Wish on All the Stars

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Wish on All the Stars Page 12

by Lisa Schroeder


  I got up from my chair. “Hi! How are you?”

  “I’m doing well, thank you. And I’m so tickled you girls are putting this fair on to help us.” Her eyes got teary. “It really means the world to us. Truly. Thank you.”

  “I just hope we raise enough to pay the rent for a year,” I told her.

  “Every little bit will help,” she said. “So don’t worry at all.” She looked down and picked up one of my tree pictures, one sprinkled with pink cherries among the leaves. “You are so talented, Juliet. I don’t know how people choose. I love them all.”

  I felt my cheeks get warm. “Thank you. They’re kind of simple, but—”

  “Oh, no. There’s nothing simple about creating a piece of art that makes someone’s heart feel like it’s wrapped in a soft, warm blanket. Cozy. Comforted. Happy.”

  “It makes you feel like that?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “It does. You have a gift, and I’m so glad you’re sharing it with others today.”

  A woman and her young daughter stepped up just then to look at the paintings. “I’m going to wander around and look at all the wonderful creations,” Mrs. Button said, giving me a wink as she did.

  “Okay. Carmen’s table is that way,” I said, gesturing in the right direction. “Make sure to look at the pretty jewelry her mom made with her help. It’s amazing.”

  “I certainly will,” Mrs. Button said.

  Dad came back a few minutes later carrying a few bags. “You’ve been busy,” I said.

  “There’s a lot of good stuff here,” he said, smiling. “And I’m not done.” He picked up two paintings, one a simple purple gerbera daisy in a vase and the other a picture of Casper.

  “Who are those for?” I asked.

  “I miss Casper, so that one is for me. And the other one you can give to Inca the next time you come to stay.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  For the next few hours, I was pretty busy. Dad sat with me for some of the time and helped talk to people because that was the part that got kind of tiring. People loved asking me questions, like how long have I been painting, how did I choose what to paint, and on and on. The good news? I sold twenty-four of my twenty-five paintings. When it was time to clean up, Emma came around with a box for donations. Her jaw dropped as she watched me put half of the cash I’d collected into the box. “That’s a lot of money. Are you sure?”

  “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” I said.

  “Wow,” she said. “You’re awesome.”

  Now if only I could convince Carmen to think the same thing of me. Dad had left to go see a friend and Mom was talking to Emma’s mom, so it seemed like a good time. I took a deep breath and walked over to Carmen’s table. I didn’t know what to say, though.

  “It looked like you were really busy,” I said. I didn’t want to ask her if she sold a lot, because if she didn’t, she might feel bad. But I hoped she had.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Sold almost everything.”

  “Carmen, way to go!” She wasn’t looking at me, though. She was focusing on putting the last few things in the big beach bag she had brought.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “For writing that letter and not asking you if it was okay with you. I should have asked and I just … I didn’t even think about it.”

  Now she looked at me, and it was like a dark shadow of sadness covered her eyes. “What if they want to know who it is that you wrote about?”

  It surprised me that she’d have to even ask. “I’d never tell them, Carmen. Never.”

  “But what if they have ways of finding out?”

  She was afraid. Because of me, she was even more afraid than she’d been before. I couldn’t believe I’d done that to her. I didn’t know what to say. What to do. I wanted to make it all go away. But I couldn’t take the letter back. I couldn’t do anything. Somehow I managed to say “I’m sorry” once more before I ran back to my table, grabbed the boxes, and ran out of the room.

  “Juliet?” Mom called out.

  I turned around, trying hard to keep myself from bursting into tears right there, in front of everyone. “Can I wait for you at the car?” I asked.

  “Sure,” she said. “I’ll be right there.”

  I glanced at Carmen before I left. My friend who loved Vincent van Gogh as much as I did. Who loved ice cream and hated sharks. My friend who wanted to make a secret club to help make people’s wishes come true. My sweet, sweet friend.

  At least, I hoped she was still my friend.

  Dear Carmen,

  I’m sorry.

  I can’t say it enough. I’m so sorry.

  When I went to the shelter with Emma to get Captain Jack Sparrow, I found a gray kitty that I wanted to get you and your brother. But I couldn’t go against your mom’s wishes. So I had to think of something else I could do to try and help you.

  I should have asked you first. But I didn’t and now all I can do is apologize and hope you forgive me.

  Love,

  Your friend, Juliet

  Starry Beach Club Member #2

  We spent Mother’s Day doing all the things my mom wanted to do. We went out for brunch, bought some fresh flowers, and finally went shopping for artwork for our empty walls. The whole time, I thought about Carmen and her mom. I hoped they were having a good day together and that I hadn’t ruined it for them.

  As we worked together to hang the prints in the family room, Mom said, “Juliet, I’m proud of you. I know you were scared about selling your art yesterday, but you did it.”

  Miranda reached over for a high five. “You go, girl. Sold almost all of them!”

  I slapped her hand and then said, “Yeah. I didn’t let the invisible sharks stop me.”

  She looked very confused. “I know we’re close to the water, but we’re not that close.”

  “Sorry,” I said with a smile. “Long story.”

  Mom chimed in as she marked the wall with her pencil so we knew where to hang the next print. “If you mean you shouldn’t worry until you see a shark actually coming at you, I agree with you a hundred percent. That’s what mindfulness teaches you, something I’ve been trying to practice more of, by doing meditation. We need to do our best to live in the moment and not worry about what may or may not come in the future.”

  “Mother,” Miranda said, “you’re not going to run off and join the monks, are you?”

  Mom laughed. “Only if you keep calling me Mother!”

  Monday, when I got to school, I slipped the card I’d made for Carmen with my apology note into her locker. On the front of the card, I’d drawn a picture of three girls holding hands as they stood on the beach looking out at the ocean. As I’d drawn it, I’d thought about what my new life in San Diego would have been like if I hadn’t met Emma and then Carmen. Would I have tried to become friends with Apple, the first girl I probably would have met at school, even if she didn’t seem like the type I’d usually hang out with? Or maybe I would have wandered around, friendless for days, missing everyone and everything back in Bakersfield. It was hard to know, and the good thing was, I didn’t have to. Emma and Carmen had welcomed me with open arms and loving hearts. I’d been so lucky. And now it felt like my luck had been thrown into the ocean and was sinking like a gigantic anchor.

  After I got my stuff from my locker, I headed to blue hall to find Emma. And maybe Carmen, if she’d talk to me. But when I turned the corner and saw both of them talking and laughing, I stopped midstep and did an about-face. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t interrupt them. Emma was good at making people laugh while all I seemed to be good at was making people miserable. Carmen deserved to be happy for a few minutes without me ruining it.

  The morning dragged on, and when lunchtime came around, I wasn’t sure what to do. But once again, Emma came to my rescue.

  “We’re not eating in the cafeteria today,” she said. I stared at her, with her cute pink pants and gray-and-white strip
ed shirt.

  “Where are we going?”

  She smiled. “You’ll see. Follow me.”

  We went down the hall and out to a courtyard with four picnic tables. I hadn’t even known they were there. Outside, it was warm and sunny. Three of the tables were full with kids talking and laughing, but one of them had just one person—Carmen.

  I sat down across from her. “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi,” she replied softly, avoiding eye contact.

  “I have a bunch of surprises for you guys,” Emma said as she set a big brown bag in front of us. “The first one being that I made us peanut butter and pickle sandwiches for lunch. Have you ever had one, Juliet?”

  I tried to imagine what that might taste like and I couldn’t do it. “Nope.”

  “They’re really good. But in case you don’t like them, I also brought a PB&J.” She started singing, “Peanut, peanut butter, jam.” She made jazzy hands when she sang jam and I couldn’t help but smile. “Or maybe, peanut, peanut butter, pickle!”

  “I’m afraid to try the peanut butter and pickle one,” Carmen said.

  “Me, too,” I said. “I love pickles, you know that. But …”

  “Okay, hold on,” Emma said as she went to work pulling sandwiches, a bag of chips, three small water bottles, and napkins out of the bag. “We’ll get back to the sandwiches in a minute, then. I have more surprises, but not until we ‘talk it out.’ ” When she said “talk it out,” she put her hands up and made air quotes. “That’s what my dad says when a fight goes on for days at our house and everyone’s sick of it,” she explained.

  This was my cue. I took a deep breath and said, “Like I said in the card I made for you, I’m really sorry, Carmen. I was just trying to help. I wanted to do something.”

  Carmen fiddled with her napkin. She didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, she said, “I know, but … what if someone finds out the person you were talking about is me?” Now she looked up, tears pooling in her eyes. “They could come for my mom. And this isn’t something one letter can fix, you know?”

  “I don’t think anyone will find out,” I said. “I promise, I’d never tell them. And maybe it can’t fix things, but maybe … maybe people will see that real people are hurting and it’s wrong and things need to change.”

  Emma sat down next to me and reached her hands across the table toward our friend. “Carmen? We love you. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Carmen nodded. “I know your heart was in the right place, Juliet. It’s just …” She started to cry. “I’m so worried for my mom.”

  While she wiped at her face with the napkin, Emma went around to her side of the table, sat down, and pulled our friend into her arms.

  I thought about what my mom had said. About the invisible sharks and how it’s too easy to live your life like they’re coming for you. Like, we make up stories in our mind and, pretty soon, they seem so real, we believe them. I’d done more reading about the immigrant situation, and fear seemed to be the main reason some people didn’t want them here. That fear created fear in people like Carmen, and then all you ended up with was a whole bunch of people afraid. Of course, Carmen had every right to be afraid. But sitting around, thinking about it all the time? That didn’t seem very good.

  “Maybe until the sharks are in plain sight, we shouldn’t be so scared,” I said.

  Carmen gave me a funny look, kind of like my sister had yesterday. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Before I could try to explain, Emma jumped in. “My mom always says worrying is like sitting in a rocking chair. You worry and worry, and it doesn’t get you anywhere. And all you get is more gray hairs. Well, when you’re my mom’s age, anyway.”

  “That’s one of the reasons why I wanted to start the club,” Carmen said. “To keep myself from being so scared and worried all the time.”

  “I know!” Emma said. “And now is a perfect time to talk about surprise number two. You guys, we raised a little over four hundred dollars from the arts and crafts fair. That’s a lot, right? I bet it’s enough to save the bookmobile. Want to go with me after school to give the Buttons the money?”

  “Yes!” we both said, a little bit too loudly, because some of the kids at the other tables gave us funny looks.

  “And now, surprise number three,” Emma said as she got up, went to her backpack, pulled out a newspaper, and tossed it on the table. “Three more people have written letters to the editor, agreeing with Juliet, talking about how wrong it is that people in our community are scared and that we need to do something.”

  “Really?” I asked, picking up the paper. She’d circled the letters with a red pen so they’d be easy to find. As I read, I realized Carmen should hear what others were saying. She should know there were people standing up for her.

  “ ‘Dear Editor,’ ” I read. “ ‘I agree with Juliet. Immigrants are regular people who are only trying to make a good life for themselves and their families. And kids like Juliet’s friend shouldn’t be afraid of being left without parents. What kind of country are we that would do that to children?’ ”

  “Here’s another one,” I said. “ ‘Dear Editor: Diversity doesn’t make our community or our country weaker. It makes us stronger. I am a businessman who has had many Latinos work for me and I’m here to tell you they are some of the most hardworking people I’ve ever met. Not only that but I find they are deeply committed to their families and have kind and generous hearts. I want kids like Juliet to know I support immigrants 100 percent and I know there are many others like me.’ ”

  “I think there are a lot of people who don’t like what’s happening,” Emma said. “And last night at dinner, my family was discussing it and I got an idea, which is surprise number four. I want to start a Social Action Club here at school.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I don’t know, either,” Carmen said.

  “It’s a club where we find changes we want to make in the world and then we come up with projects and activities to do.”

  “It sounds like trying to make wishes come true in a bigger way,” I said, excited at the thought.

  “A much bigger way,” Carmen said.

  “Exactly,” Emma said. “What do you think? If we can find a teacher to help us, we can get the club started and then invite others to join us. And maybe immigration is the first thing on our list.”

  “I’m in,” I said.

  “Me, too,” Carmen said.

  “Good,” Emma said. “Now, pick up those sandwiches I made and try them. Please?”

  “Are they dill or sweet pickles?” I asked.

  “Dill,” Emma said. “I’ve tried it with both and I think dill is better.”

  I put the sandwich to my lips and took a bite. And it was … good!

  “Wow!” I said. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Carmen?” Emma asked as Carmen took a bite as well. “What do you think?”

  “How is that even possible?” Carmen asked. “I thought it’d be so gross.”

  “Just like Juliet thought she wouldn’t sell a single painting?” Emma asked. Then she broke into song. “Everything is possible.”

  I knew that song. Shawn Mendes. But it was hard to sing with a mouthful of peanut butter and pickles, so I happily left the singing to Emma.

  Ideas for the Social Action Club

  *    Plant trees to help the environment

  *    Do a “no straw” challenge at school to keep them from going into landfills

  *    Have a canned food drive to help feed hungry people in our neighborhood

  *    Plant a community garden and let kids take food home if they need it

  *    Write postcards to senators to try and get laws changed

  *    Make yard signs that say, “Choose Love, Not Hate”

  *    Have the arts and crafts fair every year and donate money to a different cause each time

  �
�We have a surprise for you,” Emma sang out as we stepped into the bookmobile, which smelled like books and Mrs. Button’s floral perfume.

  “Oh, goody,” Mr. Button said as he put his book into his lap. “I love surprises.”

  “Hello, girls,” Mrs. Button said. “So nice to see you today.”

  Mr. Button was sitting in his usual chair next to the front counter. Mrs. Button was sitting behind the counter, once again writing in her notebook of beautiful things. I thought back to when she’d given me and Emma notebooks of our own. It was such a nice thing to do. These were two of the nicest people I’d ever met, and it felt so good to be giving something to them as a way to say thank you.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about generosity today,” Mrs. Button told us. “About how even a small act can have such an enormous impact. When you drop a pebble in a lake, it’s hard to count the ripples it creates. I think the same might be true of generosity.”

  “Totally,” Carmen said. “When someone does something nice for me, it makes me want to do something nice for someone else, you know?”

  “Yes!” Emma said. “It’s contagious. But a lot more fun than catching a cold.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” Mr. Button said with a chuckle.

  Emma took her backpack off and dug into the side pocket. She pulled out an envelope with the words For Mr. and Mrs. Button written on the outside.

  “We’re so happy to be able to give you this,” Emma said, holding the envelope out for Mrs. Button. “We raised a bunch of money, and hopefully it’s enough to save the bookmobile.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” Mr. Button said.

  “Oh my goodness,” Mrs. Button said as she got to her feet. “You really managed to raise a thousand dollars? What an incredible accomplishment.”

  She took the envelope from Emma’s hands and as she did, it felt like the earth was dropping out from under me. A thousand dollars? We’d never actually asked how much they needed, and now I realized, we should have.

 

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