Fish in a Tree by Lynda Mullaly Hunt Page B

Runny nose. Sound familiar?”
    “That’s fine,” he says, taking a bite of his sandwich. “It just seems uninteresting, that’s all.”
    • • •
    Shay’s party is at the Butterfly Gardens, and when I arrive, I recognize some girls from other classrooms. They are all wearing friendship bracelets. Jessica wears even more now. I still ache to have some and wonder if Keisha would like a bracelet like that.
    Soon, we are lined up and brought to the main butterfly garden, which is a clear plastic tent set up inside a bigger room. The tent is filled with plants and flowers, and flying around are tons of butterflies. People stand there as the butterflies land on them, and you can feel how happy people are just by watching their eyes.
    Before we enter the tent, a lady talks to us about the butterflies. She tells us about their patterns and to look for ones with a giant dot on each wing. These are adaptations to scare other animals into thinking they are eyes, so other animals will think they are bigger and more dangerous and leave them alone. I wish I could do this with Shay—and that Albert could do that with those boys.
    She reminds us not to grab any butterflies, because they are injured easily. We are supposed to stand and let them come to us. Then the lady points to me and says, “They’ll love your orange shirt.”
    She’s right. The butterflies do come to me. Their colors and patterns make me wonder why I haven’t been drawing butterflies. They don’t fly like birds. Instead, they kind of fly all over the place. Makes me wonder if I’m part butterfly.
    I put my arms out like a tree and one, then two land on my arm. I love them. I never knew before how much I love butterflies.
    I think about the story Albert told in social studies when we were studying Native Americans. He said that they believed butterflies were special creatures and wish givers. And that if you can catch a butterfly, whisper your deepest wish to it, and then set it free, it will carry your wish to the spirits, who will grant it.
    I would never grab a butterfly, but once again, my hands do things without my say-so. When a beautiful, bright orange-and-black one lands on my hand, I loosely close my fist around it.
    And then my thinking part steps forward and quickly realizes what I’ve done. I open my hand and the butterfly zigs and zags before landing on the ground.
    The lady who gave us the directions is next to me in a second. “Oh no, what have you done?” she asks.
    I want to explain about wish givers, but Shay and the others appear. “It figures it was Ally. She probably killed it. Everyone knows you can’t touch a butterfly’s wings.”
    “I didn’t kill it. I mean, I would never hurt it. I had a wish and I thought that . . .”
    The girls laugh. “Such a freak show,” Shay says.
    Suki rushes to the butterfly to try and help, but a woman runs over and tells her to step back.
    “Who are you with?” the woman asks me.
    Shay’s mother steps forward. “She’s with us, but she’s not my daughter. She’s part of my daughter’s party.”
    I wish my own mom were here; she’d understand. I feel terrible watching the butterfly on the ground, flapping its wings and not going anywhere. I know the feeling.
    The first butterfly lady wears white gloves as she puts the injured one in a box, saying, “At least its wings aren’t torn.” The second lady stares at me like I’m a ruthless butterfly hunter.
    I want to say I’m sorry, but I forget to because I’m watching mind movies of the butterfly falling and falling and never being better. And then the movie is filled with butterflies that are all falling like rain. And I feel as sad as I did watching the real one fall.
    Suki comes over. “I know you didn’t hurt the butterfly on purpose.”
    “Thanks,” I mumble. She’s right, but it was still my hand.
    I guess I just had to make that wish.
    Sometimes a person will do just about anything for a wish to come true.

CHAPTER