1 Joy Once upon a time, my birthday was fun. Emphasis on once. Judging by the sun, I'd guess it's probably not that early. I can hear Isabel and Davy giggling outside my door, waiting for me to wake up. They're more excited about my birthday than I am. I have dreaded my birthday for 364 days, and now it's here. Yippee. I'm thirteen.
"Okay, okay," I call out. "You can come in." It doesn't take but half a second for my bedroom door to fling open and two little bodies to fly through the air and land on my bed. "Happy birthday, Jolie," Isabel sings. "Davy says happy birthday, too." My little brother doesn't say much. He's four and a half, and he should be talking by now. Mom worries.
It's not like I think he has a delay or anything; it's more like he's hiding something. I guess everyone has their secrets. I know I do. I still talk to you. That's my secret. "I'm still sleeping, you guys," I say. I pull the covers over my head, but I can hear the anticipation in their rapid breathing and the squeaky mouse sounds that Isabel makes when she's happy-nervous. I swear I can even hear Davy tightening his belly muscles in preparation for some major tickling.
And for a moment I forget what day this is. I forget how hard this last year has been. This entire last year I dragged myself up and over whatever it was I had to do. The pain got smaller, but the grief did not. From under my blankets I start counting, very slowly. It's the slow counting that gets them every time. "One. Two.
Three." I can feel two trembling lumps, bony knees and skinny elbows, trying to hold me down. "Four. Five . I hope you don't say the magic word," I call out. Whatever word comes out of either of their mouths, that will be the magic word. All I have to do is wait. And count.
They can't help themselves. One of them will say something. "Six. Seven," I go on. Isabel tries to clamp her hand over her mouth. I can hear her muffled giggles. We all know she's going to be the one to blurt something out. It's always Isabel.
"Eight. Nine." "Nooo!" she screams. "That's it!" I yank the covers off my head, and the static electricity makes my hair stick all over my face. I can't see, but I manage to grab hold of my little sister and start tickling her mercilessly. "That's the magic word," I roar. "The magic word is no. And you said it.
" Davy tries to slide away. He makes a half-hearted run for the door, but I reach out and capture him, too. Now I've got them both. We are all screams, shouts, and laughing, a tugging, twisting, twelve-limbed octopus creature. Eventually, all the covers slip off the bed like a waterfall, and we end up on the floor in a big pile of arms and legs, and blankets, sheets, and pillows. And then, just before my mom walks in to see what all the commotion is, with a big smile on her face, and before my older sister, Natalia, steps up behind her and says, "Happy birthday," for a split second, I completely forget what day it is. I forget that a year ago today is the day after the last day I talked to my best friend, Lukas, for the last time. And sometimes, in rare happy moments like this one, I can even forget that there, in my desk, in the bottom drawer, is the envelope you left for me, the first clue, on my birthday one year ago today.