Wishing Day

by Lauren Myracle

  “I was spinning,” Ava said.

  “I saw.”

  “I was imagining I was a fairy,” she said. She paused. “You think that’s dumb. I know.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You do.” She sounded resigned.

  Natasha pressed her fingers against her brow bones and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she said, “Are you mad at me, Ava? You’re mad, I can tell.”

  Ava brushed past Natasha and started down the hill. “We should go. That’s why you came, right? To tell me it’s time for dinner?”

  Ava’s stride was resolute. Her shoulder blades were visible beneath her T-shirt, and her hips were narrow. She was twelve years old, but the tags in her clothes said “size 10.” When Natasha was twelve, she wore size fourteen.

  She followed Ava, keeping a small gap between them.

  “Is it that writers contest? Are you mad because I wouldn’t enter it?”

  Ava stopped, whirled around, and said, “I’m mad because you don’t believe in magic anymore.” Then she whirled back and started marching again.

  Oh, Natasha thought as the pieces fell together. Because of the wishes, and the notes, and Stanley.

  Ava cared about the contest, Natasha was sure of it. But she also wanted to believe in a world where wishes came true. Once upon a time, Natasha allowed herself to want that too. Then everything fell apart, and it was all so embarrassing and wrong and hurt so much . . .

  “Ava, wait,” Natasha said. She batted away a branch that Ava easily ducked under.

  “It’s all right,” Ava said. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does. Of course it does.”

  Ava’s shoulders hunched up and down.

  “I want to believe in magic,” Natasha said. “I just—”

  She stubbed her toe on a root that jumped out of nowhere. “Ow,” she said. “Seriously, Ava, will you slow down and stop barging forward like an elephant?”

  “See?” Ava said. “My point exactly.”

  “Ava, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You say things like how I’m an elephant, which no one else would ever say, because they wouldn’t think of it. But you act like it’s better to be boring and make oatmeal and stick your tongue out at your very own wishes.”

  Natasha’s face flamed.

  “That is what you wished for, isn’t it?” Ava said, still not turning around. “To be a famous writer?”

  “No,” Natasha said. It sounded like a lie even though it wasn’t.

  “Okay, whatever,” Ava said. Without missing a beat, she said, “What are we having for dinner? If it’s meatloaf, I hope Aunt Elena made that yummy sauce for it.”

  Natasha grabbed Ava’s arm. Ava shook her off. They were almost home, and the cheerful lights of the house bobbed in and out of sight as they stumbled down the winding trail.

  Well, Natasha stumbled. Ava was as surefooted as a gazelle.

  An elephant or a gazelle? an annoying voice inside her asked. Oatmeal or meatloaf, tongue in or tongue out?

  “Oh, shut up,” she said aloud.

  Ava turned around and shot Natasha a wounded look.

  “No, not you,” Natasha said. “Me. I was telling myself to shut up.”

  Ava was already facing forward. She shook her head and didn’t speak.

  “Fine!” Natasha cried. She threw up her hands, and a thorn sliced the skin below her knuckles. Of course it did. “I should have entered the contest. You win. Will you please slow down?”

  Ava halted abruptly. Natasha crashed into her.

  “Not to be rude?” Ava said. “But I think you’re the elephant.”

  “Ha ha.” Natasha sucked the cut on her hand. Her blood was warm.

  A grin split Ava’s face. It transformed her. She was Natasha’s sister again, not some ghost-gazelle-elephant hybrid. “I’m glad about the contest, though. Plus, it’s lucky. Want to know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because today’s the deadline.”

  Natasha frowned. “Which means I missed it. How is that lucky?”

  Ava looped her arm through Natasha’s. The trail widened as it broke into open space, and Ava bounced forward, pulling Natasha alongside her. “It’s lucky because I entered for you. Aren’t I awesome?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yep!” Ava said. “I entered the story about the shy girl, since that’s the only one you finished. The winner will be announced in three weeks. Are you so happy? Do you love me? Do you want to smother me with kisses?”

  “No, yes, and no,” Natasha said. “Ava. Did you fake all of this? All along, were you pretending to be mad just to get me to enter the contest?”

  Ava thought about it. “I was mad because I was mad,” she said. “I was sad, too. But I feel better now. And I’m hungry—aren’t you?”

  The moon lit the yard, and Natasha saw her reflection in Ava’s eyes. Did Ava see herself in Natasha’s eyes?

  “You can hug me if you want,” Ava offered.

  “No thanks.”

  “Then I’ll hug you,” Ava said, and she did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  May was the prettiest month of the year, Natasha thought. Petunias bloomed in the window boxes Aunt Elena cared for, and downy sprigs of Carolina foxtail sprouted around Papa’s workshop. It was warm enough for shorts, or, if you were Darya, cut-offs so tiny that Aunt Vera grew pinched and said, “Absolutely not, young lady.”

  “Oh, Vera, let it go,” Aunt Elena said. “Darya, you could be a pixie, that’s how cute you are.”

  Darya wrinkled her forehead and glanced at her outfit. Pixie wasn’t what she was going for, Natasha was pretty sure.

  Ava thrust her hand into the air and said, “Ooo! Ooo! I want to be a pixie! Can I be a pixie?”

  “You bet,” Aunt Elena said, which of course made Darya want to be the only pixie.

  “No, because pixies don’t wear overalls,” Darya pronounced.

  “Yes, they do,” Ava said.

  “Nope, and you’re not a pixie. In fact, you’re not even here at all,” Darya said. She pulled her fingers into a fist, then splayed them out. “Poof. You’re gone.”

  “Darya!” Ava complained. She turned to Aunt Elena. “Aunt Elena!”

  “Ava, your sister does not have the power to make you disappear,” Aunt Elena said. “And Darya, stop disappearing your sister! Do you understand?”

  “Natasha’s right here,” Darya said, gesturing at Natasha. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Hey!” Ava complained.

  Natasha laughed.

  “Such goofs, all three of you,” Aunt Elena said. “Vera, were we as goofy as these girls?”

  Aunt Vera scrubbed the omelet pan. “You were. Klara was.” She pressed her lips together. “I certainly wasn’t.”

  Natasha almost laughed, but then she didn’t.

  Vera, Klara, Elena. Three sisters, minus one.

  Natasha, Darya, Ava. Three sisters. Three sisters minus one if Darya had really disappeared Ava, which made the joke a lot less funny.

  Natasha couldn’t imagine a life with no Ava or no Darya. Then again, there was surely a time when she couldn’t imagine a life without Mama. As a five-year-old, it never would have occurred to her that a person could disappear. It shouldn’t have to occur to anyone at any age, because people were important. People should be taken care of and never taken for granted. People should be . . . honored, just for being people.

  With a jolt, Natasha realized that she’d failed miserably at that. She’d messed up big time with Stanley—A PERSON, A REAL, LIVE, NON-DISAPPEARED PERSON—and she needed to make it right.

  “Finally!” Molly said during homeroom when Natasha told her. “I’ve been telling you and telling you—”

  “I know, and you’ve been right this whole time. I’ve been such a jerk.”

  Molly’s expression softened. “You’ve been acting like a jerk.”

  “So how do I make it up
to him?” Natasha asked.

  “Hmm,” Molly said. She tapped her chin. “You could give him a stole.”

  “A stole?”

  Molly grinned and bobbed her head.

  “I don’t know what a stole is,” Natasha said.

  “It’s a scarf thing. Like, made out of dead animals.”

  “Right. Obviously. Well, that’s not going to work for me. Also, I don’t have a stole.”

  “You could steal a stole,” Molly suggested.

  Natasha groaned. “Do you have anything helpful to say?”

  Molly put her hand to her heart. “Natasha. I’m hurt.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “No, I’m not,” Molly agreed. “Talk to Stanley at lunch. Just tell him you’re sorry.” She slapped her desk. “OR, NO! Kiss him at the water fountain! Kiss him and tell him you’re sorry!”

  Natasha raised her eyebrows. Molly smiled hopefully, like, Oh, come on. Aren’t I cute?

  Mr. Beauprez, their homeroom teacher, breezed into the classroom and riffled through some loose papers. “All right, class, let’s see what today’s exciting announcements are.”

  Natasha tuned him out. She stayed focused on her upcoming task. She rehearsed possible apologies, and when lunchtime came, she walked directly to the cafeteria.

  As she bypassed the line for hot lunch, one of the cafeteria ladies said, “Pssst! Pssst!”

  Natasha swiveled her head.

  The cafeteria lady wore a broad white apron and a hairnet. There was a large mole on her left cheek. Kind of . . . dripping off her left cheek.

  Stop looking, Natasha told herself.

  The cafeteria lady banged the counter with a wooden spoon, which she then expertly flipped in her hand. She jabbed at Natasha with the handle. “Pssst! You, with the notes!”

  Natasha drew up short. She cautiously approached the counter, and the cafeteria lady did something extraordinary. She peeled back her hairnet, as well as the hair connected to the hairnet. It was a hairnet plus wig. Underneath was no net, but a nest. With a bird in it.

  Natasha’s mouth fell open. She spent half a second absorbing the insanity of the situation, and then she stepped into this alternate reality. She wasn’t sure she had any choice in the matter.

  The cafeteria lady lowered the hairnet-plus-wig back in place and secured it with several small adjustments. Then she curled her finger to mean, Closer, please. Natasha obliged. The cafeteria lady had sidled over to the far end of the lunch counter, and the other kids flowed past without appearing to notice them.

  “Look,” the cafeteria lady whispered. She pinched the mole on her cheek. She pulled it away from her flesh and released it. It snapped back onto her skin. It was like a puffy red clown’s nose attached to elastic, only this was an elasticized mole.

  “I’m in disguise,” the cafeteria lady loudly whispered, cupping her hand over her mouth.

  “Yes, I see,” Natasha said, unconsciously mimicking the cafeteria lady’s too-loud whisper. The world was off-kilter. “But I have to go to lunch now. I have to sit down and eat my food.”

  The cafeteria lady clapped, a rapid series of pitty-pats. “Yes. Excellent. Oh, my girl, you’re doing so well!”

  Natasha pushed through the fog of her brain. She knew the cafeteria lady was the Bird Lady. There was no reason to play dumb. She didn’t know why the Bird Lady was here, but she was, and wasn’t there something Natasha had wanted to ask her?

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  The cafeteria lady’s mouth—the Bird Lady’s mouth—dropped open. “To give you the final note. What did you think?”

  “Oh,” Natasha said. She went cold, then hot. “Can I have it? Please?”

  The Bird Lady drew herself up. “I don’t have it.”

  “Then how could you give it to me?”

  “Give what to you? There’s no free lunch around here, you know.” She cackled and waved the spoon about. “No free lunch! That’s funny! Isn’t that funny?”

  Natasha remembered what she’d wanted to ask. The question clunked into place like a deadbolt clicking into a lock.

  “Do you believe in wishes?” she asked.

  The Bird Lady stopped laughing. “Of course. Don’t be a numbskull.”

  A numbskull? The Bird Lady was calling Natasha a numbskull?! The Bird Lady had a bird in her hair! And a strap-on mole!

  Natasha shook it off. “Did you know my mother?”

  “Did I?” the Bird Lady said. “Did I?”

  “Because one time you said you did, and that you liked her, although she was—” Natasha gulped. “A silly, silly girl.”

  The Bird Lady made eyes at Natasha. Then she gave Natasha an exaggerated wink that Natasha had no idea how to interpret.

  “It’s a shame you can’t ask Emily,” she said. “Emily knew your mother better than anyone.”

  “But who is Emily?!” Natasha cried.

  “Emily, Emily, Emily. It’s always about Emily, isn’t it?”

  “No! Yes! Could you please just act normal?”

  The Bird Lady shooed Natasha away with the spoon. Then she regarded the spoon approvingly. “I rather like this spoon. I think I’ll keep it.” She shifted her gaze to Natasha. “You would do well to do the same.”

  “Meaning what? You’re telling me to steal a spoon?”

  “It’s better than stealing a stole, I should think.”

  “Stealing a . . . how do you know about that?”

  “I know everything. And yes, I knew your mother, and yes, she was a numbskull too. However, no, you cannot have my spoon.” She tapped the spoon against her palm. “Your wishes are what you should keep. Your wishes, your sisters, your friends . . .”

  She nodded curtly. “Turn your back on them, and they might just turn their back on you.”

  “Ok-a-a-ay,” Natasha said.

  “And your friend is right. You should apologize to Studly.”

  Frustration coursed through her. “Studly? Why do you keep saying things that make no sense?”

  “Studly, Stanley, Sterling.” The Bird Lady waved the spoon some more. “It’s the girls who matter. It’s the girls who are full of magic. So do as I say, unless you want to end up like your aunt Vera.” She sniffed. “Go, now. Run along. Skedaddle-y doo.”

  Natasha skedaddle-y did. The Bird Lady’s gibberish filled up her head like cotton stuffing. She didn’t know what to do with it.

  See what the next minute brings, she told herself. Just . . . hold on and see what the next minute brings, and then the next, and then the next.

  Her chest unclenched. She breathed more regularly, and the mist of impossibility lifted. When she saw Stanley eating alone, she went to him.

  “Studly?” she said.

  Stanley lifted his head. A blush crept over his face.

  “I mean Stanley,” Natasha said. She felt her face heat up too. She took one big breath and said, “I’ve been acting like a jerk, and I’m really sorry. You’re my favorite boy in the whole seventh grade. It’s just, I’m not ready for a relationship.”

  Stanley’s blush deepened, and Natasha cringed. I’m not ready for a relationship? Where had that come from?

  “I’m confused,” Stanley said.

  “Yes,” Natasha said. “So am I.”

  “Why did you kiss me and then totally stop talking to me?”

  “I don’t know. I guess because I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. It was awkward. I was awkward. But it wasn’t you, I swear.”

  “You totally stopped talking to me, Natasha.”

  She hugged her arms around her ribs.

  “I didn’t know what I’d done,” he said.

  Oh, this was agony. “You didn’t do anything,” she said.

  He looked at her skeptically.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, I mean,” she said. “Somebody’s been leaving me notes—well, he’s stopped now—although this wacky old lady, super wacky, kind o
f said maybe there’s one more? Or maybe she didn’t say that at all. If you think I’m confusing, you should meet her.”

  “No thanks,” Stanley said.

  Natasha curled her toes within her shoes. “Anyway, I thought it was you who was sending the notes, but it wasn’t.”

  He studied her.

  “And even if it had been, I don’t think I was ready for . . . you know. I do want us to be friends, though.” She tried not to fidget. “It’s hard to know what you really want sometimes. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I thought I messed up somehow,” he said.

  “You didn’t.”

  “I kept thinking, ‘What did I do? What did I do?’ And you wouldn’t even look at me. It didn’t feel very good, having you just . . . disappear like that.”

  Poof, you’re gone, she thought. Shame washed over her.

  “I was a jerk,” she said. “If I could go back and change things, I would. I truly am sorry, and I promise I’ll do better.”

  He made her wait. Then he wrinkled his forehead. “Why did you call me ‘studly’?”

  “Um . . . because you are?” she squeaked. How else could she answer?

  Stanley puffed up a bit. It was adorkable.

  “Huh,” he said. Then, “Okay, I forgive you.”

  “Really?” she said. “Okay, yay! So can we be friends again?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “That’s so great. Thanks, Stanley.” Impulsively, she stuck out her hand.

  Stanley looked at it—her slim hand, floating between them—then shrugged, clasped his palm to hers, and gave a firm shake.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Natasha dreamed it was her birthday, and that for her present, Papa made her a hot air balloon. Only it was a hot air balloon without the balloon, so it was really just a ball of hot fire. Papa gave her a ball of fire, and it scorched her, and she woke up with a start. She sat bolt upright, her heart racing. She was clutching her sheet.

  It was just a dream, she told herself. It was just. A dream.

  Usually after a bad dream, the shudder of it slipped away quickly. Usually the remnants of it seemed silly and no longer scary at all.

  Not this time.

  Which is why a kid needs parents, she thought. When a kid had a bad dream, a parent was supposed to show up to say “shhh” and rub the kid’s back. It could be a mother or a father. It didn’t matter.