The cherry tree leaned over the fence like it was trying to listen. Inside, the young girl poked at a paper crane on the tatami mat.
The crane's wing drooped like it didn't want to fly anywhere. She turned away from Grandmother, who kept talking about paper birds.
A truck rumbled past the cherry tree and stopped at the empty house. The young girl peeked over the fence and saw a girl her age sitting on a suitcase.
The new girl looked up and waved a tiny hello. The young girl dropped her eyes and backed away into the shadows.
Grandmother folded a fresh pink paper crane and pointed toward the fence. The young girl marched to the gate and held it out.
The neighbor girl reached for it — then sneezed so hard the crane tumbled into a puddle. The young girl gasped. The girl giggled.
Yumi fished the soggy crane from the puddle and dried it on her sleeve. She creased the wings with her thumbnail, right there in the dirt.
The neighbor girl sat beside her, folding a blue square into a wobbly bird. They folded and folded until three cranes sat on the fence post — pink, blue, and one that looked like a frog.
A breeze picked up and the pink crane tipped sideways, landing right on the new girl's head like a hat. They both burst out laughing.
The young girl ran home with sticky fingers and cheeks sore from smiling. She tugged Grandmother's sleeve and pointed at the fence.
Grandmother smiled and pulled out a stack of colorful paper. The afternoon filled with the sound of folding and whispering.
The young girl whispered, 'Tell me again about the paper birds.' Grandmother's hands moved, and the room filled with the rustle of paper wings.