Miracle Meggie

By Toni De Palma

When 10 year old Meggie hears Wanda announce that she’s setting up a summer business selling miracles, Meggie thinks Wanda’s finally gone off the deep end. But that’s before Meggie’s sister is born way too early. Now, the doctors aren’t sure if the baby will live and mom and dad are spending all their time at the hospital. Suddenly, Wanda’s miracles don’t look so crazy anymore. But Wanda doesn’t just sell Meggie a Miracle. She wants an assistant. If Meggie wants to save her sister, she’ll have to first help Wanda transform an elderly neighbor into Madame Butterfly and get her a gig singing at Carnegie Hall. Coordinating a concert at Carnegie Hall isn’t as simple as it sounds, but if Meggie can’t pull it off, she’ll never learn the secret to saving her little sister or making miracles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Toni De Palma
• Release date: Jul 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311378873

Book preview

Chapter 1

Mrs. Jacobi stares hard at the clock. Her eyes drop, but she doesn’t look at us. A glossy brochure with a picture of a cruise ship sits on her desk. She touches it and sighs.

There’s still a half hour to kill. Why don’t you tell me about your summer plans?

I’m going to Girl Scout camp for two weeks, Shelly says.

Very nice, Mrs. Jacobi says.

My ears go up. Girl Scout camp is where Kelsey is headed too. Kelsey and I are BFF’s, but when she asked me to come to camp, there was no way. Not with my Dolly coming.

I’m going to visit my uncle in Georgia so I can keep out of my mother’s hair. She doesn’t want me giving her a nervous breakdown like I did last summer, Paul Bascom says with a grin.

She continues down the rows. Randy Hobbs is pulling weeds for his grandmother, because she said she’s paying him. Krista Barker says she plans to read a book a day and Tim Tumulty rolls his eyes.

Then it’s Wanda Huffnagle’s turn. This ought to be good.

For the first time in a long time, Wanda sits up straight. I’m going into business.

Everyone snickers.

Is that so? Mrs. Jacobi says to her. What kind of business?

Who cares? The more Wanda rambles on, the less time I’ll have to tell everyone about my new baby sister. There’s still so much to do before Mom gives birth.

I’m going to sell people miracles, Wanda says.

At this, Eddie busts a gut so bad that he falls out of his chair.

Eddie! Mrs. Jacobi yells.

As he gets back in his seat, Eddie grins at me. I shake my head and look down at my hands. Babies are one thing. Acting like a baby is another.

I don’t know if Wanda ignores him or it’s because she’s clueless, but she just keeps talking. I’m going to fix people’s problems. For a fee of course.

Of course, Mrs. Jacobi says with a tight smile.

I sit up straight, ready to talk about different brands of baby food, but Wanda is still going.

I’ve been doing a lot of research and I have a good method, Wanda says. Did you ever hear of the Law of Attraction?

Uhm…yes. I believe so, Mrs. Jacobi says.

My spine goes soft and I slump in my seat. This is going to take a while. My hand finds a mosquito bite that, until this moment, I didn’t know I had. For lack of anything better to do, I start scratching.

The Law of Attraction says that we can make things come true if we just believe in it hard enough.

I stop scratching and stare at Wanda. Her voice is less squeaky than it normally is and she sounds like she knows what she’s talking about, which is a very un-Wanda thing because Wanda is weird. Wanda wears glasses that are too big for her face and her hair is out of control. She is also the shortest girl in our class. When she sits at her desk, her feet don’t touch the floor even though Mrs. Jacobi found the smallest desk in the school just for Wanda. It’s not the desk, but the way Wanda sits, stretched over the top, with her arms flopping over. It’s like she’s diving for something.

She’s a wiggler too. All day, every day. Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle. Mr. Lou, the janitor, has had to come to our class four times so far to tighten Wanda’s screws. The ones on her desk that is.

Eddie isn’t the only one snickering now. The whole class is cackling.

Before I can give what Wanda has said any more thought, the bell rings. Mrs. Jacobi tries to tame the twenty of us as we rush out the door. It doesn’t work. Kids fly down the halls, arms and elbows and knees flying in all different directions. It’s officially summer.

Chapter 2

As I walk down the hall toward the big double doors of P.S. 83, Eddie is gabbing in my ear. Can you believe that Wanda Huffnagle? What was all that about attracting miracles? The only thing she attracts is flies. Eddie points at Wanda who is a few steps ahead of us.

Quit it, Eddie, I tell him. While I don’t disagree with him, I don’t like it when people talk behind other people’s backs either.

The flow of students is like a river. The moment feet hit the sidewalk, the river splits. Wanda turns to go her way, but, unfortunately for me, Eddie is still right on my heels.

So what do you want to do this summer? he asks, tromping beside me like a big, sloppy dog.

Nothing, I say, keeping my gaze steadily ahead. I’ve got plans. Big ones. Besides taking Dolly to see the ducks at the pond in the park, I’m going to sing to her and, when Mom says her baby stomach can handle it, I’m going to give her a taste of my cherry ice.

We can still try to make it into the Guinness Book of World Records. How about going for the world’s biggest rubber band ball? Eddie’s dad used to work for a stationary company. After the company went out of business, a lifetime supply of rubber bands magically appeared in Eddie’s garage.

No thanks.

Eddie hesitates a moment, but then his eyes get wide again. Popsicle racecars? Yeah, we can build those! When we’re done we can race them down the big hill at the park? Eddie is now galloping sideways, hopping from foot to foot, waiting for my answer.

I said no, Eddie.

Eddie stops smiling. He sticks his hands in his pocket, his brown, wavy hair falling forward in thick, sweaty clumps. I don’t want to be mean to Eddie, but lately, everything he does annoys me. Mom says that I’m starting to become a young lady. Maybe that’s the difference between Eddie and me. He just hasn’t caught up.

You don’t ever want to do anything fun anymore, Eddie says.

I told you, Eddie. This summer is different. I’ve got to get ready to be a big sister.

Eddie purposely scuffs his sneaker on the sidewalk. Sounds like an awful lot of work for someone who can’t do anything more than poo in her pants, he sulks.

Crossing my hands over my chest, I blast him. Did you just call my sister a poop head? You know, if you were a big brother, you’d know just how important it is to do all the stuff I’m doing.

The tips of Eddie’s earlobes turn pink. Then I remember what I overheard Mom telling Dad one night about Mrs. Simonetti losing a baby after Eddie was born. I feel bad.

I drop my arms and look at the ground. I’m about to apologize to Eddie, but he sees some boys he knows walking up ahead of us and runs off before I can get the words out of my mouth.

That darned Eddie. One minute I’m feeling sorry for him, the next minute he’s being rude, rude, rude.

Chapter 3

Mom, Dad and I are eating breakfast at the kitchen table. As Dad reads the paper, the only sounds in our kitchen slip in through the window above the sink. An airshaft connects our apartment to our neighbor’s, the Francones. As I build lumpy oatmeal hills in my bowl, I can hear Mrs. Francone yelling at Joey to take his dirty baseball glove off the table.

Mom sighs. At first I think she’s about to say something about there not being enough space between our apartment and the Francones. But since we live in a row home and are stuck, literally, to our neighbors, even Mom knows it’s pointless to complain.

But Mom’s sigh has nothing to do with the neighbors. She presses her hand to her stomach.

Is it Dolly? I ask.

She nods. She sure is swimming around in there today, she says.

Dad folds back his paper. He’s dressed in his conductor uniform for work. Two daughters. That means twice the number of boyfriends! I guess I’ll have to get a bigger bat. He shakes his head as if the idea is just too much

Mom’s fingers spread out over her baby bump, each one like the rays of the sun. From her fingers to her face, every bit of her radiates. It’s impossible not to feel happy.

A mother again. At forty-five, Mom says. It’s not the first time she’s expressed this worry.

It’s okay, Mom. This isn’t any baby. This is Dolly, I remind her. When we found out that Mom was having a girl, I took a book of baby names out from the library. Dolly seemed to fit the little person we all couldn’t wait to hold and cuddle and love.

Dad reaches across the table and squeezes Mom’s hands. That’s right. Listen to Meggie, Sara. We can handle it.

Yeah, mom, I say. I’ve got you covered. It’s true too. For the last seven months during free-reading time, I’ve plowed through The Nine Month Marathon, Everything You Ever Didn’t Want to Know About Raising a Kid and Facing Your Finicky Kid. Not to mention all of the other raising your baby articles I’ve read online. Even if Mom doesn’t think she’s ready, I’m super prepared.

Just when I’ve got Mom calmed down, Nana bursts into the kitchen. I just squeezed it. Come on. Drink it up fast before the vitamins start to dilute. In her hand, she’s holding a big, glass pitcher of orange juice.

Without asking, Nana goes around the table starting to pour.

When she gets to Mom, Mom cups her hand over her glass and says, No thank you.

Nana frowns. You need to drink it. It’s good for you!

Mom looks at Dad, but Nana is his mother, which means, out