girl.â
âDid you write the note?â Natasha demanded.
âI most certainly didnât,â the Bird Lady said with a giggle. She reached out as if to stroke Natashaâs face, and Natasha stepped back. She tripped and went down hard, her backpack slipping free and spilling its contents onto the sidewalk.
âOw,â Natasha said.
âCluck, cluck, cluck,â the Bird Lady said. She squatted awkwardly and began shuffling Natashaâsbelongings back into her backpack.
Natashaâs chest tightened. She wanted to tell the Bird Lady not to touch her stuff. She also wanted to tell her that people didnât say âcluck, cluck, cluckâ; they just . . . clucked their tongues, if for whatever reason they felt compelled to do so. Like, if Natasha were writing a story, a sentence might be, âThe old lady clucked when she saw the girl go sprawling on the sidewalk.â A normal person would understand such a sentence perfectly. A normal person wouldnât assume the old lady actually said, âCluck, cluck, cluck.â
Natasha shut her eyes and drove the heels of her palms into her eye sockets. The real problem wasnât the clucking or the stuff-touching. It was the confusing mix of emotions the Bird Lady stirred up. Natasha found her annoying, yes, but undeniably fascinating. She was mysterious and weird and knew about things she shouldnâtâlike Natashaâs wish.
The note.
Mama.
It would be best for everyone, Natasha concluded, if the Bird Lady just . . . disappeared, taking the secrets she shouldnât know with her.
âGo away, please,â Natasha said.
Natasha heard the Bird Lady sigh. She heard thepop of stiff joints and opened her eyes to see the Bird Lady struggling to her feet. She was sporting the same fuzzy pajama bottoms sheâd worn before, and the same scarf trailed past her shoulders.
At least thereâs not a bird in her hair , Natasha thought.
Except âoh . The sparrow was there, fighting its way through the tangle of gray. Its beak emerged first, then its head, and finally its plump body and small wings. It shook itself and got resettled. It eyed Natasha with resentment.
Well, I donât like you either , Natasha thought.
Immediately, she felt ashamed. The bird was just a bird. Maybe Natasha would like it if she got to know it. She didnât know! She didnât know anything these days!
She scrambled up and jostled her backpack so that her books and notebooks slid in. She zipped the zipper tight.
âHave a good day, cupcake,â the Bird Lady said. She held out a tight white rectangle. âAnd you donât want to forget this, now do you?â
The note! Natasha snatched it and hurried off. If, later, she discovered that the Bird Lady had written it, sheâd rip it to shreds. But the Bird Lady claimedshe hadnât. Plus, the Bird Lady was old . Too old and creaky to have placed a note in Natashaâs yard and then dashed here, somehow managing to reach Laurel Street before Natasha showed up.
Natasha put several blocks between them before slowing down and allowing herself to check that the note was unharmed.
She unfolded it.
She sucked in her breath.
It wasnât the note sheâd found outside Papaâs workshop. It was new.
CHAPTER NINE
        You donât know how beautiful you are, either.
        You should smile more, Natasha. When you smile, it lights up your face.
Natasha read it through twice. Then she dug in her pocket for the first note. She shook it open, and her eyes went from one to the other. She checked the handwriting, the funny little a s and the carefully dotted i s. She went back and forth until she convinced herself of the truth: There were two notes, both written to her, both equally wondrous.
âHi, Natasha,â someone said, and she startled. Itwas Bentonâs best friend, Stanley, looking round and puffy
âDid you write the note?â Natasha demanded.
âI most certainly didnât,â the Bird Lady said with a giggle. She reached out as if to stroke Natashaâs face, and Natasha stepped back. She tripped and went down hard, her backpack slipping free and spilling its contents onto the sidewalk.
âOw,â Natasha said.
âCluck, cluck, cluck,â the Bird Lady said. She squatted awkwardly and began shuffling Natashaâsbelongings back into her backpack.
Natashaâs chest tightened. She wanted to tell the Bird Lady not to touch her stuff. She also wanted to tell her that people didnât say âcluck, cluck, cluckâ; they just . . . clucked their tongues, if for whatever reason they felt compelled to do so. Like, if Natasha were writing a story, a sentence might be, âThe old lady clucked when she saw the girl go sprawling on the sidewalk.â A normal person would understand such a sentence perfectly. A normal person wouldnât assume the old lady actually said, âCluck, cluck, cluck.â
Natasha shut her eyes and drove the heels of her palms into her eye sockets. The real problem wasnât the clucking or the stuff-touching. It was the confusing mix of emotions the Bird Lady stirred up. Natasha found her annoying, yes, but undeniably fascinating. She was mysterious and weird and knew about things she shouldnâtâlike Natashaâs wish.
The note.
Mama.
It would be best for everyone, Natasha concluded, if the Bird Lady just . . . disappeared, taking the secrets she shouldnât know with her.
âGo away, please,â Natasha said.
Natasha heard the Bird Lady sigh. She heard thepop of stiff joints and opened her eyes to see the Bird Lady struggling to her feet. She was sporting the same fuzzy pajama bottoms sheâd worn before, and the same scarf trailed past her shoulders.
At least thereâs not a bird in her hair , Natasha thought.
Except âoh . The sparrow was there, fighting its way through the tangle of gray. Its beak emerged first, then its head, and finally its plump body and small wings. It shook itself and got resettled. It eyed Natasha with resentment.
Well, I donât like you either , Natasha thought.
Immediately, she felt ashamed. The bird was just a bird. Maybe Natasha would like it if she got to know it. She didnât know! She didnât know anything these days!
She scrambled up and jostled her backpack so that her books and notebooks slid in. She zipped the zipper tight.
âHave a good day, cupcake,â the Bird Lady said. She held out a tight white rectangle. âAnd you donât want to forget this, now do you?â
The note! Natasha snatched it and hurried off. If, later, she discovered that the Bird Lady had written it, sheâd rip it to shreds. But the Bird Lady claimedshe hadnât. Plus, the Bird Lady was old . Too old and creaky to have placed a note in Natashaâs yard and then dashed here, somehow managing to reach Laurel Street before Natasha showed up.
Natasha put several blocks between them before slowing down and allowing herself to check that the note was unharmed.
She unfolded it.
She sucked in her breath.
It wasnât the note sheâd found outside Papaâs workshop. It was new.
CHAPTER NINE
        You donât know how beautiful you are, either.
        You should smile more, Natasha. When you smile, it lights up your face.
Natasha read it through twice. Then she dug in her pocket for the first note. She shook it open, and her eyes went from one to the other. She checked the handwriting, the funny little a s and the carefully dotted i s. She went back and forth until she convinced herself of the truth: There were two notes, both written to her, both equally wondrous.
âHi, Natasha,â someone said, and she startled. Itwas Bentonâs best friend, Stanley, looking round and puffy
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