I hear music. The double doors to the town community center are propped wide open, a rectangle of yellow light spread on the sidewalk.

David jumps into the box of light. He waves his fingers in excitement, watching his shadow.

“Catherine, next time, you need to plan better,” Dad says. “I can’t leave work for something like this.”

I watch David jumping, his shadow hands fluttering. “You take David to the video store every time he has OT.”

“That’s different.”

“Different because it’s him?”

Dad huffs, turning to me. “David needs —”

“I know what he needs! Believe me!” I push my way past Dad, not even caring that I’m yelling. “Maybe he does need you more than me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need anything at all!”

“Go inside?” David asks as I step on his shadow.

“Ask Dad. He’s in charge.” My throat is raw. Looking ahead to the community center, I’ve never felt so alone.

I hear footsteps coming up behind me. “Cath?”

“I have to matter, too,” I say. “As much as work and your garden and even as much as David. I need you, too.”

I feel his arm go around me, turning me to face his shoulder. “You matter,” Dad says, holding me.

Even though strangers glance at us as they pass, I hold him tight. “Would you stay until I know if Jason’s coming?”

“Sure.”

My forehead pressed into the hollow of Dad’s shoulder, his shirt smells sickly sweet, like cherry cough syrup from the pharmacy, but I don’t care. “And can I borrow some money? I spent all mine on Jason’s present.”

Dad digs in his pocket with his free hand. “Here’s extra so you can call me when you’re ready to come home. I’ll come as soon as you call.”

“Go inside?” David asks.

I nod. “I’m ready.”

Inside the doors a woman looks up from the admission table. The poster I made is taped on the wall behind her. “Welcome,” she says, opening her cash box. “Are you here for the dance?”

“My daughter is. My son and I are only here until her friend comes.” Dad pays for all of us, but David doesn’t want his hand stamped.

“Watch. It doesn’t hurt.” I hold my hand out and the lady says, “Would you like a flower or a frog or a dragonfly?”

“A frog, please.”

She presses the stamp onto the back of my hand and I show David. “Look, it’s Frog.”

David holds his hand out to me, and I turn it over so she can stamp the back.

“Something smells good,” Dad says.

“We have a bake sale going on, and there’s popcorn and soda.” The woman points down the hall toward tables piled with brownies and cookies. “Everything is fifty cents or a dollar, but you can’t bring food or drinks in the gym.”

“It’s the rule,” David says.

Ahead there’s a scatter of flyers on the bulletin board, and the doorway to the gym is surrounded with colored streamers and twinkly white Christmas lights.

Dad stops to talk to someone at a long table selling T-shirts with the community center logo on them, and I hear snips of the conversation: “lots of kids,” “lovely night,” “the pharmacy is good.”

Beside me David steps close to the lights, his fingers flickering at his sides, fast as moth wings.

“The lights are beautiful, aren’t they?” I say. “Like hundreds of stars.”

“Like stars,” David says. “Make a wish, Frog.”

I close my eyes and reach in my skirt pocket, fingering the money Dad gave me. From inside the gym, a song starts — a fast, wonderful, bursting-with-life song.

When I open my eyes, David’s staring at me, inches from my face.

Most people say if you tell a wish it won’t come true. But I don’t think wishes work like that. I don’t believe there’s some bad-tempered wish-fairy with a clipboard, checking off whether or not you’ve told. Oops! You told your wish. No new bike for you! But it’s a long shot I’ll get my wish, so even if there is a fairy in charge of telling, it won’t matter.

“I wish everyone had the same chances,” I say. “Because it stinks a big one that they don’t. What about you? What did you wish for?”

“Grape soda.”

I can’t help smiling. “You wished for grape soda?”

He doesn’t answer, and I pull my hand from my pocket. Taking one of his fluttering hands, I wrap his fingers tightly around a dollar. “Wish granted, Toad.”

He takes off running, and Dad runs after him.

I close my eyes and make a new wish.

I wish the refreshment stand has grape soda.