Zally's Book (18 page)

Jan Bozarth
was raised in an international family in Texas in the sixties, the daughter of a Cuban mother and a Welsh father. She danced in a ballet company at eleven, started a dream journal at thirteen, joined a surf club at sixteen, studied flower essences at eighteen, and went on to study music, art, and poetry in college. As a girl, she dreamed of a life that would weave these different interests together. Her dream came true when she grew up and had a big family and a music and writing career. Jan is now a grandmother and writes stories and songs for young people. She often works with her own grown-up children, who are musicians and artists in Austin, Texas. (Sometimes Jan is even the fairy godmother who encourages them to believe in their dreams!) Jan credits her own mother, Dora, with handing down her wisdom: Dream big and never give up.

Coming soon!

Turn the page to meet Lilu!
She's about to go on her first adventure to
Aventurine—
without
her identical twin!

(Dear Reader, please note that the following excerpt may change for the actual printing of
Lilu's Book.)

Excerpt copyright © 2010 by FGA Media Inc. Published by Random House Children's Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

The back porch had always been my home away from home. At the other end was a futon with an oversized cushion covered in fat blue and white stripes. I'd slept on it a number of times, and I always woke up feeling fresher, more alive.

Three sides of the porch were screened, and the one wall was lined with old-fashioned shelves. Each shelf held baskets and jars filled with seashells. Our seashell collections were also strung together and hung around the room.

“You were terrific today at the pool,” said Mom.

I shrugged. Sitting so close to her, feeling the warmth of her skin, I felt cozy and safe.

“The best part, I think, was seeing you in the stands next to Dad.”

Oh no! That just slipped out! I'm such a dope.
This is exactly the type of thing moms are looking for when they set us up for special bonding time.

She turned toward me and the swing creaked. “You miss him a lot, don't you?”

I dropped my head back and let out a long sigh. “Mom,” I groaned. “I know you guys aren't getting back together. And I know it's not my fault or ‘our fault,' like some kids think. And I know you're very happy, okay?”

“Well, sounds like you've got it all figured out. Eat your pie, sweetheart,” Mom said.

I took a large forkful of the creamy sweet potato pie. “Mom, this is delicious. You know I could eat sweet potato pie every day!”

Mom set her plate on her lap and turned toward me. Her eyes studied me for a second, and then she said, “How about you and Tandy? Everything okay?”

Moms have that way about them, you know. They're more than smart—they're clever. Here she was letting me talk about her and Dad and everything, then out of nowhere she hits me with what's really bugging me. I guess thinking I could hide it from her was silly. Mom always figures things out.

Still, if I had any chance of avoiding more mother-daughter bonding, I had to rely on the one trick in every kid's book: denial.

“Mom, me and Tan are fine. I'm fine. Really.”

“So you're telling me you're excited about moving and delighted with all the changes and ecstatic that your sister is developing other interests and is not spending as much time with you?” she asked.

I studied the pie on my plate and pushed a piece of crust back and forth.

“I …” My voice broke. I tried to say something lighthearted, but it just got caught in my throat.

She reached over and squeezed my knee. “Lilu, baby, having you girls has been a constant blessing, a gift. I've watched you blossom, watched your friendship, your special connection. I've watched it and loved it. But I know the two of you are at an age where you might not be quite as identical as you once were. Tandy is getting really involved in her acting. She's great at it. But I see the way you get whenever that stuff comes up. I guess what I want to say to you is don't be afraid to let her go. Once you let her go, you give yourself permission to be all of what
Lilu
was meant to be. Permission to accept all the blessings the good Lord has in store just for you. You are a rare and beautiful creature, Lilu Hart. Don't be afraid of your uniqueness.”

Nothing to do with a speech like that but eat a few forkfuls of pie and let it sink in. Mom hummed
while she ate, as though she was humming the same tune that the ocean was playing with its waves. The tall, lush sweet grass and foxtail alongside the house swished and swayed in the wind, lending a backup chorus.

“This is for you,” she said. Mom's softly spoken words coasted on ocean breezes. She held out her hand and the gauzy moonlight flitted over the object in her outstretched palm.

It was a shell unlike any I'd ever seen. I reached out and took it from her.

“It's shaped like a crescent moon,” I said.

Mom nodded, her half smile now almost hidden behind her forkful of pie.

“Hey, Mom, have you packed all the old seashell books? I'd love to look this one up. It's amazing!”

She sat her plate on the floor, lifted her iced tea, and took a long swallow. Then she said, “It
is
amazing, Lilu. But you won't find it in any book. It is one of a kind, made by the sea and the moon specifically for our people, our ancestors, and passed down from generation to generation.”

“Like the baskets?” I squeezed my hand shut, pressing the cool, unusual shell into my skin. Then my hand opened wide as my mind whirred in fear of damaging something so precious.

“Sort of like the baskets. But the crescent moon came before the baskets. Without the pure magic of this moon's light, our family might never have found its way, would never have understood its purpose.”

I frowned. “You're talking about Aventurine again, aren't you?”

“Let's take a walk,” she said.

The screen door snapped shut like a turtle's mouth. As we moved toward the ocean, I glanced over my shoulder. Our house was candy pink with big, rolled tiles on the roof called barrel tiles. Black shutters sat beside the windows. On nights like tonight, after a huge afternoon storm, we opened the windows to allow the ocean air inside.

An occasional strong gust blew from the ocean, making me glad that I had used a red scarf as a headband to keep my unruly curls out of my face. Tall sea grasses and reeds bent and swayed, at times whipping about with such force, they looked like the mane of a charging lion.

Mom led me to a jagged rock formation and began to climb. We were careful to place our feet in the crags and craters, moving carefully until we reached a lip of the rock face that flattened. With my eyes closed, I filled my lungs with the beautiful ocean scent, fresh and briny and alive. Whenever I was this
close to the ocean, especially at night, it became a symphony in my head.

Mom interrupted my thoughts. “Lilu, you know your aunt Mary and I have talked a lot about Aventurine with you girls over the years.”

I nodded.

“Well, now it's your time,” she said. “I didn't know which of you girls would be first, but now I know it's you.”

“Mom, you've always talked about Aventurine; you talk about it being such a cool, magical place. A place for strong women to figure out who they are and become fairy godmothers …”

“That's right.”

“So … it's real? I thought it was just some sort of bedtime story.”

Mom's laughter was deep and sweet. “No, baby, that was no bedtime story. Aventurine is definitely real.”

My knees buckled. My hand shut tight, and the shell dug painfully into my palm. The sea bubbled into froth.

“Whoa!” Mom reached out and grabbed me. She helped me sit on the flat part of the craggy rock and didn't take her arms from around me until I was
sitting, facing the ocean, feeling the dampness of the surf against my skin.

“Umm, maybe next time you share life-changing news with me, we can do it someplace more stable? Remember, I'm the one who isn't that good with change!”

“Don't worry, Lilu. You'll be fine.” Mom squeezed my shoulder and I let myself lean into her, just like on the porch. Then she lightly tapped the fist where I was squeezing the shell.

“Relax,” she said. “You won't lose it. When you need it, it will find you. Aventurine will teach you how to use it.”

I frowned. This was crazy! Mom knew I was the practical one. The kid who always had to have proof. Tandy was the one who still pretended to be a mermaid and chased dragons.

Mom smiled. “I know you sometimes want more facts before you make a plan, but now I'm going to ask for a favor.”

“What is it?”

When she looked at me, she took my hands into hers and said, “I want you to stop thinking so hard about how everything should be and what pieces should go where.”

Now it was my turn to smile. She had me. I sighed. “Okay, Mom. So, tell me
again
about Aventurine. Remind me how this is supposed to work.”

“Early on, I knew I was blessed with the gift of weaving stories,” she said.

“I thought our family's skill is weaving
baskets
. I find seashells, keep our inventory, and plan how to sell the stuff Tan and I make. But she's the one who can actually
make
things. The weaving and crocheting and all the crafts, that's what you and Tandy do. I don't have that gift.”

“Those are skills passed down from generation to generation. Skills that, if you believe in yourself and have faith, you, too, can develop. Or maybe develop other skills that work just as well. But my true ‘gift,' that thing I knew I was meant to do more than anything else, that was writing. It was what I'd dreamed of since I was a little girl. Writing allows me to speak with people in their language. Not the language of their ears, but the language of their hearts.

“Our family comes from the Songa Lineage. Crafting a story isn't so different from crafting a basket. Instead of sturdy reeds, I take words out of the air and shape them into thoughts and emotions, information and delight.”

I nodded. I hadn't thought of it that way.

“So,” I said, “what is the Songo heritage thing about?”

“The Songa Lineage. When famine threatened our ancestors' survival in Africa, our queen spoke to the moon.”

My mouth dropped open. I said, “And the moon spoke back?”

Mom smiled, her teeth as white as the shell. “More like the moon goddesses. It turns out the moon needed us, too. It had gone off track and pulled the tides out of alignment. Our great ancestor, a woman known as Mama Akuko, herself a fairy godmother, saved the moon and the tides.”

When I just stared at her, Mom said, “In some African languages,
Akuko
means ‘youngest twin.'”

Now my jaw dropped.

“We have ancestors who were twins?”

“Of course,” Mom said. “You know twin genes run in certain families. If you're a twin, there's a good chance you have ancestors who were twins.”

“And this woman, Mama Akusa …”

“Mama Akuko,” she corrected.

“Yes, Mama Akuko. What did she do for the moon?”

“Mama Akuko was an expert weaver. So expert that she found a way to tug the moonbeams and guide the tides back on course.”

“But how?” I asked.

“Well, my love, that is a secret that stays with Mama Akuko and the moon goddesses, a secret you must earn,” she said.

Something in her stance was so …
real
. The angle of her body, the tilt of her head, the way her shoulders pulled back.

“How … how will I do that? Earn the secret, I mean. And what if I can't do what it takes? What if I get to Aventurine and cannot do what they need me to do?” My voice faltered on that last part.

Then, before Mom could answer my questions, I hit her with another:

“Why me and not Tandy?”

“This is about you, the youngest twin. Mama Akuko represents all those twins who came to be even though they were unexpected and unprepared for. I've told you girls the story over and over about how shocked your father and I were when you arrived.”

“I know, I know. For some reason I didn't show up on the ultrasound. What can I say? I've always been camera-shy.”

We both laughed. Then Mom said, “Aventurine
is the perfect place to figure out what distinguishes you in the world—not just from your sister, but from everyone else. There is nothing to fear in Aventurine. You go there in your dreams.”

Suddenly questions rushed at me, but Mom held up a finger. “Shhh,” she said. “I know you have questions, and I know you have much to learn. Keep the shell with you tonight; keep it near you while you sleep. Don't worry about finding Aventurine. Aventurine will find you!”