by Jan Bozarth
I frowned. “You’re talking about Aventurine again, aren’t you?”
“Let’s take a walk,” she said.
The screen door snapped shut like a turtle’s mouth. As we moved toward the ocean, I glanced over my shoulder. Our house was candy pink with big, rolled tiles on the roof called barrel tiles. Black shutters sat beside the windows. On nights like tonight, after a huge afternoon storm, we opened the windows to allow the ocean air inside.
An occasional strong gust blew from the ocean, making me glad that I had used a red scarf as a headband to keep my unruly curls out of my face. Tall sea grasses and reeds bent and swayed, at times whipping about with such force, they looked like the mane of a charging lion.
Mom led me to a jagged rock formation and began to climb. We were careful to place our feet in the crags and craters, moving carefully until we reached a lip of the rock face that flattened. With my eyes closed, I filled my lungs with the beautiful ocean scent, fresh and briny and alive. Whenever I was this close to the ocean, especially at night, it became a symphony in my head.
Mom interrupted my thoughts. “Lilu, you know your aunt Mary and I have talked a lot about Aventurine with you girls over the years.”
I nodded.
“Well, now it’s your time,” she said. “I didn’t know which of you girls would be first, but now I know it’s you.”
“Mom, you’ve always talked about Aventurine; you talk about it being such a cool, magical place. A place for strong women to figure out who they are and become fairy godmothers …”
“That’s right.”
“So … it’s real? I thought it was just some sort of bedtime story.”
Mom’s laughter was deep and sweet. “No, baby, that was no bedtime story. Aventurine is definitely real.”
My knees buckled. My hand shut tight, and the shell dug painfully into my palm. The sea bubbled into froth.
“Whoa!” Mom reached out and grabbed me. She helped me sit on the flat part of the craggy rock and didn’t take her arms from around me until I was sitting, facing the ocean, feeling the dampness of the surf against my skin.
“Umm, maybe next time you share life-changing news with me, we can do it someplace more stable? Remember, I’m the one who isn’t that good with change!”
“Don’t worry, Lilu. You’ll be fine.” Mom squeezed my shoulder and I let myself lean into her, just like on the porch. Then she lightly tapped the fist where I was squeezing the shell.
“Relax,” she said. “You won’t lose it. When you need it, it will find you. Aventurine will teach you how to use it.”
I frowned. This was crazy! Mom knew I was the practical one. The kid who always had to have proof. Tandy was the one who still pretended to be a mermaid and chased dragons.
Mom smiled. “I know you sometimes want more facts before you make a plan, but now I’m going to ask for a favor.”
“What is it?”
When she looked at me, she took my hands into hers and said, “I want you to stop thinking so hard about how everything should be and what pieces should go where.”
Now it was my turn to smile. She had me. I sighed. “Okay, Mom. So, tell me again about Aventurine. Remind me how this is supposed to work.”
“Early on, I knew I was blessed with the gift of weaving stories,” she said.
“I thought our family’s skill is weaving baskets. I find seashells, keep our inventory, and plan how to sell the stuff Tan and I make. But she’s the one who can actually make things. The weaving and crocheting and all the crafts, that’s what you and Tandy do. I don’t have that gift.”
“Those are skills passed down from generation to generation. Skills that, if you believe in yourself and have faith, you, too, can develop. Or maybe develop other skills that work just as well. But my true ‘gift,’ that thing I knew I was meant to do more than anything else, that was writing. It was what I’d dreamed of since I was a little girl. Writing allows me to speak with people in their language. Not the language of their ears, but the language of their hearts.
“Our family comes from the Songa Lineage. Crafting a story isn’t so different from crafting a basket. Instead of sturdy reeds, I take words out of the air and shape them into thoughts and emotions, information and delight.”
I nodded. I hadn’t thought of it that way.
“So,” I said, “what is the Songo heritage thing about?”
“The Songa Lineage. When famine threatened our ancestors’ survival in Africa, our queen spoke to the moon.”
My mouth dropped open. I said, “And the moon spoke back?”
Mom smiled, her teeth as white as the shell. “More like the moon goddesses. It turns out the moon needed us, too. It had gone off track and pulled the tides out of alignment. Our great ancestor, a woman known as Mama Akuko, herself a fairy godmother, saved the moon and the tides.”
When I just stared at her, Mom said, “In some African languages, Akuko means ‘youngest twin.’”
Now my jaw dropped.
“We have ancestors who were twins?”
“Of course,” Mom said. “You know twin genes run in certain families. If you’re a twin, there’s a good chance you have ancestors who were twins.”
“And this woman, Mama Akusa …”
“Mama Akuko,” she corrected.
“Yes, Mama Akuko. What did she do for the moon?”
“Mama Akuko was an expert weaver. So expert that she found a way to tug the moonbeams and guide the tides back on course.”
“But how?” I asked.
“Well, my love, that is a secret that stays with Mama Akuko and the moon goddesses, a secret you must earn,” she said.
Something in her stance was so … real. The angle of her body, the tilt of her head, the way her shoulders pulled back.
“How … how will I do that? Earn the secret, I mean. And what if I can’t do what it takes? What if I get to Aventurine and cannot do what they need me to do?” My voice faltered on that last part.
Then, before Mom could answer my questions, I hit her with another:
“Why me and not Tandy?”
“This is about you, the youngest twin. Mama Akuko represents all those twins who came to be even though they were unexpected and unprepared for. I’ve told you girls the story over and over about how shocked your father and I were when you arrived.”
“I know, I know. For some reason I didn’t show up on the ultrasound. What can I say? I’ve always been camera-shy.”
We both laughed. Then Mom said, “Aventurine is the perfect place to figure out what distinguishes you in the world—not just from your sister, but from everyone else. There is nothing to fear in Aventurine. You go there in your dreams.”
Suddenly questions rushed at me, but Mom held up a finger. “Shhh,” she said. “I know you have questions, and I know you have much to learn. Keep the shell with you tonight; keep it near you while you sleep. Don’t worry about finding Aventurine. Aventurine will find you!”
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by FGA Media Inc.
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Yearling, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Yearling and the jumping horse design are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
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Bozarth, Jan.
Zally’s book / Jan Bozarth.—1st ed.
p. cm.—(Fairy Godmother Academy ; bk. 3)
Summary: When thirteen-year-old Zally Guevara’s grandmother gives her the family’s magical cacao seed talisman, Zally dreams her way to Aventurine, an enchanted land where fairy-godmothers-in-training awaken their individual powers.
eISBN: 978-0-375-89335-3
[1. Fairy godmothers—Fiction. 2. Fairies—Fiction. 3. Magic—Fiction.
4. Grandmothers—Fiction. 5. Hispanic Americans—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.B6974Zal 2010
[Fic]—dc22
2009026420
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