The crack of lightning came again. The stone went cold.
It was the strangest gift twelve-year-old Mira had ever received. No wrapping paper, no bow, just a small, flat stone that hummed faintly in her palm. Her eccentric Uncle Theo had pressed it into her hand at the train station, whispered "excelsizeyeter," and then vanished into the steam of the departing locomotive. excelsizeyeter
"Yeah," Mira said, touching her pocket where the cold stone lay dormant. "I guess I am." The crack of lightning came again
Mira sat in the dark for a long time. Then she opened her bedside drawer, placed the stone inside, and closed it gently. No wrapping paper, no bow, just a small,
She thought it was a made-up word. A nonsense riddle from a man who collected broken compasses and spoke to pigeons.
"What should I do?" she whispered.