Waves of Light by Naomi Kinsman

of every color bloomed: yellow, white, pink, even blue; but still, none qualified as unusually colored.
    Off to my left, something crashed through the bushes, a large animal moving fast. I wasn’t afraid of the bears, but I didn’t want to be overrun by one — particularly not with Higgins here. I grabbed his collar and stayed as still as I could without letting go. I had seen mama bears with their cubs, and even though lots of people said they’d act protective, I’d learned that like all black bears, mama bears avoided confrontation. The most aggressive action I’d ever seen was when Patch had huffed at Andrew and stomped her front paws, blustering, so he would back away from her cub. But Higgins wasn’t a human, so I couldn’t explain bluster to him. Who knew what he would do if a bear huffed and stomped at him?
    And then I saw them. July, followed by two cubs, one a deep black, and one pure white. My breath caught in my throat and I froze. A spirit bear. Helen said she’d never seen one in the wild. Last I’d heard, no one had seen July and her cubs yet this season, so they must have just come out of their den. We must have been upwind of the bears, because as they passed July and her cubs didn’t notice us.
    Even Higgy seemed to realize this bear was special. He sat at attention, ears pricked up, but didn’t bark. Just as the bears were almost out of sight, the white one stopped and turned. For a long moment, I looked straight into its eyes, and it looked deep into mine. My heart raced and goose bumps shivered across my arms. This bear was more than just a bear. A sign … the impossible standing right in front of me. After the cub followed July into the trees, I waiteduntil I couldn’t hear a sound before dropping to my knees to cradle Higgins’ face in my hands.
    “Did you see that, Hig?”
    He stared back, his eyes deep and clear.
    I looked around. We couldn’t be the only two in the world who saw the bear cub pass by. But the forest was empty. Thunder rumbled overhead, reminding me of Penny’s story in my backpack.
    “Well, I found my unusually colored something,” I told Higgins. “Now we’d better run.”
    I let go of his collar and we sprinted toward home. As I ran, I felt my story about the spirit cub mixing together with Penny’s story about the summer storm. Higgins and I were drenched when we splashed into the yard. He shook the water off as we reached the porch, soaking me yet again before we went inside. I took my backpack to the bathroom, toweled off my hair, and sat on the edge of the tub, not wanting to wait another second to read Penny’s journal. Somehow, I had to know what she’d written.
    The story was strange and sad. The messenger Andrew had described was cruel. He forced the girl to dance and sing daily, telling her that one day she’d be good enough to perform for the king. Meanwhile, the girl tried and tried and tried, only to fall short every time. As hopelessness set in, the girl decided she’d never be good enough. She ran away from the messenger, away from her dream, and stumbled into a town where the local bakery shop owner took her in and gave her a job in his kitchen.
    While she baked, she began to dance and sing once again — but for herself this time. She wasn’t even thinking about performing publicly anymore. The townspeople would stop in the bakery to watch her. Yet the girl went about her work, refusing to perform for the customers. She believed she wasn’t good enough to dance and sing for the king. And if she couldn’t have her dream, then she didn’t want to perform for anyone’s enjoyment.
    When the king showed up at the end of the story, he explained to the girl that he’d watched her dance and sing since she was a tiny child, and no amount of skill or ability made the slightest difference to him.
    He’d been watching her from afar, no matter how lonely she’d felt, no matter how often she’d failed. He cared about her so much, he’d wanted