EM WOKE WITH HER  LEGS DANGLING over the end of her mattress. She fished for the stool she always used as a bed extender but could not find it. Most likely she had kicked it out of reach during that last vivid dream, already fading. Keeping her eyes closed, she took a deep breath and was almost sure she could smell a mouth-watering blend of vanilla and butter.
        No doubt her birthday cake was already cooling on the kitchen sill directly below. Last year it had been rich with cream from their own cow, who had since died of heat and starvation. But there'd only been one candle stuck on top instead of the fifteen she had expected. She hadn't seen as much as a cake crumb since but her taste buds still recalled every nuance of flavor.
        The tantalizing aroma of her new cake catapulted her out of bed and into her rough, hand-sewn summer dress, already too short and too tight. She smoothed her hair, scooped up her oversized sandals, and ran out to the landing for a better whiff but all she could smell was yesterday's stale heat. She leaned over the banister to look at the kitchen door, which was always kept open. This morning it was shut. From behind it came a mute scraping of chair legs, a plate set down unnecessarily hard, the sparse murmur of her parents' cheerless voices.
        They were waiting for her.
        She took the stairs three at a time, sliding a hand along the banister and hesitating at the bottom just long enough to yank the unevenly stitched dress hem toward her knees. Then she opened the door. A reflection of dawn colored the kitchen walls a festive pink, but there was no cake on the sill and the counter was equally bare.
        The table was set for three with the unmatched everyday dishes, the usual rosehip tea and a dark loaf of rough-milled bread. Her father sat stooped over his plate on one side of the table, her mother over hers at the other. Both were tenaciously chewing.
        Em dropped her sandals. Her mother turned to face her, twisting her mouth into a stingy smile. "Land's sake," she said. "You got up by yourself today. Must be a special occasion." It was plain that she didn't realize what day it was until the last word was out. Then a shadow of discomfort crossed her lined face.
        "Don't tell me you forgot," Em said, as if it wasn't entirely obvious.
        Her father slurped tea to wash down his last bite. "And a good morning to you, too," he said with his usual gruffness, not bothering to look up. "Forgot what?"
        "Oh, nothing." Em made an effort to sound calm. "Just my sixteenth birthday, is all." She glanced hopefully back at her mother. "Did you . . . bake me a cake?"
        "Foolishness," her father answered instead. "Waste. When flour's so costly right now. Sixteen, you say? Old enough to know that money doesn't—"
        "—grow on trees," Em finished his favorite sentence for him, just to get it over with. "Mom? A present? Just one?"
        Her mother got up to rinse her plate in the sink. "We're heading out to the fields, Emma. Before the heat comes on. You'll have to eat your bread while we're walking. No money for presents this year. Times are—"
        "—hard," Em supplied, still at the door. "But Mom, I gave you something for your birthday."
        "What, that bunch of dried weeds?" her mother scoffed. "Tell you what—I'll pick you one just like it, soon as we get to the—"
        "—fields," said Em, retrieving her sandals. "You'll have to bring it back here then, because I'm not pulling a single thistle today. I'm staying home, and if nobody's willing to celebrate with me, I'll do it all by myself." She whirled out to the hall and slapped her big feet across the tiled floor and up the sagging stairs. Her exit would have sounded more impressive if she had worn shoes.
        "I'm sleeping in!" she yelled from the landing. "For as long as I want! And when I wake up, I'll bake my own cake. And I'll find my own self a present—just see if I won't!" She slammed her door and hooked the latch, expecting immediate retribution, but neither of them came after her. Maybe it was the one thing they were willing to give her on her sixteenth birthday—the once-only permission to be rude without getting punished for it.
        Soon after, she saw her parents walk away on the dirt road. They looked stunted from her angle, both short, stiff backed, and shabby. Her father balanced a shovel on one bony shoulder, a hoe on the other, the lunch sack swinging from its sharp blade. Her mother carried both rakes and a water skin. They walked four feet apart, framing the space Em usually filled. Had always filled until now.
        Part of her wanted to catch up and fill her old space, keep everything as it was, ease one of the rakes off her mom's shoulder and work extra hard in the furrows between them until they would pardon her lapse into defiance. Some other part of her jerked the curtains shut, gulped air already too warm, and knew she had finally breached a line that could not be mended.
        An hour later, in a kitchen sweltering from the cook stove, she put something lopsided and lumpy on the sill. The counter was a sticky mess. She was tempted to leave it but didn't quite dare. While it was true that a girl shouldn't have to wash dishes on her birthday, it was also true that a mother shouldn't have to come home to the aftermath of a cooking disaster.
        She scrubbed everything clean. Then she fetched her latest book and carried it out to the yard. In the shade of the carob tree, she gathered a handful of pods that had fallen during the night, sat with her back against rough bark, and examined each pod for worms. She kept only the best and nibbled on them while she scanned the book in pursuit of her favorite word, the one with the promise of accelerated action. It was suddenly.
        There were two reasons she found it hard to keep her eyes tracking the page. The first was the quick metal glimpse she kept getting of that one last dream she'd had during the night, complete with patterns of pulsating light, a strange haunting song, and a quiet voice that had whispered incredible secrets into her ear. She could still hear the words though they'd stopped making sense right after she woke up.
        The second reason was guilt. It made the carob pod she was gnawing bitter in her mouth. How selfish could she get, using the last of the sugar and eggs and spilling costly wheat flour while her parents crouched over a nightmare of thistles and weeds, the sun sweating the lives out of them drop after salty drop? And surely it was wrong for her to read in the middle of the week when the book could have waited for Sunday.
        If only they would admit how senseless their labors were in this endless drought, under a sky of merciless blue empty of the smallest hint of a cloud. Sitting in the shade of the carob tree, she wished she could do something, anything, that would make a difference.
        "You're about to get your wish," the voice from her dream seemed to whisper inside her ear.
        "Oh, hush," Em said, jumping up. "You're not even real!" The book dropped onto the hardpan, slamming shut.
        And then, suddenly, the world went still.
        It was as if every sound had been sucked right out of it. Her eardrums fluttered. She slapped her ears, expecting the pop that sometimes came with a yawn, but it didn't come. No crows, screeching. No hens, cackling. No village noises at all. Even the silence in Bena's old woods was louder than this, with the conifers rustling in the wind, making green waves.
        A wasp swooped close and hovered in front of her nose, its wings vibrating without the usual hum. If wasps got thirsty enough they would land on bare skin, wanting the sweat. She backed away from it and walked around the big tree, staying in its circle of shade. When she returned to her starting point the wasp was gone. She stooped for the book at her feet just as the voice in her ear said,
        "Now listen!"
        Sound rushed back in—first the din of crows and the shrieking of hens, then the shrill neighing of a stallion, followed by an incoherent, terrified scream. It pierced clear through her. Something nearby was hurting. She ran, letting her heart pull her down the same road her parents had walked, around the same two curves, toward the fields. She could hear boys hooting and wasn't surprised to recognize Nev's voice among them. It had been his stallion, trumpeting—Thunder, who had taken Em's place in his affections, for whom he had so easily betrayed her.
        She was rounding the second curve when the scream rose again, tearing through excited male laughter.
        "Bull's eye!" Sean shouted. He had made fun of Nev all of last year for playing with Em, who was growing not by inches but by feet, looking more grotesque with each passing month. On the day Nev finally saw her through everyone else's eyes, Sean had promptly slipped into the best-buddy role she had to relinquish.
        "My turn. Watch this!" yelled Tim, the sheriff's son.
        And then she saw everything—Thunder rising, Nev proud in the saddle, his two friends on either side of the horse. Tim was aiming a stone at something too close to miss, something trying to hide between two low furrows. It was red, dusty, and utterly defenseless.
        "Hey," Em yelled, outraged. She snatched up a crumbling piece of fence post. "Hey!"
        Tim dropped the stone. Thunder's hooves came down. Nev shrank in the saddle.
        "Well, if it ain't your old sweetheart, the giant," Sean drawled. "The cavalry to the rescue. Or is it Horse-Face to the rescue?"
        "Neither," Tim sneered. "It's Spider-Legs, wearing a dress for a change. Not that it does her much good. Homely is homely."
        Nev shrank some more. So did Em, but on the inside, where it didn't show. She ran on, wielding her stick. The thing in the furrows raised its head and looked hopefully in her direction. As she closed the last few yards it tried to crawl toward her. A dog?
        "Careful," Nev said. "She's got the mange. Don't touch her. We're trying to chase her away before she passes it on the village dogs."
        Em glared. "No reason to use her for target practice!"
        Nev looked away.
        Em dropped the fence post, sank to her knees, and stretched out a hand. A red muzzle bridged the gap left between them. The instant that hot, dry nose touched the back of her hand and the dog's round red eyes locked onto hers, a shiver of pure recognition passed through Em, even though she was quite certain they had not met before.
        "Leave that sick bitch alone," Nev warned. "She doesn't belong here."
        "She does now. She's mine." Em rose, one hand under the stray's scabby chest, the other supporting the hind legs.
        Tim made a puking sound.
        Sean said, "Ugly giant, ugly dog. You two deserve each other!"
        But Nev wanted to reason with her. "Put her back down, Em," he said as Thunder nervously danced sideways. "If we don't chase her away the sheriff will shoot her."
        Em clutched the dog to her chest. "Today's my birthday, remember? And this is my present, the way Thunder was yours. You know I always wanted a dog."
        Nev twisted the reins and looked to where the fields met the forest as if wishing himself far away. "What's the matter, Nev," Sean said. "You're not still sweet on the freak, are you?"
        "You kidding?" Nev kicked Thunder in the ribs and the horse reared again, drumming air. The boys jerked away from the hooves, scowling at Em to hide their lapse into panic.
        She turned her back on them all, retracing her path to the road, around the curves, and to the house. The dog in her arms was as light as skin, bones and an empty belly could get. The longer she held her, the more she felt a bond growing between them, like the one she used to have with Nev. He had been more twin than friend until the day his father took him aside and told him he was getting too old to hang out with girls, especially gawky ones who made him look like a midget. He'd offered him Thunder instead and Nev cut her loose and accepted the bargain without thinking twice.
        Funny how the stray in her arms could almost make it stop hurting.

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