Junonia by Kevin Henkes

spoon back, but regretful of all the terrible thoughts she’d had about Mallory. She turned red in the face and had the peculiar sensation that the whole world was watching. She picked up the spoon and the quarter and the macaroni and got up off the floor.
    â€œHey, isn’t that your spoon?” asked Alice’s father.
    â€œIt is,” Alice murmured.
    â€œIt must have fallen during the commotion with the spilled milk,” said her mother. “I can’t believe it.”
    â€œI can’t either,” Alice said in a hollow tone. She slipped the quarter into her mother’s hand. “I was so mad at Mallory because I thought she stole it.”
    â€œBut now you can be happy because you know she didn’t ,” said her father.
    â€œAnd she never knew you were mad at her, anyway,” said her mother.
    â€œI guess.”
    Alice fingered the spoon, thinking. The perceptions that she had trusted had already been replaced. She wished that she hadn’t thrown the necklace into the ocean. She crossed the kitchen and tossed the macaroni into the wastebasket. “I think I’ll send her one of the spoons when we get home,” she said quietly.
    â€œThat would be very nice,” said her mother.
    â€œYou’re a good kid,” said her father. “Did we ever tell you that?”
    Alice nodded and flashed him a jack-o’-lantern grin.
    Her father narrowed his eyes playfully. “Now don’t get a big head.”
    Alice’s mother was counting quarters at the table. “I think we’ve got enough,” she said. “Who wants to help me do laundry?”
    Alice went to bed early, but it was always difficult for her to sleep well on the night before a trip—coming or going. Absently she worked her finger through a threadbare spot on the bedspread, creating a small hole. She was thinking about Mallory and the spoon. She not only would send a spoon to Mallory, she decided she’d send one for Munchkitty, too. And she’d send the blue and the orange spoons, because they were the ones Mallory had chosen the night of the party. There was only one blue spoon and one orange spoon, but it seemed worth it. It seemed to be the right thing to do.
    The night was still, the shadows unwavering. For a while, Alice imagined playing Sweet or Sour with Mallory and Helen Blair on the streets of the Chinese village.
    Her mind wandered. She thought that time passed more slowly at night, especially when you were trying so hard to fall asleep.
    She yawned. Tomorrow would be a morning full of good-byes. But now, she realized, was the beginning of the good-byes, because this was the last night. She forced herself to close her eyes.

 
CHAPTER 21
    At the horizon, clouds crammed the sky like rolls of cotton smashed against glass. But up above, the sky was a bright blue bowl. And, under it, Alice, saturated in sunlight, was saying good-bye.
    She’d already been down to the ocean and back three times. Once, running as fast as she could. Once, walking and trying to keep her eyes closed as much as possible. And once, listing slightly to one side and then the other, pretending that the wind was shifting.
    She’d said good-bye to the sand heart, which wasn’t much more than a dimpled hump. She’d said good-bye to the dolphins—wherever they were under the water. She’d said good-bye to the pelicans and the gulls and the sandpipers.
    When Alice and her parents walked down to Mr. Barden’s cottage to say good-bye to him, he seemed less substantial and extra frail to Alice, as though he’d shrunk overnight. His eyes behind his glasses were watery.
    Alice stood taut and stayed right by her father. “See you next year,” she said cheerfully, keeping her distance.
    â€œIf I’m still alive,” Mr. Barden replied.
    Alice looked away and let the adults do the rest of the talking.
    Then they stopped at the Wishmeiers’. Alice’s