“Who?” comes the voice from the kitchen.

“Um, hi, um, Aginéni,” I call, stumbling over my words. “Uh, it’s me—Milla—the girl who likes to read?” My face is bright red.

“Oh, you. You came. Well done.”

“Yeah, um—”

“So, nu, come in.”

The caretaker smiles, ushering me into the kitchen before disappearing to the back of the house.

“Hi,” I say. Aginéni is sitting at the Formica table with a glass of tea, reading a large hardcover book with a magnifying glass. Before I lose my nerve, I blurt out why I’ve come. “So remember you said you had boxes of costume jewelry? And that if I ever needed something sparkly, I could borrow from you?”

“Yes,” she says. “I did.”

“Um, so. I need something sparkly.”

She puts down the magnifying glass and gestures for me to sit on a chair at the table. She closes her book. Most Likely To … Daisy.

I smile. Then I take a breath and sit down. “I’m in a contest,” I say by way of explanation.

“You don’t think you’re sparkly enough?”

“Not really.” I shrug.

“Tell me about this contest.”

I explain about the speech and the semifinals and now the finals.

“So you won, and you won again. Hmm.” Aginéni’s eyes are bright. “Your speech must be good. You must perform it well.”

I nod shyly. “But I won against my best friend.” I don’t mention it’s Honey. “And she’s good at everything. Better than me. Everyone always pays attention to her. So I feel like they made a mistake in choosing me. And that I’m going to let my whole class down. And my parents. Especially my mom. She doesn’t think my speech deserves to win.” Everything’s coming out in a rush, but Aginéni’s eyes stay on mine. I look down at her library book.

“My mom keeps wanting to help me, giving me tips and stuff,” I say. “But all she’s doing is making it sound like her, not like me.”

Aginéni cocks her head and takes a sip of her tea. “But you can do things by yourself.” She smiles slyly. “You came here, didn’t you?”

I nod.

“What?” she says.

“Yes,” I mumble.

“Excuse me, perhaps my hearing is not so good?”

“Yes,” I say clearly. “I did.”

She’s quiet then and takes another sip of her tea. When her eyes meet mine, I notice the veins and wrinkles around her eyelids. When she speaks again, her voice is softer, her accent thicker.

“I never got to be a mother. And my own mother I lost before I finished growing up. It shames me to admit, but I quarreled with her all the time. I had an opinion about everything, and she didn’t care for my opinions. But what I wouldn’t give to have one more minute with her. Soon I’ll join her in shamayim. Along with my dear Imre-batchi and my brothers and sisters, my friends, all gone. Now I am all alone.”

I am afraid to say anything. We sit in silence, and I think of the pink rose I saw growing in Aginéni’s backyard last time I was here. I wonder if it made it through the winter, and if not, if it will come back soon now that it’s almost spring.