As You Wish Read online

  ALSO BY CHELSEA SEDOTI

  The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett

  Thank you for purchasing this eBook.

  At Sourcebooks we believe one thing:

  BOOKS CHANGE LIVES.

  We would love to invite you to receive exclusive rewards. Sign up now for VIP savings, bonus content, early access to new ideas we're developing, and sneak peeks at our hottest titles!

  Happy reading!

  SIGN UP NOW!

  Copyright © 2017 by Chelsea Sedoti

  Cover and internal design © 2017 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Connie Gabbert

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Fire, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

  www.sourcebooks.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Sedoti, Chelsea, author.

  Title: As you wish / Chelsea Sedoti.

  Description: Naperville, IL : Sourcebooks Fire, [2018] | Summary: In Madison, a small town in the Mojave Desert, everyone gets one wish that will come true on his or her eighteenth birthday, and Eldon takes his very seriously.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017008282 | (13 : alk. paper)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Wishes--Fiction. | Magic--Fiction. | Friendship--Fiction. | Family life--Nevada--Fiction. | Nevada--Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S3385 As 2018 | DDC [Fic]--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017008282

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For my mom, who gave me enough opportunities that I never needed wishes.

  Chapter 1

  Welcome to Madison

  The trick is to be boring.

  No one likes being bored, yeah? If a place is boring, you’re not gonna stick around. You’re not gonna ask any questions.

  That’s the way we like it.

  It doesn’t take much effort, because Madison looks totally ordinary. Just another dusty, desert town on Nevada State Route 375, the fastest way to get from nowhere to nothing. The kind of place you wanna leave as quick as you can.

  The thing is, Madison isn’t ordinary.

  The couple in the car doesn’t realize that. They’re freaking clueless, and part of my job is keeping them that way. The other part is pumping gas.

  After I get the nozzle into the tank and press the right buttons, I wander to the driver’s side window and check them out.

  The woman in the passenger seat won’t be a problem. She has a blank look on her face. I see that expression all the time. Road trip daze. There’s too much sameness in the desert, and after a while, it overwhelms you.

  The driver, well, he’s another story. He’s studying a map, an actual paper map. Who even uses those anymore? Especially out here, in the middle of the Mojave, where there’s only one road to get you wherever you’re going. He’s gazing at the map as if it’s going to tell him the meaning of life and he already knows he won’t like what he hears.

  The guy rubbed me the wrong way from the start. When they first pulled up to the gas pump, he called me son. It’s one of my pet peeves. I don’t go around calling random dudes dad.

  “Full service gas stations are rare these days,” the guy says now, barely glancing up from the map.

  Maybe he’s trying to be nice, make casual conversation. If so, he failed. He’s got this superior tone, like Madison is some backwoods town and I offered to cook up roadkill for dinner.

  “We’re old-fashioned around here,” I reply with a smile. And it’s a goddamn charming smile. I know it is. That’s why I was hired in the first place.

  The guy isn’t charmed though. He keeps studying his map while I grin at nothing, feeling like the biggest jackass in the world.

  I’d be straight with him if I could. Be like, “Dude, I know you’d rather pump your own gas, and believe me, I’d be happy to let you. But this is my job, so let’s get through this without being dicks to each other.” That’s not how this works though.

  Nope, Rule #1 of working at the gas station is avoid honesty at all costs. That’s also Rule #2 and Rule #3.

  So I pump the couple’s gas, smile a lot, and try to make pleasant conversation. Hope my blond hair and blue eyes and straight teeth convince them I’m some harmless all-American kid, someone they can trust. The goal is to keep their attention on me so they don’t look around and suspect that Madison is more than just a quiet, desert town.

  For the record, my job sucks.

  “This heat is a nightmare,” the guy mutters.

  I almost laugh. It’s still spring, still hovering around ninety-five degrees. This guy doesn’t have a clue about heat.

  “You must not be from around here,” I say, keeping my tone light, pleasant.

  “No, thank God.”

  Original suspicion confirmed: this dude is a prick.

  I clench my jaw. Then I glance at the gas pump behind me, as if that’s gonna speed up the progress. The tank is probably only half-full. I bet the guy in the car would call it half-empty.

  “Where you headed?” I ask.

  He still doesn’t look up from the map. His words are clipped. “My wife wants to see a UFO.”

  The woman turns from the window and frowns at her husband. I feel bad for her. I’m guessing he isn’t exactly a joy to live with.

  “You’re going to Rachel,” I say. “Keep on this road, and you won’t miss it.”

  The guy still doesn’t put away his map.

  Unless these two de
cide to do a little off-roading in their compact sedan, they aren’t going to get lost. The map is about as pointless as a parka out here. I’m not exaggerating.

  The woman looks past her husband and smiles at me. “I read about a restaurant in Rachel. Where all the UFO hunters go?”

  “Yep. The Little A’Le’Inn.”

  “Cute,” the man says dryly.

  The woman ignores him. “They say you can see strange things there at night.”

  “This is a strange part of the country,” I tell her, and it’s not a lie.

  “What about you? Have you seen anything?” She leans over her husband, over the map, to see me better.

  “I could tell you…” I say. “But don’t be surprised if guys in black SUVs pull you over for a little debriefing.”

  “Really?” she asks, her eyes shining.

  I wink at her. She smiles again. Maybe blushes a little, even though she’s old enough to be my mom.

  Most of the traffic through Madison comes from people like this. They stop here on the way to Area 51. Apparently, they’re under the impression the government has UFOs parked off the highway or something. Sometimes, I see the same people on their return trip, all sad because they found out Rachel is just a big tourist trap.

  Newsflash: there’s nothing to see at Area 51. Unless you’re looking for cheap alien merchandise and a bunch of conspiracy theorists. I’ve lived in Madison my whole life, and guess how many times I’ve seen a mystery object in the sky? Zero. We’ve got plenty of secrets around here, but they don’t have anything to do with extraterrestrials.

  “I have a friend who got into Area 51 once,” I tell the woman.

  Her husband sighs. The woman leans even farther over him. She’s practically in his lap. “What happened?”

  I look around for a second, as if I’m worried someone might overhear us, then duck down to the level of the window and lower my voice. “He came back with all these stories. I won’t even repeat them. There are things out there in the desert though. Things no one wants us to know about.”

  The woman’s eyes widen. She loves it. “You can’t tell us anything?”

  “Look,” I say, furtively glancing around again. “My friend ended up leaving town in the middle of the night. Left a note saying he was moving to Vegas, had an aunt living there or something. We haven’t seen him since. I’m not saying anything bad happened to him. But none of us ever heard him mention an aunt before.”

  Because there isn’t an aunt in Vegas. There isn’t a friend either. I can tell from the guy’s sour expression he knows my story’s bullshit. The woman probably does too, but she’s having fun playing along. She settles back in her seat, satisfied. Her husband finally folds the map.

  I look at the gas pump again, wish it would hurry, wish the couple hadn’t pulled in needing a full tank. Wish Moses Casey, my boss, would stop being so stingy and update the equipment so it isn’t so freaking slow.

  Seconds tick by. A gust of wind rattles the gas pump, blows sand into my eyes. The man taps his fingers on the steering wheel and gazes out the window, examining the sun-bleached buildings that line Madison’s main street.

  I wonder if anyone else in Madison is hiring. This gas station routine is getting real old.

  “Tell me, son,” the guy says suddenly. “Where do you pray around here?”

  I hesitate. What’s this dude talking about?

  “Pray?”

  “Yes, pray. Worship. Whatever. Where are your churches?”

  “Are you missionaries?” I mean it as a joke, but it doesn’t come out that way. It sounds like I’m stalling, which I am.

  “I’ve just never seen a town without a church,” says the guy.

  My mouth feels full of dust. I swallow hard. I have absolutely no good answer to his question. But I pull myself together, flash a smile, act like I’m totally chill. The more confident you act, the less likely anyone is to suspect you’re lying through your teeth.

  “Maybe you should get your eyes checked. You drove right by one.”

  “No, we didn’t.”

  “I think I know this town better than you.”

  The man frowns. He stares at me. I stare back. A lifetime passes. I fight the urge to wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.

  Then I hear the sweetest sound in the world: the click of the gas pump. The tank is full. I quickly complete the transaction, saying all the right things, telling the couple I hope they have a good trip, hope they spot a UFO.

  “Just stay out of Area 51,” I say, winking at the woman again. She laughs.

  I watch their car retreat from Madison, flying past Joshua trees and kicking up dust. And the whole time I’m thinking, Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  What if they come back through town? What if they look for the church?

  I know exactly what’ll happen if they look for the church. They won’t find it. Because it doesn’t exist. They’ll wonder why I’d lie about something like that. They’ll ask questions.

  I should have told them the town is too small for a church, that we run services out of someone’s home or something. I mean, pretty much anything would’ve been better than claiming we have an invisible church on Main Street. You can’t miss it. It’s over there between Santa’s workshop and the unicorn corral.

  The guy caught me off guard, with his son and his map. I’ve worked at the gas station since I was fifteen, and I’ve answered all sorts of strange questions, stuff like, How do you keep cool around here? (Air-conditioning.) And, Is the alien jerky really made of aliens? (No.) And, Is this one of those small towns where everyone’s married to their sister? (Why would someone even ask that?) But no one’s ever asked about churches.

  Who drives around the desert looking for churches anyway?

  I tuck the two-dollar tip into my pocket and lean against the gas pump, casual, though I feel pretty edgy. I watch the road, wait for the next car, though I doubt there’ll be one. Not two in one shift.

  Where do you pray? Of all the things to ask.

  I briefly wonder what would’ve happened if I told the truth. If I’d laughed and said, “This is Madison. What the hell do we need churches for?”

  Because no matter how it appears, Madison isn’t like other towns. Not at all.

  I’m not talking about aliens or anything ridiculous like that. No, the unusual thing about Madison, what we work hard to make sure no outsiders find out, is that everyone here gets to make a wish.

  Mine is in twenty-six days.

  Chapter 2

  Countdown: 25 Days

  I should be freaking ecstatic. That’s how it’s supposed to go, at least. The closer it gets to your wish day, the more hyped you’re supposed to get. Everyone goes on and on about what an honor it is, how lucky we are to live in a place where wishes come true.

  And everyone wants to know what you’re gonna wish for. Like, the whole town gets on your case about it. They’re all, Make it good. You only have one shot. As if somehow, that detail may have slipped your mind.

  Which is why I’m on the fence about going to the hot springs. It’s Saturday, so half the school will be there. And instead of having a few beers and chilling, I’ll have to deal with everyone being up my ass asking what I’m going to wish for.

  The weird thing is, a year ago, I would have thrived on the attention.

  In the end, I decide to go to the hot springs anyway. Of course I do. How else are you gonna pass time in Madison on a Saturday night?

  I’m about to open the front door when my mom calls my name from the kitchen.

  “What?” I shout back, hand still on the knob, ready to bolt.

  “Come here, please.”

  I sigh.

  Ma’s at the kitchen table, cutting coupons. It’s become her favorite hobby, though far as I can tell, it has yet to save us money.

  I lean agains
t the doorframe, trying to make it clear I’m not committing to a lengthy conversation. Maybe she’ll get the hint, see I’m on my way out.

  “Sit down for a minute,” she says.

  Or maybe not.

  Something about couponing gets Ma all amped up to lecture me. I’m definitely not in the mood. But if I blow her off, she’ll launch into the I-gave-birth-to-you crap, and I’m even less in the mood for that. I slide into the chair across from her.

  “Eldon,” she says, “I think we should talk about your wish.”

  “Right now?”

  Thing is, we have talked about it. We’ve talked about it on every birthday I’ve ever had. After I turned seventeen, we talked about it once a week. Though I guess it’s more accurate to say she’s talked about it.

  “Yes, right now,” she says, pointedly looking at the wall calendar. “The clock is ticking, kiddo.”

  Gee, thanks. As if somehow I’ve missed that my birthday is coming up.

  “I know, Ma,” I say, trying my hardest to be patient.

  “If you know, why haven’t you decided on a wish? You need to think about the future, Eldon.”

  “I have thought about it.”

  She puts down her scissors and looks at me. “And?”

  “And I’m still thinking.”

  The frown lines on her face deepen. She pulls a cigarette from the pack sitting next to her and lights it, not caring about the bits of ash raining down on her coupons. Not caring that she’s probably giving me lung cancer.

  “Just remember, kiddo, we’re not in a good place.” She gestures around the room with the cigarette. Scarred linoleum countertops, stacks of unpaid medical bills, appliances that haven’t been updated since the house was built thirty years ago. As if I need a reminder about our financial situation. As if I don’t live here too, don’t see how much we lack.

  “I know how it is,” she goes on. “You kids want to wish for something frivolous. But you’re not a little boy anymore. You have to do what’s right, Eldon.”

  What about you? I want to ask. What about what you wished for? Instead, I say, “Yeah, Ma. I get it.”

  She takes a long drag on her cigarette. “Fine. Go then. I know you want to.”