Free The Mystics of Mile End by Sigal Samuel Page B

doing anything just then, except maybe praying, but I didn’t know what for.
    O n my way to school the next morning, I stopped at Mr. Katz’s. He was on the lawn, staring up at the Tree. The clouds kept moving back and forth over the sun, and if you squeezed your eyes shut and tilted your head to the left, the toilet paper rolls really did look like branches. I stood next to Mr. Katz and we both squeezed our eyes shut and then I could see the cradles he’d hung up in the branches, around twenty or thirty of them swinging in the breeze. They looked like empty spider webs, shining in the sunlight, waiting for a fly to land. I said, “I’m sorry,” and he said, “What for?” and I said, “For not knowing what fruit was on the Tree,” and he said, “Don’t worry, we just need to have a little emunah, and the Kadosh Baruch Hu will teach us what fruit it was, He’ll make a miracle, just wait and see.” We tilted our heads to the left and waited.
    T he next Tuesday, I woke up and realized there were only a few days left before the science fair. I was feeling nervous that the whole thing was going to be a huge disaster since Alex had been practicing radio calls to the space station every day and so far he hadn’t gotten through even once. Alex said that was just because he’d been miscalculating the orbital trajectory, but he would get the timing right in the end, not to worry. I worried.
    So after school, we walked to his house and went straight to his room. I was supposed to be putting the finishing touches on the poster, adding stars and planets to the sky I’d drawn up above the ham radio, but really I was watching Alex test the actual radio out.
    â€œThis is VA2KFO, this is VA2KFO, come back?” Alex said. VA2KFO was his call sign, which is like your code name if you’re a radio operator. “Hello, N1ISS, do you read me, come back?” N1ISS was the call sign for the International Space Station. “This is VA2KFO, this is VA2KFO, calling N1ISS, is anyone out there? Hello?”
    Half an hour passed. Nobody answered. My stomach began to ache.
    Finally, Alex turned around and shrugged. “I’m sure they’re just busy right now. Did you know astronauts have to do four hours of exercise every day, because of the microgravity? That’s probably what they’re doing right now, exercising. Anyway, their next orbit is in ninety minutes, so I’ll call again then.”
    When he went to the kitchen to get a snack, I decided to take a break from the poster board. I walked around his room. I looked into his telescope but I couldn’t see anything because it was daylight. I sat on his bed, which had dinosaur sheets on it now, which made me feel a bit embarrassed for Alex. Then I looked at his bookshelves and noticed how, even though Alex’s floor was a huge mess, his books were arranged in an unbelievably logical way.
    All the books about astronomy were together. One shelf was fullof books about the human brain. Another shelf had books about animals, the bottom shelf was completely packed with science fiction, and the top shelf was bending under the weight of three gazillion comics. Inside each perfect category there were smaller, hidden categories, because all the books were also arranged alphabetically by author—last name, then first name—and also by height, and also by color, and also by whether they were hardcover or softcover.
    Then I saw a small hole in the wall beside the bookshelf. I got down on my knees to look at it and there was a tiny scrap of paper stuffed inside. I pulled the paper out and opened it.
    The first thing I noticed was that it had a very tiny map of all the streets in our neighborhood, and a red X where Alex’s house was. The second thing I noticed was that it had a few words scribbled at the bottom. It said: DEAR GOD. I AM HERE EXACTLY . WHERE ARE YOU EXACTLY ?
    T he next day, I went to Mr.