Free Instead of Three Wishes by Megan Whalen Turner Page A

of all the puzzles in theworld without solutions. I suddenly realized that I wanted to go to college. It was an unusual thing for a girl to do, but I knew I could if I wanted. I would go to college and spend my whole life learning the solutions to puzzles.
    â€œStay,” said the harlequin.
    â€œNo, thanks,” I yelled as I threw myself at the door and jumped down the stairs three at a time. I burst out into the street and was lucky to miss knocking Celeste down. In a parade, we marched down the street and out to the Grand Canal. Rannuccio picked a gondola that he thought might pass under the picture frame, and we all piled in.
    The boat passed the frame, but of course it did not stop. Very nimbly I had to throw myself up at the passing square with all my friends pushing and pushing until their hands could no longer reach.
    â€œGood-bye! Good-bye!” I yelled as I teetered on the edge of the frame. With only one hand to balance by and the other wrapped around the coat I thought I was on my way back into the canal, but strong hands reached to pull me from the other side. I fell through the frame and landed in Olga’s lap.
    Later, after one last cup of tea and a long talk, we walked down to the beach together. At the waterline, Olga stopped to give me another fierce hug. “Good-bye, Charlotte. You will forget about me soon, but remember to keep looking for more puzzles.” She kissed me on the forehead, then freed the last knot in the twine that wrapped thebundle and shook out a stiff dark fur coat as large as herself. As she walked into the water, she pushed her arms through its short sleeves and wrapped herself, clothes and all, in the fur. She fell forward into the next wave and was gone. When the crest of the wave had passed there was no sign of Olga. Only the brown head and shoulders of a seal bobbed in the water.
    Somewhere behind us a car honked. We were stopped at a traffic light that had turned green. The cabdriver put the car into gear and hurried through the intersection. “Lady? Did you want to go to the East Building or the West Building?” he asked.
    â€œWest Building, please,” said Aunt Charlotte.
    The cab pulled around a corner and bounced across a cobblestone parking lot. It stopped in front of a pair of huge metal doors, and we got out. Aunt Charlotte went to pay the cabdriver, but he waved one hand out the window.
    â€œNo charge,” he said. “Free ride. Best story I heard in my life, in my entire life.” He drove away, his wheels squeaking on the cobblestones.
    â€œWell,” said Aunt Charlotte, looking after him, “I did think that it took a long time to get here.” Her cheeks were pink, and she looked pleased.
    â€œWas that the end of the story? Did you ever see Olga again?” I asked.
    Aunt Charlotte took my hand, and we walked into the museum.
    â€œNo, that isn’t quite the end of the story. I never did see Olga again, and it may surprise you to hear that I quite forgot about her for many years. Then one day, when I was home from college (I studied chemistry), I came to a fund-raiser here at the museum. I brought my fiancé because I thought it would probably be very boring. During the speeches we slipped away and went to look at the paintings. Your great-uncle Emlin, you don’t remember him, I suppose, was majoring in art history. He told me little snippets about the paintings we passed, until we reached this one.”
    My aunt had stopped at a small painting of a profile of a girl. Only her head and shoulders fit into the frame. She was wearing a dark coat and a hat with a wide flat brim that matched. Her blonde hair was long and straight. Her nose was tilted up, and her lips curved in a delighted smile.
    â€œThis,” said my aunt, “is Celeste.”
    I read the plaque at the bottom of the picture carefully. It said “An Alsatian Girl by Jean-Jacques Henner.” I looked up at my aunt.
    â€œYes,