As You Wish Page 7

  “Probably since I started getting everything wrong.”

  Merrill rolls his eyes. “You’re such a tragic figure. A girl dumped you for someone else. You’re not the star of the football team anymore. How do you survive?”

  “It’s more than that, asshole.”

  “Yeah? Enlighten me.”

  But I don’t know how to explain it without sounding pathetic. For the past few months, it feels like I’ve been lost in a fog. Nothing in my life feels real anymore. It feels like I’m not real anymore.

  I feel like a phantom. Does a phantom have desires? If not, how can a phantom wish?

  I can’t tell Merrill that I worry I won’t figure myself out, and if I don’t make the right wish, then I’ll be lost in that fog forever. What if my wish is my last chance to make sense of life, of who I am? If I don’t meet the deadline, I can pretty much give up on ever being a real person again.

  “So how would all this work?” Merrill asks when he realizes I’m not going to answer.

  “It’s not some epic homework assignment, Merrill. I’ll talk to people about their wishes.”

  “And then what?”

  “I’ll figure out which wishes worked. Which wishes have the best results.” The more I talk, the more I sound infected by Mr. Wakefield’s optimism. I sigh. “Look, the idea is probably crap. But it’s all I’ve got.”

  In the distance, a coyote howls. The sun sinks behind the mountains, and the sky becomes tie-dyed shades of pink and orange. I’ve heard that desert sunsets are the most breathtaking in the world. I don’t know if that’s true. I’ve never seen any others.

  Finally, Merrill says, “All right then. Let’s do this.”

  “You’ll help?” I ask, surprised.

  “What else have I got going on? Take a look around you, Eldo. Madison ain’t exactly hoppin’.”

  “OK then.” I try to sound nonchalant. I’m not going to hug Merrill and gush about the warm and fuzzy feelings I’m having. But damn, it’s good to remember he has my back.

  “Why don’t we start with your wish?” I say.

  Merrill laughs. “If you don’t know my wish, we’ve got a serious problem. You taking too many hits to the head in practice?”

  Yeah, I know Merrill’s wish. After all, he’s talked about wishing for perfect eyesight since we were kids. But I’m a little unclear on the details. On how he feels about his decision. Not because he hasn’t told me. I suspect he has. It’s just, well, these past few months, I’ve been kinda caught up in my own stuff.

  I don’t know how to admit that though, how to admit I’m a freaking terrible friend. So instead, I push away my guilt, lean back against a splintery wooden beam, and ask, “How’d you know you were making the right choice?”

  Merrill thinks for a moment. He takes off his glasses and cleans them on his shirt before speaking. “It’s not like I didn’t question it. I had people left and right telling me I was a dumbass. Saying crap like, ‘Wish for money, and you can pay to have your eyes fixed.’ Only surgery can go wrong, you know? What if I ended up blind?”

  If he ended up blind, he’d have to kiss his dream of being a pilot goodbye. Same reason he had to fix his eyes in the first place. You can’t fly with terrible vision. I know this, because Merrill’s dad took cruel pleasure in pointing that out when we were ten.

  “I get your internal struggle,” Merrill goes on. “I’m just saying I never had one. From the start, I knew what I wanted. Even when my dad started freaking out, telling me I had to pull us out of our current economic situation. Which, as you know, is no bueno. It was pretty messed up. Dad didn’t get on Royce’s case. Just ’cause I was born second, it’s my job to save the family? Meanwhile, my big brother is in his room with enough weed to supply Woodstock. He’s eating through half our grocery budget, and my dad’s booze takes the other half. Yet I’m the one who gets lectured?”

  If Merrill wants to call it getting lectured, I won’t correct him. But the walls of his house are as thin as mine, and I’ve heard shouts and crashes. There’s a reason we don’t hang out at either of our homes. There’s too much rage in Merrill’s house and too much sorrow in mine. Either way, it’s suffocating.

  When we were kids, I practically lived at Merrill’s. That was before cancer killed his mom, before his dad got bitter and angry and perpetually drunk. Back then, Merrill’s house felt like a good place. And Merrill’s mom, she was an angel.

  Although, that wasn’t always true. Once upon a time, Merrill’s mom did something awful, so awful that her wish was for the entire town to forget it. The wish worked so well that afterward, even she couldn’t remember what she’d done. And it haunted her. Probably, what we can imagine is way worse than anything we’ve actually done. Merrill’s mom spent the rest of her life atoning for her mystery sin by trying to be the best possible version of herself. She was one of those people who was so kind that simply being with her made you happy.

  If she hadn’t died, who knows how different Merrill’s life would be?

  But I’m doing it again, tuning Merrill out. He’s getting heated. His words are coming faster, and he’s forgetting to breathe.

  “—my dad though. Everyone told me to wish for money. And yeah, there was a moment. OK, a few moments, when I started to think maybe they were right. Maybe money was the solution to all my problems. Maybe being rich was better than flying. But it was my wish, the only one I’d ever get. I didn’t want cash. I wanted the fucking sky.”

  I wait quietly for Merrill to recover from his rant. When his face returns to its normal color, I ask, “So what happened on your wish day? What specifically happened?”

  “Same thing that happens for everyone. The mayor was there, being his usual creepy self. I swear, that dude was a serial killer in a past life. Hell, maybe he’s a serial killer in this life.”

  I laugh but have a flash of dread too. I’m definitely not looking forward to dealing with Mayor Fontaine. I’m not saying he’s a serial killer, yeah? But the guy makes me ridiculously uncomfortable.

  “The mayor had his goons with him,” Merrill says. “What’s up with that, Eldo? Why does he need soldiers? They kept their eyes on me the entire way to the cave. What were they expecting me to do?”

  “But they left you alone after you were inside, right?”

  Merrill nods. “Yeah. Once I was in, I followed the map—all that stuff Mr. Wakefield went over with you. I found the right cavern and made my wish. And that was it.”

  The most important moment in a Madison kid’s life, and it boils down to a few minutes inside a cave. It’s that simple to transform from a regular person into someone who’s had their wildest dreams come true.

  “Did your eyesight change immediately?” I ask, wondering how, months later, I’m only now thinking to question this.

  Merrill looks away from me, gazes at the fading sunset. “I guess so. It was kinda hard to tell, since the cave is pitch-black, and I only had a freaking candle to see by. And what’s the deal with that, by the way? Hasn’t this town ever heard of flashlig—”

  “But it worked,” I interrupt.

  “Yeah, of course it worked.”

  “And you’re happy?”

  Merrill shrugs and flashes a wide grin at me. “As happy as anyone can be in this town.”

  “But you keep wearing those glasses.”

  Merrill sighs. “We’ve talked about this. I feel uncomfortable without them.”

  “I still don’t get it.”

  Merrill takes off his glasses again and looks at them for a long moment. “My aunt told me this story once. She was fat, you know? And her wish was to be skinny. She said it wasn’t right, having it happen so fast. It would’ve been different if she exercised and lost weight the way other people do. But when she wished, it happened all at once. She said she felt like an imposter, like she was wearing someone else’s skin. I ge
t it. After a lifetime of wearing glasses, my face feels naked without them.” Merrill puts his glasses back on and smiles wryly. “So I got fake lenses put in. Best of both worlds, right?”

  For years, Merrill complained about his glasses. How had wishing turned something he hated into something he wanted? “Sounds to me like your wish isn’t so cut-and-dried after all.”

  “Nothing is, Eldo.”

  The sky is mostly dark now. Stars replace the sunset. Out in the desert, creatures creep out of their daytime hiding places. In the hills, the wish cave is dormant, waiting for the next birthday. Waiting to change someone’s life.

  “Eldo?” Merrill asks.

  I look at him.

  “Are we going to the hot springs or not?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Let’s go.”

  I swing my feet up and walk across the beams to the unfinished staircase. Wishing can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, there’s a party.

  • • •

  Teenagers in Madison are always getting lectured about safety. Reminded not to let the boredom of living here make us reckless. Clearly, we don’t heed those warnings, because partying at the hot springs is definitely a hazard.

  Still, no adults try to stop it. Sheriff Crawford never busts us. Even Mayor Fontaine is willing to overlook our parties, which is much more surprising. I guess it’s because they were teenagers in Madison once. They went to the hot springs to party too. A couple of kids I know have found their parents’ names in old graffiti. So-and-so loves so-and-so forever. Mostly, it turned out to not be true.

  In one of the caves near the springs, way in the back, there’s some Eldon + Juniper with a heart around it bullshit. She drew it right after we started dating. I don’t go in that cave anymore.

  The most dangerous part about the springs isn’t getting there—it’s coming back. At least on the way there, you’re probably sober.

  Going in, the hot springs are a half-hour walk from the road, mostly through a narrow canyon. Coming back, who knows how long it might take. I swear, Merrill and I were out there for hours once, thinking we’d gotten lost. It was winter, and he was drunk and blubbering about hypothermia.

  It’s not an easy hike either. The first half is level, then there’s a lot of rock scrambling. You have to be careful, because even with flashlights, it’s hard to see. There are dark patches between the rocks, invitations to twist an ankle. At least we don’t have to stress about rattlesnakes. Someone wished the snakes out of Madison a long time ago.

  This one part of the hike, the hardest part to do drunk, is so steep, you have to use a rope to get up or down. The kids who go rock climbing instead of playing football after school say it’s nothing. They don’t touch the rope. Show-offs.

  The danger is totally worth it though, because the hike ends in paradise.

  The spring isn’t one big pool. There are probably fifteen of them, going way back into the canyon. Think clear blue water with vegetation growing around the sides. The water is as warm as a hot tub, and as long as you don’t duck your head under—brain-eating parasites, yeah?—you’ll be fine.

  Surrounding the springs are boulders to sit on, ledges to start campfires, tons of little caves. It’s the only place in Madison where teenagers can be alone.

  Merrill and I show up late, so we don’t get stuck with cooler duty. The only thing worse than making the hike at night is making it with a cooler full of beer. Let the rock-climbing show-offs deal with that.

  The party’s packed, and everyone’s already drunk or stoned. There’s a fire blazing even though it’s a million degrees outside. Thankfully, someone remembered a radio. It sucks when the only background noise is howls and buzzing insects.

  Merrill and I make the rounds, checking out who’s here. Pretty much everyone. Where else would they be?

  “Eldon, hi!”

  Someone throws their arm around my neck. I pull away. Penelope Rowe. She reeks of some fruity-sweet drink. When she wobbles, I grab onto her Save the Earth T-shirt to keep her from toppling over.

  “I’m so glad you came,” she says.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah, there was something I wanted to ask you,” she gushes. “About the bake sale?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Penelope giggles. “Me either.”

  I always like Penelope a lot better when she’s drunk. She’s exhausting when she’s sober. Not that I spend a ton of time around her anymore. My idea of entertainment isn’t hanging out with my ex-girlfriend’s best friend.

  “Come get a drink,” Penelope says, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward a cooler.

  I look at Merrill and raise my eyebrows.

  It’s the old code. Me saying, I could so hook up with this girl tonight if I want to.

  Merrill winces and shakes his head. Dude, you would so regret it in the morning.

  “We’ll be there in a minute,” I tell Penelope, pulling my hand back.

  “OK. Find me!”

  “Way too drunk,” Merrill says when she’s gone. “Besides, she’d probably try to sign you up for a social action committee postcoitus.”

  We walk around the party, drink cheap beer, stop to talk to people. When someone asks about my wish, I keep walking. We check out the sophomore girls sitting in one of the pools in their underwear. It happens every party. Some girls show up and realize they “forgot” their bathing suits, say it isn’t a big deal, because their underwear covers just as much. Pretend they don’t know how see-though it is, that all the guys are watching them.

  A while back, these girls would’ve been all over me the second I got here. It used to be that when I came to these parties, I was treated like a god. I’m not saying I necessarily deserved that attention, but yeah, I kinda miss it.

  “Well,” says Merrill, watching the girls, “looks like I know where I’ll be hanging out.”

  “We just got here,” I say, which translates into, please don’t ditch me. I don’t want to be alone right now.

  Merrill shrugs.

  We wander more. Flirt with some girls. Joke with some football players. I’m feeling good and well on my way to drunk when I see Juniper.

  She’s sitting on the edge of one of the pools. Her pants legs are rolled up, and her feet are in the water. The moonlight makes her skin shimmer. She laughs, and the sound cuts across the party and gets into my head, reminds me of how good it felt when she laughed at one of my jokes. Then she leans on Calvin Boyd, who’s sitting next to her, and the vision of her like a goddamn water nymph collapses.

  “Shit,” I say, still watching her. Watching them.

  “Easy there,” says Merrill.

  “I can’t believe she showed up with him.”

  “They’re dating, Eldo. What do you expect?”

  I know what I didn’t expect. I didn’t expect her to look so happy.

  “Come on,” Merrill says. “Let’s not stalk any ex-girlfriends tonight.”

  I let him lead me back to the cooler.

  But I can’t erase the image from my mind. Seeing Calvin with Juniper is like watching an imposter take over my life. I was the one who should have been by Juniper’s side making her laugh, gazing into her eyes, feeling her body next to mine.

  “Well, Merrill,” I say. “I think I’ll be getting very drunk tonight.”

  • • •

  And I do.

  I lose track of time. I lose track of Merrill too. Last I see him, he’s with the sophomores in their hot spring. He’s cracking jokes, but I can tell he’s gearing up for a rant. Probably one of his ridiculous conspiracy theories. Like every city having their own wish cave and each thinking they’re the only ones while we all try to hide it from one another.

  I consider sticking around to point out his hypocrisy—something I only do when I’m buzzed. Despite all his conspirac
y theories, he sure as hell didn’t reject his own wish. I know saying so will only lead to a fight, so instead, I wander deeper into the party.

  I look away when I see Fletcher Hale chatting with a freshman girl I don’t really know. It infuriates me that he’d even show up at a party. You’d think having someone’s death on your hands would make you uninterested in normal high school activities. But I push Fletcher from my thoughts. I’m not gonna fight with anyone tonight. Not even him.

  I wander and I drink, and eventually, everything blurs, softens, and I start to feel numb.

  I don’t remember getting in the hot springs, but I must have, because my shorts are wet. I have no idea where my shirt is. I have a fuzzy memory of talking with some nerdy kids from debate club. I think we took a selfie together.

  For some reason, I think of Norie Havermayer. I get it in my head that I need to call her, ask her why she isn’t at the party. I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts, then remember I don’t have her number.

  I land on my sister’s name instead. I press the call button.

  It goes straight to voice mail. “Hey, it’s Ebba! Say something fascinating, and I’ll call you back!”

  There’s a beep. I don’t speak, just breathe into the phone like some horror movie killer.

  Despite our financial issues, my parent’s will probably pay to keep Ebba’s phone on for another year. Another decade. As long as they’re alive, I’ll be able to call my sister. Hear her voice and make believe that she’ll listen to my message and call me back.

  For weeks after the accident, I’d pick up my phone and start texting Ebba. It was such a part of my routine that it took a while for my brain to remember there was no one on the other end.

  I hang up the phone.

  “Hey,” I shout to a freshman kid walking by. “Do you have Norie’s number?”

  He looks at me like I’m speaking another language.

  I put my phone in my pocket, push both Ebba and Norie from my mind, and wander the party again.

  I end up in a weird conversation with Dessie Greerson. For some reason, I keep calling her Jessie, and she keeps laughing like it’s hilarious. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.