The Wish (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-eight

M
om brought home
cold baked chicken and potato salad for dinner. We were halfway through eating when Maud said, “The phone must be out of order. Nobody's called Wilma.” She picked up the receiver. “There's a dial tone. What's the problem, Wilma?” She hung up and the phone rang.

“Give it to me, Maud,” Mom said.

“If it's Jared, I have to talk to him.”

Maud gave Mom the phone.

“Hello.” Pause. “I'm sorry. We're in the middle of dinner, Jared.”

“Mom! Please!”

“Can she call you back?” Mom nodded. “All right.” She hung up.

“What did he say?”

“You can call him after dinner.”

I stood up. “I'm done.”

She didn't let me get away with that. And after we finished eating, I had to help Maud clean up. Then I called him. I took the phone into my closet so Maud wouldn't hear.

“Where were you?” I said when he came on. “I looked for you after graduation.”

“Brad was graduating from Elliot. We had to get over there. Wilma . . .”

Here we go. “What?” My mouth was dry.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” So far, so good.

“Something strange happened. I went to the library this afternoon to get books to read at camp. I had a huge stack in my arms. I was taking them to be checked out when I thought of you and dropped them all.”

I forced myself to laugh. “Heavy thoughts. The books didn't land on your feet, did—”

“It was more than thinking about you. I can't describe it. I thought about you, and something was wrong. Something had changed, something had happened.”

What did he mean? What did he think of me now?

“Then the feeling went away. Like it had come from somewhere else, not from inside me. I tried to call you, but people were using the phones at the library, and outside I couldn't find one that worked, and I had to—”

“I'm okay,” I said. I tried to change the subject. “Ardis and—”

“That's not all. I ran into Ovideo. He lives down the block from me. And Timothy was with him—”

I swallowed. “And they thought about me too, at the same time as you. Right?”

“You know about it?”

“Sort of. What did they say?”

“How do you know?”

“It's a long story. What did they say?”

“Well, they weren't—uh, um—they weren't—uh—complimentary. They both said they didn't see why everyone was so crazy about you lately. I said I saw why.”

“You did?”

“I said you only had to look at the caricature . . .”

The caricature! He had to remind them?

“What's going on, Wilma? Why did we all think of you at the same time?”

I had to tell him something. My heart was pounding. I didn't know if I could do this, if I could tell him. But I couldn't do it on the phone for sure. I had to be able to see how he was taking it, if he believed me, what he thought.

“Wilma?”

“I was thinking. I can't talk about it over the phone.”

“A mystery. Spies on the airwaves.” I could hear him smiling. Something about his voice had changed, and now he was smiling. Then he said he'd be downstairs when I took Reggie for his morning walk.

 

The next morning, it took me forty-five minutes to get ready to walk Reggie. Without the spell, I had to look good. My zipper-neck T-shirt had a small stain on the shoulder. I wore it anyway after I tried on every other one I had. It was my favorite, and I'd worn it to the zoo.

Jared was waiting when I got downstairs.

“You have to kiss me,” he said as soon as he saw me.

He didn't need answers first. He didn't need to check me out. I tied Reggie to the pole of a no-parking sign, and we kissed, a long one.

When it was over, I asked, “Why did I have to kiss you?”

“Because it's Sixty-sixth Street. We may be breaking the Rule by not kissing
continuously
on Sixty-sixth Street.”

We walked toward the park. He took my hand and didn't say anything else. Maybe I wouldn't have to tell him. But after we crossed Broadway, he said, “The mystery. On the phone you wouldn't tell me what happened yesterday.”

I chewed my lip.

“You look different today, too.” He stood away from me, still holding my hand.

“Don't.” I waved my free hand in front of my face. I didn't want him to evaluate me too, like Ardis and Nina and BeeBee had.

“You look good. Better, maybe. I give up.” We took a few steps. Reggie sniffed a hydrant. “What happened?”

I thought of just saying that we'd been at my house fooling around with New Age spells, but then I remembered how tricked Ardis had felt. I didn't want to trick Jared anymore. I didn't want to trick anyone.

“It's going to sound completely weird . . .” I started.

“Not any weirder than what happened to me.”

“Weirder. You'll see.” I made myself start. “There was a witch in my kitchen yesterday afternoon.”

Jared nodded. “Weirder.”

“But that wasn't the first time I met her.”

“No?”

“Don't laugh or I won't be able to tell it. She's very old.”

“Naturally. She's a witch. Listen, Wilma, if you don't want to tell me—”

“I
don't
want to tell you. But I
am
telling you.” We followed the path to Sheep Meadow. I dropped Reggie's leash, and he ran ahead. “Listen. It happened to Ardis and Nina and BeeBee and Daphne too. They were all at my house.”

“Did they see the witch?”

“No. But they know it happened. I told them why, and they believe me. If you talk to them, they'll tell you. And if you call everybody who graduated yesterday, I bet they all thought of me at exactly the same second.”

He was quiet. “All right. I'm a poet, or I want to be one. I should believe you.”

“The first time I saw the old lady—or fairy or witch, whatever she is—the first time was . . .” And I told him about giving her a seat on the train. When I got to the part about the wish, he said, “What did you ask for? I know what I would have wanted.”

“What?”

“Better poems. What did you ask for?”

He was going to think I was an idiot. “I asked her to make me the most popular kid at Claverford. And it ended yesterday because we graduated.”

He didn't say anything for a minute. Then he said, “I didn't think popularity mattered to you.” He stopped talking again.

I called Reggie, to give myself something to do. What was he thinking? Was he angry, like Nina and Ardis had been?

He grinned. “You're great. I have to tell Brad about this. You cared that much about being popular and you still let Antoinette do the caricature. And you let me hang it in my locker.” He told Reggie to sit. Reggie did, looking surprised. Then Jared kissed me again. And again. “You're even better than I thought.”

I felt dizzy. I felt more turned upside down than when the spell began or ended. Jared didn't think I'd done anything terrible. He didn't feel tricked, maybe because he'd liked me before the spell started. If I wanted to be popular, and I made it my wish, there was nothing wrong with it.

It was really stupid, but in a second I was going to be crying my head off. I went to Reggie and touched my chest. He jumped up and licked my face. If my cheeks were wet, his tongue would be my excuse.

Jared started laughing. “But you missed your chance, Wilma. You could have gotten a pet elephant, or your own porpoise.”

I could have. I never thought of it.

Epilogue

J
ared said he'd
call me from camp. I told him he should write too and send me more poems.

At Sixty-sixth Street and Broadway, he went down into the subway after such a long final kiss that Reggie started growling.

When I couldn't see him anymore, I walked Reggie a little longer. I wanted to be alone for a few minutes before I went home. At Sixty-fifth Street four or five people were waiting for the crosstown bus. I was almost past them when I saw her. The old lady. Waiting for the bus. My heart stopped. Why was she here?

I made Reggie heel and went up to her. She was facing down the street, looking for a bus. She didn't seem to notice me. “Excuse me.” I didn't know her name.

She shuffled to face me. “Wilma! What a lovely surprise. I didn't expect to see you here.”

Yeah. Right.

She smiled. “Congratulations. I see you're on your way to becoming a cool cat.”

She could make sure I did, by giving me back my wish, by making it last as long as I wanted it to.

“What are you doing here?” I said.

“Why, I'm waiting for the bus. I just missed one.”

“Can you . . . Would you . . .”

I heard Ardis's voice in my mind, as loud as if she were right next to me. “You'd do it again! You'd force us again. You don't get it.”

Then I thought about Ovideo and Timothy, gossiping about me, saying mean things. When I went to Elliot in the fall, I'd have to put up with a lot of that from the kids who'd gone to Claverford.

I thought about Ardis and Nina and BeeBee, judging me, trying to make up their minds about being friends with me. I thought about them leaving yesterday still not positive, even though they were leaning in my direction.

The old lady could make it all better. She could make me exempt. I could judge everybody else, pick who I wanted, and never be judged.

And then I remembered wondering if Ardis and the rest of them really liked me, under the spell. I wanted friends who liked me
because
I was Wilma,
because
I had a caricature done,
because
I loved dogs and could imagine being one,
because
I helped an unpopular kid when Suzanne teased her. I wanted friends who liked me without a spell.

Maybe I could get a different wish, though. Maybe I could get her to give me a porpoise or an elephant, like Jared said. Or maybe she could change Maud into a chimpanzee. I'd love to share a room with a chimp.

“Could I do something else for you? Help you onto the bus? Pay your fare?” Stir your cauldron.

She chuckled. “That wouldn't be a good deed. You'd have an ulterior motive. You'd be doing it for yourself, not for me.”

I noticed that she had perfect teeth, and her wrinkles seemed to be millions of laugh lines, so she always looked a little smiley. But who knew if this was her real shape. Her real shape could have thirteen legs and pincers and teeth like nails.

I might never see her again, and I wanted to know. “Is this your real shape?”

“What? My real shape? Oh. Yes, it certainly is.”

“Oh. Well, isn't there anything I can do? I do other good deeds, help kids study, give to—”

“I'm sure you do, dear. I'm sure you're very sweet. But you can't do any more good deeds for me. And it's probably not wise to turn your sister into a chimpanzee.” She smiled again. “Good-bye, Wilma.” She shuffled to look up the street again.

I couldn't force her to give me another wish. If I tried, she could turn me into a toad. Besides, I had Reggie. I didn't need a chimp. And—maybe—I had a few friends. And Jared.

I started to walk away, but then I turned back and went to one of the other people waiting for the bus, a boy about my age. The old lady was still looking down the street, away from us.

“When the bus comes,” I whispered to the boy, “help that old lady on. It's a good idea. You'll see.”

Excerpt from
The Two Princesses of Bamarre

Out of a land laid waste

To a land untamed,

Monster ridden,

The lad Drualt led

A ruined, ragtag band.

In his arms, tenderly,

He carried Bruce,

The child king,

First ruler of Bamarre.

 

S
o begins
Drualt
, the epic poem of Bamarre's greatest hero, our kingdom's ideal. Drualt fought Bamarre's monsters—the ogres, gryphons, specters, and dragons that still plague us—and he helped his sovereign found our kingdom.

Today Bamarre needed a hero more than ever. The monsters were slaughtering hundreds of Bamarrians every year, and the Gray Death carried away even more.

I was no hero. The dearest wishes of my heart were for safety and tranquility. The world was a perilous place, wrong for the likes of me.

Once, when I was four years old and playing in the castle courtyard, a shadow passed over me. I shrieked, certain it was a gryphon or a dragon. My sister, Meryl, ran to me and held me, her arms barely long enough to go around me.

“It's gone, Addie,” she whispered. “It's far away by now.”

Meryl was my protector, as necessary to me as air and food. Our mother, Queen Daria, had succumbed to the Gray Death when I was two and Meryl was three. Father rarely visited the nursery. Bella, our governess, loved us in her way, but her way was to moralize and to scold.

Meryl understood me, although we were as different as could be. She was fair, and I was dark complexioned. She was small and compact, a concentration of focused energy. I was always tall for my age, and loose-limbed, and my energy was nervous and fluttery. Meryl was brave, and I was afraid of almost everything—from monsters to strangers to spiders.

Her favorite game was the Gray Death adventure. Oddly enough this one didn't frighten me. The Gray Death wasn't a monster or a spider I could see and shiver over. It was invisible. If I caught it, it would be somewhere within me, and while the outside world was full of danger, I knew my interior. I was certain I could oust an intruder there.

In the game I always portrayed the Gray Death's victim.

I'd fall asleep there on the floor. A moment or two later I'd wake up and rise, consumed by fever. I'd rush to the fireplace and rub ashes into my cheeks, because the faces of the afflicted always turned gray near the end. I'd pretend to shiver, and I'd try to make my teeth chatter.

Meanwhile, Meryl would be busy battling monsters, consulting with sorcerers, climbing mountains, sailing stormy seas. While I shivered, I'd keep one eye on her, because I couldn't start to die until she was ready to rescue me. When she triumphed and found the cure, I'd slump to the floor.

She'd rush to me, cradling the cure in both hands. Kneeling at my side, she'd whisper, “I have found it, maiden. You shall live.” She'd cure me, and I'd jump up.

We knew that a cure would be found one day. A specter had prophesied it, and the prophecies of specters always came true. The cure would be found
when cowards found courage and rain fell over all Bamarre
. That was all we knew.

Once, at the end of our game, I asked Meryl if she really planned to quest for the cure. I was nine at the time, and Meryl was ten.

She took a heroic stance, legs apart, brandishing an imaginary sword. “I'll find the cure, and knights will flock to me. We'll destroy the monsters and save Bamarre. Then I'll return home.”

She wouldn't. She'd be dead. But I knew better than to say so. Instead I asked, “What will I do while you're away?”

She lowered her pretend sword and smiled. “Why, you'll be the wife of a handsome prince and mother of a little princess who is learning to embroider as beautifully as you do.”

I didn't smile back. “What if the prince hasn't come yet, or he didn't like me and left?”

“Then you'll come with me.”

“No, I won't. I'd be too afraid. You know I would.”

We lay quietly for a moment.

“If I ever really caught the Gray Death,” I said, “even if you hadn't found the cure yet, I wouldn't die.”

Meryl rolled over. “Why not?”

“Because I wouldn't give in to it. When the disease made me feel tired, I wouldn't act tired. When it made me want to sleep, I'd stay awake. If the fever still came, I'd run up and down to keep myself warm. By refusing to do the Gray Death's bidding, I'd chase the illness away.”

Meryl leaped up. “I
will
find the cure, you know.”

I nodded. “But if I become ill before then, I won't fall prey to death.”