Natasha’s best friend, Molly, scoffed at all of it. She imagined candles and ribbons, hopes and dreams scrawled in tiny, cramped letters. Even if they didn’t come to the willow tree. Most of the girls in Natasha’s class did something to honor their Wishing Days, Natasha suspected. Or she might claim she didn’t when really she did, or vice versa.

Or a girl might not celebrate her Wishing Day at all. A girl’s Wishing Day might involve a cake, a party, or a special night out at a fancy restaurant. But the rules were different when it came to a girl’s Wishing Day. She was a seventh grader now, and she’d deciphered the rules of being a girl well enough to blend in.

Later she learned she was wearing the wrong kind of bra. It was like the time in sixth grade when she was changing for PE, and titters broke out, and when she lifted her head, everyone made a show of looking away. She sensed the rise and fall of her chest. The silence was a relief, but unnerving now that the moment was here. But when they arrived at the top, they let Natasha approach the willow alone. They’d hiked up Willow Hill with her, not that she’d asked them to. Her aunts watched from the edge of the clearing, three or four yards back. She was almost close enough to touch its ice-covered branches, but she had yet to take the few remaining steps. Natasha stood before the ancient willow tree, which towered above her. It was the third night of the third month after Natasha’s thirteenth birthday. I wish to have daughters, and for my daughters to have daughters, and their daughters to have daughters, and their daughters to have daughters. If the cover makes you want to read the book (and that's the goal!), here's a short excerpt. Isn't it gorgeous? What I love is how moody-melancholy-slightly-spine-shivery it is, while evoking beauty and magic and hope at the same time, and in equal measure.

Wishing Day by Lauren Myracle