There’s something about that moment right before the first star appears in the sky. It’s like at an orchestra concert when the conductor raises his hands and everyone is hushed, not even breathing, waiting for that very first note to wash over them.
At my first concert with Dad, the conductor paused on the stand for what seemed like forever. It went on so long I couldn’t help wiggling in my seat.
“Patience,” whispered Dad. “The music’s coming. I promise.”
I lean back against the rough bark of an almond tree, feel the chill of the breeze across my face, and hear something like those words again. Except this time it’s my best friend, Sofia, saying them.
“It’s coming, Kate.” She rubs her thighs to warm them up. “It won’t be long now. I promise.”
Sofia gets a daily email about the night sky and when certain stars will appear. It’s never wrong. Ever. But that doesn’t mean Sofia can’t remember it wrong. I’m about to say so when she shouts, “Look! There it is!” She points at a bright star hovering above the orange line of the horizon.
I look at my watch. “Right on time.”
Sofia laughs and bumps her shoulder against mine. “Told you. Make a wish.”
We both close our eyes, scrunching them as tight as we can.
The scrunching part is very important when making a wish.
I hold my breath, and those words come back to me again.
The music’s coming. I promise.
But the only person who can bring the tinkling, crashing, zipping, soaring sound of music back into my life is Dad. “Please, please, please,” I whisper.
Beside me I hear Sofia mumble, “Por favor.” I open my eyes and see her clasping the cross hanging from her neck.
“It’s not a prayer, you know.”
Sofia opens one eye. “Sshh. You’re breaking my concentration.”
“What kind of wish are you making?”
“A big one. Obviously. Now quiet.” She rubs her thumb along her cross a couple more times, mouthing something I can’t make out before sighing and looking at me. “There.” She drops her necklace.
“Why were you praying?”
“It never hurts to try everything. Not when it’s important.”
The wind blows again, finding the spaces between the buttons on my sweater. I can’t see buds forming on Mr. Harris’s almond trees yet, but they’ll be there soon. It’s the beginning of January, and spring always shows up the first week of February. You can count on it.
“So what did you wish for?” I ask. “To go back in time and have Christmas again?” It’s the last Friday of winter break. There are probably a lot of people wishing for that right now. People who didn’t open all their presents with one eye on the door waiting for someone who never came.
“And be cooped up in the house with Marcos and Miguel for another week?” says Sofia. “No, thank you. My wish is much bigger and more exciting.” She presses her lips together the way she does whenever she has a surprise treat for me in her lunch box.
“Tell me!” I poke her arm. “You have to tell me.”
“I don’t know. Then it might not come true.”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t actually believe that.”
“You’re right.” Sofia laughs. “I’ll tell you. I wished to be a movie star. With a mansion and a closet full of beautiful dresses and somebody I pay to clean my room.”
I glance at the bottom of Sofia’s jeans where her mother sewed in cotton lace to make them long enough for her to keep wearing. “You’re right. That’s a big wish.”
Sofia stands up and begins waltzing around and waving at imaginary people. She speaks with a snooty British accent. “When my movie premieres, you’ll accompany me down the red carpet. It will all be very fancy.”
I wrinkle my nose at the word fancy.
“Don’t be like that!” Sofia says, her British accent faltering.
“What? I just don’t want to wear a fluffy dress or anything stupid like that.”
“It’s not stupid.” Sofia curls her hands into fists the way she does when she’s about to yell at her brothers.
I jump to my feet. “Maybe I can come as your bodyguard.”
Sofia’s hands unclench. “I guess that would be okay.”
“Then I can karate chop anyone who gets too close.”
“Yeah! Hiyah!” Sofia does her best impression of a roundhouse kick, but she is way off.
I relax into ready position with my fist resting against the palm of my other hand. “Nobody touches my best friend. These hands are registered weapons.”
“That’s right.” Sofia calls into the night, “Watch out! She’s a black belt!”
“Well, not yet.”
Sofia goes back to waving at imaginary admirers. I shove my hands into my pockets. “You still won’t wear pink on the red carpet, right?”
“No way!” Sofia holds out her pinkie to me. “Never wear pink and best friends forever.”
I wrap my pinkie around hers, and we shake on it. There’s a rustle from somewhere in the orchard behind us, and we both jump. But it’s just Mr. Harris’s cat. He meows and rubs against my leg.
“Sorry, Fred,” I whisper. “No milk for you. Mr. Harris said it’s making you fat and lazy.” Fred saunters off between the trees.
“Come on,” says Sofia. “Let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here.”
We trudge through Mr. Harris’s almond orchard, ducking beneath branches so they don’t catch in our hair.
“So are you going to tell me what you wished for?” asks Sofia.
At the edge of the last row of trees, the dirt turns to gravel crunching beneath our feet, and we can see my house. “I wished for my dad to come back.”
“How long has it been now?”
“Four months and seventeen days.”
Sofia doesn’t act like it’s weird that I know exactly how long it’s been or tell me that it’s never going to happen. Because that’s not what best friends do. Instead she stops on my front porch, turns around, and loops her arm through mine while we look at the star one last time.
“That’s a big wish,” she whispers. We stay that way for a few moments, with our wishes swirling around us and floating up into the sky like smoke from a bonfire.