Free The Apple Tart of Hope by Sarah Moore Fitzgerald

flour into our big glass bowl, sitting at the low table I’d set up for him. That night I made four.
    Dad said it would be greedy to keep them all to ourselves so why didn’t I take a couple into school in the morning, and Stevie thought that was a great idea too.
    But I wasn’t sure. I’d been kind of careful about keeping my baking skills under the radar when it came to school. You have to be cautious about stuff like that. School is not always the place to show off when it comes to anything unusual— almost anyone will tell you that.
    So, just to be safe, I thought I’d check with Paloma before deciding.
    Fortunately, that night she was sitting in Meg’s window, brushing her hair. When she saw me, she smiled and asked me what the lovely smell was. I thought it was the right time to tell her aboutmy special talent. She was lovely about it. In fact, she said, “Wow, that’s very cool.”
    I asked her whether, in her opinion, people in school would appreciate homemade apple tarts and she smiled and said, “Of
course
, they would.” How rare for a boy of my age to be able to make things like that, and I said I was vaguely worried that people might think it was a bit “different” but she said, “Not in the slightest, why on earth would anyone think that? Definitely bring them in, Oscar—everyone’s bound to be
so
impressed.”
    And her golden hair glimmered in the starlight.
    Paloma had been right. I couldn’t have imagined a better reaction. Next day, Mr. O’Leary took one of the tarts into the staff room and I left the other one on the table at the top of the classroom.
    When he came out he said he had an announcement: “Everyone! I think we have our candidate for the talent showcase!”
    The talent showcase is a national competition—schools can put forward whoever they want for whatever skills they think are suitable. Soon, lots of people had had a slice and people were clapping, and saying things like, “Way to go, Oscar!” and people were claiming that we’d certainly win on behalf of the school, which would have been great seeing as the prize was iPads for everyone. So that was fairly exciting, and in the beginning I felt proud to be representing the school doing something that I loved. I knew I had a talent, but I’d never expected anyone would want me to put it on show like this.
    Paloma didn’t seem to be as happy as I’d have expected her to be. She looked sort of annoyed. She didn’t know why everyone was making such a fuss.
    â€œBut you
told
me everyone would love the tarts,” I said.
    â€œYeah, well, I was right about that then, wasn’t I?” she replied, still not looking too pleased.
    Nobody got detention that day, and nobody got any homework, and the teachers spent the whole time looking like they were actually enjoying themselves.
    Lots of other good things happened too, like our hockey team got into the semifinal of the regional league for the first time since 1973, and the school choir sang “Ave Maria” so beautifully that it made Mrs. Stockett cry. Happiness is what she said it was, and pride.
    â€œThere’s magic everywhere today, Oscar!” said Mr. O’Leary as I was heading for home. It wasn’t magic, I thought to myself. It was just people being nice to each other and trying their best. I had a secret feeling that the apple tarts had done their trick again, and I should have felt good about that. But when I got home, Dad was just as silent and sad looking as ever. And when I closed my eyes, I could see Meg’s face, and I could hear her talking in my head, and I wanted, more than I had ever realized before, to hold on to her, right at the time she seemed to be slipping away.
Hey, Megser!
What’s the story? How come you haven’t been in contact? Things are going well over here but it would be nice to hear from you. How are your new