He smiles, his whole face lit up. “Thanks,” he says, then clears his throat. “Anyway, that’s me and Leo. But you…you were the toughest to figure out.”
I raise my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s always been hard to get any wishes out of you,” he says, and I smile, because all I’ve ever really wished for was this: family and friends, safety and love, the sun streaming through the window on a Saturday morning. Just this.
But Teddy twists to reach behind the couch, producing a package wrapped in newspaper.
“What’s this?”
“Your wish,” he says with a smile, and I hold my breath as I peel pack the pages of the sports section. When I see what it is, I burst out laughing.
“An ostrich?” I ask, holding up the stuffed animal.
“What can I say? Just trying to make all your dreams come true.”
Leo is staring at us with obvious confusion. “I don’t get it.”
“Big ostrich enthusiast,” Teddy says by way of explanation, which only makes Leo’s frown deepen.
I turn the stuffed animal over in my hands, examining the glassy eyes and downy feathers. “Thank you,” I say, thinking about that morning in the snow, the two of us talking as Teddy dug through the dumpster for the ticket that would go on to change everything so completely. “I love it.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, pulling a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket and handing it over to me.
When I open it and see the wordKenyaprinted across the top, my throat goes tight. I scan the page, thinking about the photograph of my parents there, the setting sun and the lone giraffe and the way they were looking at each other, as if they were all alone in the quietest place on earth.
“Kenya,” I say softly, waiting for the pang of it, the sharpness, that too-hot feeling that sweeps over me whenever I think of them, of the things they once did and the things they would still be doing if luck hadn’t intervened.
But it doesn’t come.
All I see is Teddy right now: his hopeful smile, the crease between his eyebrows that spells out his worry, the weight of his hand on mine.
“How did you know?”
“That picture in your room,” he says. “I’ve seen the way you look at it. But I wasn’t sure if it would be something you—”
“Yes,” I say, and then I say it again: “Yes.”
He grins at me. “Yeah? Good. Because we’re gonna do a week of safari—hopefully we’ll see some real ostriches at some point—and then a week of volunteering at a children’s home over there.” He pauses. “I took a wild guess that you’d probably be okay with that.”
Almost without meaning to I let myself fall into him, and he circles his arms around me so that I can hear the steady pulse of his heart. “I can’t think of anything better,” I say, smiling into his shirt, and he laughs.
“Even an island?”
“Even an island,” I say, sitting up again.
Across the room, Leo slides off the counter. “Kenya?” he says with a kind of forced casualness. “Wow. That sounds like fun. Alotof fun. When do you leave?”
“Two weeks,” Teddy says. “We’re gonna stay in this awesome safari camp with these tents that look out over the savanna, and you get to see lions and giraffes and zebras and elephants and—”
“Fun,” Leo says again. He stands and walks over to the door, kicking aside some newspaper to find his shoes, then tugging them on. “That’s really, really fun. I’m sure you guys will have an amazing time.”
“You know you’re coming with us, right?” Teddy says, and Leo spins around again, his expression wary.
“I am?”
“Of course. How could we go to Africa without you and Max?”
Leo’s eyes widen. “Max too?”
