The first Saturday after school starts, Lexie and I circle our bicycles in and out of each other on the sidewalk below the old billboard that can be seen high against the sky almost anywhere you plant your feet in Willow Grove. Our wishing spot, that’s what we’ve always called it.
The old ad for the dress shop is faded now, ripped in places. A giant black sticker with AVAILABLE and a phone number covers a big section in the middle. But I can still see the face of the woman on the billboard, still see that she has her head thrown back, her mouth open like she’s in the middle of laughing. Like whoever took that picture caught her in some joyous moment. And I can still see that she’s beautiful.
I know that the woman on the billboard is my mother. Gus has told me so, a hundred different times. Gus, and everybody else in Willow Grove. It was my mom’s special-something: she was beautiful.
Shining brighter than any star. That’s what everyone always says about my mom, that she’s off somewhere incredible, like California, shining brighter than any stars out there—the ones twinkling in the sky or on the silver screen.
Which is why her picture has always felt like the most natural place for me and Lexie to put our wishes.
“What’re you going to wish?” I ask Lexie. “I’m going to wish that we could all go back to Montgomery.”
“What for?” she asks, her nose crinkled.
“Don’t you miss it?” I ask. “I wish I could open my eyes and find out that a desk with my name across the front of it has been waiting for me there, all this time.”
Lexie shrugs, rustling the waves of her hair that she’s letting spill across her shoulders today. “I don’t miss it so much. If we hadn’t gone to Dickerson, we never would have met Victoria.”
I nod, pretend that I’ve been glad to share Lexie, but I have to admit, the past week has felt a little crowded because of Victoria. She’s always around—at lunch, during recess. And even though I try to find things about her to like, there’s something about her—I can’t quite put my finger on it yet—but for some reason, she reminds me more of a parent than a kid. Maybe it’s the way her shirts are always ironed and color-coordinated with her socks, or the way she never has any Band-Aids on her knees. Or maybe it’s the way she’s always sitting in class with her feet crossed and her chin in one hand, all prim and proper.
“I have to go,” Lexie says.
“Where?”
“I have this thing I’m doing with Victoria,” she says.
When my face falls, she explains, “I’d invite you, but it’s kind of a two-person thing.”
“Oh,” is all I can manage.
And like that, she lifts her backside from the seat, standing up to get more leverage. She peddles extra-quick, down the street, out of sight.
I grab a notebook from the metal basket on the back of my bike. “Dear Mom,” I scribble, because I sometimes write letters to her—even in my head when I have something to say and no paper around.
Today, I feel ready to ask her to come back. Because she’s glamorous, that’s what everybody says. So glamorous, anyone could tell just by looking at her that she’d spent years floating around on one of those inflatable mats in a movie star’s swimming pool, sipping big drinks full of umbrellas, smiling her enormous smile.
I’m still sitting on the curb, staring at my unfinished letter, when a pair of black-and-white high-tops stops on the sidewalk in front of me.
When I turn my eyes up, they land on the face of the Reverend Charles V. Taylor.
“Hello, Auggie,” he says, seeming honestly happy to see me.
“Reverend,” I say, forcing a smile and nodding once.
“I thought you and I were on a first-name basis,” Chuck complains.
I have to admit, it really is a pretty formal thing to call a minister. Most other churches around call their ministers “pastor” or “brother.” But I always figured it kind of showed how much we all respect Chuck—even if he does always wear sneakers to church.
He tilts his head, says, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at the wishing spot without Lexie.”
I hug my notebook to my chest, as though I can cover the wound inside my heart. What I really wish is that friendship didn’t have to be so slippery, so hard to keep hold of.
Chuck squints at me a good long while, like he’s thinking something over, as Mom’s billboard looms behind his shoulder. He follows my gaze, up toward her old picture. “She was my best friend, you know. And I sure do miss her, now that she’s gone.”
“Seems like there’s one person who does the leaving, and one person who does the missing,” I blurt.
He lets the tiniest hint of a grin crack into the side of his face. “I never did tell you about the snake, did I?”
I shake my head no.
Chuck’s grin grows like a flower blooming on fast-forward. “Then I’ll tell you as I walk you home.”