The Miraculous Read online

  But when I met you, I couldn’t deny that you were a miracle.

  You were our Wunder.

  Wunder had been enraptured by this story when he was young—the story of how wanted he had been, how longed for, the story of his specialness, of how he had defied the odds and come into being. As he got older, he started trying to cut his mother off when she told it, embarrassed by how she would run her hands over his hair and his back, how she would beam at him. But she never let him stop her, and he didn’t really try that hard.

  Embarrassed or not, he had always believed her. He was a miracle. Miracles happened.

  And when his mother had announced, out of the blue, that she was pregnant, it had seemed like another miracle.

  Not right away, of course. He’d had almost eleven years of only-child-hood, almost eleven years at the center of his parents’ love, and at first, the news that everything was about to change had completely terrified him.

  But little by little, his parents’ excitement had become his own. His father had told him story after story about growing up with two sisters and three brothers. His mother had taken him to one of her ultrasounds, where he had seen, for the first time, the baby that would be theirs.

  And his parents, they hadn’t seemed to love him any less. In fact, everyone seemed to have more love.

  He had started wondering what kind of big brother he would be, and once they knew she was a girl, what kind of little sister she would be. He had found himself paying attention to babies he saw at the grocery store or at the park, found himself thinking about things he could teach her and how it would feel to have someone to take care of, someone new to love.

  He had helped his father set up the crib and install the car seat. He had helped his mother shop for baby clothes and bibs.

  And he, he alone, had chosen her name.

  They had all been so happy, waiting for her to be born.

  And even when there were more and more doctor’s visits and more and more bad reports and more and more times when Wunder walked in on his mother with her head in her hands—even when the baby was born and so much was wrong and everyone was waiting, waiting for her to die—even then, Wunder had expected that there would be another miracle.

  But there hadn’t been.

  And he couldn’t stay in the house with his mother and the crib and those rising floodwaters of sadness.

  So he grabbed his backpack, full of schoolbooks and The Miraculous, and he headed out the front door.

  Chapter 7

  Wunder usually rode his bike to Golden Fig Middle School, but that day he felt like walking. He decided not to take the route through the woods either. He didn’t want to see the cemetery. He didn’t want to see the DoorWay House. He headed straight to school.

  It felt strange to be going back after being gone for two weeks. Much stranger than returning after a vacation. It wasn’t just that time had passed. He was different now. He thought about how Faye had described him—not zippy. He didn’t like the word zippy any more than he liked excessive smiling, but he knew what she meant. He had always been happy.

  Now his insides were a checkerboard and his room was bare and he was planning on getting rid of his life’s work. He was definitely different.

  At school, his best friends, Tomás and Davy, were waiting by his locker.

  “Hey, Wunder,” Tomás said, flipping his hair back. Tomás had been doing more things like that since they started sixth grade, things like styling his hair very carefully and matching his shirts to his sneakers. “What’s going on?”

  Wunder couldn’t think of an answer to this question. He hadn’t talked to Tomás during the past two weeks—he hadn’t talked to any friends—but Tomás’s mother had come to the house the day before the funeral. She had brought flowers and a card and a huge casserole, and she had talked quietly to Wunder’s father, had even knocked on Wunder’s mother’s door.

  And Faye had said Ms. Shunem had told their class about the funeral. So Tomás knew. Everyone probably knew.

  “Some things, I guess,” Wunder finally said. “I mean, nothing. I don’t know.”

  His voice sounded like it didn’t belong to him. It sounded flat, like it had been squashed under something heavy and cold.

  Standing a little behind Tomás, Davy didn’t speak but gave a half wave and a half smile. Davy had not changed since they started sixth grade. His hair was as curly and unstyled as ever, he was still quiet and cautious, and he still carried his schoolbooks in the mailbag he used on his morning paper route, Branch Hill Broadcast written in bright red on the side.

  “Do you want to go to the Snack Shack after school?” Tomás asked. “They got a new arcade game last week. It’s like that super-old one, Space Invaders, but with a huge screen and lasers and stuff.”

  Wunder turned back to Tomás. “What?” he asked.

  “The Snack Shack,” Tomás repeated slower. Louder. “My mom said she’ll drive us.” He glanced over at Davy. “You’ve got to come. Otherwise it’ll just be me and Davy again.”

  Davy gave an apologetic smile.

  “Maybe,” Wunder said. He put his hands in his pockets. “I might be able to do that. I might not, but maybe.”

  Tomás seemed satisfied with this. He flipped his hair and headed toward English class. Wunder and Davy followed. Davy still didn’t say anything, but he kept sneaking looks at Wunder, front teeth gnawing on his bottom lip, both hands gripping the strap of his bag.

  Wunder had been worried that they would ask him about his sister. But he hadn’t thought about what he would do if they didn’t.

  He wasn’t as surprised about Tomás. Tomás almost never asked about Wunder’s weekend or his family or anything that didn’t have to do with Tomás. Wunder wouldn’t have said this aloud, but he sometimes thought that if he and Tomás hadn’t met when they were little, they would never be friends now.

  But Davy—Davy’s mom had gotten cancer when they were in third grade. She didn’t die, but she had been really, really sick. And Wunder had talked to him about it. Not a lot, but he hadn’t pretended like it wasn’t happening. He hadn’t pretended like Mrs. Baum didn’t exist.

  All day, Wunder waited for one of them to say something, but they didn’t say anything.

  In fact, no one did.

  Kids did look at him a lot more than usual—sneaky glances out of the corners of their eyes. A few gave him sympathetic looks, their mouths turning up slightly, sadly. And in science class, Ms. Shunem said, “Oh, Wunder, welcome back! I almost didn’t recognize you without your smile!”

  But that was it.

  Until the end of the day.

  “Wundie, we need to talk.”

  Faye Ji-Min Lee was at his locker. She wore her black cloak and her lacy fingerless gloves, but instead of the black dress she had worn at the funeral, she had on jeans and a bright-yellow-and-pink-flowered blouse. It was, Wunder thought, a very incongruous ensemble.

  “It’s Wunder,” he said. “Never Wundie. No one calls me Wundie.”

  “Wundie. Listen. Could you be quiet for two seconds, please?” Faye said. “It’s rude to interrupt. And this is very important.”

  “Okay, but it’s Wunder,” Wunder said. “What’s so important?”

  As if in slow motion, Faye reached into her cloak, pulled out a bobby pin, and pinned back her bangs. Her eyes scanned the hallways—left, right, then left again. “About yesterday.” She leaned toward him.

  This was it. Someone was going to talk to him about the funeral, about his sister. Wunder felt himself simultaneously reaching forward and shrinking back.

  “About the witch,” Faye whispered.

  This was not at all what Wunder had expected her to say.

  “The witch?”

  “At the DoorWay House,” Faye said. “You saw her. I know you did.”

  Even when he had believed in miracles, Wunder had never spent much time on Faye’s reported paranormal interests: ghosts, vampires, banshees, et cetera. So he hadn’t thoug
ht of the porch-sitting woman as a witch. But now that Faye said it, he realized that was exactly what she looked like.

  But all he said was, “I saw an old woman. There’s no such thing as witches.”

  “Oh, she’s a witch,” Faye said, waving her gloved hand in lazy dismissal. “She lives in the DoorWay House. She wears hangy scraps of white cloth. She smiles and waves at mourners. Et cetera. If that isn’t witch behavior, I’ll eat my cloak.” She held up one side, then dropped it for unenthusiastic emphasis. “So obviously we have to go to that house.”

  This was even more unexpected. “No, we don’t. We don’t have to do anything.”

  “She’s. A. Witch.” These last words were punctuated with even-longer-than-usual pauses and uncomfortable stares. “And you’re the president of the Unexplainable and Inexplicable Phenomenon Society. You must want to meet her.”

  “No, I don’t. I don’t care about her.”

  “Wundie.” Faye leaned closer to him, much closer than he wanted her to be. He could see little lines of skin through the black smudges under her eyes. “I know you’re going through a hard time right now. I know you’re very sad. But listen—you don’t think it’s a coincidence that we saw this witch now, do you? The day of the funeral? On my grandfather’s birthday? And your creepy priest screaming those verses? That deranged bird diving at your head? Et cetera? These are miracles, Wundie!”

  Faye’s voice had grown faster, faster and higher, as she recounted all the things that had made Wunder so confused last night, all the things he had been trying not to think about.

  “They aren’t miracles!” he said. “They aren’t anything. There isn’t—”

  “Miss Lee!” Vice Principal Jefferson was barreling down the hallway. “Miss Lee, you are in violation of the dress code. Take off that cape!”

  “We’ll talk later, Wundie.” Faye spun away from him, moving faster than he had ever seen her move. “It’s a cloak!” she shrieked.

  Then she ran down the hallway, her black cloak streaming behind her.

  Chapter 8

  As Wunder finished putting away his books, he tried not to hear Faye’s words playing over and over in his mind. The verse. The bird. The witch.

  He wished he had never talked to her. He slammed his locker shut and picked up his backpack. The Miraculous was still inside, still weighing him down.

  Outside, Tomás and Davy were waiting in their usual spot by the stairs.

  “Hey, Wunder,” Tomás said. “Ready to go?” Davy hovered by his elbow, smiling hopefully. “Come on. I want to try to get the high score.”

  Wunder didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t go play video games right now. It was like Tomás didn’t remember what had happened. Or didn’t care. He started to back away from his friends.

  “Wait, Wunder.” Davy spoke for the first time. His voice was a nervous squeak. “We haven’t—I haven’t seen you in—in forever. And I wanted to talk to you about—”

  “Sorry, Davy,” Wunder said. “I need—I have some things I have to—sorry.”

  He practically ran down the school steps. As he hurried away, he saw Faye at the bike rack. He thought again about what she had said. He opened his mouth to yell her name.

  Then he closed it again. He walked faster, hands in his pockets.

  He needed to be alone. He needed to get rid of The Miraculous. Now.

  * * *

  The sky was clear and the afternoon sun was so bright that the world looked washed out and unfamiliar as Wunder stumbled down the sidewalk, away from school. The voices of kids at the bike rack and by the buses faded behind him. He wasn’t headed toward home. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was going.

  In town, things were quiet, and there was hardly any traffic. Everyone was still inside, finishing the afternoon’s work.

  Wunder passed the town hall, a brick building with a fountain and a few saplings out front. Then he hurried past Safe and Sound Insurance, where his mother worked, and the Snack Shack, where Tomás and Davy were probably already shooting aliens.

  He passed the library and the pharmacy and stores he had never been in. There were trash cans here and there on street corners, and he thought about tossing The Miraculous into one, but he didn’t. None of them seemed like the right place.

  He went through the downtown, through the residential section—and then he was in the woods.

  In the woods, Wunder finally slowed down. He knew no one would be there. No one ever was. The leaves hadn’t begun to change yet, and the light that filtered through them patchworked a green-tinted pattern on the path. A soft breeze made the Spanish moss sway and the oak leaves wave.

  The woods, he thought, might be a good place to leave the book. He searched for the perfect spot as he walked. But he still couldn’t find one.

  Coming from this direction, he reached the cemetery gates before the DoorWay House. He held on to the iron bars and peered in. Gravestones dotted the fields like crooked teeth in a massive, yawning jaw, like dominoes set up and ready to fall. So many graves. Mostly, he thought, the graves of older people, people who had lived long lives, but maybe there were some like his sister’s.

  Graves of the unknown or the barely known, graves of the lost.

  He pulled on the gate and found that it wasn’t locked. He wasn’t sure if there were rules about visiting cemeteries. It felt wrong to go in, but he went in anyway.

  He stopped at the first grave he came to. There was a simple headstone there. The words glinted gold, a metallic wink, a signal, a beacon shining out from the black background.

  Vita mutatur, non tollitur, read the words at the top of the stone. Beneath that was a name—Dalia Ramos—and dates.

  Wunder didn’t know what the words meant, but he could read the dates. Dalia was eighty-two when she died.

  Eighty-two seemed like a good number of years to live.

  He thought of his sister’s gravestone. It hadn’t been made yet, but he knew what it would look like. His father had shown him. The dates were carved in polished white marble, and if anyone bothered to calculate how long she had lived, they would come up with eight. Eight days.

  Eighty-two years. Eight days.

  The wind blew, and the shadow of a cloud fell across the golden words. Wunder could barely read them anymore.

  He straightened up and walked farther into the cemetery, pausing here and there to look at grave markers, to read dates. Micah Shunem, who had been thirty years old when he died and a beloved son and brother. Avery Lazar, whose headstone didn’t have any dates, just a statue of a white bird, wings spread in flight. A gray stone monument with the name Kobayashi across the top and black script and the outlines of little flowers beneath.

  The treeless hill rose up ahead of him, grass green and empty. Wunder considered going to the base of the hill, to his sister’s grave. He wouldn’t say a prayer for her, but maybe he could sit next to her grave here the way he had sat next to her in the hospital.

  But the longer he stayed in the cemetery, the less he wanted to be there.

  When Wunder used to write in The Miraculous, he would sometimes feel like he was doing a miracle of his own. He would feel like there was something special about bringing all those stories from all those people together. Like he was connecting the dots of each soul he wrote about—connecting them to himself and to one another and to everything that gave him the heart-bird feeling.

  The cemetery, he thought as he drew closer and closer to the hill, was the exact opposite of The Miraculous. Each grave was its own entry, its own story. But instead of making the world seem wonderful, instead of making Wunder feel connected and loved and happy, these stories made him feel separate and lonely and angry.

  Then it occurred to him that this was where he should leave The Miraculous. In the most unmiraculous place of all.

  He should leave it here, and then never come back.

  He knelt and pulled the black leather volume from his backpack.

  Caw! Caw! Caw!

 
; Wunder jumped as the sound echoed off the headstones. The Miraculous fell from his hands.

  “It’s just a bird,” he said out loud, but his voice shook and the feeling that he was somewhere he should not be returned.

  He leaped to his feet, grabbed his backpack, and ran to the gates.

  The bird cawed again. Closer this time.

  Wunder kept running. He was in the woods now, and it was dark, so dark after the brightness of the cemetery that it was hard to see.

  And then he was passing the toweringly tall live oak, and the bird was cawing again, cawing as it swooped down the dirt trail. He knew he shouldn’t look, he didn’t want to look, but he did—

  And there she was. Rocking in that spiral-wood rocking chair. Newspaper spread open over her knees. The pages fluttering in the wind. Like wings, like the wings of a bird.

  The witch of the DoorWay House.

  And just like last time, she was watching him.

  Just like last time, she met his eye. She smiled.

  And she waved.

  Chapter 9

  Wunder’s father called the house that afternoon to say he would be working late.

  “There’s tons of food in the fridge,” he said. “You can heat up whatever you want for dinner.”

  “Okay,” Wunder said. “Sure.”

  His father was quiet for a few seconds. “I know I should be there,” he said. “But I’ve been gone for two weeks. There’s a lot to catch up on.”

  “It’s fine,” Wunder said. “I’ll be fine.”

  Wunder’s father was an engineer at SunShiners, where he designed solar panels. He used to be a technician there. When Wunder was younger, he would go to work with his father, and they would take apart equipment—massive metal machines—and his father would explain how the pieces worked. How they fit together.

  Then, when Wunder was seven, his father graduated from college after years of night classes and applied for the engineer position. Wunder had written about it in The Miraculous. It went like this: