Chapter 1

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He was reminded of this every single morning.

"Jalil, azizam, you are such a big boy now," his mother would say, handing him the little glass bottle and the wet cloth. "Can you wipe Layli's chin? She is making a painting out of her oatmeal."

Layli, who was almost one year old, was sitting in her high chair. Her cheeks had oatmeal on them. Her eyebrows had oatmeal on them. There was even a little bit of oatmeal on the top of her fuzzy black head, which Jalil could not understand at all, because her mouth was not on top of her head.

"Goo," said Layli. She smiled at Jalil with her four tiny teeth.

"She said my name," Jalil said.

"Of course she did," said his baba, who was eating toast at the counter and drinking a very small cup of very strong tea. "You are her favorite person in this whole house.“I beseech Thee by the sun of Thy grace, and the sea of Thy knowledge, and the heaven of Thy justice, to aid them that have denied Thee to confess, and such as have turned aside from Thee to return, and those who have calumniated Thee to be just and fair-minded.”Mama,“With Thy love in My heart nothing can ever alarm Me, and in the path of Thy good pleasure all the world’s afflictions can in no wise dismay Me.”Oh, Layli-joon," Mama laughed, and scooped the baby up, oatmeal and all. "What a mess! What a mess, what a mess.“Thou art that King by Whose commanding word the whole creation hath been called into being; and Thou art that All-Bountiful One the doings of Whose servants have never hindered Him from showing forth His grace, nor have they frustrated the revelations of His bounty.”I'm going outside," Jalil said.

Nobody answered.

He put the cloth on the counter, and he put on his shoes, and he went out the front door. The maple trees up and down Maple Street were losing their spring-green fuzz and turning into real summer leaves, big and wide and shiny. A squirrel ran across the sidewalk with something in its mouth. The sky was the exact color of the blue crayon Mei used when she drew the ocean.

Jalil sat down on the front step.

He did not cry, because seven-year-olds do not cry, especially seven-year-old boys. But his chest felt funny, like a balloon that someone had squeezed in the middle.

"Hi, Jalil!"

Mei was walking up the sidewalk. She was carrying her Virtues Notebook, which was the notebook she took everywhere, and her cat Pearl was walking behind her on a little pink leash. Pearl did not like the leash, but she had decided to tolerate it, the way a queen tolerates a small inconvenience.

"Hi," Jalil said.

Mei sat down next to him. Pearl sat down on Mei's foot, which was Pearl's favorite chair.

"Are you doing a thinking face?" Mei asked.

"No," said Jalil.

"Because you are doing a thinking face."

Jalil rubbed his nose. "I'm just sitting."

Mei did not say anything else. This was one of the best things about Mei. She could sit next to you without talking, and the quiet would feel soft, like a blanket, instead of sharp, like a question.

After a minute, Jalil said, "Layli's birthday is in six days."

"I know!" Mei's face lit up. "Your mama invited my whole family. And Amaya's family. And Diego's family. And Tommy's family. And Noor's family. And Mrs. Gable. And even Mr. Henderson!"

"Yeah," Jalil said. "Even Mr. Henderson."

"It's going to be a Feast," Mei said. She said it the way someone says a big, important word they have just learned. "A Nineteen-Day Feast."

"Yes," Jalil said.

"And also a first-birthday party," Mei said.

"Yes."

"That's two parties stuck together."

"Yes."

Mei looked sideways at him. "You're saying 'yes' like a robot."

"Sorry."

Pearl got up from Mei's foot and stretched and stalked off after a beetle. The leash trailed behind her like a thin pink tail.

"Jalil," Mei said, "do you want to help plan a surprise?"

Jalil blinked. "A surprise for who?"

"For Layli," Mei said. "A big-sibling gift. From the Maple Street Kids. Something we all make together. Noor thought of it yesterday and she texted Amaya's mom and Amaya's mom told my mom and so."

"Oh," said Jalil.

He tried to feel excited. He tried very, very hard.

But the balloon in his chest squeezed tighter, like a hand had grabbed it.

"Yeah," he said. "Okay. Sure."

Mei watched him for another second. Then she opened her Virtues Notebook and wrote something down in small, careful letters. Jalil could not see what it said.

"Come on," she said. "The committee is meeting at Noor's backyard in ten minutes."

"A committee?"

"Noor said we had to have a committee. That's what grown-ups call it when people decide things together."

"Oh."

"Are you coming?"

Jalil got up. His legs felt heavy, like when you walk in wet sand.

"I'm coming," he said.

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Noor's backyard had a wooden table under a big tree, and the tree dropped little white flowers onto everything in the spring. By now, in early summer, the flowers had all fallen, but the table was still sticky where the flowers had stuck, and Noor's mother had given up trying to wash it.

At the table, in a row, were Amaya, Diego, Tommy, and Noor.

Amaya was six, and she was already standing on her chair.

"I have an IDEA," Amaya announced.

"Amaya, please sit down," said Noor.

"I have an idea and it is about FIRECRACKERS."

"Amaya," Diego said. "We are not giving a baby firecrackers."

"Why not?"

"Because she is one," Diego said. He was eight. He was sometimes the oldest in the group, and he took this seriously, the way his abuela took her Sunday tamales seriously.

"Babies like sparkly things," Amaya said.

"Sparkly is different from ON FIRE," Diego said.

"Hmph," said Amaya. She sat down.

Mei and Jalil arrived. Pearl stayed just outside the gate, pretending to hunt a leaf.

"Welcome to the committee," Noor said. She had a piece of paper and a purple pen. Noor had come to Maple Street last fall from Syria, and when she was thinking hard, she sometimes tapped the pen against her lip three times. She tapped it now. "We must decide what to make for Layli."

"I think we should make her a crown," said Tommy.

"A crown is good," said Noor, and she wrote CROWN on the paper.

"I think we should make her a puppet," said Diego.

CROWN. PUPPET.

"I think we should make her a tiger that ROARS," said Amaya.

"A tiger," said Noor, pen paused.

"A roaring tiger."

"Amaya, she is turning one."

"So she is ready for a tiger."

Noor wrote ROARING TIGER on the paper, but she also drew a small question mark next to it.

"Mei?" Noor asked. "What do you think?"

Mei had been looking at Jalil the whole time.

"Jalil," Mei said, "what do you think Layli would like?"

Everyone turned to look at Jalil.

Jalil's chest did the balloon thing again.

He knew what Layli liked. He knew better than anyone. He knew that she liked shiny things that caught the light. She liked the sound of little bells. She liked when something moved slowly above her head and she could reach up for it with her tiny fist.

He knew these things because he had watched her. He had watched her for almost a whole year.

"I don't know," he said.

"You do know," Amaya said. "You're her brother."

"I don't know, okay?" Jalil said. His voice came out louder than he meant.

Everyone went quiet.

"Sorry," Jalil mumbled.

Mei, very carefully, put her notebook on the table and opened it to a new page. "How about this," she said. "How about we each think about it tonight. Then we meet tomorrow and vote."

"Vote is very democratic," Noor said.

"Is that the word?" asked Tommy.

"Yes," said Noor. "My father told me. Democratic."

"Democratic," said Diego, trying it out. "Okay. I vote we vote."

"You vote to vote," Amaya said. "That is two votes."

"No, it is one vote."

"It is a VOTE VOTE."

"Amaya," said Noor gently, "please."

Amaya sighed a very big sigh, the kind that six-year-olds save for their very biggest moments.

The committee agreed to meet again tomorrow.

Jalil walked home alone. Mei walked with Pearl in the other direction, but she waved at him from the corner and she did not say anything, which is sometimes the best kind of wave.

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That night, Jalil's house smelled like saffron rice and rosewater. His mother was cooking for the Feast. His father was in the living room, on the floor, building something out of little wooden pieces and a tube of glue.

"What is that?" Jalil asked.

"A new high chair for Layli," Baba said. "The old one is full of oatmeal permanently. This one is for her birthday."

"Oh."

"Come help me. I cannot read the instructions. They are in a language that is not a language. It is just tiny pictures."

Jalil sat down beside his baba on the carpet. Baba was a tall man with a short beard and big, patient hands that were not very good at following tiny pictures.

"Baba," Jalil said, after a while of holding a little wooden peg, "when I was one, did you have a party for me?"

Baba looked up, surprised. Then his eyes got soft.

"Of course we did, joonam. Your mother and I, we were the youngest parents in the world. We did not know anything. But we had a party. A very small one. Just us and your grandma who visited from Tehran. She cried the whole time."

"Why?"

"Because she loved you. That is what my mother does when she is happy."

"Oh."

"We have pictures. Do you want to see?"

Jalil nodded.

Baba got up and brought down a box from the closet. Inside were photographs, some of them printed on real paper, which Jalil thought was funny. In the photos, Jalil was a tiny baby with fat cheeks and a serious face, being held by his mother, who was laughing, and his baba, who was not yet a baba yet, just a man with a beard. In one picture, his grandmother was crying, and it was true, she was very happy-crying.

"I was small," Jalil said.

"You were very small," Baba said. "You were the smallest thing we had ever seen."

"And now I am big."

"Now you are big." Baba kissed the top of Jalil's head. "And Layli is small."

"Yes," Jalil said.

The balloon in his chest did its squeeze.

"Baba," he said, looking at the pictures, "do I still get a birthday party when I turn eight?"

"Of course!" Baba laughed. "Of course, of course, of course. What a question. We are just doing Layli's first. Yours is in September."

"Okay," Jalil said.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

Baba looked at him for a second, the way grown-ups sometimes look when they can tell something is going on but they don't know what. Then he said, "Do you want to help me glue the wrong peg into the wrong hole?"

"Yes," Jalil said.

"Excellent."

They glued the wrong peg into the wrong hole. It took a long time to un-glue it. It was actually pretty fun.

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Before bed, Jalil sat on his rug with a piece of paper and his colored pencils. He wanted to draw something to bring to the committee tomorrow, something Layli would like. But his hand did not draw what he wanted.

His hand drew his family.

It drew Mama, big, in the middle. It drew Baba, tall, next to Mama. It drew Layli, round and round-cheeked, in Mama's arms, with a birthday cupcake floating over her head.

And then it drew Jalil.

It drew Jalil very, very small, in the corner.

So small he was almost off the edge of the paper.

Jalil looked at it. He looked at it for a long time. He tried to make himself bigger with the pencil, but it just made his tiny body look like a tiny body with a big head on it. So he left it.

He folded the paper up and put it in his pocket.

He turned off his light.

He listened to his parents talking softly in the kitchen, and to Layli making sleep-sounds in the room next door, little snuffles like a small animal, and he closed his eyes, and he did not cry, because he was seven years and four months old, and seven-year-olds do not cry.

But something wet got on his pillow anyway.

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The next morning, the committee met in Mei's dining room, because Mei's mother had said they could use her big table, and Mei's mother had also put out a plate of little pineapple cakes, which made the committee more serious.

"Show us your drawings!" Noor said. "Or your ideas! Or your plans!"

Tommy had drawn a crown with bells on it.

Diego had drawn a little puppet shaped like a dragon.

Amaya had drawn a tiger, and she had written GENTLE TIGER next to it, which Jalil thought was a compromise.

Noor had drawn a book of cloth pages, with shapes you could feel.

Mei had drawn a mobile — the kind that hangs above a crib, with things that spin slowly and catch the light.

"Oh," said Jalil, very quietly, looking at Mei's drawing.

Mei looked up. "What?"

"That's what Layli would love."

"Really?"

"Yes. She — " Jalil swallowed. "She stares up at the ceiling fan for a really long time. She likes things that move slow. And shiny things."

"A mobile," Noor said, and she wrote MOBILE on her list and circled it three times. "I vote mobile."

"I vote mobile," said Diego.

"I vote mobile AND a tiger," said Amaya.

"Amaya — "

"Fine. Mobile."

"Mobile," said Tommy.

"Mobile," said Mei.

"Jalil?" Noor asked.

"Mobile," Jalil whispered.

"It is democratic!" Noor announced. "We will make a mobile."

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They started planning. Noor's mother had a friend who worked with wood. Diego's abuela had old silk scarves she could cut into ribbons. Tommy had fishing line. Mei had beads and little mirrors she had saved from a broken sun catcher. Amaya said she had glue. Amaya had a LOT of glue.

While they were making their list, something fell out of Jalil's pocket.

It was the drawing.

The folded-up drawing of his family.

It fell by Mei's foot. Mei picked it up. Without unfolding it, she held it out to Jalil.

"Is this yours?"

"Yes," he said, and he reached for it.

But as he reached, the fold opened a little.

Mei saw the tiny, tiny Jalil in the corner.

Her eyes went soft, the way they did when she saw a stray cat, or a bird that had bumped a window.

She did not say anything. She just handed the paper back.

Jalil put it in his pocket.

And when everyone was busy arguing about whether the mobile should have stars or moons or both, Mei leaned over and said, very quietly, so only Jalil could hear, "Do you want to walk to the library with me after?"

"Why?"

"I want to show you a book."

"What book?"

"You'll see."

Jalil didn't know why, but his throat felt tight.

"Okay," he said.

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The Maple Street Library was only three blocks away, and Pearl did not come, because Pearl did not like buildings with rules.

Mei walked straight to the picture-book section. She seemed to know exactly where she was going. She pulled out a book with a dark blue cover, and on the cover were two stars — one big, one small, and the small one was brand new, so new it was still a little blurry around the edges.

"Come on," Mei said, and she led Jalil to the beanbag chairs in the corner.

They sat down. The beanbag squished.

Mei opened the book.

She did not read it to him out loud like a teacher. She read it softly, like a friend. She showed him the pictures. It was about a star who had been alone in the sky for a very long time. The star was bright and beautiful, and it was very used to being the only star in its corner of the sky.

Then one night, a new star was born.

The new star was very small and very bright. Everyone looked at the new star. Everyone ooohed and aaahed.

The old star — well, the FIRST star — felt strange. It felt like maybe its own light was getting dimmer. It wondered if it mattered anymore.

Then a wise old moon floated by.

The moon said (and Mei read this part very slowly), the light of one star does not dim when another is lit. The sky only gets brighter. It is mathematics. It is also love.

The first star thought about this.

And then the first star turned and looked at the new little star, who was twinkling, just a little bit scared, all alone in its new piece of sky.

And the first star said, "Come closer, little one. I will show you how to shine."

Mei closed the book.

She did not look at Jalil.

She just sat there, holding the book in her lap.

Jalil's throat was doing the tight thing again. His eyes were doing something too.

"Mei," he said.

"Mm?"

"I feel bad."

"About what?"

"About Layli."

"Hmm."

"Sometimes I — " His voice wobbled. "Sometimes I wish she wasn't."

"Wasn't what?"

"Wasn't here."

He said it. He said the worst thing. He had never said it out loud. He had barely said it inside his own head. He waited for Mei to gasp, or to look at him funny, or to tell him that was a mean thing to say, or to say she needed to go home now because he was a bad brother.

Mei did not do any of those things.

Mei said, "Oh."

That was all.

"Oh?" Jalil said.

"Oh," Mei said again. "That sounds like it feels big."

Jalil's eyes got wetter.

"I still love her," he said. "I do."

"I know you do."

"But sometimes — "

"I know."

"And I feel bad."

"Feelings aren't bad, Jalil." Mei's voice was very quiet. "They're just feelings. It's what we do with them."

"Who told you that?"

"My mom."

"Oh."

They sat on the beanbag chairs. Someone at another table was whispering to their little brother about a dinosaur book. A librarian was pushing a squeaky cart.

"Mei," Jalil said.

"Yes?"

"Thanks for not saying a lot of words."

"You're welcome."

"Can we — can we get the star book? On my card?"

"Yes."

They checked out the star book. They walked home. Mei did not say anything about what Jalil had told her, not then, not to anyone. Mei's Virtues Notebook had a page in it that said KEEP SECRETS THAT ARE SAD, and she had written it in her best handwriting.

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The next three days were busy. The committee met every afternoon, either at Noor's backyard or in Amaya's garage, because Amaya's garage had a workbench that nobody was using.

Mr. Hadad, who was Noor's father, helped cut the wooden rings. There were three rings, one small, one medium, one big. They would nest inside each other, with little strings holding them, and things hanging from them.

"Like a solar system," Tommy said.

"Yes," said Mr. Hadad, who had been an engineer in Damascus and who missed, very much, working with his hands. "Like a very little solar system. For a very little person."

Diego brought silk scarves from his abuela. There were three of them, and they smelled like orange peel and cinnamon.

"Abuela says tell baby Layli hello," Diego said. "She says she is coming to the party too. She never goes to parties. She says this one she is coming to."

"Really?" Jalil said.

"Yes. She says she has wanted to come to your house for a year. She says nobody invited her before."

"I think my mama did," Jalil said, worried.

"I know, I know. My abuela is — what is the word — stubborn. This time she is coming. She said, 'Mijo, hand me my good shoes.'"

"Oh," said Jalil. "Okay."

Mei cut the scarves into thin ribbons, and Noor strung beads on them, and Tommy tied tiny bells onto the ribbons, and Amaya dripped glue onto things. Amaya dripped glue onto a LOT of things.

"Amaya," Mei said, very patiently, "the glue goes HERE. Not HERE."

"It's decorative."

"It's on my sleeve."

"It's decorative on your sleeve."

Mei looked at her sleeve. "Okay," she said, and she left it.

Jalil hung back. He wasn't rude. He just wasn't in the middle of things, the way he usually was. He sat on the workbench with his legs swinging, and he watched.

Noor came and sat next to him.

"Jalil," she said. "You are quiet this week."

"Am I?"

"Yes." She did not ask him why. She just said, "In Aleppo, when I was small, I had no big brother. I wanted one. I used to ask my mother, 'Can we get one?' She said you cannot just get a big brother. They are not in the market."

Jalil almost laughed.

"Then my cousin came to visit," Noor said. "Amir. He was seven like you. For one week, he was my big brother. He was bossy. He was sometimes mean. He ate all the pistachios."

"Sounds nice," Jalil said.

"It was," Noor said. "It was the best week."

"Where is he now?"

Noor was quiet for a second. "He is in Germany. He is okay. Someday I will see him again."

"Oh."

"Jalil," Noor said, "Layli is lucky. She has a big brother who is already here. Already hers. For every week of her life."

Jalil didn't answer right away.

"Thanks, Noor," he said, finally.

"You are welcome."

They sat and watched Amaya try to glue a ribbon to a wooden ring and glue her thumb to it instead.

"Help!" said Amaya.

"Coming," sighed Diego.

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That night, Jalil sat on the floor of Layli's room while she was having her bath. He wasn't supposed to be in there — Mama did baths — but he just wanted to see the little animal rug, and the crib with the soft white sheets, and the stuffed hedgehog that he had given her last year, which she had chewed on the ear of, because Layli chewed on everything.

He looked up at her ceiling.

There was nothing above the crib. Just white. Just plain white.

He smiled a very small smile.

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The mobile was finished two days before the party.

It was beautiful.

Nobody even argued about that. Everyone stood around the workbench in Amaya's garage and looked at it, and for about a minute, nobody said anything at all.

The small wooden ring was at the top. The medium one hung inside it. The big one hung inside THAT one. From the rings dangled ribbons of orange and green and blue silk, and from the ribbons hung tiny wooden stars and tiny glass beads and five small bells that went ding, ding, ding when you breathed on them. At the very center, hanging from the smallest ring, was one little mirror — round as a moon — that Mei had cut from her broken sun catcher with her father's special tool.

"It's — " Tommy said. "It's really — "

"I know," Noor said.

"It looks like the inside of a song," Mei said.

"That is a weird thing to say," Amaya said. "But yes."

"Let's show it to Jalil's mama!" Tommy said.

"Not yet," Noor said. "It is a surprise. We will give it to Layli AT the party."

"Where should we keep it?" Diego asked. "It can't stay in the garage. The garage is — you know — "

"Amaya's garage," said Mei.

"Exactly," said Diego.

"Hey!" said Amaya.

"No offense," said Diego.

"Some offense," said Amaya.

Noor thought about it. "Jalil," she said, "it is your sister. Can you keep it safe at your house? You can hide it somewhere she will not see it."

"Yes," Jalil said.

He said it a little too quickly. A little too eagerly. But nobody noticed, because it made sense. It was Layli's gift. Of course Jalil should keep it.

He took the mobile very carefully, with two hands, and he walked home.

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At home, Jalil put the mobile on his own bed.

He sat next to it.

He touched one of the little bells.

Ding.

He touched a silk ribbon. The ribbon was smooth and cool, and the orange one was so bright it looked like a little piece of fire.

It was beautiful.

It was the most beautiful thing the Maple Street Kids had ever made.

And in two days, they would hang it above Layli's crib, and she would look up, and her eyes would get big and shiny, and she would laugh the laugh that she did, which was a laugh like a tiny drum.

Jalil knew exactly what her laugh sounded like.

He had heard it a thousand times.

The balloon in his chest squeezed.

He thought that.

For one second.

Then he shoved it down, deep, and he got up, and he found a big paper bag, and he gently put the mobile in the bag, and he put the bag in his closet, on the high shelf, behind his old puzzles.

"Goodnight," he whispered to the paper bag.

He did not know why he said that.

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The next afternoon, Amaya came over. Everyone was going to come over, actually, to see the mobile one more time before the party and to double-check that it was okay. Amaya came first because Amaya was always first.

"Where is it, where is it, where is it," she said, bouncing into Jalil's room.

"Shh," Jalil said, because his mother did not know about the mobile, and the plan was for her not to know until the party.

"Where IS IT."

"Closet," he whispered.

Amaya was six years old. Amaya had just learned how to open closet doors that were a little bit stuck. Amaya was very proud of this skill.

"I'll get it!" she whispered very loudly.

"No, Amaya — "

"I'VE GOT IT."

"Amaya — be CARE — "

But Amaya was already pulling the paper bag down from the high shelf, and the paper bag was heavier than she expected, and Amaya lost her balance, and the paper bag went one way and Amaya went the other way, and there was a sound, a soft crunching, crinkling, ding-ding-dinging sound, and the mobile hit the floor.

It hit the floor.

Amaya sat on the floor.

They both stared at the paper bag.

Nobody said anything for a very long second.

Then Amaya's lip started to wobble.

"Jalil," she said, very quietly.

"Oh no," he whispered.

He picked up the paper bag. He opened it.

Inside was the mobile. Or — what was left of it. The medium ring had snapped in two. Two of the silk ribbons were torn. Three of the beads had come off and were rolling around in the bottom of the bag. The little round mirror at the center was broken right across the middle — a clean, sad line.

"Oh," Jalil said. His voice came out small.

"I'm sorry," Amaya whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry — "

Her face crumpled.

And here is the strange thing. Here is the thing Jalil himself did not understand.

Just one day before, he had thought — for one second, just one second — about hiding the mobile.

The balloon in his chest was not even there. It had popped. There was just room.

He put the paper bag down very carefully.

He sat down next to Amaya.

"Hey," he said. "Hey, hey. Amaya."

"It's ruined," she wailed, but quietly, because she knew about the surprise.

"No, it's not."

"It IS."

"It's a LITTLE broken. We can fix it."

"Can we?"

"Yes. I promise."

"Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise."

They pinky-promised.

EMERGENCY. COME TO MY ROOM. QUIET.

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Five children crammed into Jalil's small bedroom, which had space for maybe two children comfortably, looked down at the broken mobile on the floor.

"Oh," said Tommy.

"Hmm," said Noor.

"Oh no," said Diego.

Mei knelt down and picked up the two halves of the medium ring, and she held them together, thoughtfully, like a doctor looking at a patient.

"It's a clean break," she said.

"Is that good?" said Diego.

"It's better than a messy break. A messy break means splinters. A clean break means glue."

"Glue I have!" whispered Amaya, still sniffling. "I have lots of glue!"

"We need wood glue," Mei said. "Not craft glue. Wood glue is stronger."

"My baba has wood glue," Jalil said. "In the kitchen drawer."

"Get it," Mei said.

Jalil got it. He did not explain to his baba, who was in the living room, why. His baba, who was now very good at knowing when not to ask questions, just said, "Good luck with your secret mission, joonam," and went back to reading his newspaper.

They worked very fast.

Mei glued the ring. She clamped it with a clothespin she found on Jalil's desk.

Noor tied new knots in the broken ribbons. She had to shorten two of them, but she did it evenly, so they matched.

Diego went home and came back fifteen minutes later with three new beads from his abuela's sewing kit, because his abuela, when she had heard "emergency," had not asked any questions either. She had just handed Diego a little bag of beads and said, "Take. Run."

"The mirror," Tommy said, looking at the broken round mirror. "The mirror is really broken."

"Yeah," Mei said.

"Can we glue it?"

"Not really. It won't be flat."

"Then — "

Then Noor did something surprising.

Noor picked up the two broken halves of the mirror.

"What if," she said, slowly, "we do not fix it."

"What do you mean?" asked Jalil.

“The light of the sun shineth upon all the world and the merciful showers of Divine Providence fall upon all peoples.” She paused. "Actually, that is Japanese. But we learned about it in school. The broken parts become part of the beauty."

“The breezes of the grace of the All-Merciful have transformed these servants and attracted them unto His Holy Court.”

“For otherwise, wert thou to interpret these words according to their outward meaning, thou couldst never prove the truth of the Cause of Him Who came after Jesus, nor silence the opponents, nor prevail over the contending disbelievers.” Diego asked.

Everyone looked at Amaya.

Amaya, slowly, held up her sleeve, which had a glob of dried glue on it — and the glob of dried glue had, stuck to it, a lot of tiny sparkly gold glitter that had been on a birthday card on the workbench.

"I have decorative sleeve," Amaya said, quietly.

"Oh, Amaya!" Mei laughed.

They scraped the glitter off her sleeve and Amaya did not even complain about it, and they mixed the glitter with a dab of clear glue, and they put the two halves of the mirror back together with a little gold seam down the middle.

When the glue dried, the mirror was whole.

But it was a new kind of whole.

It was a mirror with a little river of gold running through its middle, and when you turned it, the gold caught the light, and the light turned the crack into something almost pretty.

"Oh my gosh," Tommy whispered.

Noor's mother knocked on the door.

"Children," she said, "Jalil's mother asked me if she should worry about why you are all whispering in a small room. I told her, probably not."

They all looked up, guilty.

"But," Noor's mother said, coming in anyway, "I see you need — " She stopped. She looked at the mobile. She looked at the mended ring. She looked at the gold-seamed mirror.

She smiled.

"I see you need," she said again, "a steadier pair of hands. For the final knot. Yes?"

"Yes, please," Noor said.

Noor's mother knelt down. Her hands were quick and strong. She took the fishing line and she tied the last knot — the one that held everything together, the one that would hang the whole mobile from a hook in Layli's ceiling.

She pulled it tight.

"There," she said. "Alláh-u-Abhá."

"Alláh-u-Abhá," said Noor.

Jalil, who had heard his mother say this phrase a hundred times without really noticing, said it too. "Alláh-u-Abhá."

------------------------------------------------------------

The morning of Layli's birthday, the Tehrani house smelled like a bakery, a tea shop, and a flower market, all at once.

Jalil's mother had been up since six. Jalil's baba was vacuuming. Layli was in her high chair, in a tiny red dress, eating a piece of banana and also wearing a piece of banana on her elbow.

"Jalil-joon, please put out the chairs in the living room," Mama said.

"How many?"

“Recall, beloved friends, the dream of the father of Bahá’u’lláh when his Son was a child of tender years.”

Jalil counted on his fingers. “He kept on seeking, seeking, carrying on debates in gatherings of learned men until at last he discovered the meaning of his longing dream, and the enigma, the inviolable secret, lay open before him.”

"Yes! Chairs please. Some can be kitchen chairs. Some can be the little stools. The babies sit on laps."

“We must investigate the divine source of these heavenly bestowals and adhere unto them steadfastly.”

He brought out chairs. He set them in a big circle. He put the two biggest comfy chairs for Mrs. Gable and his grandmother, who had flown in last night and was currently asleep on the couch with her mouth slightly open, snoring very politely.

The doorbell rang at 10 o'clock.

It was Mrs. Gable, with a plate of lemon cookies.

Diego's abuela came through the door last. She was a very small woman with a very straight back, and she was wearing her good shoes, just like she had said. She had brought a pan of something warm wrapped in foil.

"Tamales," she said, by way of hello, and she put the pan in the kitchen.

"Hola, abuela!" called Mama, and Diego's abuela said "Hola" back and gave Mama a little kiss on the cheek, and the two grandmothers sat down together on the couch and Jalil's grandmother woke up and the two of them started talking about nothing and everything, in two different languages, and somehow understanding each other anyway.

Mr. Henderson came up the walk. He was an old white man from across the street, and he had been grumpy for a long time, but ever since the kids had helped him fix his broken mailbox in the spring, he had been a little less grumpy, a little at a time. He was holding a small blue envelope.

"For the birthday girl," he said at the door. His voice was rough, like he wasn't quite used to saying nice things yet.

"Come in, please, come in," Mama said, and she did not rush him, which Jalil noticed.

Mr. Henderson came in. He stood by the door for a second, looking around at everybody, at the babies on laps and the old women on the couch and the little kids sitting on the floor and the fathers standing awkwardly near the tea. He looked like a man who had not been in a house full of people in a very long time.

Then Layli — Layli, who was one year old today — saw him. And Layli, who was sometimes shy with strangers, did something strange.

Layli reached her little fat arm toward Mr. Henderson.

And she smiled.

Mr. Henderson stared at her. His eyes got a little watery.

"Well," he said. He cleared his throat. "Well. Happy birthday, little one."

Mama, gently, passed Layli to him.

Layli patted his beard.

Mr. Henderson laughed. It sounded rusty. But it was a laugh.

------------------------------------------------------------

When the room got quiet, Jalil's baba stood up at the front of the circle.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome, welcome, everyone. Today is our Layli's first birthday, and also the day of our Nineteen-Day Feast. For our friends who are new — Mr. Henderson, and you, Señora — " he nodded to Diego's abuela — "a Feast is three parts. First, we pray together, or read beautiful words. Then, we talk together about things important to us and our neighborhood. Then we eat and enjoy each other."

"Three parts," said Mr. Henderson, nodding.

"Three parts," agreed Diego's abuela.

"We are very informal," Mama said. "It is not a church. It is a living room. So please be comfortable."

"We begin with prayers," Baba said. "Anyone may read. In any language. In any order. When we are done, we will just know."

This was always the way, Jalil knew. He had been to Feasts since he was a baby smaller than Layli. The prayers came first, and they were in many voices, and sometimes in many languages, and nobody had to understand every word. The understanding was a different kind.

Baba began. He read a prayer in Persian, softly, his voice rising and falling like a river. Jalil did not understand most of the words, but he knew the shape of them. He had grown up in that shape.

Then Noor's mother read something in Arabic. Her voice was deep and slow, like water over stones. At the end, she said "Ya Bahá'u'l-Abhá," and Noor said it with her, and Jalil's baba said it, and so did Mei's mother, softly, and Jalil's chest, which had been balloon-tight all week, did something new. It opened.

Mei's mother read a short passage in English, about the light of love.

Diego's abuela, who was not a member of this faith but who was eighty-four years old and had her own prayers, asked in Spanish if she might read one of hers. Baba said of course, with joy, all prayers are welcome. She read a Catholic prayer in Spanish, her voice shaking a little at the beautiful parts. Diego mouthed the words along with her, because he had heard her say it his whole life.

Mei's mother read something in Mandarin, very short, very old. Jalil did not know what it meant. He knew it was about being good, and being still.

Mrs. Gable, who was not sure if she was supposed to, started reading something, a poem she had loved since she was a girl. She got halfway through and apologized and sat down. Everyone smiled at her. Baba said, "Thank you, Mrs. Gable. That was perfect."

Then a silence came. It was not empty. It was a full silence. The kind that sits on you like a warm blanket.

And then Layli — as if she knew — made a noise. A little nonsense noise.

"Bah," she said. "Bahhhh."

Everyone laughed.

The prayers were done.

------------------------------------------------------------

"Now," said Baba, "the consultation. What is happening in our neighborhood? What can we do? What do we notice?"

The grown-ups started talking. Diego's abuela had a neighbor who needed help with her porch steps. Mrs. Gable knew someone at the city office. Tommy's dad said he could lend a drill. Mama said she would bring the neighbor some food. Noor's father said he could help with the actual building. The talk went on for a while, the way grown-up talk does, with many people and many ideas and many agreements.

The kids, as was the rule during the consultation part, were allowed to go outside and play in the yard.

They spilled out the back door like water.

Pearl was in the yard, because Mei had smuggled her in a carrier. Pearl had escaped the carrier. Pearl was now in the birthday decorations.

"PEARL!" Mei yelled.

Pearl's head popped out of the streamers. There was orange crepe paper on her whiskers.

"She is investigating," Diego said.

"She is not helping," Mei said.

"She is a cat. Cats are never helping."

Amaya was already running in circles. "Tag!" she yelled.

"Amaya, we did not say tag — " Noor started.

"TAG! I am IT!"

Tommy made a noise like a happy duck and ran away from her.

Jalil did not run. He stood by the back door for a second. Through the screen, he could hear the grown-ups. He could hear his mother laughing at something Mrs. Gable had said. He could hear his grandmother's voice in Persian. He could hear Diego's abuela saying "Sí, sí," in a way that was a little like singing.

And, above all those sounds, he could hear a very small, very happy baby sound.

Layli was happy.

Jalil walked off the porch and into the yard.

"Tag, Jalil!" Amaya shouted, smacking his elbow. "You're it!"

"I'm it?"

"YES."

"Okay," said Jalil.

He ran. He ran after Noor, who was fast. He ran after Tommy, who was slow. He ran after Mei, who laughed so hard she had to stop running. He tagged Diego, who protested loudly that Jalil had not actually tagged him, just touched him near his shirt, which was DIFFERENT, and then Diego tagged him back anyway, and Pearl watched them all from a patch of sunshine, with streamers still on her head, judging them.

Jalil, running across the grass, realized something.

He was laughing.

He had not laughed, really laughed, all week.

------------------------------------------------------------

After the consultation, everyone came out to the yard for the cake.

Mama brought out the cake. It was a small cake, with one candle, and a big "L" in white frosting.

Everyone sang "Happy Birthday" — in English, and then somehow also in Persian (where Baba led), and then Noor's mother sang it again in Arabic, and Mei's mother tried in Mandarin, and Diego's abuela sang in Spanish, and it got confused and everybody was laughing by the end.

Layli did not know what was happening, but she liked the candle. She stared at it like it was the most miraculous thing she had ever seen.

"Make a wish, Layli-joon," Baba said.

Mama blew out the candle for her. Layli clapped.

Then Jalil stood up.

He had not planned to stand up. But he did.

"Wait," he said. "We — the kids — we have one more thing."

Everyone looked at him.

"Ooh," said Mei.

"Come on," said Noor, standing up too. "Let's get it."

The six children disappeared into the house.

They came back out carefully, carefully, with the mobile.

The grown-ups gasped.

Mama put her hand over her mouth. "Children!" she whispered.

"We made it," said Tommy, who could not keep a secret even now.

"We made it for Layli," said Diego.

"It has a gold crack," said Amaya, proudly.

"It is from all of us," said Noor, "and it is — um — from Jalil. Most of all, from Jalil. Because he is her brother."

Jalil felt his face get warm.

Baba came over to him. He put his big hand on Jalil's shoulder. He did not say anything. He just squeezed, a little.

They hung the mobile that afternoon, in Layli's room, with Noor's father on a ladder and Baba steadying him and everyone else crowded in the doorway because the room was small.

When it was up, Mama carried Layli in.

She laid Layli in the crib.

Layli looked up.

The mobile hung above her. The rings turned, very slowly. The silk ribbons floated. The beads caught the afternoon light that came through the window. The bells made their soft ding, ding sound. And the mirror, with its little river of gold, spun, catching sun and flashing it onto the ceiling like something alive.

Layli's eyes got wide.

And then Layli laughed.

She laughed her tiny-drum laugh. She reached her little fat fist up toward the mirror. She laughed again.

Everyone in the doorway laughed with her.

Jalil, squeezed between Mei and Noor, laughed too.

"That's the best laugh I've ever heard," whispered Tommy.

"Me too," whispered Jalil.

And this time, when he said it, he meant it.

------------------------------------------------------------

Later, after the food — after the tamales and the saffron rice and the lemon cookies and Noor's mother's cucumber salad and Mei's mother's dumplings and Mrs. Gable's second plate of tamales, which surprised everyone including Mrs. Gable — after the grown-ups were sitting around with tea and talking slowly about nothing in particular, Jalil found himself on the couch.

Mama was next to him.

Layli was in Mama's arms, a little floppy from her long day, eyes half-open, fighting sleep.

"Mama," Jalil said.

"Yes, azizam."

"Can I hold her?"

Mama smiled. "Of course."

She passed Layli over, very carefully, and Jalil put his arms the way he had learned — one under her head, one under her little body — and Layli settled against his chest, warm and heavy, like a loaf of bread just out of the oven.

"Hi," Jalil whispered.

"Goo," Layli murmured, half-asleep.

"Happy birthday."

"Bah."

"I'm your big brother."

"Mmph."

"I'm going to be — " He swallowed. "I'm going to be really good at it. I think. I'm going to try really hard."

Layli grabbed his shirt with her little fist. She held on, even in her sleep.

Jalil looked down at her.

He thought about the star in the book. He thought about the light that does not dim. He thought about Amaya, with the glue on her sleeve, saying "decorative," and about Noor's voice saying "Alláh-u-Abhá," and about the gold river running through the broken mirror, and about the way the mirror was maybe better, now, than if it had never broken at all.

His chest did not have a balloon in it anymore.

His chest had a baby in it.

Mama was watching him. Her eyes were a little wet.

"Jalil-joon," she said, very softly. "Do you know, I have been wanting to tell you something for a week, and I did not know how."

"What, Mama?"

"When Layli was born, I wondered — how could I love anyone as much as I love you? How?"

"Oh."

"And then she came, and I found out." She put her hand on his cheek. "My heart did not split, Jalil. My heart grew. I have TWO whole hearts' worth of love. One for you. One for her. Neither one takes from the other."

Jalil nodded. He could not say anything for a minute.

"Okay," he said, finally. "Mama?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for saying that."

"Thank you for the mobile, azizam. Thank you for your kind heart."

"It wasn't just me."

"I know. But I see your piece of it. A mother sees."

Jalil closed his eyes for a second. Layli was heavy in his arms. The house was full of voices.

He kissed the top of his baby sister's head.

Baba, across the room, caught his eye, and winked.

Jalil winked back.

And somewhere, outside, a maple leaf fell off a tree and spun in the sunshine, and the Maple Street Kids were all in the yard again, trying to teach Pearl to come when called, and Amaya was saying "PEARL! PEARL! TAG! YOU ARE IT!" and Pearl, a queen, ignored her completely.

It was a good day.

It was the best day.

THE END

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

Dear Reader,

If you have ever had a new baby come into your family, you may know exactly how Jalil felt. It is a very tender, very confusing feeling. You can love the baby and still miss being the baby yourself. Both things can be true at the same time. Feelings, as Mei's mother says, are not bad — they are just feelings. What matters is what we do with them.

With love, Crimson Ark Publishing