The Anatomy of Wings by Karen Foxlee Page B

was mammal week.”
    “Well don't rip them,” said Mum. “It's too noisy. Cut them with the scissors. Don't you know your sister is unwell?”
    I was cutting out a picture of a wombat when Beth sat up and vomited over the side of the bed. The vomiting caused a wild commotion. Mum went running for a bucket. She wanted to call Dr. Cavanaugh. She wanted to take her to the hospital.
    “It's so colorful,” said Danielle, looking at the spew. The pastel shades of intermingled lolly hearts.
    I looked for messages.
    “I hope you don't die,” I said.
    After vomiting she fell asleep. We were allowed to have a look at her before we went to bed. She was sleeping on her side. The moon was gazing serene-faced through the window and illuminating her cheek, with its one mole.
    It was only in the morning that I realized part of her was missing.

T HE MISSING PART WAS A SECTION OF HER EASY LAUGH, THE BIT WHERE SHE TILTED HER HEAD BACK, HELD ONE ARM ACROSS HER STOMACH, AND CLOSED HER EYES. That had vanished. She had the same blond hair, the same almond-shaped eyes, the same constellation of freckles across her nose, the same mole on her cheek just like mine. But she was different. On the outside no one noticed it. Not Mum. Not Nanna, who noticed everything. Beth still held me down and tickled my ribs but sometimes when she did it she stared right through me at something else.
    Beth grew suddenly beautiful. It surprised us, the speed at which it happened. Her eyes were a deeper shade of blue. Her lips were rose-petal smooth. She moved with a new grace. Everywhere people could not tear their eyes from her or could not look at her because of her beauty.
    The grade 9 boys couldn't look at her. Theyaverted their eyes when she moved past them like a vision. The grade 9 girls fell at her feet. She sat with them in their tight circles at lunchtime with Miranda at her shoulder like a shadow.
    She used their language, copied their wide-eyed innocence. She tried on their giggles and shrieks. She slouched her shoulders. She wore her hair in one plain braid. She tried to blend in but she was different. Everyone smelled it.
    Grade 10 boys followed her like a pack of dogs wherever she went. The grade 9 girls watched her in amazement as she dealt with them. How did she know what to do? How did she know how much to give and how much to
not
give? The boys followed her down to the laneway beside the science block. She rested her back against the wall. She brought her braid over her shoulder and touched it as she talked to them. She fiddled with the rubber band like she might undo it.
    They waited for her on the footpath outside the bike racks but she rode straight past them with a smile over her shoulder. They followed her and Miranda, a small flotilla, home along the straight highway.
    Dardanelles Court became steadily crowded with bikes. Boys rode up and down the cul-de-sac hoping for a glimpse of Beth. Some with older brothers camein cars. They did burnouts at the entrance to Memorial Drive. Marshall Murray unwound his garden hose and threatened to wet them.
    “Get,” he shouted. “Leave her alone.”
    Mrs. Irwin called her three girls inside.
    Miss Frieda Schmidt opened her venetians with two fingers and shivered.
    Mr. O'Malley sang to his new audience; he sang songs about tall ships and sea spray and storms.
    At first Mum was unaware. She sat at the table doing Hobbytex. She opened up the blue Hobbytex tin and took out all of her colors and arranged them in a neat line. Then she clipped a T-shirt with the iron-on transfer stencil onto the work frame.
    She had made me a T-shirt that said GOING MY WAY, which had a big purple thumb beneath it, and a T-shirt that said DADDY ’ S LITTLEST ANGEL. She made Danielle a T-shirt that said COOL, which was big enough to go over her Milwaukee back brace, and when Danielle said she wasn't going to wear it Mum said she was extremely ungrateful.
    “I don't want a T-shirt that says COOL, ” said Danielle.
    “Well