What You Wish For

by Book Wish Foundation

The professor nodded. “And your brother knows about this, right?” he said.

  “O-Of course!” Rosanna lied, and the lightbulb on the table lit up.

  Luckily, the professor seemed not to have noticed it. “Fine,” he said. “And for how long should your lie become true?”

  “Well, forever!” Rosanna answered, surprised.

  “In that case I would have to refuse,” the professor said. “Shall we say one week to start with? Agreed?”

  During dinner Rosanna noticed not one change in her brother. He told his bad jokes and she still had to laugh at them, and later, when they watched television, he covered his eyes during the scary parts.

  Rosanna was so angry, she could barely sleep the whole night. The professor had cheated her. He had lied to her, taken her for a fool.

  The next morning, Boris was three inches taller than she was. After breakfast already nearly six inches. At least.

  “How the boy is growing all of a sudden!” Rosanna’s mother said.

  And Rosanna was thrilled.

  By evening Boris was incredibly big and strong. And aggressive. Instead of telling her jokes, he kicked Rosanna’s shin under the table, and he kept calling her “Peewee.”

  “Can you walk home with me tomorrow after school?” Rosanna asked, rubbing her shin. “I could come and pick you up from your class.”

  “No way!” Boris muttered. “That would be, like, so embarrassing, to be picked up by such a midget.”

  Something was going wrong.

  “Do your sister a favor, will you?” their mother said, smiling adoringly up at her huge son.

  “Fine!” Boris grumbled. “But only this once, okay?”

  When the strongest boy in Rosanna’s class saw her big brother, his grin just grew even wider.

  “Hey, sugarface, you really do have a big brother. Doesn’t he have anything better to do than to play bodyguard for little girls?”

  “Bodyguard? Me?” Boris growled, and he quickly shoved Rosanna out of his way. “Do I look like I have nothing better to do?”

  That was too much. Rosanna stuck her tongue out at the two giants and then she ran away.

  “You have to turn him back into a lie!” Rosanna shouted as she sat panting on Professor Flimfaker’s green chair. “Please!”

  “I feared as much!” the professor answered. “As I said, the big-brother lie rarely works. But there might be another lie . . .”

  “Which one?” Rosanna asked.

  “I am sorry, but you do have to make up your own lies,” the professor answered. “But be warned. Your next lie will stay true all your life!”

  Rosanna racked her brain for three days and three nights.

  Then, on the fourth day, she again stood in front of Professor Flimfaker’s door.

  “I got it!” she said—and then she lied until the lightbulb on the professor’s table nearly exploded.

  “Hey, Rosanna!” the strongest boy in Rosanna’s class said the next day. “How about my kiss for today?”

  Instead of an answer, Rosanna just gently took him by his collar and lifted him high up into the air. For a few moments she held him above a patch of stingy nettles, and then she placed him neatly on the path behind her.

  “Until next time,” she said. Whistling, she skipped away from him.

  For she was, freshly lied, the strongest girl in the world.

  Scorched earth in Darfur, where 3,300 villages were destroyed or damaged.

  Photo Credit (both): UNHCR / K. McKinsey

  NIKKI GIOVANNI

  I WISH I COULD LIVE (IN A BOOK)

  I wish I could live

  In a book

  All wrapped up

  In my fairy

  God-mother’s arms

  Or sitting with my Cave

  Mother baking dinosaur

  Eggs

  If I lived

  In a book

  I could fly

  With Ali Baba

  And even though it’s not right

  To steal

  The Forty Thieves are

  Pretty cool

  Maybe there would be

  Maybe there would be

  A book about me

  One day

  Just a little girl being brave

  In a world where water

  Is in short supply

  But everybody

  Has a gun

  I don’t think

  That’s a good idea

  I’d rather be in

  A book

  Making biscuits

  On the frontier

  Running with the wind

  Following very lightly

  On the laughter of the Prairie Dogs

  That would be so nice

  I think

  Living in a book

  R.L.STINE

  FUNNY THINGS

  My friend Brad and I decided to do funny things around the neighborhood because we were bored.

  We lived on a block of tiny redbrick houses and square front yards. The houses on the next block were a lot bigger, and the lawns stretched like football fields. Behind our houses—nothing but woods.

  I guess you could say we were both poor. But since we were only ten, we didn’t think about that stuff too much.

  My dad worked at a company that repairs farm machinery.

  My mom was a secretary in an office downtown.

  Brad’s parents owned an eyeglass store near the mall. He said they were thinking of closing it down and trying something else.

  So guess what? Owen Millard and Brad Lindsay did not hang with the rich kids at school.

  When summer came, the other kids all went off to summer camp or joined a swim club or took off on long vacations with their families.

  Brad and I tried to find things to do around the neighborhood. And we tried to keep away from Sid Harcher, our enemy. Sid was a supervillain with amazing powers to make Brad and me mad and frightened.

  He could hurt us with his fists of concrete. Or just bump us hard with his stomach of steel, and make us ache for days.

  Brad and I aren’t giants like Sid. We’re probably the shrimpiest guys in fifth grade. We haven’t had our growth spurts yet. I think Sid had his growth spurt when he was two or three.

  Sid must like us a lot. Why else would he always be teasing us and bumping us and testing out his fists on us?

  On a hot August day, the trees shimmered in the yellow sunlight all down our block. Next door, a sprinkler on Mrs. Farraday’s front lawn made a shh shh shh sound as it sent a spray of water dancing over the grass.

  I heard little kids laughing and splashing around in a plastic inflatable pool in Mr. Mellon’s backyard. Sadie, the Mellons’ big Doberman, sat up and watched Brad and me as we walked past the front yard.

  I had my eyes on the dog and walked right into Big Sid. “Oww!” I bounced off as if I’d run into a brick wall.

  Sid laughed. His blue eyes flashed. His curly blond hair gleamed in the sunlight. He had a milk mustache, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.

  Sid is like a different breed. Brad and I are thin and darkhaired and we both wear glasses. He’s like a huge, big-pawed golden Lab, and we’re miniature dachshunds or maybe Chihuahuas, the hairless, quivering kind.

  “Where you two going, Owen?” he asked. “The kiddie swings at the playground?”

  That’s a typical Sid joke. The best thing to do is to laugh at it, which Brad and I did.

  “Just hanging,” I said. “You know. Like always.”

  “Where you going, Sid?” Brad asked.

  Sid puffed out his chest. The front of his T-shirt read: MY MOM THINKS I’M GREAT.

  Only Sid would be brave enough to wear a T-shirt that lame. But he knew he was safe. He knew no one would make fun of it.

  “Got a job. Mowing lawns.” He pulled a fly from his curly hair, squeezed it flat, then tossed it to the sidewalk. “You should mow lawns,” he said. “Build up your biceps and triceps.”

  “I get too sweaty,”
I said. I hate to sweat. I don’t understand people who like it.

  “Come with me. I’ll give you a break,” Sid said. “They’ve got two mowers. I’ll share the job. You do the back, and I’ll do the front.”

  “No way,” Brad and I said together.

  We knew what he wanted. He wanted us to mow both lawns for him. Then he’d grab the money and keep it all.

  “We’ve got to get going,” I said.

  That’s when Sid grabbed our heads and smacked them together like he was trying to crack open coconuts. Pain made my ears ring. I was so dizzy, I couldn’t tell the ground from the sky.

  “Hey, Sid—why’d you do that?” I cried, rubbing my aching head.

  “That’s for forgetting my birthday present,” Sid replied.

  “Wh-when’s your birthday?” Brad stammered.

  “Tomorrow,” Sid said.

  “But ... how do you know we forgot to get you a present?” I asked.

  Sid bumped me hard with his chest. “That was in case you forget my present. Here’s another reminder.”

  He grabbed for our heads. But Brad and I ducked away from him and took off. We ran full speed around the side of the Mellons’ house and headed toward the woods. We didn’t even look back to see if Sid was coming after us. He wasn’t.

  We stopped just inside the trees, breathing hard. We both burst out laughing. I guess because we got away from Sid that time.

  Then I saw the big bird’s nest on the ground. I almost stepped into it. I stopped myself just in time.

  It was an awesome nest. The sticks and twigs and bits of grass were twined together so tightly. It was perfectly round, about the size of a lunch plate. And about three or four inches tall.

  I peered inside it. No eggs or little birds or anything. Then I stared up at the tree branches above us. “Must have fallen off that tree,” I said, pointing.

  That’s when I got the idea for the first funny thing.

  It just flashed into my mind. A picture of the mailbox at the bottom of Sid’s driveway. It was wood and shaped like a bird. I mean, it had a green-and-red parrot’s head at the front and blue tail feathers sticking out the back.

  I guess Sid’s parents like birds, because they have a mailbox that looks like a fat bird. I turned to Brad, who was bent over studying a small hole dug in the grass by a mole or a mouse or something.

  “Let’s put this nest in Sid’s mailbox,” I said.

  He gazed up at me. “Why?”

  “Because it will be funny,” I said. “See? A bird mailbox? You open it up and there’s a bird’s nest inside?”

  He snickered. “It’s kind of funny.”

  So we did it. I carefully carried the nest to Sid’s driveway. We made sure Sid was off mowing lawns. And we stuffed the nest into the mailbox and shut the door.

  We giggled a lot as we hurried away. I told you we were having a boring summer. So playing a prank like this was a big deal.

  And it gave us the idea to do more funny things. We didn’t cause any damage or give anyone real trouble. We didn’t do any harm. We just did some things that made us giggle. You know. Funny things.

  We went to Sutter’s, the pet shop a few blocks from school. And we bought twelve goldfish. They were only thirty cents each.

  We carried them in plastic bags filled with water. The fish gazed out at us with their buggy black eyes.

  We waited till the Mellons’ two little kids went into their house for lunch. Then we crept across their backyard and dumped the twelve fish into their plastic inflatable pool.

  The fish looked like sparkly jewels as they swam in circles in the round pool.

  Brad and I hurried away. In my backyard, we collapsed onto the grass and laughed like lunatics. I know. It wasn’t that funny.

  But can you imagine those kids coming out to their pool and finding it filled with fish? Can you imagine how confused their parents will be?

  Funny, right?

  We were still laughing when Lydia Parks appeared. Lydia lives on the corner. We’ve known her since first grade. She has cocoa-colored skin, big brown eyes, and ties her black hair into a single braid behind her head.

  She was wearing a sleeveless pink shirt over white tennis shorts.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked. She has a hoarse, froggy-type voice that makes her sound tough, even though she isn’t.

  “We’ve been doing some funny things,” I said.

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Like what?”

  “Can’t tell you,” I said. “They’re secret funny things.”

  She raised both hands. “Even if I tickle you?” she said.

  That made my skin prickle. I’m the most ticklish person on earth. Even thinking about tickling makes my skin crawl.

  “Owen can’t tell you and neither can I,” Brad said. “A secret is a secret—right?”

  “Wrong,” Lydia said. She dove onto me, dug her fingers into my ribs, and started tickling like crazy.

  I howled like a wild animal. That’s when I decided Brad and I had to do a funny thing to Lydia.

  She tickled me until I couldn’t breathe. But I didn’t tell her our secret. Finally, she gave up and stomped away. “You’re both babies,” she muttered. She hates it when we don’t tell her things.

  Brad and I started to think hard. We had to find something funny to do to Lydia.

  We walked down the street. It was hard to walk. My ribs ached from all the tickling.

  I stopped in front of Mr. Farraday’s house. I saw his red wheelbarrow on the driveway. And then I saw a tall ladder leaning against the side of the house.

  “Help me,” I said to Brad. “I have a funny idea.”

  We took the ladder and leaned it against the tall tree in the middle of the yard. Then I climbed up and Brad shoved the wheelbarrow up to me.

  He pushed and I pulled, and we heaved the wheelbarrow onto a high tree branch. I balanced it carefully to make sure it would stay up there. Then we returned the ladder to the side of the house.

  We stopped for a few seconds to catch our breath and to admire our work. I tried to imagine how surprised Mr. Farraday would be when he found his wheelbarrow high in the tree.

  Funny. Very funny.

  Next we had to find something for Lydia. Brad and I made our way back into the woods. We followed the twisting dirt path deep into the trees. And in a small clearing of tall weeds, we found the perfect thing.

  It was tucked in the weeds and high grass, nearly hidden in the long shadow of an old tree. A tiny dollhouse.

  Actually, it looked more like a log cabin. It was a wreck. Almost falling apart. Holes in the pointed roof. Green moss growing down one wall.

  I bent down, picked it up, and shook it. Empty.

  But then I had the strangest feeling. The back of my neck prickled. Was someone watching us?

  I jumped to my feet, holding the little cabin in both hands. I gazed all around. “Brad, do you see anyone?”

  He shook his head. “Owen, what are you going to do with that little cabin?”

  I grinned at him. “You know the big dollhouse Lydia has in her room? The big fancy white dollhouse with all that little furniture inside?”

  “Yeah. I’ve seen it,” Brad said. “She loves that dollhouse. She’s always saving up money to buy stuff for it.”

  I nodded. “Well, we’re going to switch dollhouses. Put this dirty cabin in her room and take hers away.”

  Brad frowned. “Think Lydia will think that’s funny?”

  “I think it’s funny,” I said. “I’m laughing already. Besides, we’ll give her back her real dollhouse tomorrow. After she begs.”

  So we carried the beat-up little log cabin to Lydia’s house. The afternoon sun was sinking. The shadows were getting longer. The air grew cooler.

  Brad and I got lucky. We watched from across the street as Lydia and her family piled into their car and drove away. Guess they were going somewhere for dinner.

  That made the dollhouse switch very easy. Lydia’s pa
rents never lock their back door. We carried the cabin into their kitchen. It smelled of chocolate. I saw a stack of brownies on a plate.

  I set the cabin down on the floor next to Lydia’s big white dollhouse. Then Brad and I hoisted up the big dollhouse and, carrying it between us, took it to my house.

  Easy, right? And funny.

  But after that is when the bad stuff started to happen.

  Late that night, I was in bed with my eyes wide open. I couldn’t get to sleep. I kept thinking about the funny things Brad and I had done all day. And I kept trying to picture Lydia’s face when she walked into her room and saw that dirty, crumbling little cabin.

  Yawning, I finally started to feel sleepy. I sank my head into the pillow and shut my eyes.

  But I opened them when I heard a scraping sound by the window. I squinted into the dim light from the street. The curtains were blowing into the room from a strong breeze.

  I started to settle back. But I heard a thump. And then rapid thumps. Footsteps? Did something drop in through the window?

  I sat up. My heart started to flutter in my chest. Suddenly, I was totally alert.

  I felt a tug on my blanket. Another tug. Harder.

  “Hey—what’s going on?” I said out loud. My voice came out hoarse and weak.

  And then something plopped into my bed. Something had climbed my blanket and now it stepped across the bed—until it was standing on my chest!

  “Ohhh.” A frightened moan escaped my throat. I grabbed the blanket with both hands. And stared.

  Stared at a little creature. No. A tiny man. No.

  He was less than a foot tall. He had a round, bald head no bigger than a tennis ball, and pointy ears. I saw a V-shaped beard under his chin.

  His round eyes glowed in the dim light. He wore a diaperlike thing that appeared to be woven out of grass or weeds. His chest was bare and smooth as baby skin.

  “Wh-who are you?” I managed to choke out. “What do you w-want?”

  His bare feet prickled my chest. He moved up close to my face. His expression turned angry. His eyes glowed coldly.