Junonia by Kevin Henkes

touch, Alice plucked the bits of sea glass off the heart before someone else did. They looked like flower petals in her hand. She smoothed the sand with her other hand. In places, the heart was crusty, and already there were some cracks along the edges. Where Alice straightened one of the shells on the border, she caused a tiny avalanche. She wondered how long the heart would last. It was out of the ocean’s reach, but there were always dogs, and there were always nasty kids who enjoy wrecking things for fun. If nothing else, over time, the wind would wear it away.
    â€œWhen did you find the red and blue glass?” asked Alice.
    â€œYesterday,” replied her mother.
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œBy the lighthouse.”
    â€œHow did you . . .” Alice’s voice trailed off because something had caught her eye; something stirred inside her. Her mouth hung open. A silvery shape had moved in and out of the water. Her concentration sharpened. She held her breath. The shape reappeared, and after a graceful rolling motion, disappeared again. “A dolphin!” Alice cried, pointing.
    The dolphin’s fin came and went, came and went. The three of them tried to keep up with the dolphin by jogging along the shoreline. They followed it until it changed course and headed for the horizon.
    When it was gone from sight, Alice’s father said, “A birthday dolphin. What more could you ask?”
    On the way back to the cottage, Alice’s heart seized. Mr. Barden was coming toward them. Alice hadn’t seen him since he’d made his comment about Mallory two nights ago, and she still felt angry about it, and hurt.
    Her parents said hello. Alice kept silent. She managed a tight-lipped, lame smile, and looked above Mr. Barden’s head.
    â€œA little bird told me it was your birthday,” Mr. Barden said.
    Alice nodded. She reached down and scratched her ankle.
    â€œDid the little bird also tell you to come for birthday cake tonight?” said Alice’s mother.
    â€œOooh,” said Mr. Barden. His old, bony face expanded with a wide smile, a smile that was a sharp contrast to Alice’s skimpy one. “Yes, yes,” he said, jingling change in his pocket.
    â€œIt won’t be too late,” said Alice’s mother. “One of us will come to get you.”
    Mr. Barden slipped his hand from his pocket and offered a few coins to Alice. “A little something for the birthday girl,” he said.
    â€œThank you,” Alice replied in a soft voice. She forced herself to look right at him as she accepted his small kindness. A part of her remained hardened toward him, but she felt much better. And she was glad to have gotten through this first encounter since he’d made his remark. Seeing him again wouldn’t be so awkward for her. She was relieved. She pushed the coins into the same pocket in which she’d put the sea glass.
    Alice and her parents waved good-bye and continued on.
    Alice wiggled her fingers. Next year she wouldn’t be able to count how old she was on her fingers. She’d have more years than fingers. For some reason this fact seemed important. She walked slowly, deliberately, as if by doing so everything about her day would last longer.
    â€œThis is my best birthday,” said Alice. “Already.”
    Her father laughed. “You always say that.”
    â€œHey! Hey!” called Mallory. She seemed to have come out of nowhere, galloping directly at them, clutching Munchkitty to her chest with one arm. She stopped abruptly and took a deep breath. “A man from the office brought a package to your porch,” she said, her eyes darting wildly. Then her eyes focused on Alice, and she added, “It’s the size of a shoe box, and it’s for you!”

 
CHAPTER 13
    â€œWhy don’t you open it?” asked Mallory.
    Why don’t you say happy birthday? Alice wanted to ask. But she didn’t. She lifted her