As You Wish Read online

  I sigh deeply. It always comes to this. “Look, guys, it doesn’t matter. None of us share a birthday.”

  “That’s not the point, Eldon,” Merrill says. His face is bright red. When Merrill starts one of his rants, he forgets to breathe.

  “Forget it, man,” Archie says, eyeing Merrill like he’s a rabid animal. He moves to sit down.

  “No. I won’t forget it. The powers that be want us to naively accept everything they tell us about wishing and I, for one—”

  “Merrill Delacruz,” says a voice from the doorway. “I don’t have you on the wish schedule.”

  And just like that, I say goodbye to any hope of having a decent day. Of all the wish instructors we could’ve ended up with, we got Mr. Wakefield.

  “In fact, if I remember correctly, you made your wish last November.”

  Merrill sighs and comes down off the high from his rant. “I’m here for moral support.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Wilkes can manage without you,” Mr. Wakefield says, walking to the front of the room.

  “He can’t, actually,” Merrill grins, his anger already forgotten. “I mean, the kid is a disaster. Who knows what he might do or say if I’m not around? In fact, if I leave, it’ll dramatically reduce his ability to absorb information. Do you really want to be responsible for Eldon’s lack of education?”

  I don’t bother stifling my laugh. Penelope, who’s turned around to look at us, rolls her eyes.

  “Mr. Delacruz, is it possible you’re suffering from transference? Perhaps you worry about your own ability to function outside of your friendship from Mr. Wilkes.”

  Mr. Wakefield is a trip. At some point, he missed a very important memo, the one informing him he’s our principal, not a therapist. The dude has some intense fixation with psychology—specifically, with Sigmund Freud. I think he even tries to look like him.

  “You know what, sir?” Merrill says. “I think you’re right. I am having some issues. Certainly, there’s no better cure than staying here, where I can benefit from your expert guidance.”

  Mr. Wakefield considers for a moment, stroking his pointy beard. “Fine. You may stay. But don’t be a distraction.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  • • •

  Outside, the wind howls, and inside, Mr. Wakefield discusses the mechanics of wishing.

  “But, Mr. Wakefield, why are there wishes?” Merrill asks earnestly, as if he really wants the answer. He doesn’t. He’s being difficult for his own amusement—and mine, I suppose.

  In the front row, Penelope sighs.

  No one—certainly not Mr. Wakefield—knows why there are wishes. No one knows how wishing works or when exactly it started. All that matters is that it does work. It did start. Everything else, well, maybe you don’t want to question it too much. Maybe some mysteries are better left unsolved.

  “You stand on the brink of the most pivotal moment of your young lives,” Mr. Wakefield says, ignoring Merrill. “A moment that will be cemented in your consciousness. So powerful that it will touch the deepest part of you and leave you forever altered.”

  He paces back and forth in that weird way of his, on the balls of his feet. Maybe he’s trying to make himself seem bigger. I could probably pick up Mr. Wakefield with one hand. I have a vision of doing that, picking him up by his collared shirt and throwing him out of the room. Class has barely started, and his psychobabble is already hard to deal with. Anyone would have been a better instructor than him.

  “I recommend that all my wishers keep a journal to track this very emotional journey.”

  I mean anyone.

  Mr. Wakefield claps his hands as if a brilliant idea occurred to him. “Why don’t we spend some time exploring our feelings about our wishes? Who would like to begin?”

  “I will,” says Penelope.

  Surprise, surprise.

  “I’m both excited and nervous. I’ve had my wish picked out for more than a year. I repeat it to myself every night before bed to get the wording perfect. You have to be very careful about your wording. This might be my best chance to make the world a better place, and I plan to take advantage of it.” Penelope smiles like a contestant in a beauty pageant. I’m sure she’s barely suppressing the urge to wave and blow kisses at us.

  “I think I threw up in my mouth,” Merrill whispers to me.

  “Lovely, Miss Rowe, simply lovely,” Mr. Wakefield says, beaming. “What about you, Mr. Kildare?”

  “It’s Archie.”

  “Yes, yes, it is. And how do you feel about your approaching wish?”

  “How do you think I feel? I feel fucking awesome.”

  Mr. Wakefield sniffs. “As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, I ask that my wishers find civil ways to express themselves. Let’s leave the vulgarities for peer time, yes? Mr. Wilkes, what say you?”

  “About vulgarities?”

  Merrill laughs.

  “About your wish, Mr. Wilkes.”

  All eyes are on me. I’m used to that. The part where I have no idea what to say or do? Totally unfamiliar. “Uh. I don’t know. I feel fine.”

  “You must have more to say than that. Are you excited?”

  I don’t respond.

  Mr. Wakefield nods sympathetically. “Wishing can be overwhelming. One can experience many emotions building up to the big event. It’s hard to know where to direct those feelings. Tell me, have you ever found yourself crying after an important football game?”

  Jesus.

  “It’s not that,” I say. “I just haven’t decided what to wish for.”

  “I’ll take your wish off your hands if you can’t think of a way to use it,” Archie offers.

  “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “Perhaps you should make a list of everything you consider important,” Mr. Wakefield suggests. “Sometimes, taking inventory of our past and present allows us to better forge a path into the future.”

  “Yeah. I’ll get right on that,” I say.

  Merrill laughs again.

  I’m struck by how simple everyone makes wishing sound. Like it’s no big thing. Sure, it has the power to change your entire life. It has the power to ruin your life. But whatever. Pick a wish and move on. And if you end up with a lifetime of regret, well, you learn to deal with it.

  “We’ll return to our emotional responses in a bit,” says Mr. Wakefield. “Let’s switch gears for a moment and discuss what you can expect on your special day.”

  He passes printouts around the room. It’s a map of the cave system where wishes have been made since Madison was founded about a century ago. Mr. Wakefield leads us through the route we’ll take, what we’ll see, what we’ll hear. He tells us how it’ll work, from the moment we meet Mayor Fontaine in the parking lot until we say our wishes out loud.

  That’s the simple part, the part that comes with easy-to-follow instructions. It’s what happens before and after that fills me with uncertainty. The part where I have to decide on a wish—and live with the consequences.

  Chapter 4

  Countdown: 23 Days

  I’m not one of those people who thinks wishing for a ton of money will, like, fix my whole life. Obviously. Except it would be nice to have a car. On the rare days when Merrill can’t get the Mustang, we have to walk to school. That sucks any time of year, but especially when it starts getting hot.

  Both of us are sweating before we’ve left our neighborhood.

  “That’s what I’ve been saying,” says Merrill, though I’m pretty sure I didn’t actually agree with anything. “The whole idea of wishing is screwed up.”

  “That didn’t stop you from making your wish,” I point out.

  We walk past cheap tract homes built on dirt lots, then some dirt lots without any homes. Someone got real optimistic when they built our neighborhood back in the eighties. They la
id out a grid of streets, got them paved, poured sidewalks. But only a handful of houses were built before money ran out. Who did the contractor think was going to move in anyway? It’s not like new families are relocating to Madison all the time. Or ever. We do everything we can to discourage that.

  There are few houses near mine, on the corner of Gypsum Road. Past that, there are empty foundations. And way in the back, at the foot of the mountains, is a row of homes where construction was started, but stalled, skeleton houses with wooden bones and nothing else. I live in a ghost neighborhood.

  My sister used to make up stories about interesting people moving to Madison and restarting construction on the houses. I teased her about how ridiculous that was. I’d give anything to reverse the clock and hear one of those stories again. My eyes sting at the thought. I blink rapidly and hope that if Merrill notices, he assumes it’s from dust blowing into my eyes.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t wish,” Merrill goes on as we turn left and make our way toward the center of town.

  I stop walking, happy to think of something other than Ebba. “What?”

  “Don’t wish. If it’s that agonizing to you, don’t do it.”

  “My mom would kill me.”

  “Your mom made her wish. You can do whatever you want with yours.”

  That’s not exactly true. It’s an unspoken rule that parents are allowed—expected, almost—to put pressure on their kids. It’s an opportunity to make up for their own regrettable wishes. It’s why my mom always bitches about the Tuttles and their seven kids. She thinks it’s unfair they have so many chances to get great wishes when all she has is me.

  And that takes my thoughts right back to my sister. My mom should have two shots at wishing. A few years from now, Ebba should be preparing to make her own wish. But all that’s gone now. It only took a split second for that future to be ripped away. Ebba can’t even speak anymore, let alone wish.

  “Eldon?” Merrill asks.

  I pull myself back to the present. I try to push my sister from my mind. Though if the past few months have taught me anything, it’s only a matter of time before my thoughts will return to her.

  “I guess you’re right,” I say to Merrill. “I could refuse to wish.”

  “Sure you could. Wishing is a privilege, not a death sentence. No one’s forcing you. At least, that’s what they want you to believe. Which if you want to know my opinion—”

  “It’s too early for conspiracy theories, Merrill. Besides, it’s been done before.”

  “Once,” says Merrill. “Only once, in the entire history of this town.”

  “Once is enough to prove it’s possible.”

  We start walking again, fighting the wind, heads ducked to avoid the bright morning sun. We turn onto Main Street. A car is parked haphazardly with one of its front wheels on the sidewalk in front of the drug store. Inside, a man dozes with his face pressed against the window. At least, I hope he’s dozing.

  “Isn’t that your uncle?” Merrill asks.

  I sigh and knock on the window. My uncle Jasper startles awake.

  “You can’t sleep here,” I say when he’s rolled down the window and mumbled a bleary hello.

  He looks around, disoriented. His eyes are bloodshot, and he’s got mad-scientist hair.

  “I was resting my eyes,” Uncle Jasper says. He grins at me sleepily, not the least bit ashamed at being caught passed out on the side of the road. “I had the most wonderful dream.”

  “Resting your eyes, huh?” Merrill asks.

  “I was wearing magic shoes,” Jasper confides.

  I already have my phone in hand. “I’m texting my dad. He’ll come get you.”

  A belligerent look crosses my uncle’s face. “Don’t do that. I can drive.”

  I reach into the car, wincing at the smell of alcohol and sweat, and pull the keys from the ignition. “Too late.”

  Though maybe it would’ve been better to not alert my dad. Let Sheriff Crawford or the mayor find Uncle Jasper. A few nights in jail might be good for him.

  I pocket Jasper’s keys—I’ll give them to my dad and let him deal with it—and head toward school again.

  Merrill falls into step behind me. “Tell me more about the magic shoes later!” he shouts back at Jasper.

  “Don’t encourage him,” I say.

  “What, you think he’s actually going to remember any of this?”

  I shrug. Merrill wouldn’t be making jokes if his dad was the one passed out in the car. Of course, Benny Delacruz isn’t the same kind of drunk as my uncle. Jasper is irresponsible and reckless, but I’ve never been terrified of him.

  Madison High School comes into view, a small dingy building with beige stucco and a faded Spanish tile roof. Kids stand around outside, enjoying their few last moments of freedom.

  Merrill stops me before we join the crowd. “Hey, Eldo, I didn’t mean that thing I said.”

  “About my uncle?”

  “About giving up your wish. You’re never going to get another opportunity like this. You don’t want to look back and regret not taking it.”

  “Would that be worse than regretting my wish?” I ask.

  “Why are you so sure you’re going to regret it?”

  “Because practically everyone does.”

  “Not me,” says Merrill.

  “No?” I raise my eyebrows. “Then why are you still wearing those glasses?”

  For once, Merrill doesn’t have a quick response.

  “Look,” he says. “I’m just saying, you need to think about it. Don’t give up your wish on a whim.”

  “I won’t.”

  But I don’t actually have a clue what I’ll do, and Merrill knows that as well as I do. We stop talking about it though. We go to school.

  • • •

  There are lots of things that suck about going to a small school. One is that it’s impossible to avoid anyone. I run into Juniper Clarke before second period.

  Juniper was always pretty, but her wish made her so gorgeous, it’s almost hard to look at her. It’s like staring into the sun or opening your eyes underwater. You know it’s probably going to hurt, but you can’t not look. Even the threat of pain or permanent damage can’t stop you from looking.

  Except it doesn’t change the fact that I hate her.

  “Eldon,” she says.

  “Junie,” I say back.

  She smiles at me. Her lips are full, and her dark skin makes her teeth look dazzlingly white. Her mouth is perfect. And her eyes. They’re almost gold. No one else has eyes like that.

  She looks at me like she’s waiting.

  Like maybe she wants me to say I’m still in love with her, then she’ll tell me everything that’s happened over the last few months was a horrible mistake, and she wants to get back together. Not that I would.

  It’s also possible she wants me to move so she can get to her locker.

  I don’t move.

  “How’s it going?” I ask.

  Juniper shrugs. “It’s going.”

  “How’s what’s-his-name?”

  “Eldon. You know his name.”

  Of course I know his name. I’ve played football with that asshole since I was nine.

  “Well, I hope everything’s good,” I say.

  “Thanks. You too.”

  I step aside so she can open her locker. I don’t leave.

  Juniper exchanges her books. She adjusts her hair in the mirror hanging inside in door. Her hair is long and curly. She’s never straightened it. The same way she’s never worn a ton of makeup or bought clothes because some magazine says they’re in style. Juniper does her own thing.

  “Was there something else?” she finally asks.

  “Not really.”

  But I still don’t leave.

  I know Juniper w
on’t always be the most beautiful girl in Madison. Pretty soon, another girl will have her wish day, and she’ll take Junie’s place. Maybe in a few weeks, it’ll be Penelope. But Juniper will still be special.

  Because it’s not just her looks, yeah? It’s the way being around her feels right. Like how her laugh can wipe away all the bad stuff going on. And how you never get bored when you’re hanging out with her, even if you’re doing boring things. And how nice she is, to everyone, even the people no one is nice to.

  At least, she used to be nice.

  “Eldon,” she says.

  “Yeah?”

  “You need to stop doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  She sighs. “Hanging around. Waiting.”

  “I wasn’t waiting.”

  Juniper closes her locker and looks at me for a long moment. “OK.”

  “You think I’m lying? Jesus, Junie, it’s a small school. Do you think everyone you run into is stalking you?”

  “I’ll see you later, Eldon. OK?” She sounds sad.

  “Yeah. Fine.”

  I watch her walk down the hall and feel like an enormous jerk.

  “Congratulations,” says a voice behind me. “That wins the award for most awkward interaction of the day.”

  I turn to find Norie Havermayer in front of her own open locker. She has this look on her face like she feels bad for me. A year ago, if someone told me Norie Havermayer would feel sympathy for me, I would have laughed. Norie is nobody. She couldn’t even wish her way into Juniper’s league.

  “You’re trying way too hard,” Norie says, as if I’d asked her opinion.

  “I wasn’t trying anything.”

  Norie smiles, and there it is again. Sympathy. “Sure you weren’t.”

  “What do you care?” I snap.

  “You’ve been having this weekly drama next to my locker for…what? Three months? It’s hard to ignore.”

  She smiles again. And I have a sudden, disturbing thought: it’s not sympathy on her face. Norie is amused.

  So it’s come to that. Norie Havermayer is mocking me.

  “Your wish day is coming up, isn’t it?” she says. “You can always wish to get Juniper back.”