The Secret 04 The Ever After of Ella and Micha by Jessica Sorensen Page B

underneath the hood. It’s a really old car that he’s working on fixing up, but it seems like it’s taking him forever. I don’t know why he just doesn’t drive it the way it is now. I think it looks pretty fun and all the sides are different colors.
    I jump off the bumper and dig around in his toolbox near the back end until I find the wrench and then I walk to the front and hand it to my dad.
    “Thanks,” he mutters and goes back to working on the engine.
    I get a juice box out of the cooler, lean against the fender, and stare at the next-door neighbors’ house. It looks a lot like mine, but there is a lot of trash and car parts are everywhere and it looks like nobody ever cleans up.
    I’m about to head back to the trunk when the door swings open and the girl who lives next door steps outside. She looks like she’s going to cry, but she looks like that almost every time I see her. She’s got hair that’s the same color as our red mailbox and every time I talk to her, her eyes remind me of leaves. Her name is Ella and she always has tears in her eyes. I’m not sure if it’s because her mom is yelling at her all the time or because they make her take out the trash every day. Whatever it is, she always looks like she’s gonna burst into tears. I asked my dad once why the neighbors were always yelling and he said it’s because they are a messed-up family.
    I grab another juice box out of the cooler and wave to her as I step out of the garage. She doesn’t wave back, but she’s usually shy at first, like she thinks I’m the boogieman or something. With her head tucked down, she wipes the tears out of her eyes and walks down the steps. She doesn’t have any shoes on and the cement has to be hot under her feet.
    “Hey, Ella,” I say again, walking up to the fence between our houses.
    She stands at the corner of her house with her arms crossed, staring at the ground. She barely talks, and half the time, even when she’s talking, she looks down at her feet or the ground or at the trees.
    I hear her mother yelling in the house, telling Ella she needs to come clean up the dishes. My mom says I’m too young to help with the dishes, even though my dad says I should be helping out more.
    Ella keeps wiping her eyes with her hand as her mom yells from inside the house and I wonder if she’s hiding from her mom. Finally, the yelling stops and Ella dares to look at me.
    I hold up one of the juice boxes, offering it to her, hoping she’ll come over to my house for once. “Do you want one?”
    She looks at me for a really long time and then she slowly walks toward me. She pauses at the grass, looking like she’s scared to come closer, so I reach my arm over the fence. She stares at the juice box, then runs up and takes it.
    “Thank you, Micha,” she says quietly, stepping back as she pokes the straw into the juice box.
    “You’re welcome,” I tell her, as she starts slurping on the straw.
    I feel bad for her. I don’t think her parents take care of her because she always seems really thirsty and hungry every time I offer her a snack. I’ve tried to get her to come over and play a few times, but she always says she can’t.
    “Micha, get in here,” my dad calls out from the garage and he sounds really mad. “I need your help.”
    Ella instantly steps back, her eyes widening. “Bye, Micha.”
    “You should come over,” I call out and hold my toy car through the hole in the fence. “This is my favorite one, but I’ll let you play with it.”
    She eyes the car and then glances back at her house. “I think my mom might get mad at me if I do.”
    “You can just come over for a little bit,” I suggest. “Then when your mom comes out looking for you, you can climb back over the fence. Besides it’s really fun watching my dad work on the car.”
    She glances back and forth between the house and the car in my hand and finally she hurries back toward her house. I think she’s going back inside, but instead