The Wish Stealers

by Trivas, Tracy

  “Griffin!” yelled her mom from the car window.

  Griffin scooped up her backpack. “My mom can drive you home if you want, Garrett.”

  “No, thanks. I got a ride.”

  “Okay,” said Griffin, trying to make eye contact, but Garrett had already turned his back.

  “Bye, Stanley. Good luck,” called Griffin.

  Stanley bowed and continued playing as the water waltzed.

  The future belongs to those who

  believe in the beauty of their dreams.

  —Eleanor Roosevelt

  Chapter

  25

  Bedroom door: locked. Shades: drawn. Griffin tiptoed to her desk and switched on a tiny desk light. The hands of her clock arched toward midnight. Carefully she unfolded the piece of notebook paper.

  Florence L. Daniellson: puppy.

  Garrett Forester: a dad.

  Griffin stared at the paper. She grabbed a pen and began the first sentence.

  Dear Mrs. Florence L. Daniellson Busby, I am very sorry to hear about your husband. I am sending my condolences. I wanted you to know that, by accident, I may have something that once belonged to you. If you wished for a puppy and threw a coin into a fountain in front of the Topeka Inn when you were a girl, please contact me at the address below. If not, please ignore this letter.

  Sincerely,

  G. Penshine

  Griffin stuffed the letter into an envelope and licked the envelope shut. On the outside of the envelope she wrote:

  To: The funeral director

  Please forward this letter to Mrs. Florence L. Daniellson Busby. Thank you.

  From: A well-wisher.

  Sticking that envelope inside a bigger envelope, she wrote the address of the funeral home where Florence’s husband’s funeral had been held. Griffin slumped back into her desk chair. She was trying her best to return these wishes, but she wasn’t sure she was doing anything right. Taking another deep breath, she ripped off a second piece of paper. She was more determined than ever to help Garrett. Maybe if she helped him, he would not be mad at her anymore. With her pen poised, she began:

  Dear Mr. Brian Patterson Forester,

  I’m a friend of your son, Garrett. I Googled you and found out you lived in Nome. I hope I’m writing to the right person. If I am, please write back.

  There is something I need to tell you. Thank you.

  Sincerely,

  G. Penshine

  She enclosed this letter in an envelope, sealed it, and wrote on the front:

  Please forward mail to Mr. Brian Patterson Forester of Nome, Alaska, catcher of the big fish. Thank you.

  From: G. Penshine.

  In very neat cursive letters Griffin wrote the address to the Nome Nugget, care of the fishing department, on the outside of the second envelope.

  Griffin thought she would mail these letters from the mailbox by the school yard. If her mom found out she was sending letters to strangers, she’d really get in trouble. Maybe she shouldn’t even sign her name? Maybe she should use a fake address? Wait a minute! thought Griffin. Maybe she should use her grandma’s address? Griffin decided to use her own address on Florence’s letter, and her grandmother’s address on Garrett’s dad’s envelope. Two strange letters coming to her house would be too obvious. The grandfather clock chimed again. Griffin’s parents were fast asleep.

  She reached under her bed and removed the ring, black mirror, and yarn from Mariah’s box. Griffin placed the ring on top of the mirror. Why did Mariah give these to me?

  “Owwww!” Griffin’s hand shot up to cover her eyes from a blaring light. The garnet ring and mirror threw a violent glow onto the ceiling, bathing the whole room a bloody red. Steadying herself, Griffin squinted her eyes and examined the ring again. She picked up the black disc, the strange stone polished like a smooth lake. She gazed into its pools of darkness. Her reflection was distorted. In the blackness she looked like an old lady. Is that my future? A rotted Wish Stealer like Mariah? thought Griffin. She flung the black disc under the bed, where it shattered into shards. “Oh, no!” Then she jumped into bed and, tunneling under the covers, she gathered the blankets tight all around her.

  Hold fast to dreams

  For if dreams die

  Life is a broken-winged bird

  That cannot fly.

  —Langston Hughes

  Chapter

  26

  Griffin lumbered her way through the hallways toward the science room. Today the oral reports on famous scientists were due. Carrying her clumsy poster board made it difficult to walk. The board caught currents in the hallway as if a wind were blowing against her.

  “Hi, Libby. Can’t wait to see you at my sleepover party on Saturday!” called Samantha as Libby and Griffin walked down the hall. “It’s going to be so much fun! Free makeup and my dad’s products for all of us.”

  Griffin could hardly move with all her books and the poster flapping against her body, but she turned in time to look at Samantha. The girls surrounding Samantha shot Griffin nasty looks as she passed them. “Libby?” said Griffin, confused.

  “She e-mailed me really late last night. I’ll tell you about it later. I’m so not going,” she whispered. “I can’t believe her parents let her have a party, like, every weekend!”

  Griffin’s heart whirled. She’d talked to Libby late last night on the phone. Why hadn’t Libby told her about Samantha’s invitation? Would Libby change her mind and go to Samantha’s party?

  A new feeling twisted in her stomach.

  “Bye, Griff,” said Libby as they parted for different hallways. Griffin continued alone to the science room.

  “Okay. Let’s see how the projects turned out,” said Mr. Luckner as kids shuffled into the classroom. “Put your posters on the back counter and then take a seat.” Griffin dropped her books onto her desk.

  “Hey, Griffin. If I don’t finish my stupid science night project, I’m going to fail because of your no homework idea!” said David Hunt.

  “You’d fail because you didn’t do your project. Don’t blame me!” she said.

  “Collie Redmond, a report on Albert Einstein,” called Mr. Luckner.

  “I, uh, was working so hard on science night that I got behind,” said Collie.

  “No excuses. Next. Harrison Slovis, Sir Isaac Newton. Come on up …”

  “Mr. Luckner, the science night thing has really—”

  “Are you ready to give your report today or not?” boomed Mr. Luckner from the back of the room, where he sat to grade the presentations.

  “Nope.”

  “Next: Griffin Penshine,” called Mr. Luckner. “Have you completed your Marie Curie report?”

  Griffin stood up. Hard, mean stares sliced through her. The closer the science night deadline, the madder everyone became. “Yes,” said Griffin as she walked to the front of the class. David Hunt’s and Michael Janis’s faces snarled with hostility. Even the skeleton in the back of the room seemed to grin an evil smile. Garrett’s desk was empty. Where was he? Looking out at the class, Griffin felt nauseous. “Marie Curie was one of the most famous scientists in the world.”

  “We don’t care!” whispered Michael Janis, sitting in the front row.

  Griffin cleared her throat and continued. “Marie was born in Poland in 1867, studied in France, and won two Nobel Prizes, in physics and in chemistry.”

  “Doesn’t matter. She’s dead!” mumbled David Hunt, also sitting in the front.

  Griffin narrowed her eyes at him. “For four years, night and day, she worked in an unheated shed to discover the element radium.”

  “Nerd!” heckled Michael.

  Gritting her teeth, clenching her jaw, and planting her feet on the tiled floor, Griffin said the next few lines of her report staring at Michael and David. “Many people made fun of Marie Curie, told her she was crazy, said she couldn’t be a scientist, that she was just a woman, that she was reaching too high. People were cruel, stupid, and mean to her, but Marie Curie never
gave up. She never let people’s ignorance, jealousy, or fear stop her.”

  David and Michael stared back.

  “Marie Curie said if she ever was lucky enough to find radium, she hoped it would have a beautiful color. When she did finally find it, radium was more than a beautiful color, it had spontaneous luminosity, which meant it was bright and glowing like a star. Marie Curie is one of the most respected and famous scientists to ever live.”

  “Thank you, Griffin,” said Mr. Luckner. “I like how you focused on her persistence. Overall, great job. Though I would have liked to hear more about her daily dedication and routine. Nice poster.”

  Griffin sat in her seat, her face as red as her hair and almost as red as the cardboard Mars whirling over her head.

  We must have perseverance

  and above all confidence in ourselves.

  —Marie Curie

  Chapter

  27

  After class Griffin trudged back to her locker. A yellow Post-it note stuck on it read:

  NOT INVITED

  Griffin flicked the sticker off and jammed it into her backpack. Stacking her books on the cold linoleum floor, she turned her head in time to see that freckled boy who had been working in the back of the metal shop the other day. He passed by her locker, stared, but didn’t say a word. Then from the corner of her eye she noticed Kristina headed toward her.

  “Hey, Griffin,” said Kristina.

  “Hi, Kristina,” Griffin said sadly. If only someone would give her a real lucky penny right then.

  “Griffin, I want you to know nothing has happened since I made that wish on the penny you gave me! ‘Most beautiful’—what a joke! I tried out for the tap-dancing team, the drill team, and the cheerleading team and messed up in all of them.”

  “I’m sorry, Kristina.”

  “You said the penny was lucky, but I just looked really dumb.”

  “You didn’t look dumb, Kristina. You tried.”

  “I wish I could get that stupid penny back from the water fountain and undo my wish, because I think that penny was unlucky.” Kristina’s face began turning a blotchy red color. “Actually, I think you’re unlucky, Griffin!”

  Griffin slammed her locker hard. “No, Kristina, I’m not. Maybe your mom was right about you!”

  “You’re mean!” said Kristina, turning and running down the hall.

  Why did I say that? I’m becoming a Wish Stealer! thought Griffin. “Kristina!” called Griffin, but her voice just echoed in the empty hallway.

  After school Griffin slunk toward the sidewalk mailbox. Would Libby, her best friend since first grade when they’d both accidently worn matching socks three days in a row, want to become friends with Samantha? Could Samantha bewitch even Libby? Griffin’s heart plummeted. Would Samantha convince Libby to go to her party?

  A creak let out when Griffin opened the slot and dropped the two letters in. “Good luck,” she muttered, and shuffled away, head bowed. Griffin looked at her watch. The first raindrop splattered on her head.

  Honk! Honk! sounded from her father’s car.

  Her dad rolled down his window. “Hurry, Griff. It’s going to pour!”

  Griffin slid into the passenger seat.

  “Hi. A big storm is coming to Dadesville. Weatherman predicts six inches of rain—thunder, lightning, the whole shebang. We have to go to Grandma’s house and stock her up with food before your music lesson. She’s not feeling so well.”

  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.

  Chapter

  28

  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 ho
t 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?