“What’s that squeaky noise?” Meg asked her eight-year-old daughter, Haley. She looked down at the girl’s shoes and noticed her sneakers’ soles had been torn open. Meg and Haley were on their way home from school, and it had just stopped raining. Water on the road had leaked into Haley’s damaged shoes, making a squishy noise.

Meg immediately took her daughter to a shoe store to buy her a new pair of sneakers. She had some money for groceries but thought getting Haley a new pair of shoes was more important. “How about these?” asked Haley, who was checking shoes in the section only for boys. “Mama, I want these limited-edition sneakers. Buddy loves a TV show and always tells me how he wishes to wear such shoes.”

Meg frowned. Not only did she not have money to afford two pairs of shoes, but she wondered why Haley was too interested in getting her classmate Buddy a new pair. Sensing her mother’s hesitation, Haley continued, “Buddy is from a very poor family, mama. Poorer than us. His shoes are torn and look miserable. Everybody laughs at him. Please, can we buy these shoes for him? You can buy mine later.”

Meg thought for a while and decided it would be best if she bought her daughter shoes for now. “You will fall sick if you keep wearing your wet, torn shoes. I’m sorry, honey, but you need a new pair.” Haley sighed heavily and agreed. She was not excited to see the new pair of sneakers her mom had bought for her.

As Meg and Haley left, Bob, the shoe store owner who knew Meg well, walked to the entrance and sighed. He had overheard everything and knew what it was like to live in poverty. He wanted to help Haley fulfill her mission of helping Buddy but didn’t know how. Moreover, the pair of shoes Haley wanted to get for Buddy was a limited-edition collection, which had been ordered by someone else. He could not simply give them away.

Suddenly, Bob remembered something and climbed downstairs where old shoes were stored.

The next morning, Haley was shocked to find a shoe box lying outside her house.

The Feel-Better Book

My grandparents have lived in a whole different state for as long as I can remember, so I’ve had a lot of experience as far as missing them goes. I usually get to see them only a couple of times a year. But they ended up canceling their summer trip last month because Gran had to have knee surgery.

“It’s not fair!” whined (抱怨) my little brother, Tex. “Paul was going to take me fishing.”

“Sorry, kiddo. That’s just the way the ball bounces,” said my dad, using one of his old-fashioned sayings that all pretty much mean “Relax, because there’s nothing you can do to change this particular situation.”

“And what about the zoo?” grumbled (嘟囔) my little sister, Indi. “Gran and I were going to have a special zoo day, just the two of us!”

“There will be lots more summers for special zoo days,” said my mom. “How about, for now, we give Paul and Gran a call?”

While Tex and Indi talked on the phone, all kinds of memories started playing in my head like a movie: spotting seals from the ferryboat, riding bikes through Golden Gate Park, baking Gran’s world-famous cookies, and putting on silly magic shows with Paul. For some strange reason, those happy memories just made me unbelievably sad. I started missing my grandparents so much that I wanted to cry.

“Here you go,” my mom said, handing me the phone… “It’s your turn to talk to Paul and Gran.”

“Um, I can’t talk right now,” I told her and suddenly I was running down the hall.

“Why in the world did you run away like that?” asked my dad.

“I didn’t want to cry on the phone,” I sniffled (抽泣).

“I’m sure Gran and Paul would have understood,” he said.

“Yes, but they already have enough to worry about with Gran’s knee troubles,” I said. “I want to make Gran happy, not sad!”

“Hey, good idea!” I thought to myself and ran to my room. “I’ll make Gran a get- well-soon card. ”

I started drawing pictures of all those fun memories I was talking about earlier.

I described all the different pictures in the memory book over the telephone.

It was eight o'clock on a May morning, and Micah, my 17-year-old daughter, was already in our spare room upstairs. It had been her temporary eleventh-grade classroom ever since schools had moved to remote learning due to the pandemic.

From the kitchen, I listened for the sound of her tapping on her laptop or her talking with her classmates in their discussion sessions. We’d barely left the house for 10 weeks straight.

“Mom, everyone is hanging out today!” Micah’s voice echoed from upstairs. “Why can’t I?” I stepped up the stairs. Micah was lying on the floor wearing her pajamas, her laptop, school iPad and cellphone in front of her.

“It’s not fair,” she said.“ I have no one I can be with. I can ‘t wait until I’m 18 and can do what I want.”

We’d had this conversation before. Still, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. I was sick of being alone too. Even though Micah and I were home together more than we had been in years, we might as well have been living in separate worlds.

“Wanna watch videos later?” I asked. “Bake some cookies?”

“No, thanks.” Micah shook her head, as if the idea of doing something together was impossible.

I closed the door. I was used to Micah’s rejection, but it still made me upset. Teenage independence is healthy, but I worried if I didn’t find a way to bond with my girl soon, I might never be close to her again. She’d be 18 in the fall and had already convinced herself she didn’t need me anymore. Maybe she was right. No matter what I did, I couldn’t seem to reach her.

That evening, I logged onto a social app and saw a friend’s children playing with their new kitten. My mind went back to when I was in high school and our family moved. It was hard making friends. Mom surprised me with an eight-week-old gray kitten that I named Miss Muffet. Having a kitten to love and train brightened my days and got me through that difficult, lonely time. Maybe Micah would like a kitten.

I asked if she wanted a kitten.

In the car, Micah put the kitten under her chin.