The Wish Stealers (16 page)

Griffin’s insides contorted into a thousand knots. “Do you think Grandma will be okay?” she whispered. She watched as the rain spit arrows onto the windshield.

“She’s one strong lady. I think she’ll be fine. How was school today?”

“Okay,” she mumbled, and thought of the cruel boys in science class as she gave her Marie Curie report.

“Just okay?” he said.

“Yeah, okay.” Griffin felt her stomach tighten again. She couldn’t flush the image of Mariah out of her head. Her pinched face lurched into Griffin’s head so fast that Griffin shot up her hand to hold her forehead.

“Griffin, what’s the matter?” said her dad.

“Headache. A
real bad
headache, Dad,” whispered Griffin.

Don’t let today’s disappointments cast a shadow on tomorrow’s dreams.

A
jumble of trumpets, oboes, bassoons, and drums being played, along with the rain pelting outside the music center, sounded like the whole world was coming undone. Griffin’s head pounded. She couldn’t wait for her bass guitar lesson to be over. Then she could go home and sink into her own bed. Pull the covers over her head. Try to make sense of so many things going wrong.

She walked toward music room 3. Her lesson started in ten minutes. Chiming in unison with the raindrops, the most soothing music rippled down the hall. Griffin followed the heavenly sounds and peeked inside the open auditorium door. A woman with pitch-black hair in a long braid sat
onstage playing a golden harp. After trilling the last notes, the woman stopped, bowed her head, and then smiled at Griffin. “Hello,” she called.

“You’re so good,” said Griffin.

“Thanks from me and my golden harp. Would you like to see it?”

“Sure,” said Griffin, walking up onto the stage.

“I’m Aurora,” said the lady, holding out her hand.

“I’m Griffin. How long have you played?”

“Since I was a little girl. I’m on a national tour giving concerts, but when we pulled into Kansas, I had to see my old music teacher on the way through Dadesville.”

“Wow!” The harp was as tall as Griffin. “This must be hard to move.”

“Nothing that can’t be done if you just go slow and be careful,” said Aurora, smiling.

“Yeah,” said Griffin, transfixed on Aurora’s aquamarine eyes. They looked like crystals.

“Griffin Penshine, next!” called her bass guitar teacher’s voice from the hallway.

“I gotta go,” said Griffin. “Bye, Aurora.” She walked off the stage back toward her lesson in room 3. She wondered what she would do if Florence and Garrett’s dad wrote her back.

Griffin’s fingers felt numb on the four stainless steel strings of her bass guitar. Over and over again she fumbled her scales. Her left hand plucked, but her fingers cramped, and none of the sounds blended. Her teacher exhaled a long, frustrated breath.

Griffin clutched the neck and fret board of her guitar with her right hand, but her palm was so sweaty that the soft cushions of her fingers slipped over the strings and messed up the walking bass line.

“Griffin,” said Mr. Castanara. He removed his glasses and stared at her. “Have you practiced?”

“No, I …”
I wish to become an amazing bass guitarist
rang in her head like a sad joke.

“Please stay here by yourself and use this time to practice.”

“Okay,” said Griffin, staring at the four steel strings. She was afraid if she looked up she might cry.

Mr. Castanara left the room, but kept the door ajar. Griffin’s eyes clouded over with tears.

“Griffin? Is that you?” It was Jason Scott, thrusting his head into the room, carrying his guitar.

“Hi,” she said, sucking in her breath trying to stop any tears from falling.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“My teacher wanted me to work on some scales.”

“I just wanted to say
thanks a lot
for saying our band stinks!” he said.

“What do you mean?” she asked. Her heart began to drum.

“Garrett wasn’t in school today,” he said.

“Yeah,” she answered.

“Do you know why?”

“Why?” Her back tightened.

“’Cause he said you said our band
stinks
! He skipped school to stay home all day to solo practice his drums.”

“WHAT?” said Griffin. “I never said that!”

“
We
aren’t the ones who stink!” he said.

The aroma of hot chicken soup tantalized Griffin as she trudged through the front door. “Nothing better than soup on a cold, wet night!” said her mom.

Griffin slumped right past the kitchen.

“Hey,” called her mom. “Best bowl of soup in Kansas! Grandma’s own recipe.”

All Griffin wanted to do was cry into her pillow. But the soup smelled so good.

“Hot bowl ready for you, Griff.”

“Okay,” said Griffin, pulling off her boots and raincoat. She walked into the kitchen.

“Hi,” said her mom, studying her face. “You look tired.”

“Yeah,” said Griffin, taking a seat. She dragged her spoon through the clear broth. Bobbing in the liquid were celery floats and carrot cushions.

“So how’d your lesson go?” asked her mom.

“Not so great,” she said. “I haven’t really practiced. I’ve had a lot of schoolwork.”

“It’s been a busy week for you. It happens to all of us. How’d your Marie Curie report go in school today?”

“Fine,” said Griffin. “Mom, I think I’m getting sick. Can I stay home from school tomorrow?”

Her mom spun around. “Hmm,” she said, feeling Griffin’s forehead with her palm. “You don’t feel hot at all. Eat your soup. You could be coming down with something. Let’s see how you feel in a little bit, okay? Oh, and Libby called.”

Maybe she’s decided to go to Samantha’s party after all,
thought Griffin.

“Do you want to see an amazing constellation with my telescope? Now that the rain has stopped, the sky is oddly bright.”

“Which constellation?”

“Draco is lit up tonight, brighter than I’ve seen him in a long time.”

“Who’s Draco?”

“The dragon, remember?”

How could I forget the dragon?
she thought. The whole world was bursting with wicked dragons … the kids in her science class, Kristina, Jason at the music center. Was she even losing Libby, too?

“Do you want to take a look?” asked her mom.

Holding her bowl up to her mouth, Griffin slurped her soup to consume the final golden droplets. “Sure.”

They climbed the stairs. On the roof, adjusting the telescope, her mom said, “There he is! The dragon. Ancient Greeks believed dragons were the guardians of temples and treasures.”

Griffin looked through the telescope, scanning the five stars that composed the constellation. The flickering stars hurt her eyes, so she turned the telescope away from her.

“What? What is it, Griff?”

“Nothing. My eyes hurt from squinting.”

“Did you see something?” asked her mom, and she took another look. “It’s just Draco waiting.” Reaching out her palm, Dr. Penshine felt Griffin’s head again. “You know, you are warm. Why don’t you go to sleep.”

“Good night, Mom,” said Griffin, and she walked down the stairs to her bedroom. Diving into bed with her clothes on, she sunk into a deep sleep—dreaming of dragons with the faces of the kids at school.

Dragons guard the temples
of transformation.

F
or the first time in her life Griffin dreaded going to school. Dreaded what horrible thing might happen next. She had hoped for a high fever, hoped she’d wake up hacking. But when she woke up, her mom was already by her bed feeling her fore-head. “Your temperature is just fine. Are you feeling better?”

Griffin took a deep breath. She did feel fine, just not in her heart. It was stuck in a sunk position. “Yeah, I’ll be okay,” she said, sighing as she got up to prepare for school. Clutching her books to her chest like armor, Griffin slogged through the school. All over the hallways posters hung that read:

HELP RAISE PENNIES FOR THE PLANET!

Bring your donations to Science Night

Starring the band:

The Alchemists

We rock!

See Garrett Forester, Jason Scott, or Griffin Penshine for early donations.

“WHAT!” Griffin couldn’t believe it. Dashing down the hallway, she looked for Garrett.

Garrett turned around just as he was finished hanging another poster.

“Hey, Garrett,” she said.

Garrett shrugged. “Hey.”

“I’m really sorry,” said Griffin.

“Apology accepted, because my band is gonna rock. I practiced all day yesterday. We’re gonna be great. You’ll see. I’m auditioning this Friday at the music center too. My mom called for me.”

“Cool,” said Griffin.

“I’m gonna be like U2 and Bono. They rock out and help the planet.”

Griffin stared at him. “The posters are really nice.”

“We need to make, like, twenty more. If kids come up to you, take their donations and save them in an envelope, okay? We’ll add it all together later. Some of the guys from my band came over last night to help make posters. We should put a penny donation jug, like a Sparkletts container or something, in the front lobby to start collecting.”