Kerka's Book

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Aunt Tuula

The cold wind that whipped snow through the canyons of New York's city streets matched my mood as I hurried back to Aunt Tuula's apartment on Friday afternoon. My first soccer practice at the Girls' International School of Manhattan had not gone well—to put it bluntly, it was awful.

I had let myself, and my old team, down. Of course, the Golden Bears were four thousand miles away in Finland and would never know I'd played terribly unless I e-mailed to tell them, which I was
not
going to do. Instead, I vowed to practice harder and play better. Then when I
did
talk to my friends back home, I'd be able to tell them that I had showed these New Yorkers what a Golden Bear could do!

Satisfied with that thought, I pulled my blue woolen scarf over my mouth and leaned into the
wind. I was undaunted by the frigid force because it reminded me of the northern country I'd left behind. It also made me more comfortable with my new life in the United States.

My older sister and I had been living with our aunt Tuula in her Manhattan apartment less than a month. After my mother had died, it was what my father and Aunt Tuula had thought best. Even though it was hard to leave behind everything I knew, it was exciting, and I was happy to be around kids who wouldn't feel sorry for me all the time because of my mother.

Rona had settled into city life easily; she was thrilled to be able to study ballet and modern dance with world-famous teachers. For her, the heavy work schedule was the perfect distraction from our mother's sudden death six months ago, and it was all she talked about the few moments we had together, which was fine with me. I didn't know what we could say to each other that would help.

I had hoped soccer would help me escape, like Rona's dancing did for her, but I was used to playing outside on a grassy field or in the thawing slush of early spring, and I was used to being one of the best players. I am not good at everything,
but I am almost always good at sports. But here, in the indoor gym, I couldn't get into the rhythm during drills, and it made me remember my mother. She had always softened my disappointments as no one else could. She made me feel better without making me feel like I should be different.

Except for that, my first week at GIS had gone better than I dared hope, thanks mostly to my new friend Birdie Cramer Bright. We are not at all alike. Birdie is dreamy, and I like plans. Birdie loves to talk about plants, and I like to take hikes. Birdie is usually shy and careful with what she says, and I am comfortable with people and too outspoken for some. But even though we're very different, our friendship really works, and that's all that matters.

Birdie had just moved to New York from California, and this had been her first week at GIS, too. We had both been too busy adjusting to a new city and school to talk about our journey in Aventurine, which had happened just before New Year's. Birdie had promised to come by, and I wished she would visit soon. We also had something in common that we couldn't discuss with anyone else: generations of women in our families had been trained and guided by fairies in the dreamland of Aventurine to become fairy godmothers.

Thinking of Birdie and Aventurine lightened my mood. As the howl and bite of the wind diminished, I imagined myself walking through miles of orchards, riding the Redbird Wind, and battling deadly vines. I'm not a daydreamer like Birdie, so my thoughts about the fantastic world weren't made up, I promise you. They were real memories. I had been sleeping with my Kalis stick under my pillow all week, waiting for the fairies to take me back to Aventurine.