The Wonder of All Things Read Free Page A

doctors never really called it that—but I knew that if I sang something, you’d wake up.” He reached around awkwardly and patted himself on the back. Then he pointed at Ava and said, “You’re welcome!”
    “I hate that song,” Ava said. Everything was sore and she was freezing. Her bones felt like they were filled with concrete. When she lifted her arm, it responded slowly and clumsily, doing only half of what she told it to. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing deeply and slowly. It helped, but only slightly. “I really hate that song,” she managed finally.
    “I know,” Wash said. “But if I picked one you liked, you’d never want to wake up and tell me to shut up.”
    In spite of the pain, Ava laughed.
    “How do you feel?” Wash asked.
    “Usually with my hands,” Ava said.
    “Jerk,” Wash replied in a low voice. He got out of his chair and walked over to Ava’s side. “Really,” he said, “how do you feel?”
    “I’m cold,” Ava replied. “I’m cold and everything hurts.” The boy went to a large cabinet in the corner of the hospital room and came back with a blanket. Ava watched him closely as he walked. There was something important she needed to remember, something that had happened. But when she tried to recall whatever it was, there was only grayness in her mind, like a fog that hugs a lake under moonlight.
    He placed the blanket over her. “I’m not sure what I can do about the rest,” Wash said, “but I can help with the cold.”
    “You’re okay,” Ava replied, finally managing to sit up on her elbows. Wash’s smile faded and deep wrinkles formed on his brow. “Uh-oh,” Ava said slowly. “Your thought trenches are showing, which means you’re thinking. That’s not a good sign.”
    “I’m fine,” he said, and he rubbed his forehead. He stood beside her bed. “Are you ready for all this?” he asked, and Ava could not quite make out the tone of his voice. There was excitement in it, but also uncertainty.
    “Am I ready for what?” Ava asked.
    Next to the bed, Wash fumbled with his shirt for a moment—untucking it from his jeans with clumsiness. He adjusted the upper waistband of his underwear so that they did not show, then lifted his shirt up and turned to the side.
    “Can you believe it?” he asked, smiling awkwardly, awaiting judgment.
    Ava looked at the long stretch of skin from his waist to his ribs. The boy was thin and gangly and pale. “Believe what?” Ava asked. “That you’re skinnier than a cereal box and pale enough to get sunburn from a book light? I’ve known that for a while now, Wash.” She laughed, but the laughter rolled into a cough that made her eyes water.
    Wash let the joke pass. He turned back and forth slightly to be sure that Ava was able to see the full scope of how he was not injured. Not bruised. Not scarred. “You did this,” Wash said. He lowered his shirt and reached for the television remote, then pointed it at the screen that sat high up on the wall above the foot of Ava’s bed.
    He flipped through the channels on the television, scanning each one only for a moment. He knew what he was looking for and grew more and more frustrated by the fact that he could not find it. “Just give me a second,” he said. “Don’t go remembering anything just yet. It’ll be so much better if I can just show you. You’re not going to believe it.”
    “You’re freaking me out, Wash.”
    “Shush!” he interrupted. Finally he stopped changing channels. On the television was a news program with a woman in a well-cut suit standing in front of a large screen with a picture of Ava on it. Across the bottom of the screen was the banner The Miracle Child. For the next few minutes Ava lay back in her hospital bed and watched as video from the Fall Festival filled the screen. She saw Matt Cooper’s airplane rising and falling through the sky. There were images of families and children and people enjoying the booths and rides and the