Dreamer, Wisher, Liar Read online

  I shook my head. “They’re chocolate.”

  She looked like she couldn’t believe it, like this was the craziest thing she’d ever heard. Mom was listening now. I needed to end it before I got into trouble.

  “Strawberry and vanilla,” I said. “That’s my favorite.”

  “Oh, ice cream,” said Mom. “I wondered what you two were talking about. Ash likes strawberry swirl. We’ll get her that.”

  “We can’t get her chocolate!” said Claire.

  I held my breath and waited for what she’d say next, but she was done—she was quiet. I was safe. At least for now.

  “That’s right,” said Mom. “It’s nice how you two already know so much about each other, and it’s only the first day.” She looked pleased. “Are you ready to go?” She looked down at Clare and frowned. She was probably wondering about the outfit.

  They were almost gone. I was almost free. I tried to push them out the door with my thoughts. Leave! Leave now. Walk to the car. GO!

  “Oh, I put a load in the washer a while ago—can you switch it to the dryer in about twenty minutes?” asked Mom.

  I nodded. Claire gave me one last look and followed Mom out the door.

  “Don’t forget the laundry!” shouted Mom.

  I smiled. There was no chance of that. The minute they were gone, I was heading straight to the basement. I couldn’t wait to get down there. I watched the car pull away, waited for a second to be sure they hadn’t forgotten anything, and then raced down the stairs.

  Two minutes later I was in the chair with the jar in my lap. I put my hand in the jar. What was Anderson’s? Where was it? Why was Shue so excited? The answer was in here. Could I pick out the right wish? I grabbed a handful of balls and let them slip through my fingers, until only two were left. Which one was it?

  I pulled my hand out of the jar, but the top of the jar was narrow, and I dropped one as I struggled to get my hand out. The deciding was done. I forced my eyes to the workbench as I opened the wish and flattened it out against my leg. Nothing would happen until I read it. I knew that now. I liked this power—to read or not to read. Of course I would read, but it felt good to be in control. I alone could press go.

  I took a breath and looked down.

  I Wish Mom Wasn’t So Mean

  I was back in Shue’s room. That wasn’t a surprise—it was always going to be her. These were her wishes. I’d figured that part out.

  “And don’t even think of coming down here until that room is spotless! This is your own fault. I asked you to take care of this yesterday.”

  The voice surprised me. Someone was shouting at Shue from the other side of her door. It was a lady, probably her mom. Moms were the only ones who got upset about messy rooms. I looked around; it wasn’t that messy. If she wanted to know messy, she should see my room. Shue didn’t look up; she just sat on the side of the bed looking miserable.

  Suddenly she stuck her head in her pillow and screamed, “I hate you!”

  It was muffled, but I heard it. I knew how she felt. Sometimes you just have to get the words out. There was a piece of paper in her hand; she sat up and looked at it.

  I stepped forward but then remembered my test words—I hadn’t said them yet. Shouting felt wrong, so I spoke in a normal voice, just above a whisper.

  “Yellow panda.”

  I stood for a second watching Shue. I skipped the waving—that seemed wrong too. I sighed and walked toward her; I had a feeling this was bad news. Shue was still staring at the paper. I looked down. It was an invitation to the beach with Ashley’s family. I recognized Ashley’s handwriting. The invitation said ten thirty. The clock said ten fifty-six. They were gone. No wonder she was upset.

  Shue got up and went to her desk. She shuffled the papers until everything was in one giant pile, opened the top drawer, and tried to shove it all in. But the drawer wouldn’t close; something was in the way. She pushed harder, but it didn’t make a difference; nothing moved. She pulled everything out and bent down and looked inside the drawer. Suddenly she was smiling. She reached in and pulled out something yellow. At first I couldn’t tell what it was. But when she held it up to admire it, I recognized its shape. It was a duck, an ugly yellow duck statue.

  Why was this making her happy? She studied the statue for a second more and then yanked off its head. I wasn’t expecting that. She tossed the head onto her bed; it bounced a few times before landing next to her pillow. I looked back at Shue; she was pulling out a small strip of paper from inside the statue. Now I got it. That’s why she’d pulled the head off—she knew the paper was going to be in there. She smoothed out the paper, read it, and laughed.

  “So funny, Ashley! I’ll get you.”

  She was talking to herself, just like I did. Maybe that wasn’t such a weird thing. That was good to know.

  I tried to see the paper but couldn’t—Shue’s hand was covering it. She walked over to her dresser, opened a little box, and dropped the paper inside. There were other papers in the box, but she closed the lid before I could see any of them. She stuck the head back on the duck and sat on her bed. I wanted to see what Ashley had written. Was it something about Anderson’s? I tried to open the box, but my hands drifted through it like clouds. A second later I was home—back in my chair.

  I was disappointed. The wish was over too fast. And there had been nothing about Anderson’s. I picked out another ball and unwrapped it. I had time for mistakes. Mom and Claire would be gone for hours.

  I Wish Pam and Cathy Didn’t Exist

  A second after I read the words, I was gone again. Shue was standing at the front door of a house, knocking. I shouted out my test words just as the door opened.

  “Red fox.”

  A boy answered. Neither of them looked at me. I didn’t bother waving; I knew I was still invisible.

  “Hi, Spencer,” said Shue. That helped. Of course; it was Ashley’s brother. “Is Ashley ready to go?”

  Spencer looked confused. “Uh . . . go where?”

  “We’re having a picnic.” Shue held up the bag in her hand. “She’s bringing the drinks, and I’m bringing everything else. I even made brownies.”

  I scrunched up my face. I hated brownies; even the smell of them made me feel sick.

  “Are you sure it was today?” asked Spencer.

  “Of course!” Shue was getting impatient. “Can’t I just go in and get her?”

  “Uh . . . you can’t,” said Spencer. He looked down at the ground and mumbled something.

  I didn’t catch what he said, but Shue did.

  “Gone where?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” Spencer looked uncomfortable. “She left with Pam and Cathy about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Is she coming back? Should I wait?” Shue looked like she was about to cry.

  Spencer shook his head. “I think she’ll be gone awhile.”

  “But it was a plan,” whimpered Shue. “And I made brownies.”

  They both stood there not saying anything, Spencer looking at the ground and Shue trying not to cry. It was hard to watch. Finally Shue pulled out a tin foil package from her bag and shoved it into Spencer’s hands.

  “Here!” she sputtered. “You have them.”

  Before Spencer could say anything, Shue was gone. I felt bad for her, but I was leaving too, slowly fading away—but then suddenly there was a sharp zapping pain and my body was tingling with electricity. It was over quickly, but I froze, scared it would happen again. I waited a minute or two, but there was nothing. I was safe. Why had that happened? It was like the first wish, but worse. I shook my head and carefully moved my arms. I didn’t want that feeling again.

  I leaned back in the chair, happy to be home. I liked the wishes, but the sad ones were confusing and hard to watch. Ashley and Shue were friends and then they weren’t, but why? What had happened? What was the in-between? And who were Pam and Cathy? I shook the jar and watched the balls spin and quickly settle to the bottom and stop. There was a sto
ry in there, but I needed a break. I didn’t like it when Ashley was mean. I wanted to like her, plus we had the same name. I pulled out the used wishes and hid the jar. I had a new mission. I took the wishes up to my room.

  I found a giant piece of cardboard and laid the wishes on top. Where did they fit? Which wish went first? I couldn’t pick them out of the jar in the right order, but maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe I could still figure out where they went. If I got the order right, the story would make sense. It was Shue’s story, and I wanted to know more. I moved the five wishes into place and taped them down. There were spaces for the in-betweens—the wishes I hadn’t read yet. The wishes that would fill in the gaps. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. It was more like a list, but I called it a map. My wish map of Shue’s story. I was going to be like Viola Starr. I was going to be a detective.

  chapter fifteen

  Gone

  After Claire was in bed, Mom came up to see me. I knew she would, and I was ready. I didn’t want the talk, but there were things I wanted to know. What had happened to Claire’s mom? How had she died? That was a lot to handle. I steeled myself for the sadness.

  Mom came in and sat on the side of my bed; she hesitated for a second before starting to talk. I looked down at my hands; it was easier than watching her face.

  “Claire’s mom and I lost touch a long time ago,” said Mom, “but I’ve always felt close to her. She was . . .”

  She tried to continue but couldn’t. I looked up; there were tears in her eyes, and then she was crying. I didn’t know what to do. I sat there not saying anything, hoping she would stop. It was a relief when Dad came in and took over. Dad and I don’t have big talks very often, so it was still a little strange, but it was better than tears.

  Dad started by saying Claire’s mom wasn’t a bad person. But after what he told me next, I wasn’t so sure. One day six months ago, Claire’s mom had secretly packed up all her clothes. She was there at breakfast acting perfectly normal, but when Claire got home from school, she was gone. She left her family. How could a mom do that? Without a good-bye, a see you soon, or even an I’ll miss you? It was cruel. But that wasn’t the end. Three months later she was hit and killed by a train. Dad said it was a tragic accident. I nodded. Dad said the saddest part was that Claire didn’t have a mother anymore. I nodded again, but this time I didn’t agree. The going was sadder than the gone—especially because the going had been on purpose.

  Poor Claire. How would that feel, to have your mom run away from you? Suddenly I was sad; it surprised me. I studied the pattern on my bed—black swirls with bursts of light pink. I forced my eyes to follow the lines, keeping my brain busy, so it couldn’t think of other things. So I wouldn’t cry. Dad was waiting, saying nothing. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him slowly tapping his three middle fingers against his leg. I counted, one, two, three—four, five, six—seven, eight, nine—how long would he wait? What number could I get to before he finally said something? Fifty? A hundred? He stopped. Had he caught me? I looked up but couldn’t tell; his face was blank. And it all came rushing forward, like a tidal wave of Claire, and all I could think of was Claire standing all alone, with no one to love her.

  I wiped my eyes. “Claire’s dad, he’s coming back, isn’t he?”

  Dad nodded. He patted my shoulder and picked up one of my stuffed toys. It stared back at him, wide-eyed. It was a present from Lucy, an owl—her favorite animal. He put it back on the bed, facedown, so it couldn’t watch him. I could tell he was stalling, trying to think of what to say next.

  “He’s still sad; that’s why he called your mother. To see if we could watch Claire for a while. So he could have some time alone—to get better. Does that make sense?”

  Dad looked me over to see if I had understood. I nodded. He looked relieved and stood up. The talk was over. He walked to the door. I thought he was leaving, but he turned and stood for a second, leaning on the doorjamb.

  “Don’t worry, you and Claire will have fun.” He smiled and waited for me to agree.

  I nodded again.

  “So I want a full report when I get back. Promise?”

  I looked up, but this time he didn’t wait for my nod; he just half waved and walked out.

  Dad was leaving tomorrow on a huge business trip—sixteen days. I couldn’t believe he would be gone for so long. I was upset about it, but it was just one more thing I couldn’t control.

  When I came down the next morning, Dad was all packed and ready to go. After we said good-bye and the taxi came to get him, Claire went and got her list. All of a sudden I was nervous. I hated that piece of paper. It was me versus the list, and so far I was always the loser.

  Mom and I waited while Claire looked it over. She was taking longer than usual. Was she picking out something especially awful? I couldn’t even imagine. She folded up the list and put it away. She seemed nervous. Maybe this was something huge. I tried to get ready, but how do you get ready for a surprise? It’s kind of impossible.

  Claire looked back and forth from Mom to me. Finally in a little voice just above a whisper she said, “Can we have a party for Steve?”

  I looked at Mom. Who was Steve? Did she know? Claire reached into her backpack and pulled out a stuffed goldfish.

  She waved him around. “It’s his birthday!” She hugged him tight.

  I knew there had to be a twist to this. Something I wouldn’t like. A birthday party for a goldfish was too easy.

  “Let me guess.” I pointed to the goldfish. “He wants to go to the pool.” It made sense—goldfish, water, pool. A pool was probably on her list, and I hated the pool, so that seemed about right, but Claire surprised me and shook her head.

  She made a face. “I hate the pool, plus Steve can’t get wet, because he’s got stuffing.”

  She held him up. I nodded.

  I pointed to the backyard. “Can we do the party here?”

  Claire nodded. It was unusual, but we weren’t going anywhere, and I liked that. Was it safe to relax? Maybe. I breathed out a sigh of relief.

  I looked down at Claire. She was waiting, almost patiently, swinging Steve by his fins. I watched her for a second and then switched my brain into party-planner mode. I could do this. Birthday parties were easy—I’d been to a million of them, plus a stuffed goldfish wasn’t going to be very picky.

  I smiled. “What should we do? Should we—”

  But Claire held up her hand to stop me. Before I could ask why, she had taken Steve and was gone, running upstairs. I looked at Mom; she shrugged. Two minutes later Claire was back.

  She bounced up and down in front of me. “I want it to be a surprise party. So Steve’s resting upstairs where he can’t hear us.”

  A surprise party for a goldfish? Well, that was a first. Mom said we could use anything we wanted and then disappeared upstairs to make an “important” phone call. Mostly it seemed like an excuse to get out of helping.

  The first thing I thought of was Goldfish crackers. They were perfect. Or were they? Was it weird to eat goldfish-shaped crackers when the guest of honor was a goldfish? I showed them to Claire and she nodded and smiled, so I was probably over-thinking it. We hung streamers, blew up balloons, drew a HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner, and made goldfish-shaped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Those were my favorite—mostly for the shape, not the peanut butter part. I was putting on the raisin eyes when Claire surprised me again, this time with a question.

  “Is your dad coming back?” she asked.

  I answered without thinking. “Of course. Why wouldn’t he?” When I saw the look on Claire’s face, I realized my mistake. Now I felt guilty. I’d forgotten about her mom.

  “How do you know?” asked Claire.

  This time I was more careful; I took a second to think of my answer. Because he loves us; that was the right answer, but I couldn’t say that to Claire. If I did, she would be sad, so I finally just said, “Because he told me he was.” It was simple, nonemotional, and the only other thing I coul
d think of.

  Claire thought for a moment and then nodded. I guess her mom hadn’t said that.

  “Should I blow up more balloons?” I held up the bag of balloons and shook it. I wanted to change the subject and get back to the party stuff—it was safer.

  But Claire had more questions.

  “Does he have a romance story with your mom?” she asked.

  She was still talking about Dad. Mom and Dad and romance?

  What did she mean? “You mean how they met?”

  Claire nodded and picked a red balloon out of the bag. I stretched it out for her so it would be easy to blow up. Mom and Dad had met each other in high school, but I didn’t know much about it. Dad said it was love at first sight, but every time he said that, Mom just rolled her eyes and said he was exaggerating. Claire didn’t care about the truth—she just wanted a story—so I gave her Dad’s version.

  “They were high school sweethearts, and they fell in love the moment they saw each other.”

  I was right. Claire loved it, and now she wanted more.

  “Where were they when they saw each other? Did they both fall in love? Did they talk to each other?”

  This was too many questions. I shook my head.

  “You should probably ask Mom. It’s her story.”

  Mom wasn’t going to be happy about all the questions. Or with me for starting it. But I had a plan to save myself.

  “You should only ask her about it in private. Only if it’s the two of you, because it’s personal, and kind of like a secret.”

  I had no idea how this would turn out. There was no telling with Claire, but for now it worked. She didn’t ask any more questions.

  After we finished setting up the decorations and food, Claire announced that we still had to make games and crafts. I was hoping that we could just eat and be done, but I guess that wasn’t happening. I was glad that Mom was back. She helped with the games and said she’d come up with the craft. We ended up with two games: a magnetic fishing game using the end of the broom and some magnets from the fridge, and a sock-throwing game. The sock game wasn’t very exciting. I just stacked up some plastic cups and got a few rolled-up socks to throw at them—it wasn’t even fish themed. But Claire was a good sport about it. She didn’t complain and even made it better by drawing sharks on all the cups.