14
Tata is taking apart an old shed in the yard when I get home the next day. “Not a job for you,” he says, grunting as he heaves one of the rotted planks of wood out of place. “Go do some homework.”
I happily hurry into my room and close the door. It’s Friday. Homework can wait. I take out one of the new notebooks my parents gave me for my name day. I choose a purple pen and flip to the first page. I’ve been so busy with the wildflower project and the dance group that I haven’t had a chance to try my presents out yet.
I tuck myself into the far corner of my bed, surrounded by a nest of pillows, ready to write.
Usually the poems tumble out of my brain and onto the paper, as if they can’t come fast enough. Snippets about things that happened at school, or things I noticed throughout the day, or things I’ve imagined.
This time, my brain feels empty.
I end up doodling on the blank page instead, but even that feels forced. Restless, I put the notebook back under my bed and head outside to see if Tata needs help after all.
He’s struggling with the last plank of wood, and it’s clear from his groans that his back is hurting.
I rush over to help him before he tips over.
“No!” he says. “It’s too heavy.”
But I’ve already grabbed the other end. I shuffle toward where Tata’s stacked the other planks. It’s only after I’ve put the wood down that I realize Tata’s no longer holding the other end. I somehow managed to carry the entire thing on my own.
Tata stares at me with his mouth slightly open. “You… you are so strong now,” he says. “Maybe even stronger than me.” He sounds impressed, but also something else. He sounds scared.
“We’ve had a breakthrough in our research,” Mama says at dinner that night.
“Did you figure out how to make more Amber?” I ask.
She gives me a careful smile, and I suddenly notice that her glasses are perched on top of her head instead of on her nose. Her eyesight is finally getting better.
“Not exactly, but it’s almost as exciting. I’ll be able to tell you more soon.” She glances at Tata. “It means I might have to stay at work late a few extra nights.”
I expect Tata to put up a fight. He has a thing about us eating dinner together as a family every night, and he hates the “take-out junk” that Mama’s coworkers order at the office when they need to stay late. But he only nods. Ever since this afternoon, he’s been oddly quiet.
“Are you taller since yesterday?” Mama asks me suddenly. “You look taller!”
“My pants did seem short when I put them on this morning. I had to change my outfit.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re having a growth spurt,” Mama says.
Tata grumbles half to himself about the cost of buying new clothes, but Mama is smiling.
I smile too, wondering if I’ll finally stop being the shortest kid in the fifth grade. But my smile fades when I remember my blank notebook.
“Mama, do you think the breakthrough in your research is thanks to the Amber?” I ask. Now that Mama has her ration card, it means almost everyone on her team is using it.
She considers my question for a minute. “Perhaps,” she says. “When you bring a lot of smart people together, ideas will flow. And if their brains are working more efficiently, it’s possible they would produce even better results.”
“So Amber doesn’t hurt your creativity?”
She frowns. “I haven’t heard of that. But it’s possible that Amber affects the brain in ways we don’t yet understand. There’s still so much for us to learn.” She looks at me. “Why do you ask?”
“I was just curious,” I say. Of course the Amber isn’t causing writer’s block. It’s probably the stress of finishing the wildflower project and keeping up with the other girls in the dance group and waiting to hear back about the magazine contest. I haven’t even been taking Amber for two full weeks. I bet once it really kicks in, my writing will be better than ever.