As You Wish Page 9

  Read page after page of Barnabas’s anxiety. Sometimes over things that matter, and sometimes over nothing at all. Because that’s the cruel way anxiety operates.

  “Boy’s all wired up,” Barnabas overhears his dad say to a neighbor. “Never seen someone so nervous in my life. Say boo, and he’ll pass out.”

  But if you jump ahead, you’ll learn news that Barnabas’s dad doesn’t know. Maybe, for the first time in his life, Barnabas has something serious to worry about. Something that’s keeping even the most cool and collected of his peers up at night:

  The draft.

  The draft, draft, draft, draft.

  It was bad enough when it was simply war.

  The war is distant. Barnabas can lock it in a box and put it on a shelf in his mind. The war has nothing to do with him, with his life in Madison. He worries about it, of course he worries, but if he tries his hardest, he can pretend it’ll never touch him.

  But the draft? There’s no locking that in a box. There’s no escaping it.

  Lucky for Barnabas, his wish day is approaching. It’s his way out. He can’t stop the war, as that would be against the rules. You can’t wish for anything that’d impact the world outside Madison. But maybe, just maybe, he can stop himself from being drafted.

  Are you ready to see how that turns out? Skim until Barnabas is in the wish cave.

  And see how, once he’s on the brink of wishing, he starts to get anxious.

  He can feel Old Mayor Fontaine watching him. And yeah, the mayor is a good guy. He’s not the judgmental type. But let’s not forget, this is Madison, where life is football and mining and the American flag waving in the breeze. Sure, it’s the sixties, but the old timers aren’t exactly onboard with the dirty hippies and their peaceful ideals.

  Mayor Fontaine believes in bravery and honor.

  And here’s Barnabas Fairley, about to dodge the draft.

  Who cares that it’s through a wish? Who cares that no one will ever report him? As far as the world will know, his number simply won’t be called. The wish might not even work. Barnabas isn’t positive it won’t break the rules of wishing.

  But all Barnabas is thinking about is how Mayor Fontaine will look at him. Of how disgusted he’ll be.

  And for the rest of Barnabas’s life, the words draft dodger will hang over his head.

  Barnabas’s chest constricts. His heart beats faster and faster and faster until he feels like it’s going to explode.

  “Mayor Fontaine,” Barnabas says. The echoing sound of his voice makes him jump.

  “Yes, Barnabas?”

  What can he say?

  He wrings his hands. It’s all wrong. Everything’s wrong. He’s been planning his wish for so long, and now he can’t do it.

  “Do you…” It’s so hard to make the words come out. The kid can hardly breathe. “Do you think…do you think you could…”

  His voice shakes. His hands shake. How much time does he have left? Can his wish expire? He has to say the words. But no, not with Mayor Fontaine staring at him. The mayor has to leave.

  Will that make the mayor angry? It’s hard to say. No one has ever wished in private before. Barnabas doesn’t want to be the first. But more than that, he doesn’t want to go to war.

  “I can’t, with you watching, I can’t…”

  “Spit it out, Barnabas,” the mayor says. He doesn’t say it unkindly, but Barnabas knows even the most patient people have a limit.

  Barnabas needs to be strong. On this one day, this one moment in his life, he needs to fight through his anxiety.

  It comes out in one burst, the words exploding before he can think them through. “Mayor Fontaine, please, with you watching, I can’t… I wish you’d give me space. I need to be alone.”

  Look closely at the mayor’s face. See the horror and pity.

  Still, he does what Barnabas asks and backs down the tunnel.

  And Barnabas feels relief.

  Until he doesn’t.

  Maybe you’ve already guessed: the look on the mayor’s face isn’t because he sees Barnabas as weak. No, his sadness comes from what Barnabas said.

  I wish.

  I wish you’d give me space.

  Wish, wish, wish.

  If Barnabas was dizzy before, well, that’s nothing compared to what he experiences now. A dark feeling spreads through him.

  The mayor’s gone, and Barnabas holds onto a desperate hope that his wish is intact. Quickly, stumbling over his words, he makes his real wish.

  But it’s too late for Barnabas Fairley.

  In 1969, a new wish rule is put into place. All wishers will enter the wish cave alone. This is Barnabas’s legacy: every wisher will get space.

  Barnabas isn’t around to enjoy the outcome though. Less than a year after his wish, Barnabas Fairley is drafted.

  Keep going, and watch him come home from the war.

  Or does he come home?

  A man named Barnabas Fairley returns to Madison. But can you really say he’s the same boy who left?

  Look at the hollowness in eyes. Dive into the darkness in his mind. Did the war change him? The things he saw, the things he did—will they ever leave him?

  Would his story have been different if he came home to a town that loved and supported him? Maybe, but we’ll never know. Because Barnabas Fairley wished for space, and space he’ll have. Forever.

  It’s the 1970s, a new decade, a new outlook. But Barnabas’s life remains a struggle. Maybe it’s due to his anxiety. Maybe it’s the memories of war or the devastating consequences of his wish. Maybe a combination of all the above.

  In the end, does it really matter?

  All his life, Barnabas Fairley was a worrier. He obsessed over the terrible things happening in the world. He imagined all the misfortune that might befall him. But what Barnabas didn’t consider is this: when the misfortune you’ve been dreading comes to pass, the story doesn’t end. In fact, the pain is only beginning.

  Can you dig it?

  Chapter 11

  Countdown: 17 Days

  I pound on Merrill’s front door for a good minute before it swings open. But instead of Merrill, Royce Delacruz stands in front of me. He blinks at the sunshine like he’s been living in a cave. Which, in a way, he has. It’s been years since Royce regularly left his bedroom.

  “Your brother here?” I ask.

  Royce looks around sleepily, like maybe Merrill’s joined him in the last three seconds. Seeing nothing to confirm this, Royce shrugs.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Yeah, man.” Royce steps away from the door and lets me into the house.

  “How’ve you been?” I ask.

  Royce shrugs again. “It’s all the same around here.” He wanders away, leaving me alone in the living room.

  Well, not completely alone. Benny Delacruz is passed out on the couch, snoring. His feet hang over the edge. Before he made his wish, Merrill’s dad was the shortest guy at Madison High School. Now he towers over all of us. Or he would if he ever stood up.

  I make my way down the hallway, a mirror of the hall in my own house, and walk into Merrill’s bedroom without knocking. It’s a wreck. Clothes and books and video games are everywhere. Merrill’s such a freaking slob.

  His walls are covered with planes—posters, drawings, photos. But as always, my gaze immediately goes to a framed picture on his nightstand. It was taken at an air show at Nellis Air Force Base when Merrill was six. His whole family went, but it’s only him and his mom in the photo. She has her arm wrapped around Merrill’s skinny shoulders and is pointing to something in the sky. Merrill’s looking in that direction, absolute wonder on his face. That was the day he fell in love with planes.

  What gets to me the most is that Benny Delacruz must have taken the photo. It’s hard to remember what he was like b
efore Merrill’s mom died. But apparently, he was a man who went on family outings. A father who saw a moment between his son and his wife and felt compelled to capture it forever.

  I don’t know how Merrill can look at that picture without crying.

  I pick up a shoe from the ground and toss it at the bed where Merrill’s still sleeping. “Morning, sunshine.”

  He groans.

  “Are you coming to wish class with me?” I ask.

  Merrill rubs at his eyes blearily. He reaches out to his nightstand and feels around for his glasses. “Dude, I got home, like, an hour ago.”

  “That’s a no then?”

  He sits up and slides his glasses onto his face, appraises me for a moment. “What did you do last night? You look as bad as I feel.”

  Oh, I cried in my room for a while and listened to Barnabas Fairley’s sob story. Then drank tea with my mom while feeling like the worst son and brother in the world.

  “Nothing,” I say.

  “Dude, the hot springs were wild last night. You know that quiet freshman girl with red hair? Well, her boyfriend showed up while she was hooking up with—”

  “I need to get to class,” I tell Merrill.

  “All right, all right,” he says, holding up his hands. “So much for keeping you up-to-date on Madison’s ever exciting social drama.”

  I laugh and roll my eyes. “So you’re not coming?”

  “Dude. I can’t deal with Mr. Wakefield this morning.”

  I don’t blame him. I can think of several ways I’d like to spend my Sunday morning, and wish class isn’t one of them.

  • • •

  Penelope and Archie arrive at the community center before me again. Which isn’t surprising, since I’d found myself sans ride.

  “Where’s your faggot boyfriend?” Archie asks as soon as I walk in.

  Penelope whirls around in her front-row seat. “Archie. That word.”

  “Don’t mind him, Penelope,” I say. “Degrading people is the only way he can make himself feel important.”

  Penelope smiles triumphantly, happy someone sided with her, I guess. Archie glares at me. I ignore them both and slide into my seat.

  I yawn and rub my eyes while Archie stalks around the room trying to look menacing. I hope he feels like a jackass when I don’t act threatened.

  Archie gives up and sits down when Mr. Wakefield breezes in on the balls of his feet, singing “Hello, wishers!”

  “How are you today, Mr. Wakefield?” Penelope asks. If anyone else talked all syrupy-sweet, it would sound mocking. But Penelope is only being Penelope.

  “I’m good, I’m good.” He stops at the front of the room and gives Penelope a big smile. “And how is our wish girl?”

  Penelope babbles about how excited she is. Her birthday is on Friday. She’s about to pass to the other side and join the ranks of people who know what it’s like to live postwish.

  Penelope isn’t my favorite person or anything, but still. I wonder if she’ll be happy at the end of the experience. I hope so.

  “Today,” Mr. Wakefield says theatrically, “we’re going to discuss That Which Cannot Be Wished For.”

  How long had it taken him to come up with that title? The guy has the biggest flair for the dramatic.

  “In life,” he begins, “there are rules. Wishing is no different. There are things that can’t be wished for.”

  As if we’re all sitting around thinking wishing is a giant free-for-all. We’re well aware of its limitations.

  “And who knows the golden rule?” Mr. Wakefield asks.

  Penelope’s hand shoots up.

  “Yes, Miss Rowe?”

  “Never let an outsider find out about wishing.”

  “Bravo, Miss Rowe! That’s exactly it. Under no circumstance are we to allow wishing to become public knowledge.”

  Of course we aren’t allowed to tell outsiders. People would travel from all over the world to make wishes of their own. Not that they’d definitely be able to. Only people born in Madison have ever made a wish in the cave. For all we know, whatever magic is there wouldn’t work for an outsider.

  Either way, wishing is ours. And Madison’s not big on sharing.

  “And how do we go about upholding that rule?”

  Penelope raises her hand again.

  “Let’s hear from someone else,” Mr. Wakefield says. “Mr. Kildare, perhaps?”

  Archie sighs as if he can’t be bothered. “We don’t wish for dinosaurs and shit.”

  I laugh.

  Mr. Wakefield makes a sour face. “I believe what Mr. Kildare is saying is that we never wish for anything that would impact the world as a whole. We’re careful to keep our wishes in Madison.”

  More stuff we already know. You can wish to be the best football player in Madison, but you can’t wish to be the most famous football player in the world. You can wish to be rich or talented or intelligent, but after that, you have to make your own way in life.

  You can’t wish to stop wars or gain superpowers or, as Archie mentioned, have dinosaurs put back on the earth. Anything that might attract the attention of outsiders is off-limits.

  Other rules: You can’t physically harm someone, so mass murder is off the menu. You can’t reverse time, wish for more wishes, or bring someone back from the dead. Wishes have to be kept small-scale.

  “Do you have anything to add, Mr. Wilkes?”

  I think for a second. “I guess I’m wondering what happens if you make an illegal wish. Does your wish get forfeited? Or does it come true with some spectacularly bad result?”

  Mr. Wakefield’s hesitation tells me he has no freaking clue. I’d already assumed as much.

  “Well, I suppose we don’t know, because it’s never happened.”

  I wish Merrill was here. I know exactly how he feels about this subject. In fact, he ranted about it in the middle of the cafeteria a couple of weeks ago.

  “Bullshit!” he’d said. “They’re trying to tell us that never once, in the hundred-year history of this town, has anyone ever made an illegal wish?”

  “That seems to be what they’re saying,” I’d said.

  “You know what? Maybe there’s no such thing as an illegal wish. Maybe that’s a lie they tell to keep us in line, to make sure we only make pretty, happy wishes. But there are always rebels, Eldon. There are always people who are going to do exactly what you tell them not to. You think that hasn’t happened? Of course it has. So ask yourself why we don’t know about it. Ask yourself what happened to those people. Where did they go, Eldon?”

  I’d kept my mouth shut until Merrill caught his breath and his face returned to a normal color. “Are you saying the mayor murdered them or something?”

  “Of course the mayor wouldn’t kill them. He’d have his goons do it.”

  “Murder people.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re saying the mayor has anyone who makes an illegal wish killed.”

  “Yes, Eldon, that’s what I’m saying. Why is this so hard for you to grasp?”

  “I don’t think that’s happening, Merrill.”

  Merrill had sighed deeply. “No. You wouldn’t.”

  I return to the present. Mr. Wakefield looks anxious to change the subject. I’m not quite ready.

  “I heard about this guy in the eighties who wished to cure AIDS. No one knows what happened to him.”

  Mr. Wakefield says, “As far as I know, that’s an urban legend.”

  I’m not so sure.

  “I have another question,” I say.

  “Go on.”

  “Do you think maybe it’s not the cave that made the rules but that someone wished them into place?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Wilkes. There’s so much we don’t know about wishing. If you went to the wish museum, they’d be
able to answer these questions much better than I.”

  He’s brushing me off. We both know they won’t have answers for me either. I don’t call him on it though, and he continues with his lecture, talks about how wishes are confined to Madison.

  Yeah, yeah, we know. Wish for money, and for the rest of your life, you’ll have cash in your account at the Bank of Madison—no matter how much you withdraw. You can carry that money across town limits, no problem. But try to use an ATM somewhere else, you get nothing.

  He babbles on for about five years, telling us information we’ve known our entire lives. All wish class has taught me is that no one really knows a damn thing about wishing. I zone out until the door opens.

  “Oh,” Mr. Wakefield says as Mayor Fontaine steps into the room. “What an unexpected surprise.”

  From the tone of his voice, it’s definitely not a pleasant surprise. I couldn’t agree more.

  The mayor surveys the room with his beady eyes. He’s overweight and greasy looking, his hair slicked back with too much gel. His fingers are loaded with enough gold rings to purchase a small town. The worst part is the way he talks to people though. Like we’re all inferior to him, and he’s doing us a favor by giving us the time of day.

  “I wanted to look in on our new wish makers.” Mayor Fontaine smiles, but there’s zero warmth in it.

  “We’re wrapping up,” Mr. Wakefield says. “In fact, I was about to remind our wishers about meeting with you.”

  “Good. I trust you’ve all scheduled appointments with my secretary?” he replies, addressing us.

  Penelope, Archie, and I nod.

  “We’re on top of things here,” Mr. Wakefield says briskly. “Everything’s shipshape.”

  The mayor gives Mr. Wakefield a penetrating look. “So you’ve been dealing in practicalities, not psychology?”

  Mr. Wakefield pales. “Well, ah, of course psychology is practical, considering the enormity of wishing and the impact it has on young—”

  The mayor interrupts. “A straight answer will do.”

  “Yes, but in terms of wishing, nothing is ever truly straightforward—”