Page 79 of Lula Dean's Little Library of Banned Book
“Nope,” said Nahla.
“Well, this is a special commission. Her gentleman friend wants a bouquet that will take her back to the days when they first fell in love.”
Nahla turned to face her host. “How is it going to dothat?” she asked.
“Sam told me a story about their first walk in the woods together. I’m translating his tale into flowers. And that’s where you come in.” She reached down below the counter and pulled out a wicker basket. “I need you to run over to Jackson Square and gather some supplies for me.”
“Supplies?” Nahla asked.
“Leaves, acorns, fallen branches. Don’t pick living things. Just grab anything interesting you find on the ground,” Mrs. Wright told her. “I’ll know what will work when I see it.”
It was June first. School had just let out for the summer, and kids from all over Troy were making their way to the town pool, beach towels thrown over their shoulders and flip-flops slapping their heels. Nahla shouted hey to a group of girls from her class, but she didn’t stop to chat. She’d been given a job, which she took very seriously. When she got to the square, she found the fountain had vanished beneath a tower of glistening soap bubbles. She took a few seconds to admire the prank and then got down to business. There were only so many hours in the day. She wanted to finish her task, watch Mrs. Wright work her magic, and start writing her book all before dinner.
Nahla had come up with the idea for her project in the last week of seventh grade. With summer around the corner, the other kids had beengoing stir-crazy, but Nahla stuck to her routine. Every day after school, she headed straight for the library, turned in any books she’d finished, and checked out enough to replenish the stack she kept on the nightstand next to her bed. She considered it a terrible omen if the pile ever stood less than three books tall.
With fresh reading material tucked under her arm, she walked to Grandma Martin’s house, where there were always freshly baked cookies waiting on the stove. In previous years, her older sister, Jasmine, would have been there, too. But Jasmine was a vegan now and had to keep a safe distance from Grandma’s cookies.
“Grandma puts lard in everything,” Jasmine told Nahla.
“Good,” Nahla said. That just left more treats for her.
She’d eaten at least five cookies the day her epiphany arrived. She was seated at her grandma’s kitchen table with a book from a series called The Heroes of Troy open in front of her.Fifty pages in, she slammed the book shut in disgust.
“Something wrong?” Grandma Martin looked up from the sink, where she’d been peeling Yukon Golds to go in her award-winning (and decidedly non-vegan) potato salad.
Nahla held up the book cover for her grandmother to see. “Did you know there was another place called Troy?”
“Mmm-hmm,” her grandmother said. “It’s the setting for one of the most famous stories of all time. As I recall, it’s chock-full of gods and heroes and blood and guts. I would have thought all that would be right up your street.”
“Me, too!” Nahla agreed wholeheartedly. “But none of the heroes are girls. Couple of the goddesses. But none of the heroes. Not a single one. Can you believe it?”
Her grandmother wiped her hands on her apron. “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, sugar. Ain’t none of them Black, either.”
Nahla sat back in a huff with her arms folded across her chest.
“You really going to get bent out of shape over all that?” Grandma Martin lifted an eyebrow. “Those stories were written by Greek men for otherGreek men. We have heroes, too, you know. Difference between ours and theirs is our heroes are real.”
Nahla perked up and slid to the edge of her seat. “What’s the name ofourbook?” There might be time to run back to the library before she went home.
“Truth is, most of our stories have never been written. But they’re out there—tons of them—just waiting for someone to put them down on a page. Maybe you could be the one.”
Nahla felt her flesh tingle. “Who are the heroes? Where can I find them?”
“They’re all over,” her grandmother told her.
“Here in Troy?” Nahla asked.
“Absolutely. Our world isn’t all that different from ancient Greece in some ways. We have our big-name goddesses who live up high on the mountain. Those would be your Serena Williamses, Michelle Obamas, and your Beyoncés. Then there are the demigoddesses who walk among the mortals. I’m thinking Stacey Abrams. But even in little towns like Troy, there are heroes all around us, working wonders every day and just waiting for their stories to be told.”
“Like who?” Nahla was suddenly skeptical. She couldn’t think of anyone in Troy who was capable of working any wonders.
“You don’t think your mama has ever fought the forces of evil?”
Nahla shook her head. Her mother was one of a kind. “BesidesMama.”
“What about your sister? She’s working her rump off to save all those whales.”
“And getting nowhere.” Nahla shook her head again. “A real hero should be clever like Odysseus or invincible like Achilles.”
