I wiped my face dry. “Hi. I’m Isabel.”
“Nice to meet you, Isabel. Let’s find a way to get you home, safe and sound.” He drew a silver cell phone from his pocket. “Is there someone you can call?” He slid his finger across the screen. A photograph of a little boy with a bald head and a huge smile beamed up. He was sitting at a piano, his fingers proudly spread across the black and white keys.
“Who’s that?” I asked, blowing my nose.
“My son, Gregory. He’s nine.” So he was a dad who cried and kicked lampposts. A dad who shared his phone and his tissues with a total stranger. “He loves music. He’s not very good. Not yet at least. But he adores it. That’s his piano. I took this picture after his last recital. He hasn’t been able to play in a while.”
“Because he’s in there?” I pointed to the hospital.
“Unfortunately, yes. For now.”
“My little sister’s there too. She’s six. Her name’s Penelope, but everyone calls her Junie.” I paused. “I hope Gregory gets better and can go home soon.”
“Me too. Speaking of home, who do you want to call?” He handed me his phone.
“You don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
“Thanks.” I dialed our landline, even though I doubted anyone would pick up. It rang and rang. So did my mom’s cell phone. I didn’t want to bother Dad at work. “Can I try someone else?”
“Of course.”
I bit my lip. There was only one other person I could think of, but I didn’t know her number. “I might need a phone book,” I said.
“These days, it’s right here.” He tapped the phone. “Tell me the name and I’ll do a quick search.”
Right. Of course. That stuff was all online now. Kids were supposed to be more tech-savvy than grown-ups. Except I was basically a cave girl from the era of total loserdom. Add cool gadgets to the list of fun stuff the Fitzwilken family couldn’t afford.
“What name should I search?” James asked, interrupting my self-pity session.
“Um . . .” Did I even know Kira’s last name? Come on. Think. Stupid bad habit. “My neighbors. They live on Melwick Lane.”
“Melwick, huh?” He looked intrigued. “Such a curious place. I always wished Gregory could taste one of those crazy apples.” He closed his eyes for a moment, just like Ms. Perdilla had done. “Yum.” He shook his head, then blinked. “Sorry, you got me daydreaming about fruit. You know, there’s an old expression that says an apple a day keeps the doctor away. My great-aunt swears a Melwick apple cured her fever once. She told me it even tasted like chocolate pudding. Can you believe that?” He chuckled. “A pudding-flavored miracle apple? Nonsense, right?”
“Right,” I stammered. If only there was an apple that could help Junie and Gregory, and everyone else inside the hospital.
“So?” James said, waving the phone.
I tried to remember Miss Benítez taking attendance earlier that day. Kira was toward the end. There was Anjali Atkins, Jordan Brancusi, Amelia Egleston, me . . . a whole bunch in the middle . . . then Casey Lorkin, Leo Martins, Nikki Patel . . . a bunch more, then Kira. Kira Ritter. “The Ritter family!” I practically shouted.
James typed the name into the phone and tapped the screen a few times. “Here you go. It’s ringing.”
I held it to my ear. Please pick up.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Kira?”
“Yes? Who’s this?”
“It’s Isabel. I’m sorry to call, but—”
She squealed. “Phone buddy! I am so happy you called. You don’t even know. Like soooo happy. Elated! Jubilant!” Sometimes she used weirder words than Junie. “What’s up?”
“I need some help.”
“Drama! What happened? Where are you? How was the bus ride?”
“That’s the problem. The 83 stopped running half an hour ago.”
“Oh. My. Gosh. You’re stranded?”
“I’m fine. I just need to get home . . .” I lowered my voice. “Before my parents notice I’m gone.” As if they would.
“Okay. I’ve got it under control. We’ll be there soon. Are you all right to wait a bit longer?”
“Sure.” It was odd to have someone care so much about my well-being. I wasn’t used to being fussed over. It felt nice. “Kira?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it. I owe you. Big time.”
“No problem. It’s what friends do.” I didn’t even mind that she said the word friend.
***
James stayed and waited with me at the bus stop. We didn’t talk much, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Sometimes you meet people that you can sit with in silence and it’s not awkward at all. The air between you feels full and you can be there, together, sharing the quiet. Like you both just know, but you don’t have to say. It’s rare, but it’s nice when you find it.
In forty-five minutes on the dot, the red minivan came roaring down the road to my rescue. Kira spilled out the door, a mess of lanky limbs and endless hair. She untangled herself and then re-tangled herself around me. In a big hug. Almost a squg. Which I was not prepared for. At all. While I tried to extract myself from her grip, Mrs. Ritter got out and spoke with James. Their voices were hushed in that grown-up way. Then I saw them exchange small smiles, so I figured I wasn’t in too much trouble.
Kira dragged me inside the car and shoved a juice box in my face.
“Drink this! You must be parched. Stress is dehydrating!” She sounded like an old mother hen, clucking and flapping. “Drink up!” She tipped the juice box, encouraging me to take a sip.
“It’s okay, really. I’ve waited a lot longer than that for a ride before.”
“You have?”
“Lots of times. Junie got sick and poof! Isa disappeared.” I shrugged. “It stinks, but I’m sort of used to it by now. When you’re busy trying to keep one family member alive, everything else takes a back seat.” I drained the juice box in one long gulp. I was thirstier than I’d realized. And it wasn’t even Thirstday, according to Junie’s calendar.
I noticed the corners of Kira’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly. “When my parents got divorced,” she said, her voice less chipper than usual, “the opposite happened. I couldn’t disappear if I tried. Instead of having two people in the house to bug, now my mom only has one: me.”
“You mean Pookie,” I said, trying to cheer her up.
“Ugh, don’t remind me. Bug, bug, bug. All. The. Time.” She was sort of joking around, but I could tell there was more underneath. More to the missing dad and weekly trips to the post office.
Mrs. Ritter got back into the car and Kira clammed up. I didn’t ask any more questions because I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.
I rolled my window down. “Thanks again, James. For waiting with me. And letting me use your phone.”
“Anytime. Take care, and best wishes to Junie. No one should spend their childhood in a hospital.”
I leaned out the window. “True. But guess what’s also true?”
“What?” he asked.
“Good things can happen in there too. Happy things. New beginnings.” If I hadn’t watched that pregnant lady and her husband earlier, I might never have discovered this little nugget of wisdom. I felt a teeny bit proud.
James squinted his eyes. I hoped it was just the setting sun, and not something I said. Even if he had admitted to crying, I sure as heck didn’t want to be the cause of any tears.
“You’re right.” He kicked the lamppost, this time in a joyful way, like a dance move. “Here’s to happy beginnings!” Another flick of the foot. “I just needed a little reminding, that’s all. Thank you, Isabel.”
“You’re welcome!” I hadn’t felt this wise since explaining nuts and trees to that wily squirrel. Paying attention to people wasn’t so awful after all.
Chapter 11
Kira chattered about softball practice the entire way home, which saved me from having to talk about the hospital vi
sit. My mind was already wandering back to the orchard. When we pulled up to my house, Mrs. Ritter promised she wouldn’t tattle to my mom, as long as I promised not to take the county bus alone again. At least not until I memorized the route schedule, so I wouldn’t get stranded.
“Easy peasy,” I said. “Thanks again.”
That didn’t seem to be enough for Kira. She stood beside me in the driveway, shifting back and forth, waiting for something. I offered a high five, but she still dawdled.
“Do you . . .” Before I could finish my sentence, Kira interrupted.
“Want to come over? Yes! Totally!”
“Wait, what?” I’d meant to ask if she’d like to sit together on the bus tomorrow morning. An unscheduled hang-out was not what I had in mind. There was only a little daylight left to see what had bloomed. All I wanted to do was run, full sprint, to my tree. Alone.
“Mom! Isa invited me over! Can I go? Please, puh-lease?”
“Isabel, is that all right with you?” Mrs. Ritter asked, probably sensing my hesitation.
I wanted to say no, but I couldn’t. Not after everything Kira had done for me. “Um, sure, I guess.”
“Wonderful. Go ahead, Pookie. Be back in time for dinner, okay?”
Kira didn’t even grimace at the nickname. “I will! Awesome. Splendid!”
“Splendid?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Totally. This is going to be the best.”
“Better than a bendy straw?” I teased. Heck, if I had to postpone my visit to the tree, I might as well try to have a little fun.
“Way more. Exponentially more.”
Kira looked like she might try to hug me again, so I ducked. “Let’s go.” I led her behind the house, past the shed, up the grassy hill. I grabbed a stick and dragged it across the pickets of the fence that separated the backyard from the orchard. Kira followed me as I hopped over the gate.
A gust of wind nudged me toward the eastern part of the orchard. I pushed against it, moving in the opposite direction and steering Kira as far as possible from the clearing.
“What’s that? A sock tree?” she said.
I froze. “What did you say?”
“There.” She pointed at one of the apple trees.
Two socks dangled from a nearby branch. One sock was yellow, the other was green with tiny white snowmen. “Huh,” I laughed nervously. “Those are mine. I hung them up to dry a few days ago. My feet were wet from walking in the orchard. Nothing special.” I grabbed the socks, stuffed them into my pocket, then took a sharp turn. I darted toward the stream where Junie and I used to sail little rafts made from twigs and string.
Kira scrambled after me. “What an adventure!” she puffed. “You know, I’ve lived down the road for almost two years, but I’ve never been over here. It’s really pretty. I don’t understand why everyone in school says this place is haunted or cursed or something.”
“They say that?” I asked, slowing down.
“Sure, but it’s obviously not true. Right?”
I paused, then reeled around and shouted, “Boo!”
Kira jumped back. “Ha ha. Very funny,” she said, unamused. “Hey, where exactly are we going?”
“Just around. We could skip rocks in the millpond, I guess.” I didn’t really have a plan, other than to stay away from Mrs. Tolson’s chickens and to keep Kira from discovering my tree. The secret grew hot and itchy, but I wasn’t ready to share it. Not yet.
The sun dipped down orange, moseying toward the horizon.
“Wow. Look at the sky,” Kira said.
“Sure, it’s splendid,” I said, barely looking up, thinking about the tree instead. If the new pods fell to the ground and dissolved before I could get there, I’d never know what had grown. What a waste.
We climbed over a tall rock wall. Kira paused at the top. “Oh. My. Gosh.”
“Yeah, yeah. Haven’t you ever seen a sunset before?” I kept walking, head down.
Kira didn’t answer. She was quiet.
Too quiet.
Then she was running. Too fast.
I took off after her. Honey-colored sunshine spilled through a few lavender clouds, drenching the orchard below. Setting one tree in particular ablaze in light. Like a beacon.
Kira was headed straight for it.
I chased her, the small bell keychain on my backpack ringing alarm. I was fast, but Kira had longer legs. And a head start. Thankfully, when she neared the clearing, it was like she hit an invisible force field. She stopped at the edge of the meadow, breathless. Her lips opened and closed, like a fish pulled from water. Gaping. Oh. Oh. Oh.
When I followed her gaze, my lips did the same.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh!
The seedling had grown several feet taller, and its trunk was now as thick around as a sumo wrestler’s stomach. No wonder Kira had been able to spot it from the top of the rock wall.
“Whoa!” I said, amazed.
The greenish-gray bark brightened at the sound of my voice. The crystalline leaves stretched to the size of dinner plates. They shimmered and fluttered like hundreds of hands waving hello. The tree didn’t seem to mind that Kira was there at all. In fact, it appeared to welcome her with open branches. A breeze wound around my shoulders, encouraging me to do the same.
“This is Kira,” I said, figuring an introduction might be in order.
Kira’s head whipped around. Her ponytail struck my shoulder with a sharp whap! She eyed me like I was out of my mind. “Are you talking to that tree?”
“I am.” It was hard not to laugh at myself. It did seem ridiculous.
“You barely talk to people, but you talk to trees?” She scratched her head. “I’m so confused. What’s going on here?” She studied the swishing branches. “Wait, what kind of a tree is this anyway?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a chance seedling,” I said. Just days ago, it had been nothing but a dinky gray-brown stick. Now it was mighty and strong. Pride welled up inside me. I knew I wasn’t completely responsible for the tree’s transformation, but I was certain I’d helped a little. The more I believed in it, the more magical the tree seemed to become. Maybe there was some truth to the Melwick myths after all.
Light filtered through the canopy, scattering thousands of little rainbows across the grass. The leaves parted. My pulse raced. Long purple pods shaped like giant string beans hung from the boughs. Some were the size of my forearm. A new crop was ready for picking!
The most divine fragrance drifted our way. Not flowery, but . . . floury—like walking into a bakery. My nostrils sucked it in, devouring the smell.
Kira teetered backward. I was afraid she might fall, but then she rocked forward, nose-first, in a slow, trancelike walk toward the tree, following the heavenly scent. Mom used to call it the alchemy of the oven—a kind of kitchen enchantment that happened when someone baked sticky buns, or cupcakes, or a loaf of bread, or . . .
Dozens and dozens of cookies.
Kira drew closer, sniffing the air. She stopped at the trunk and stared up in wonder.
“Watch this,” I said, moving beside her. I pressed my palms to the skin-soft bark. When I pulled them away, glowing handprints remained for a few seconds, then disappeared.
“What? How?” Kira’s chin was practically hanging down to her knees. “I need to sit.” She turned and slid her back along the tree’s trunk until she landed in the grass. “The rumors about this place . . .” She touched the ground with shaky fingertips. “I thought it was just some fairy tale meant to spook kids.”
I sat down beside her. “I don’t know what happened in this orchard before we moved here. All I know is that there’s something special here now.”
The branches of the nearby apple trees stirred. Go on. Go on, they seemed to murmur.
“Okay,” I said to the trees. “If you insist.” I told Kira about the squirrel. The sapling. The shoes. As I spoke, the hot, itchy secret cooled. It was refreshing to share a story, to share the truth. Telli
ng Kira the secret didn’t mean there was less magic for me. In fact, the opposite seemed to be true. With each word, the tree brightened, as if lit from within.
“How the heck could you keep this to yourself?” Kira asked, taking it all in.
“It hasn’t been easy, that’s for sure.”
“I bet,” she said, still wide-eyed, watching the flickering rainbows dance across the ground.
“Please don’t say anything though. I’m afraid of what people in town might do if they find out.”
“Like study it, or chop it down?”
“Exactly.”
“I get it.” Kira nodded. “You have to protect the things you love. You were right to keep quiet. I won’t utter a peep.”
That seemed like a tall order for a chatterbox like her. “You swear?”
She held out her pinky finger and linked it with mine. Just like Junie and I did. Sister-code for I promise.
“No one else knows,” I said. “Not even Junie. I wanted to tell her today, but it wasn’t the right time.”
“She might not believe you.”
“Of course she will! She knows I wouldn’t lie to her. Besides, she’s six. She has an active imagination.”
“Honestly, if I wasn’t here right now, seeing with my own eyes, smelling with my own nose, I wouldn’t believe you. No offense or anything. It’s just a little far-fetched.”
“That’s basically a nice way of saying completely insane.”
“Pretty much. Yup.” She giggled.
I rose to my feet. “Then I’ll just have to bring her some proof!”
There were no pods within arm’s reach, so I grabbed the lowest branch and did a chin-up. I kicked my legs, wrapped my ankles around tight and twisted my body upright until I was straddling the branch. From there, I could climb to a set of branches heavy with fruit.
“Be careful up there! Watch out! Don’t go too high!” Kira clucked below.
I scooted toward the nearest pod, balancing my weight evenly. The bakery smell grew more intense, like the way Muriel smelled on the bus, only one hundred times stronger. My mouth watered, my stomach growled.
“Slowly, Isa! Easy does it.”
The Magic of Melwick Orchard Page 9