As You Wish Page 11

  When I drop the fifth pass in a row, Calvin Boyd smirks at me. “You having your period, Eldon?”

  That’s the nail in the coffin.

  I walk over to Calvin and shove him as hard as I can. He stumbles back, trips over his own feet, and lands hard on his ass.

  “What the hell?”

  My dad runs over. “Jesus, Eldon, what’s the matter with you?”

  They’re all watching me. The field is silent. And I can tell everyone’s thinking the same thing, wondering what my problem is, wondering why I can’t take a joke, wondering when I turned into such a little bitch.

  Right there, on the football field where I used to be king, every single one of my teammates is secretly laughing at me. Or feeling sorry for me. Or feeling glad they’re not the one being judged.

  “He started it,” I mumble, nodding at Calvin. And yeah, I realize I sound like a five-year-old.

  “Get out of here, Eldon,” my dad says.

  “What?”

  “Go. Right now.”

  My own dad is kicking me out of practice. It’s too ridiculous for words. Will he suspend me from the Tonopah game? No way he’ll do that… Will he?

  “Dude,” someone says softly.

  Someone else clears their throat.

  Everyone stares at me. And stares. And stares.

  “Fine,” I say.

  I head toward the locker room. I don’t look back.

  • • •

  The hot wind lashes my body as I walk home. That’s OK. I rolled my ankle at practice, so I’m limping like my dad. Every step hurts, but that’s OK too. Better than OK. It’s good. It distracts me. The more I hurt on the outside, the less I feel inside. I know it isn’t a real fix. Kind of like taking aspirin for a headache. It doesn’t make the headache go away, only masks the pain for a while. But sometimes, that’s enough. Sometimes, you need that aspirin to get through the day.

  A car pulls up behind me as I trudge along the cracked sidewalk, but I don’t turn around.

  The car honks.

  It has to be Merrill. I don’t want to see Merrill. I don’t want to explain why I’m not at practice. He’ll probably tell me the whole thing was my own fault and, you know, he’d be right.

  The car honks again.

  It isn’t Merrill. It’s Norie Havermayer.

  “You look like you’re on death row,” she calls from the driver’s seat.

  “I feel that way too.”

  “Want a ride?”

  I open my mouth to tell her no. Stop. Nod and get in the car.

  “So?” says Norie once we’re driving.

  “So what?”

  “What’s wrong? And don’t say nothing. Clearly, something is wrong. It’s not Juniper again, is it?”

  “No, not Juniper. I just had one of those days.”

  “What does that even mean? One of what days? People always say that like you’re supposed to know, like you’re so in tune with them, you understand exactly what one of those days is.”

  I regret getting into the car.

  “It’s only a saying. You don’t need to analyze it.”

  “That’s the problem with the world. No one wants to analyze anything.”

  I’ve learned two things. The first is that Norie is as weird as she seems. The second is that she and Mr. Wakefield probably adore each other.

  “Personally,” I say, “I’d rather not think at all.”

  “That’s true, isn’t it?” Norie says, glancing over at me curiously. “You’re one of those people who works purely on instinct.”

  I groan and rub at my eyes. “Please stop.”

  Norie laughs. And the unbelievable thing is, I can’t help but smile a little too.

  I have to give Norie directions to my neighborhood. She lives in one of the big houses on the hill—both her parents wished for money. She doesn’t know her way around my crappy section of town.

  “Did your parents buy you this car?” I ask.

  I run my finger along the upholstery. It doesn’t have a single tear in it. The car isn’t fancy—it’s a midsize sedan—but it’s newer and nicer than anything my family has ever owned.

  “No, it’s my mom’s. I just borrow it.” Norie smiles ruefully. “Despite their wishes, my parents live in dread that one day, their cash flow will dry up. They’re obsessed with saving money.”

  I don’t tell Norie that being able to save money is a luxury to some people.

  “Speaking of wishes,” she goes on, “have you made the big decision yet?”

  “Not yet. I’m researching other wishes. Maybe it’ll help me make my choice.”

  “How’s that going to help you?” she asks. “A wish being good or bad for someone else doesn’t mean it’ll be good or bad for you.”

  “It’s all I’ve got right now, OK?”

  Norie shrugs and makes the turn into my neighborhood.

  “What did you wish for?” I ask.

  “I told you. It’s private.”

  “You haven’t told anyone?”

  “Not a single person.”

  I pause and wonder if I’m about to say the wrong thing. But I push forward anyway. “Was your wish about God?”

  Norie laughs. “What? No. It wasn’t about God.”

  “But you believe in God, right?” I prod.

  Norie glances at me. She doesn’t answer right away. “Yeah. I believe in God.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “Is it?”

  “In Madison it is.”

  “In my opinion, Madison is missing out.”

  She pulls up to my house. I stare bleakly at the front door. The minivan is in the driveway, so Ma’s already home from work. She’s going to wonder why I’m out of practice early, and there’s no point lying. My dad will give her the full report the second he gets in.

  I turn back to Norie. “How do you pray without churches?”

  She bursts out laughing. “Eldon, you can pray anywhere.”

  “I guess I always assumed there were rules.”

  “Well, there are. Sort of.” She bites her lip. “I don’t know if I’d call them rules exactly. Different religions worship in different ways. But in Madison, I’m kind of stuck praying on my own.”

  I’m still not ready to get out of the car. I don’t know if it’s because I dread going inside, or because Norie might be the most unique person in the entire town. “So what religion are you?”

  “Officially, I’m not anything. I haven’t been baptized yet.”

  “Unofficially?”

  “Unofficially, I believe in the doctrine of the LDS church.” Norie reads the blank look on my face and says, “Latter-day Saints. That’s what LDS stands for.”

  She reaches into her glove box, takes out a small blue book, and hands it to me. I look at the cover. The Book of Mormon.

  I raise my eyebrows. “You believe in polygamy and shit?”

  “The LDS church hasn’t condoned polygamy for a long time,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “But…isn’t it sort of a cult?”

  Instead of looking insulted, Norie smiles at me. “What do you know about it besides what you’ve seen on TV?”

  “Nothing,” I admit.

  “That’s what I thought. You can keep that if you want,” she says, nodding at The Book of Mormon.

  “I’m cool.” I hand it back to her before she can try to convert me. “You really won’t tell me your wish?”

  “You really won’t tell me what happened to you today?”

  We look at each other for a moment, then we both laugh. We make a silent agreement to keep our secrets.

  I thank Norie for the ride and tell her goodbye. Then I walk into my house, hoping my mom is in her bedroom, so I can sneak by.

  No such luck. Sh
e’s in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner.

  “What are you doing home so early?” she asks.

  I wonder if I can get away with telling her it was one of those days.

  Chapter 13

  Countdown: 15 Days

  It’s a hundred and three degrees, wind is whipping through the valley, and no one wants to buy baked goods.

  Penelope will probably blame that on me. If she’d been working the table, all the items would’ve sold already. She’d slam everyone who walked by with earnestness until they threw money at her.

  It’s too late for anything with icing. Those items may have started the day looking attractive, but that time has long since passed. Icing drips down the sides of cupcakes; glaze leaks off cookies. People in Madison should know better than to bake anything that could melt. Penelope should know better than to set up the table outside in this heat. I should have known better than to give up my afternoon.

  I can’t do anything about it now though. So I sit in front of the supermarket like a freaking Girl Scout, watching desserts melt and not selling a thing. There’s an empty chair next to me, as if I started with a buddy but the heat liquefied him too.

  Not that I have any other big plans, like football practice, for the afternoon. According to my dad, I need to “take a few days off to think about teamwork.” Yeah, I’ll get right on that.

  Instead of thinking about teamwork, I’m thinking about something Penelope said when I arrived at the supermarket. She was arranging the table, moving muffins around to get the display perfect, like it was going to be photographed for a magazine.

  “I appreciate this so much,” she said, moving a plate of fudge an inch to the left. “I know it was totally last minute, but Clem had a dentist appointment, something with his wisdom teeth. He’s in a lot of pain, I guess. Anyway, there was really no one else, and I was thinking I’d have to do it myself, but then I’d miss my Young Citizens of Madison meeting, and they really fall apart when I’m not there. You know how it is.”

  I nodded, like I did know, as if I’d been to a Young Citizens meeting or had any idea what they do there.

  At the time, I was anxious for Penelope to leave, because her constant stream of do-gooding was making me feel ill. But after an hour in the hot sun, with nothing to think about but waving away the flies that are buzzing around, something else occurs to me.

  I wasn’t Penelope’s first choice. I’m a last resort, the person you call when someone backs out and no one else is free. A year ago, that probably would have thrilled me. Penelope was up my ass once a week about doing charity work. She always wanted me back then. Everyone wanted my time.

  Not anymore. She picked Clem Johnson over me. Clem Johnson. The dude can hardly form a complete sentence. Yet Penelope wanted him to represent her Key Club combatting underage prostitution fund-raiser. What’s that about?

  The sun is making me dizzy, and I’m pissed off about Clem, and still pissed off at Calvin Boyd from yesterday, and pissed off at myself. I haven’t sold anything but two cookies and a loaf of banana bread in the entire time I’ve been sitting here, and even those seemed like pity buys.

  When Merrill’s car pulls up, I’m relieved. I need a distraction.

  “Penelope doesn’t want you here,” I say as he approaches the table. “Like, she specifically mentioned it to me.”

  “Do you think she’s worried my good looks will scare people away?”

  “I think she’s more concerned with your personality. Abrasive, I believe was the word she used.”

  Merrill grins and sits down next to me. “Eldo, let me tell you something about Penelope. Beneath that good girl façade, she’s kind of a bitch.”

  “This is probably why she doesn’t like you.”

  “If anything, my presence is an asset. I’m quite the savvy salesperson. Hey!” Merrill shouts to a woman pushing a cart into the grocery store. “We have cookies! You want some?”

  The woman ignores him.

  “Nice try,” I say.

  “Look at this mess. No wonder no one’s buying anything.” Merrill picks up a cupcake with melted chocolate icing and peels back the wrapper.

  I open my mouth to protest. Penelope would flip out and give us a speech about how the cupcake is meant for saving sex workers, not us. But I change my mind. Merrill’s right. No one’s going to buy these cupcakes. I pick out one for myself.

  “So when were you gonna tell me about yesterday?” Merrill asks through a mouthful of chocolate.

  “Practice, you mean?”

  “Yeah. You sat through a car ride, lunch, and government class and didn’t say a word. I had to overhear Calvin talking about it in sixth period.”

  I shrug and stare at the parking lot. “There wasn’t anything to say.”

  “Not how he makes it sound. He’s telling people you attacked him.”

  “Attacked? Jesus. I pushed him. Not even that hard. He’s a freaking baby.” I shove the rest of the cupcake in my mouth.

  “Was it about Juniper?”

  “No.”

  “Look, Eldon—”

  “Can we not talk about this?”

  “I kinda think we should.”

  I hate the way Merrill’s looking at me. Like I’m his little brother and in desperate need of a shoulder to cry on. Like I’m weak. Merrill’s going to lose respect for me. The whole town is going to lose respect for me. I’m not even first choice for the bake sale. Once upon a time, every girl in school would have stopped by for cookies and Bundt cakes simply because I was the one selling them.

  “I had to pair up with Fletcher in art class,” I say finally, keeping my eyes on the sprinkles that are cutting gorges through melted icing.

  Merrill sighs. “How did that happen?”

  “I was late for class, and everyone else had a partner and…I don’t know. It just happened.”

  “Why didn’t you say no?”

  “Seemed like too much effort.”

  We’re silent for a long time. Finally, Merrill says, “It’s OK to hate him, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why are you acting like everything’s cool, then beating up on Calvin Boyd?”

  Merrill and I aren’t supposed to have this kind of friendship. We’re supposed to joke and go to parties and give each other crap for things that don’t actually matter. Like, he’ll make fun of me for playing football, and I’ll say he’s jealous that he isn’t good enough for the team. Or I’ll make fun of some nerdy video game he’s playing, and he’ll say I’ve been hit in the head too many times to understand it. That’s what our friendship is supposed to be. Not talking about our feelings.

  Luckily, I’m saved from taking the conversation any further, because Mrs. Lynch comes over and browses the table. She’s the local real estate agent, and her job is mostly helping people who wish for money move into bigger houses. And, of course, telling people who are thinking of moving to Madison from elsewhere that sorry, no homes are available for purchase right now. I guess she’s pretty good at her job, because her wish was to be charismatic. Even at seventeen, she knew she wanted a job in sales and gave herself the skills to make it happen. It must be nice to have such a clear vision for your future.

  “I promised my daughter I’d bring something home,” Mrs. Lynch says.

  Merrill grins and gestures at the table of melting baked goods. “As you can see, we have quite the enticing selection.”

  She ends up buying a stack of pizzelles, which have weathered the heat—but not before trying to talk down the price.

  “Pay whatever you want for them,” I say with a sigh, and she looks a little disappointed about getting her way so easily.

  Once Mrs. Lynch is gone—looking for some other negotiation to conquer, I’m sure—Merrill and I lapse back into silence.

  Eventually, I say, “Could you
get the car this weekend? Sunday?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “I want to go to Las Vegas.”

  Merrill raises his eyebrows. “That’s different.”

  “I’ll pay for gas.”

  “You don’t need to pay for gas.”

  “I want to see Ebba. Without my parents around.”

  Merrill nods. I know he has questions, but he isn’t going to ask them. “No problem, Eldo. We’ll go to Vegas.”

  • • •

  Night comes early in the desert. The sun drops behind the mountains and throws the landscape into shadow long before it would in other places. Merrill is gone, and I expect Penelope will arrive any minute to help me pack up, clucking her tongue at how little I sold.

  A dusty pickup truck pulls up to the front, but it’s not Penelope. She probably wouldn’t accept a ride in it without doing a top-to-bottom clean.

  Gil Badgley leaves the truck idling at the curb and climbs out. His dog sits in the passenger seat—Tuco the fourth or fifth. I can’t remember what number he’s on these days.

  As he wanders over to me, Gil’s cowboy boots clip-clop on the ground. As far as I know, he’s the only coach in the history of Madison to wear cowboy boots on the football field.

  “Hey there, Eldon,” he says, hitching a thumb in his belt.

  “Hey, Gil.”

  He surveys the treats on the table. “I ran into that girl from your school. She told me to come spend some money to stop kiddie porn or something.”

  “Yeah, something like that,” I say.

  He frowns at the dusty, gooey selection. “How about I give you ten bucks and we call it good?”

  “Works for me.”

  Gil hands me the money but doesn’t leave. He spits tobacco juice into the tin can he always carries around with him.

  “How’s the family?” he asks.

  “Good. We’re good.”

  “You all recovering? It’s a damn shame what happened.”

  I don’t say anything.

  Gil shifts the lump of tobacco in his mouth to the other side. He’s always talking around his tobacco. His teeth are stained brown.