Found Things by Marilyn Hilton Page A

float a get-well wish for Daniel Bunch. Meadow Lark would be home from school when I got home, and Mama would still be at work. So if we hurried, Mama would never know we were gone.
    When I got home, I carefully hung my bike back on its hook next to Theron’s and went into the house, expecting to see Meadow Lark on the sofa or in the kitchen. But the house was quiet.
    â€œMeadow Lark?” I called, and when she didn’t answer, I went upstairs to our room. “Meadow Lark?” I say again as I pushed open the door.
    She lay on the bed, rolled up with her back to me and shaking so hard that the bed jiggled.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?” I asked.
    She turned over to face me, and when I saw her two puffy, red eyes, I knew different. Meadow Lark was crying.
    â€œHe’s gone,” she say, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
    â€œWho’s . . . gone?” I asked, and then a horror pierced my heart. “You mean Daniel Bunch?” Did she hear something after I left the hospital?
    Meadow Lark shook her head and pointed to Mr. Tricks’s cage on the floor—his empty cage—and then to the window. It was open just enough for a pigeon the size of Mr. Tricks to strut through and fly away.

Chapter 11
    Meadow Lark sniffled all the way to the river, and every once in a while along the way, as if she saw the empty cage for the first time all over again, she say things like “Mr. Tricks flew out the window!” and “Our poor pidge! His wing wasn’t even healed.”
    â€œMaybe we didn’t look hard enough,” I say. “Maybe he’s stuck somewhere in the room—did you look behind the bureau, under the beds—”
    â€œI looked everywhere, River. We looked everywhere. There’s only one place he went, and that was out the window. He probably fell because he can’t fly, and then got eaten up . . . or worse.”
    â€œIs there anything worse?” I asked.
    â€œTorture is worse.”
    â€œMaybe he’ll come back here. Maybe he’s a homing pigeon, and don’t homing pigeons go back to where they come from?”
    â€œYou sound like you don’t even care about him,” Meadow Lark say, and sniffled. “You haven’t even cried for him.”
    By then we’d reached the beach, and I say, “Of course I care about Mr. Tricks. I care if he fell out or got eaten or tortured. But—I’m sorry, Meadow Lark—right now, undoing the wish about Daniel Bunch is more important.”
    The truth was, I feared there was nothing left of Mr. Tricks but a little skeleton and a couple white feathers, though I kept that to myself.
    â€œLet’s hurry up, then, so we can find our bird,” she say.
    Meadow Lark and I sat on the rock, and she pulled a pen and some paper out of her pocket.
    â€œYou’ll have to write. I just can’t now,” she say, and then her face twisted up and she cried some more for Mr. Tricks.
    I took the pen from her. “I’ll do it,” I say, partly because I knew she was too sad and partly because I didn’t want the wish for Daniel to get crossed out or erased this time. It had to be perfect when we sent it off. “I’ll write them both.”
    I clicked the pen and wrote, We wish Daniel Bunch to get better soon , and then showed it to Meadow Lark. “How’s this?”
    â€œBe more specific,” she say quietly, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “We might not have another chance.”
    Who was being persnickety now? I thought, but I say, “You’re right,” just because she was so distressed.
    She gave me a new piece of paper, and this time I wrote: We wish Daniel Bunch to get completely and wholly healthy immediately and right away.
    â€œThat’s good. Now, it’s Mr. Tricks’s turn,” she say, and gave me a new piece of paper.
    I touched the pen to my lips and thought about what to write,