What first seems to be a narrow lesson becomes cheerful inspiration, even for readers who don’t share this specific quandary. “[W]hen Willow spoke, her words slipped out as soft and shy as a secret,” causing lonely frustration at school. Nobody hears Willow’s acceptance of a group invitation to eat lunch, so she eats alone; the teacher mishears Willow’s juice preference and pours orange, which makes Willow’s lip crinkle; a bully grabs Willow’s toy because whispers can’t stop a bully. At home, mellow dad has faith—“one day your voice will wiggle its way out”—but Willow’s own steam produces the solution: a glitter-covered cardboard tube. This “magic microphone” amplifies her voice, solving everything, until a drop to the floor makes it (implausibly) “crumpled”; but by then, her loudness has had enough experience to emerge talisman-free. Font sizes change to convey volume. Smiley Photoshop kids with black-dot eyes, though stiff-armed and visually unsophisticated, have enough facial energy to carry the plot’s emotions. A victory for any reader who struggles to be heard, even metaphorically. (Picture book. 3-5)