When I came down for breakfast, Mom was waiting for me.
“Here.” She took my hand and pressed something into it. It was an old-fashioned key on a pretty silver chain.
I was surprised. “What’s this for?”
“It’s symbolic,” she said. “Because your week is up for the basement. I don’t understand why you want to go down there, but if it’s important to you, I’m . . .” She paused for a minute and then added, “Fine with it.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Suddenly Mom seemed uncomfortable, like she was worried that she was making too big a deal out of this. She pointed to the necklace. “You don’t have to wear it, but you can if you want.”
I untangled the chain and pulled it over my head. It was long; the end of the key landed just above my belly button. I straightened up and looked down. I liked it. Mom started again.
“It’s mostly a thank-you, for this week. For everything you’ve done with Claire. She’s having a great time. Younger girls really look up to older girls. When I was young I . . .”
I shifted my weight and looked down. Mom stopped talking.
I looked up and smiled. “I like it. It’s nice.”
She looked relieved. “I’m taking Claire out later. So you’ll have some free time, on your own, to do . . .”
I nodded. I knew exactly what I was going to do. Mom waited a few seconds to see if I had anything to say, but when I was quiet, she continued.
“We’ll be back for lunch, because you have the craft thing this afternoon.”
I hadn’t forgotten about it. In fact, I was kind of looking forward to it. Mom would have been surprised about that. We stood there for a few seconds, kind of awkwardly, and then I stepped forward and gave her a hug. Suddenly two more arms were around us.
“GROUP HUG!” shouted Claire.
It was exactly what we needed—seven-year-old joy.
Mom and Claire left about two hours later. I worried all morning that something would happen to stop them from going—a stomachache, a flat tire, a freak windstorm—but nothing did. I tried to act calm and normal, but I couldn’t wait for them to leave. The second the car pulled out of the driveway, I ran up to my room, pulled one of the Anderson’s wishes off the wish map, and grabbed the wish jar. It had been a while since I’d held it—my hands trembled. I tried not to think of the negatives, but they followed me down to the basement. What if the jar was broken? What if the wishes didn’t work? What if asking Sam about Anderson’s had ruined everything?
I had to find out. I couldn’t wait. I sat on the chair, reached into the jar, and pulled out a wish. There was no swirling of balls, no meditating on the choice, and no closing of eyes. I held my breath and unfurled the paper, and as each word appeared, I read it out loud.
I Wish Summer Wasn’t So Boring
Suddenly I was gone, and instead of being in the basement, I was with Shue, in her room. She was sitting on her bed, looking down at her hands. But in this first minute of being there, I didn’t care about her. It was all about me.
“PURPLE PLATYPUS!” I shouted and jumped in the air. It was a celebration. The wish jar had worked!
If I was ecstatic, Shue was the exact opposite. She looked sad and droopy. I missed it at first, but her lips were moving. She was singing. It started out quietly, but as the seconds ticked by, she got louder and louder. I didn’t recognize the song. The lyrics were unusual—a mix-up of sad, happy, and silly. What kind of song talks about eating muffins? And then I got it—she was making it up. The more she sang, the more animated she became. She wasn’t sitting on the side of the bed anymore—now she was dancing around the room.
She swung her arms and leaped into the air, but she misjudged the landing part and crashed into her dresser. I laughed—she was the opposite of graceful. But she didn’t care; she continued without stopping. She pulled a dress from her closet. Now she was singing about love, and the dress was her prince. He spun above her head, wiped out a row of stuffed animals from the top of the desk, and knocked over the chair, and landed in a heap on the floor. The romance was over. Shue bounced on the bed, still singing, but now I couldn’t understand the words. It was hard to believe that this was the same Shue as before. She was so crazy and funny. Finally she collapsed on the bed, lay still, and stared up at the ceiling. What was she thinking? I walked forward, but it was over. I was fading away.
I was back in my chair. I rubbed the chair’s arms. I liked this chair. What a strange time machine. I smiled; that had been a good wish, one of the best, but where was Ash? Shue’s song had been about everything—her parents, her boring summer, her room, her pretend prince, and even what she’d had for breakfast—but there’d been nothing about Ash. Why hadn’t she mentioned her? I tried to remember if I’d seen Ash’s drawing taped to the mirror. I hadn’t. The mirror had been clean. I smiled—I was a good detective.
Now I wanted to try something new. It was risky, but I needed to know. Could a wish work twice? I wanted to go back to Anderson’s. See if I’d missed anything—pay more attention. I pulled the used wish out of my pocket and rolled it into a ball. It was my favorite Anderson’s wish. I placed it in the jar, careful to keep my eye on it, and then pulled it back out. I opened it and read the words.
I Wish Anderson’s Was Always Good
I was ready to go, but nothing happened. I was still in my chair. It hadn’t worked. I panicked and quickly picked out a new wish, hoping I hadn’t broken anything. As soon as I read the words, I was gone.
I Never Want School to Start
When I arrived in Ashley’s bedroom, I was smiling. Shue and Ashley were sitting on Ashley’s bed; they were talking. I tuned them out to think of a test word. It was getting harder to think of new colors—I’d have to research that, so I’d be ready for next time. It took me a few seconds, but finally I had one.
“Gold monkey.” I said it and walked toward the girls. They were still talking.
“Once school starts, things will be different,” said Ashley. She was smoothing out a little piece of paper against her leg.
Shue fiddled with her shoelaces. “No it won’t.” She tied a double knot.
Ashley shook her head. “I’ll be in high school, and you’ll still be in middle school.”
I could tell that Ashley thought this was enough of an explanation, but Shue was still confused. Ashley glanced around the room like she was looking for help, but there was no one else—just them and me, and I didn’t count.
Ashley folded up the paper. “I’ll be busy with school. Plus our schools are in different places.”
Shue thought for a moment and then brightened. “But you live only two houses away, so I’ll still see you all the time.”
“Maybe, but it won’t be the same. You’ll be with your middle school friends, and I’ll have friends too.”
Shue wasn’t giving up. “But it’s only a year. Next year I’ll be in high school too. We can walk to school together.”
“Okay.” Ashley sighed. I could tell she wasn’t agreeing with Shue, but she was giving up.
Shue held up the little charm on the end of her necklace and looked at Ashley. “Friends forever.”
I hadn’t noticed it before, but both girls were wearing the exact same necklace—a silver half circle on a silver chain.
Ashley tapped her half circle against Shue’s charm. “Friends.” She frowned and picked something up off the bed. It was the yellow duck. She held it up and made a quacking sound. “I found it really fast this time.”
I looked over at her closet. There was a pile of clothes on the floor, and the shelf where I’d seen Shue hide the duck was empty. Shue nodded. She seemed sad. Was she upset about the duck? And then I realized it wasn’t the duck—it was the promise. Ashley hadn’t said “forever.” A moment later I was gone. This time it wasn’t a slow fade back to reality; it was more like a lightning strike—fast, electric, and slightly painful. I hated the painful comebacks, but now I had a feeling about them. It wasn’t something I wanted to test, but if I kept reading wishes, I’d find out. I hoped I was wrong, because I knew they were in there—the bad wishes, the ones where Ashley and Shue were fighting—and so far those were the ones that hurt.
I gripped the arms of the chair and shuddered. Suddenly I heard noises upstairs. Mom and Claire were home. Maybe that’s why I’d come back so fast. I put the used wishes in my pocket and hid the jar. As an afterthought I grabbed a notebook off the bench and carried it upstairs with me. It was blank and missing a page, but that didn’t matter—it was a perfect prop.
Mom didn’t say anything when I came up from the basement, but I knew that look—she was curious. I motioned toward the notebook.
“I’m writing a story, and I like that chair down there. It’s perfect for thinking.”
She was surprised.
“A story? That’s great.” And then she nodded as if suddenly everything made sense. “Well, let’s make sure you get some time to work on it.”
I smiled. The notebook had worked even better than I’d thought it would. Instead of a one-time ticket, I had a lifetime pass.
“The light down there is terrible.” Mom shook her head. “I should get you a better light.”
“NO!” I panicked. She couldn’t touch anything. Everything had to stay the same. “The light’s good. I like it. Don’t touch anything, please!”
Mom nodded, but I could tell it was only temporary. She liked makeovers. Great, now there was something new to worry about.
Claire couldn’t wait to get to the old people’s home. She had a big plan: she was going to interview both Miss Sato and Mr. Gripes.
“I’m going to find out how to make them fall in love again.”
It was brave of her to want to interview Mr. Gripes. I told her she could have fifteen extra minutes after the craft event. It was good to put a time limit on it—an interview with Claire had the potential to go on for hours.
We rode the trailer bike to the old people’s home. Sam’s bike was already there; it was strange, but just seeing it made me happy. The minute we walked into the craft room, I could tell that something was wrong. Sam was standing there waiting for us, and as soon as he saw me, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into the hall. Claire wanted to follow, but I made her stay with Marjorie and help set up the supplies for frame painting.
As soon as we stepped out of the craft room, Sam said, “Miss Sato had a stroke on Wednesday, and she’s in the hospital.”
There was no warning, he just blurted it out. I didn’t know what to say. He rubbed his hands together and looked at the floor. I followed his gaze; he was shuffling his feet. I knew how that felt—I hated that nervous energy. I didn’t know anything about strokes, only that they were bad. Could people die from a stroke? Yes, I thought so.
“Is it bad?”
Sam nodded. I thought that would be it, but he let out a sigh and said, “She can’t talk, or move, and Mr. Gripes is with her at the hospital.”
Sam looked lost. I wanted to help, but what could I do? Should I say something? What if I made things worse? Was it better to say nothing? It was making me nervous, both of us standing there together, being quiet. I had to break the silence.
I didn’t know if it was the wrong thing to do, but I asked him anyway. “Do you want to paint frames with us?”
After a moment Sam nodded and followed me back into the craft room. As soon as I saw Claire, I froze. We couldn’t tell her the truth. She’d be devastated. I turned to Sam.
“We can’t tell Claire the truth. It will scare her.”
Sam nodded. This wasn’t going to be easy.
Painting the frames turned out to be okay. Sam wasn’t as talkative as usual, but I think I was the only one who noticed. Claire was, of course, disappointed, sad, and full of questions when she found out about Miss Sato. The story ended up being that Miss Sato had to go to the hospital for a stomachache. I couldn’t decide if that was a good lie, a bad lie, or even the right thing to do. But I didn’t get away with it—the universe punished me. My frame was a disaster. I couldn’t concentrate with Sam sitting next to me. I tried to paint a cat but ended up with a blob with pointy ears. At least it was something to joke about, and by the end, Sam seemed more like his regular self.
We left before Sam did. He had to wait around for Mr. Fred to get back from the hospital. I thought his job might be canceled, but he said Mr. Fred was going to help him finish the slide show.
Claire and I rode home in record time. I was riding away from the sadness, and she just wanted to go fast. For the first time since he’d left, I started missing Dad. It wasn’t like I hadn’t missed him all along, but now for some reason it was worse. He called every night, and usually I didn’t talk to him—mostly Mom just gave me an update—but tonight was different; I wanted to hear his voice.
After dinner, and after talking to Dad—for only one minute, because he had to rush off to a meeting—I went upstairs. I still had the morning’s wishes in my pocket. I pulled them out, found where they went on the wish map, and taped them down. After everything was cleaned up, I flopped down on my bed. Poor Shue; Ashley was up to something. I was watching the girls, but did I really know them? If I met them in real life, would I like them? Would they like me? Would we be friends? I pulled out my book but didn’t open it. I tapped the cover, making myself decide. Shue was easy. She was nice, funny, and trustworthy. We’d be friends. But Ashley was a toss-up. I wasn’t so sure. I’d have to wait and see. I opened the book; it had gotten a lot better. I was liking it again. In fact, I was liking a lot of things lately.