“You have to go,” Jack whispered.
Instead of a romantic drumbeat, the little bird popped out every few seconds, frantic and confused. Cuckoo cuckoo cuckoo cuckoo! It sounded like a kitchen timer gone mad.
It said her name.
She didn’t run away. But she didn’t stay, either. She just smiled sadly and said, “Jack, you have a beautiful clock. But I need a heart that bleeds.”
“What happened to your clock?” Clara asked. jack y su corazon de cucu
But for the first time, Jack felt something the cuckoo never gave him: warmth.
Then—nothing.
“Why don't you cry?” asked his best friend, Luna, when her goldfish died. Jack looked down. A tiny door opened. “Cuckoo!” it chirped cheerfully. Luna frowned.