Free Margaret and the Moth Tree by Brit Trogen, Kari Trogen

tangy and sweet. She sat there quietly in the grass for what seemed like no time at all, until finally she began to yawn. Only then did she notice the dawn creeping over the horizon.
    â€œOh!” she said, jumping to her feet. “I should go.”
    â€œWhy?” said Pip. “The game’s not over.”
    â€œI’m sorry, but I need to get back.“
    â€œBack to the orfallidge?” piped up Flit.
    â€œYes,” said Margaret. “Back there.”
    â€œSee you, Whatsit!” said Flit.
    â€œYou’ll come back tomorrow, won’t you, Margaret?” said Pip.
    Margaret smiled. “I will,” she said.
    And she ran back to the orphanage.
    CHAPTER 17 Sanctuary
    The Margaret Grey who climbed back into bed was not the same Margaret Grey who had snuck away from the orphanage in the dead of night a few short hours before. Even though her eyes were still tired, her clothes were still gray and scratchy and her stomach was still hungry, Margaret had changed on the inside.
    Now she had a secret, which was something Switch couldn’t take away from her. From that day onward, Margaret crept from her bed every night and ran softly out of the orphanage to meet with Pip and the other moths. And in those few wonderful hours before she collapsed back to sleep, she could forget about her life of drudgery.
    â€œIt’s Margaret of the orfallidge!” Pip would cry when he saw her coming, and he and the other moths would welcome her into the tree as if she were a very large and distant cousin.
    Margaret’s secret made her daytime hours more bearable, too.
    Even as she was forced to use a moldy toothbrush to scrape gunk out from between the kitchen tiles, she imagined she was crawling through the thorny tunnel to the moth tree. Even as she forced spoonfuls of cold mush into her mouth, she remembered the taste of the tangy blue Plurpils. And even as she spent hours beating dust out of the curtains with a large racket, she imagined she was talking with Pip, and everything seemed much better.
    Any place you can go to escape from the pinches and punishments of the world is called a sanctuary, and this is just what Margaret had found in the moth tree. But the trouble with sanctuaries is that sooner or later you have to leave them.
    One blustery morning when Margaret was put on mush-making duty in the kitchen, something happened that pulled her out of hers.
    Mush making was a particularly boring chore that involved taking big bricks of packed oats, squishing them in a bowl, and pouring warm water onto them to make the tasteless mush that was served to the dregs at mealtimes.
    Margaret was sitting on a small stool, squishing oats and thinking of the previous night’s game of Hoverpik, when an enormous crash shattered the silence in the kitchen. Looking over, she saw a terrified red-haired girl holding a silver tray and standing over a mess of broken china.
    â€œYou clumsy lunkhead!” shouted Lacey, who appeared a moment later from the hall. “You’ve done it now! Miss Switch will have your skin for this!” Grabbing the girl by one ear, she dragged her out of the room.
    Margaret and the other children followed, keeping a safe distance. When they reached the front hall, Lacey began shrieking at the top of her lungs up the stairs. “Miss Switch! Miss Switch, come quickly!”
    After a few moments, a door opened somewhere on the upper floor and Miss Switch swept into view at the top of the staircase. “Lacey, dear,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “What have I told you about shouting?”
    â€œThis dreg ruined your china tea set, Miss Switch!” Lacey said quickly, shoving the red-haired girl forward. “The stupid scab smashed it!”
    Switch shot an icy glare at the unfortunate girl. “Sarah Pottley, isn’t it?” Her voice grew horribly quiet. “This isn’t the first time we’ve suffered from your buffoonery.” A dead