Read Online Beyond the Laughing Sky by Michelle Cuevas - Free Book Online Page A

fell. “What did you do to them?”
    When he reached the fort, he saw the wings there, perfect and intact, not decorated with sparkles or glitter or any of the other Junebug crafting fears that had flashed through his mind.
    â€œThey’re done,” said Nashville in awe. He wasn’t quite sure why, but the wings seemed like they were perfect.
    â€œBut what did you do?” he asked.
    â€œEveryone’s looking for you,” Junebug replied.
    â€œBut what did you do ?” Nashville asked again.

    â€œI know you have to leave,” said Junebug. “I know, and it’s okay. I won’t tell them to come up until you’re ready to go.”
    â€œBut . . .”
    â€œI added the last feather,” said Junebug. “This one.” She pointed to a perfect feather at the tip of the wing, one that made it all come together.
    â€œThis one,” she smiled, “is the one I found after that rainstorm. I looked it up, and wouldn’t you know it—this lucky feather came from the wing of a Nashville warbler.”

N ashville stayed in the fort and got things organized while Junebug went downstairs.
    â€œHe’s in his fort,” Junebug told her parents. “But he really wants to be alone for a little while.”
    â€œI’m worried,” said his mother, her face washed in a rainy-day light. “I wish things were easier for him.”
    â€œI know what we should do,” chimed Junebug. “We should make him a cake. Just like you did when he was being stubborn and wouldn’t hatch from his egg.”
    â€œA cake,” said her mother. She gave Junebug a knowing look. “Now that just might work.”
    â€œBut he’s in big trouble,” protested Nashville’s father. “He ran from school. He freed all the birds in town!”
    But one look from his wife and daughter, and he went to fetch the mixing bowl. They put in the ingredients—eggs and flour and sugar—and Junebug stirred with ancient eggbeaters. She held out the bowl of batter to her father.
    â€œPut something in,” she told him.
    â€œPardon?”
    â€œIt’s a Nashville cake, so you need to put in some Nashville. Watch, I’ll show you.” She held up an imaginary container and turned it over the bowl, pretending to shake the contents into the mix. “I’m pouring in one box of the feathers on his head, looking silly when he comes down for breakfast.”
    â€œAnd I,” said her mother pretending to pour, “am putting in a dollop of the way he sings made-up songs when he thinks no one is listening.”
    â€œHis wonderful taste in hats,” added Junebug. “His sense of direction.”
    They put in every hum and every hiccup; every sun and cloud that had passed across his face; every lovely thing that they loved about Nashville and some, in truth, that they had failed to appreciate, as well.
    â€œI put in every feather,” added his father quietly. “I hope he can forgive me someday for telling him to fit in.”
    They also remembered to add some real sugar, and butter, and flour, and when the batter was finally done, they poured it into the baking pans, opened the oven door, and put everything inside to bake. Slowly the ingredients started to mix, the kitchen and house filling with the delicious smell of cake.

W hen the cake was finished, junebug took her mother’s and father’s hands and brought them to the very top floor of the house—to the dazzling, oversized window. The window his mother had sat at ten years earlier singing, wishing, and waiting for a cornflower-blue egg to hatch.
    And there stood Nashville, wearing his homemade wings.
    â€œOh,” said his father.
    â€œMy baby,” said his mother.
    Nashville’s parents did not have much more to say. They knew without words, (in that way parents always seem to know), what Nashville had already decided. Perhaps they had