As You Wish Page 4

  I’m so dumbfounded that I don’t know how to respond.

  “Something to think about anyway,” Norie says with a shrug. She closes her locker and heads toward her next class.

  I have the urge to sprint after her and explain myself. To wipe that smile, really more of a smirk, off her face. I want to ask her who the hell she thinks she is, talking to me that way.

  I fight the impulse, take a deep breath, and count to ten. Getting in Norie’s face would only land me back in Mr. Wakefield’s office. Another meeting with the principal and my parents, everyone discussing how I need to think before I act.

  By the time I finish counting, my anger has subsided. I’m not going to flip out, but I still want to tell Norie I’d never wish for Juniper to love me. I know the consequences of a wish like that all too well.

  • • •

  Every Monday is the same. My mom makes broccoli and rice casserole. And every Monday, my dad says, “I really think of this as a side dish.”

  Every Monday, my mom replies, “When you start making more money, we can have meat every night.”

  The casserole’s more about prep time than money though. My mom only blames money to be a bitch. Monday is the day she stays late at the doctor’s office, catching up on paperwork from the weekend, getting ready for the coming week. There are too many phone calls to answer and patients to sign in. My mom regularly reminds us how little free time there is in the life of a receptionist.

  “Where were you last night?” she asks me after she and Dad get through the requisite conversation.

  “Hanging out with Merrill.”

  “I thought you might come home and tell us how wish class went.”

  Clearly, she thought wrong.

  “It was fine,” I say.

  “You know, kiddo, most people are excited about their wish. They’re grateful for this opportunity.”

  “Well, most people know what to wish for.”

  My mom frowns deeply, and it makes her look about twenty years older than she is. “We’ve discussed this.”

  “Believe me, I know.”

  “Eldon, we need the money.”

  “Leave him alone, Luella,” says my dad. “You can’t pressure the boy.”

  That is absolutely the wrong thing to say.

  “Don’t talk to me about pressure, Harmon Wilkes. I’ve seen what you do to him on the football field.”

  “That’s different. You have to push kids on the field. That’s what a coach does.”

  I eat the casserole and keep my eyes focused on the empty chair across the table from me. I hate that empty chair. It makes every dinner tense and miserable. I don’t know why we even bother sitting down to eat as a family anymore. Our family is broken.

  “Don’t use that as an excuse,” my mom says. “And don’t tell me what I can or can’t talk about with my son. He’s a member of this family, and that means looking out for the rest of us.”

  My dad opens his mouth to speak but closes it again. He swallows heavily, as if something is caught in his throat. Something is caught—his words.

  “You…you’re…”

  “Yes?” asks my mom.

  My dad tries to clear his throat.

  “Come on, spit it out,” she says, taunting him.

  He struggles for another moment then blurts out, “Whatever you think is best.”

  “Yes,” my mom says, so bitterly that it turns the food in my mouth to ash. “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

  “Maybe we could talk about something besides wishing?” I suggest.

  No one replies.

  It isn’t that surprising. What else is there to talk about?

  • • •

  One of the problems with cheaply built houses is that the walls are so thin, they’re as effective as cardboard. It’s impossible to keep secrets here.

  It’s late, and the murmur of my parents’ voices seeps into my room. My mom is arguing. My dad is trying to.

  It makes me sad for both of them.

  I turn on the radio, hoping to drown out their voices.

  “…had just turned onto the Extraterrestrial Highway,” says a man.

  “Mmm-hmm, and about what time was this?” Robert Nash asks.

  “Oh, probably about two in the morning. There weren’t any other cars on the road. Suddenly, ahead of me, a light appeared in the sky. As I drove toward it, it seemed to descend and get brighter…”

  The radio isn’t enough distraction. I can still hear my parents loud and clear. My mom starts to cry.

  I think about climbing out my window, wandering through the empty neighborhood to get some space. But the threat of the wind is too much. Sand is being flung against the side of the house, and if I go outside, I’d probably end up lost and buried. The last thing I’m going to do is leave my parents with no children.

  The man on the radio finishes telling his story, and Robert Nash says how very interesting it is, asks his audience to call in with their thoughts. I consider calling in. Saying, “Yeah, the story was cool and all but not as dramatic as my parents fighting or my thirteen-year-old sister slowly dying in a nursing home and, oh yeah, my wish day is coming up. You thought aliens were mysterious? Let me tell you about Madison.”

  I close my eyes and count to ten. Robert Nash says, “Next up on Basin and Range Radio: Joshua trees—indigenous to the Mojave Desert or brought here by alien farmers? That, and more, when our programming returns.”

  I switch off the radio and quell the urge to throw it against the wall. It’s not Robert Nash’s fault that he can’t distract me tonight. Plus, if I put another hole in the wall, my mom will kill me. I’ve put my fist through the drywall so many times that I’ve run out of posters to hide the evidence.

  Tension builds inside me, and I have to do something, or I’ll totally lose it. Mr. Wakefield would jump at the chance to analyze me right now. He’d probably say some crap about misplaced anger. He’s used that bit on me before.

  Thinking of Mr. Wakefield reminds me of wish class and his suggestion to make a list of everything that’s important to me. It’s not a terrible idea. Not that I’d admit that to Mr. Wakefield. The last thing I want to do is encourage him. My evening is already on a downward spiral; I might as well use the time to figure out my wish.

  I grab a notebook and pen from my backpack, open to a clean sheet of paper. Things I Care About.

  Number one, Ebba. That’s a no-brainer.

  Number two, my parents. Another easy one. I love them, even if I sometimes hate them.

  But what does that mean, exactly? That I should wish for whatever my parents ask me to? Does it mean my wish should be to save Ebba?

  I’m not even sure I can save Ebba. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can’t. There are too many logistical difficulties. Too many ways it would go against the rules of wishing.

  Number three.

  I pause. What else do I care about?

  A few months ago, I would have written Juniper’s name. A few months ago, I was convinced we’d be together for the rest of high school, maybe even the rest of our lives.

  I care about Merrill. He’s been my best friend since we were kids, and I’d be lost without him. But our friendship’s not really something to wish on. And my other friends, well, they aren’t real friends. They’re people I hang out with at school or go to parties with.

  Football isn’t going on the list either. It would break my dad’s heart if I said it out loud, but football doesn’t mean as much to me as it does to him.

  I look at the mostly blank page. Why can’t I come up with things I care about? What’s wrong with me?

  I throw down the notebook. Sorry, Mr. Wakefield, but your experiment is a failure.

  I lie in bed, take a deep breath, and start counting again. I go past ten and get all the way to a hundred before the
house goes quiet, my parent’s argument finally over. I get up and slip down the dark hallway, heading for the garage. I can watch TV out there. Steal one of my dad’s beers. Numb myself.

  I don’t get that far. My mom is sitting at the kitchen table, cigarette in one hand, scissors in another, coupons spread out in front of her.

  “You’re awake,” she says, looking at me.

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Me either.”

  I drift over to the table and sit down.

  “Anything good?” I ask, nodding at the coupons.

  “It’s never enough,” she replies. “It doesn’t matter how much money we save if we don’t change what we’re bringing in.”

  “Then why bother?” I’m not trying to be a jerk. I really want to know.

  Ma takes a long drag of her cigarette, watches the smoke twist and turn in the air. “Because I can’t just sit here. I need to do something.”

  “Yeah,” I say softly. “I get that.”

  Her gaze meets mine, and all the sadness I see is a knife in my heart.

  “Oh, Eldon,” Ma sighs. “I want your life to be better than this. I wish I would have known when I was your age.”

  “Known what?”

  “How different it could be.”

  We sit in silence, the dim fluorescent light crackling above us. For a minute, it’s as if I see my mom through a filter. The lines on her face smooth out, the gray streaks fade from her hair, and the sadness leaves her eyes. I see her the way she must have been when she was my age.

  “Tell me about your wish,” I say.

  She laughs dryly. “You know my wish.”

  “I know the result. Tell me what happened before that.”

  She takes another drag on her cigarette and blows smoke toward the ceiling, adding to the stains of a million other cigarettes smoked sadly in the middle of the night.

  Then she starts talking.

  Chapter 5

  The Wish History: Luella Wilkes

  Imagine this:

  You’ve got a history book in front of you. The whole, screwed-up history of a town in the middle of the Mojave Desert. A town called Madison.

  Open the book.

  Flip through the pages.

  Now stop.

  See where you’ve landed.

  It’s 1992, and a girl named Luella is about to make her wish.

  She’s seventeen years old, and she’ll be a Wilkes soon enough. But for now, she’s still Luella Maylocke.

  And Luella Maylocke is deeply in love.

  Check her out, hovering outside Harmon Wilkes’s Spanish classroom. See how, when the bell rings and kids file out, Luella looks away. She’s all chill, like she wasn’t waiting to see him, like she happened to be passing by.

  What does Harmon do? He frowns when he notices her, because she’s not fooling anyone.

  This little dance they’re doing—Luella pretending not to look for Harmon, Harmon pretending not to see her waiting, Luella pretending she doesn’t care that his gaze skips over her—it’s getting to be a daily routine.

  Turn to the next page in the history book.

  There’s Luella doodling Harmon’s name in her diary.

  Next page.

  She cheers from the sidelines while Harmon scores yet another game-winning touchdown.

  Next page.

  Now Luella dials Harmon’s number but hangs up the phone when he answers. She promises herself that next time, she’ll speak. She’ll find the words to express what she feels. Or at the very least say hello.

  Page after page after page, it’s all the same.

  You could fill an entire book with how much Luella Maylocke loves Harmon Wilkes.

  You could fill another book with how much he doesn’t love her back.

  Luella’s starting to wonder where she went wrong. She thinks maybe she’s not pretty enough. Not interesting enough. Not popular enough. Not for a guy like Harmon Wilkes, the star of Madison High School.

  Unlike Luella, we have the benefit of perspective. And although our history book doesn’t tell us exactly what Harmon’s thinking—not in this chapter anyway—we’ve got a pretty good guess.

  It’s hard to love a person who reeks of desperation.

  Imagine:

  Someone hanging on your every word.

  Someone mindlessly agreeing with everything you say.

  Someone making their life about you, and only you, all the time.

  Luella thinks she’s better for Harmon than the other girls he dates. She’d put him first, see his needs get met, devote herself fully to him. She’d do all that because she loves him so, so much.

  Newsflash, Luella: not everyone wants to be worshipped.

  Someone should tell her that. Oh wait. Someone tried to.

  See Jasper, hovering awkwardly in her bedroom doorway. Luella glances up at her brother from the newspaper article she’s reading about last week’s football game.

  About Harmon Wilkes.

  The superstar.

  “What, Jasper?” she snaps at her younger brother. She quickly turns the newspaper over so Jasper can’t see the photo of Harmon she’s been gazing at.

  “Are you going to the hot springs tonight?”

  “I don’t know,” Luella says. “Who’s going to be there?”

  Jasper shrugs. “Everyone.”

  Luella doesn’t care about everyone. She cares about Harmon. She tries to keep her tone casual, her expression neutral. “Do you think Harmon will show up?”

  Jasper rolls his eyes. “If he does, he’ll have Harriet with him.”

  Harriet.

  His girlfriend.

  Yeah, that’s a detail Luella’s happy to push to the back of her mind. This dude she’s obsessed with? He’s not even single.

  Luella struggles to stay composed, to not show how the mere mention of Harriet makes her want to scream.

  “Lu,” Jasper says. “Maybe you should give it a rest.”

  “Give what a rest?”

  “He’s never going to like you like that,” Jasper blurts out.

  Look closely at Luella.

  Do you see the way she flinches? Do you see the way she bites her lip to stop it from trembling? Do you see the shock of hearing out loud something she already almost certainly knows?

  “People are laughing at you,” Jasper says. “They’re saying you’re—”

  “Get out!” Luella screams. Without thinking, she wads up the newspaper sitting next to her, crumples Harmon’s perfect, smiling face, and throws it at her brother. “You don’t know anything about it!”

  Jasper holds up his hands, takes a step back.

  “I’m just trying to help,” he says.

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “Fine, forget it.” Jasper pauses. “But can you give me a ride to the hot springs?”

  Flip through a few more pages in this history book.

  Skip past the part where Luella’s crying in her room.

  Skip past the part when she tries to start a conversation with Harmon and gets blown off.

  Skip past day after day of Luella watching Harmon like he’s her favorite TV show.

  Stop on the night before Luella’s wish.

  And pay attention.

  Luella’s mother sits her down at the dining room table.

  “Honey,” she says, “tomorrow’s a really big day.”

  Watch the way Luella rolls her eyes. No kidding, she thinks.

  “I want to talk to you about your wish.”

  “OK.”

  Luella’s mother hesitates. “Sometimes…sometimes we think there’s something we really want. But the only reason we want it so badly is because we don’t know what else is out there.”

  “OK,” Luella says a
gain.

  “What I mean is…well, I haven’t asked what you plan to wish for. Because I know you’re a smart young woman, and you’ll do the right thing.”

  Luella and her mother stare at each other for a long moment.

  “You know, honey, beauty and popularity will fade. But money can open doors for you, for this family, forever. You know that, right?”

  “Why don’t you tell Jasper to wish for money?” Luella asks. Why should it be her job to make her family rich?

  But they both know Jasper can’t be counted on. For anything. It’s impossible to anticipate what he’ll wish for when his own eighteenth birthday comes around.

  “There are rumors, Luella.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Ma,” Luella says. “I know what I’m doing.”

  A relieved smile spreads across Mrs. Maylocke’s face. “That’s my girl.”

  Now we’ve arrived at the pivotal moment—Luella Maylocke’s wish day.

  Even without reading ahead, you’ve probably figured out she has no intention of wishing for money. Luella doesn’t wish to be beautiful either. Give it enough time, and someone more beautiful always comes along, yeah? She doesn’t wish to be the most popular or most intelligent or most athletic. There’ll always be someone who’s more than her.

  No, Luella wishes for exactly what everyone expected and feared. In the cold silence of the cave she says, “I wish for Harmon Wilkes to be in love with me, and only me, forever.”

  Let’s watch how that plays out.

  The next day at school, Harmon approaches Luella at her locker. Look at how the other students smirk and nudge each other. See how they laugh when Harmon asks Luella on a date.

  Two years later, when Harmon asks Luella to marry him, no one’s surprised.

  This is Madison, after all. This isn’t the first love affair to begin with a wish.

  And because this is Madison, the fairy tale doesn’t end with happily ever after.

  When do Luella’s feelings for Harmon fade? Flip through the pages, and see if you can pinpoint the exact moment.

  Was it when his football injury ended his career?

  Was it when they moved into their tiny, sad house, and Luella realized it was the best she’d ever have?