When we get to my house it’s already past eleven.
“Nobody’s staying up for New Year’s Eve?” Timber asks, as we tiptoe through the dark and quiet rooms.
“We celebrated the new year earlier,” I whisper to him with a quiet laugh. “Let’s go out to the garden so we don’t wake anyone.” I lead him into the kitchen, then I say, “Wait here, I have to get something.”
When I come back, Timber’s sitting on a stool, strumming my dad’s guitar, which was propped up in the corner. He plucks a few strings, sending the mellow bass notes into the air. I stop in my tracks. “That’s funny,” he says.
“What?” The hair on the back of my neck prickles with recognition.
“I just got this weird sort of déjà vu, like I’ve played this guitar before.” He plucks the strings again and I hear the notes of “Green Glen Ladies,” the old elfin song he and Grove played that night by the fire in Alverland.
I laugh uncomfortably. “Not possible, right?”
“No,” he says. “I guess not. Mind if I bring this outside?”
“Sure,” I tell him, and walk toward the back door.
“Hey, what’s that?” He points to the long skinny gift, nearly as tall as I am that I’ve wrapped in red linen.
“You’ll see,” I say as I lead him outside. We sit on the railing of the wooden deck. I look up into the sky, searching for stars, but like most nights in Brooklyn, it’s nearly impossible to make out any heavenly bodies because of all the city lights. “You ready for your present?” I hold out the long skinny gift.
Timber takes it from my hands. “What is it, a tennis racket?”
I laugh. “Are you joking?”
“Yes, I have no idea what it could be.”
“Open it and find out.”
I watch Timber’s face as he unwinds the fabric to reveal the intricate carvings of leaves, flowers, and totem animals on my birch walking stick. He looks perplexed at first, then pleased, then confused again, kind of like he’s trying to remember something but can’t quite pull it out of his cloudy mind. “This is amazing,” he says. “But . . .” Then he laughs. “I still have no idea what it is.”
“It’s a walking stick,” I tell him. “My grandfather makes them. I thought you might like it.”
“I love it.”
“It can come in handy when you’re hiking,” I say, wishing I could retrace the memories lost in his mind.
He hugs me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Now, I have something for you, but it’s a different kind of present,” he tells me. “You know how you’re always saying I could make a comeback if I wanted?”
I curl my knees into my chest and hug myself. “I think you’d knock everybody out if you did.”
“Well . . .” He straps my father’s guitar over his shoulder. “I’m not sure I’m ready for a band, but I decided to write a song.” He turns tuning pegs on the guitar, getting each string just right. “Remember all those e-mails I sent you while Kenji and I were driving around trying to find you?”
I nod because how could I forget.
“When I looked back at them later, I realized that they could be lyrics, so I made up a melody and I came up with this song.” The notes are light and pretty, like birds singing on a clear, crisp morning in the woods. “It’s for you.”
I’m quiet, but my heart pounds as he strums the guitar, filling the quiet night with lovely music, then he begins to sing,
Came by your house this morning
no matter how I knocked
no lights came on, no answer
baby, your doors were locked
I think you flew the coop
I think you left the nest
I don’t know where you’re heading,
but I think you’re heading west
I’ll fly after you
I’m a crane
I’ll come for you
I’m insane
I’ll dance and sing
and flap my wings
’cause baby, it’s you I’ve got to find
Crossing the GW
leaving NYC far behind
over rolling hills and fields of green
it’s you I’ve got to find
I pass the lakes as big as seas
I haven’t seen anything but trees
and miles and miles of corn and beans
but still you haunt my dreams
From New York City to Mackinaw
Across the country
I’ve seen it all
but nothing takes the place of you
It’s you I’ve got to find
I ended up in Ironweed
Eating ham and eggs without a lead
you disappeared among the pines
it’s you I’ve got to find
I’m flying after you
I’m a crane
I’m coming for you
I’m insane
I’ll dance and sing
and flap my wings
’cause baby, it’s you I’ve got to find
I went on a wild goose chase
just to see your face
and for the chance to see you dance
but I can’t find a trace
I don’t know where you’ve gone
or when you will return
but I’ll be here, waiting still
my heart will always yearn
I’ll fly after you
I’m a crane
I’ll come for you
I’m insane
I’ll dance and sing
and flap my wings
’cause baby, it’s you I’ve got to find
When he’s done, I can’t even move. I’m stuck beneath the dark night sky, my eyes welled up and my mouth half open. I shake my head. “I don’t know what to say,” I whisper.
Timber pulls the guitar over his head and sets it aside. “Because it sucked?” he asks, his eyes squinched up like he’s about to be punched.
“No!” I fly to him. I spread my arms and catch him in my embrace. “I loved it.”
He holds me close. “Sometimes I feel like I can’t explain what’s going on inside of me.”
I nod, my heart racing, because the truth is, there’s more inside of Timber than he could ever imagine. He has no idea what courses through his blood. The mark my grandmother can see. What happened in the woods in Alverland. And I can never tell.
“But when I sat down to write that song,” he says, “I could say everything I wanted about you.”
I pull back to look into his eyes, those crazy gray-blue wolf eyes. “That’s what music should be about,” I say. “People think it should be about fame or money or being the best or getting the lead in a musical, but it’s not, you know?”
Timber nods. “It’s about expressing what’s deep inside.”
I let go of him but keep my eyes on his. “I see what’s inside of you.” I press my hand against his heart. “It’s fierce and beautiful and when you need it most, what’s in your heart will save you.”
He covers my hand with his and smiles at me. “Thank you,” he says.
I realize then that what’s in my heart is more simple than I used to think. I don’t have to be the best singer or have Timber so madly in love with me that he can’t think straight. I don’t have to win every audition or continually worry about Bella or keep tabs on my cousin Briar. As long as my family is safe, we don’t have to be together all the time. My grandmother and Willow are still with me, even if they’re in Alverland. Dad and Grove can come and go. Thinking I have to have everything all to myself all the time is selfish, and in the end, it doesn’t get me what I truly want.
We sit together, underneath the starless sky, his hands on my waist, my arms around his neck. As I’m next to him, the feelings I had when I danced for him come rushing back to me. The world swirls and everything is reduced to just Timber and me. I feel my heart swell with feelings for him. No matter how much I miss Alverland or how
worried I am about the dark elves going after Willow, I am glad to be back in Brooklyn. Selfish or not, this is where my life is right now.
Timber pulls me closer. I shut my eyes and lean my head to the left. Even though we kissed a hundred times when he was under my spell, this feels like the first time ever. My lips meet his and fireworks explode. Above us, the sky erupts into shooting stars, red fountains, and blue rockets.
“Happy New Year!” Timber says.
Just as I’m about to pull Timber in for another kiss, the back door opens. My brothers and sisters come clattering out into the garden with my mom and dad right behind them.
“Look at them!” Poppy shouts, pointing to the sky.
“Fireworks!” Bramble yells.
“Happy New Year,” Mom calls to all of us.
They surround us, jumping and screaming for joy. We’re caught in the tangle of arms and legs and voices all talking at once, but I don’t mind because what I want most in life is right here, right now. I’m happy.
Selfish Elf Wish Page 27