, though, she hesitated.
The rustle came again. Lewis stepped closer. Alice pushed herself back up to her crouching position. Her butt was wet, but she didn’t care.
Bzeep. Zeeep.
It was the saddest bird call: small and fragile and lonely.
“It’s a bird!” Lewis exclaimed. He leaned closer. “It’s a cedar waxwing. At least, I think so. See the yellow on the tail and the red on the tips of the wings?”
“It was pounding itself against the door again and again,” she told him. Her voice came out hoarse like a creaking old door that had not been opened in a long while.
“Sometimes birds see their reflection in a window and attack it because they think it’s another bird moving in on their territory.”
The bird hadn’t seemed angry as it ran into the window. More like confused. It had been hitting the glass right next to the door handle.
“At my grandmother’s house,” Lewis went on, “she put a picture of an owl in the window to scare away this robin that kept crashing into her upstairs window. Maybe Coach should put a picture of a hawk or something in the door.”
“No,” Alice said. “It wasn’t like that. It was like it was trying to get inside, and now it’s hurt. If it would come out, I could help it.”
“You should probably let it be.”
The bird, though, did not seem to like this suggestion. It hopped toward Alice, flapping one wing while the other hung limp at its side.
“Look,” she said. “I think its wing is broken.”
The bird stopped.
Alice took a breath in and held it. She extended her hand again. The bird hopped right onto her palm. Alice lifted it so it was level with her face. It had a tuft of golden-brown feathers on top of its head, shooting back like a punk rock hairstyle. Its black eyes were surrounded by black feathers, making it look fierce, but when she looked more closely at the shiny black eyes, there was something familiar and kind about them. They reminded her of her father’s eyes, the way he could look right at you and seem to know what you were feeling.
“Whoa,” Lewis whispered.
Alice blinked, and the bird blinked back.
“This is getting really strange,” Lewis said. “First, the emu this morning, then the crow at lunch, and now this. It’s like the day of the birds.”
“I should get it a box,” Alice said.
“Then what?”
“I guess I’ll look after it until it’s well enough to fly again.” Alice knew her mother would never let her bring a wild bird into the house. Maybe she could find a way to sneak it in. She couldn’t let it go now that she had felt its soft feathers against her palm, felt its tiny heart beating.
“You could bring it to the Bird House,” Lewis joked.
“Very funny,” she said.
Before he could say anything else, she asked him to open the door for her. He did, holding it open as she walked through, cupping the bird in both hands.
“I’ll bring it up to the office,” she said, more to herself than to Lewis.
Lewis nodded toward the locker rooms. “I’ve got practice.”
“I know,” Alice said.
“I know you know,” Lewis replied. “I was just saying goodbye is all.”
“Goodbye.” She was already walking away from him, toward the stairs that led to the office. She didn’t see him watching her go, didn’t even feel his eyes on her, and she certainly didn’t feel the wish rising off him like steam.
4
In the rink office, Alice placed the bird onto her father’s desk. It hopped along the perimeter of it, stopping to look at the cup of pens, the small golden clock, and the Wayne Gretzky bobblehead. Alice sat in the old swivel office chair. She had carved her initials into the armrest when she was six or seven, and they were still there. The bird hopped onto the armrest and landed right on the letters.
“Spry,” she said, spinning herself back and forth. “Even with a broken wing. My dad would say you had good legs on you.”
At these words, the bird lowered its head.
“Anyway, I can’t keep you. I’m not allowed to have another pet. Just Jewel. That’s our cat, and we can only have her because she’s been around so long. Dad found her in his truck one morning. We’re not supposed to be pet people. Also, you’re a wild bird. Mrs. Zee said you should let wild animals be. I never should have helped you in the first place.” That didn’t sound right, though.
The bird hopped nearer to her.
“Aren’t you afraid of me?”
The bird hopped nearer still.
Alice propped her head on her hand so she could see the bird better. “Maybe I should take you to the Bird House,” she told it. “I mean, sure, it’s a little spooky, but you are a bird.”
The bird shook its head.
“Oh, so you’re not a bird? Let me guess, you’re a prince and if I kiss you, you’ll turn back into your human form. You’re tweeting up the wrong tree. Not interested.”
The bird scratched at the chair, then settled as if it were sitting in a nest.
Alice tried not to think about how she had said more words to this bird than she had to any human for as long as she could remember. Even if she still had friends, what would she say to them? She could not tell them the things she worried about—her father, mostly, but also her mother who worked so much. And Uncle Donny who was lonely without his brother and struggling to keep the rink going. He never said that to her, but she had a good sense that there was more money going out than coming in. Things she had never worried about before because her dad and Donny worried about them and kept that worry hidden between them. Now it was as clear as the first scratch on smooth ice.
“Wait here,” she said. Alice opened the small closet. She found a shoebox with a couple of old receipts in it. She put those in the file cabinet, then brought the box over and placed it in the seat of the chair. Without prompting, the bird hopped into the box and then looked at Alice with those silver-black eyes. “Like gray-eyed Athena,” Alice whispered, and decided that with eyes like Athena, the bird must be a girl.
The bird looked so small and the box too cold. Alice knew that some birds wove yarn into their nests. She and her parents had even once found a nest with an old snake skin twisted among the twigs. On top of the file cabinet was a mini teddy bear in a Bruins jersey. She pressed it into the side of the box, careful not to touch the bird. “Do you have a name, little bird?” she asked. “Everything has a name, I suppose.” The bird blinked her silver-black eyes slowly. “I co
uld give you a name. But that would be like a step toward making you a pet. And I already explained how I can’t make you a pet.” Even as she said this, she watched her finger reach out. The bird didn’t move. Alice held her breath. Then gently, ever so gently, she ran her finger over the top of the bird’s head.
The bird let out a sound like a sigh.
“Oh!” Alice gasped.
She ran her finger over her head again. Her feathers were as soft as kitten fur.
“My friend—well, my sort of friend—Lewis, he likes this book called My Side of the Mountain. The boy in that has a bird that isn’t really his pet but more like a friend, I’d say. He calls the bird Frightful, which I always thought was a strange name. Maybe for a hawk—that’s the kind of bird it is—maybe Frightful is a good name for a hawk because it scares the smaller creatures. But for you? You’re more like hope. Or brave. It was pretty daring of you to come to me. What were you even after trying to get into the rink?” Her finger passed over the bird’s head again. “How about Dare? How about I call you that?”
The bird nodded.
“Here’s the thing, bird. If I take you home, you’re going to have to be very careful. My cat will gobble you up. Plus, my mom is generally anti-pets.” She bit her lip. She didn’t need to be explaining all this to the bird. “I have homework.” She watched the bird a moment longer. “You’re probably hungry,” she said. Uncle Donny kept trail mix in his desk, and Alice sprinkled some into the box. She expected Dare to eat the sunflower seeds, but she went straight for the raisins.
While Dare sat in her box, Alice did her homework, solving math problems and writing out sentences for her vocabulary words. Dare settled down next to the teddy bear.
As Alice finished her homework, the figure skaters started pouring out onto the ice in their slim-fitting pants and shirts emblazoned with glitter. Izzy skated slowly and did a lazy-looking spin before joining her team at center ice. Alice took that moment to slip away, holding the box down low and hoping no one noticed.
She made it downstairs just as the boys started tumbling out of the locker room.
“Hey, Allie Cat,” Trevor said. “You missed practice again.”
The Story Web Page 4