Free Absolutely Truly by Heather Vogel Frederick

to my new bedroom. It was cavernous, with high ceilings and big tall windows on two sides. During the day, light poured in from the back and side yards, which was nice, but at night it was kind of creepy, the way the tall windows stared at me blackly. Crossing the room to pull down the shades, I glanced outside to see that the sky had cleared and a full moon was casting a silvery light on the snow.
    It was a perfect night for owling.
    When I was little and we came to Pumpkin Falls to visit, Gramps used to make up bedtime stories for Danny and Hatcher and me about a family of owls who lived in the barn out back when he was a kid. I asked so many questions about them that he finally bought me a book— All About Owls. I still have it. It’s on the bookcase by my bed, alongside all the other bird books Gramps has sent me over the years.
    Miss Marple settled onto the rug with a wheezy sigh. I pulled down the shades and turned around, pausing for a moment to survey the room. My gaze came to rest on the tiny pottery owl on my dresser, the owl mug full of pencils and pens on my desk, and the black-and-white woodcut of a snowy owl hanging over my bed. The woodcut is my prized possession. I never get tired of looking at it. My mother found it in Germany back when we were living there, and had it framed for me for my birthday.
    I guess I kind of have an owl collection.
    Owls are my favorite birds. I love their beautiful faces andbig round eyes. Plus, talk about stealth mode! Besides the fact that owls have awesome camouflage (their patterned feathers make them really hard to spot), they also have built-in mufflers—velvety-soft filaments on the surface of their feathers and a fringe on the edge that are designed to deaden sound. Owls fly almost completely silently, which is exactly how I’d want to fly if I were a bird.
    I went over and sat down on my bed. I ran a finger over the spine of my tattered copy of Owl Moon , which sat between the two brass owl bookends Gramps and Lola had given me this past Christmas . Owl Moon was my favorite picture book when I was Pippa’s age. I still take it out and read it now and then. I always wanted to be that kid in the pictures, the one whose father took him—or was it her?—out on a snowy night to look for owls. But my father was seldom home, and when he was, he was usually in bed early because like practically everybody else in the military he gets up at the crack of dawn, and anyway, we never lived where there were owls nearby.
    And now that there might be, he’s turned into Silent Man and I’m not a little kid anymore.
    I really wished Gramps and Lola were still here. They were both so easy to talk to, and nobody in my family had much time for me lately. Plus, Gramps could have taken me owling.
    Thinking about Gramps reminded me that I needed to besure and fill up the bird feeders tomorrow. I glanced across the room to the hook on the back of my bedroom door, where my grandfather’s old barn coat and wool hat were hanging. I’d found them waiting there when we moved in, along with a bird carving that Gramps had left for me in the pocket. It was a black-capped chickadee with the words backyard magic carved on the bottom.
    Slipping the mystery envelope out of my pocket, I went and grabbed my laptop off my desk and carried it back over to the bed. I really needed to talk to someone, and was hoping Mackenzie was online.
    She was, and a minute later, her face popped up onscreen.
    â€œYou got your hair cut!” I said in surprise.
    She smiled the same wide Gifford smile I see daily on my mother and Hatcher. “Like it?” She swiveled around so I could check out the sides and back.
    â€œIt’s really cute,” I told her. Of course, everything looks cute on Mackenzie. It’s easy to look cute when you come in such a small package.
    â€œIt’s a lot easier for swimming.”
    I felt an unwelcome stab of envy. Mackenzie was only on a