My arms somehow find their way around him as we snuggle up together against the warmth of the chimney, and all my fears fall away. God, this is wonderful! I’ve never felt like this before, and as Isaac presses his lips to mine again, I feel a tear trickle down my cheek. Another one follows it—then another—and soon he’s holding me close as I cry in his arms. Maybe it’s not so wonderful after all. Why am I crying?
"I wished I had the guts to tell you how much I love you," he whispers in my ear.
All I can do is cling to him, kissing him over and over as tears stream down my face. I can’t make heads or tails of my feelings right now. Am I miserable or overjoyed? Both? What the hell is going on inside my head?
I love him. I can never, ever have him, but I love him to death.
"I don’t gi hin’ve a shit what my mother thinks or what your mom’s like, Nina," he whispers, squeezing me so tightly that I feel as if I’m going to pop. "No matter what happens—no matter where life takes us—I’m going to find you. We’ll be together and I don’t care what anyone else says."
Maybe life has something to offer after all. Maybe I’m not really doomed to end up like Mom—a drug addict, a prostitute who steals from her own fucking daughter.
Deep down inside, though, I don’t really believe it.
I wish that I could believe him, but I just don't anymore. I wish I could believe in a happily ever after, but I’d only be setting myself up for disappointment. His mother would never accept me; I’d be nothing to her but her son’s bad decision.
Tonight, though, being with Isaac is everything I could possibly want. I lay in his arms on the roof all night long as we watch the stars fall down around us.
I wish I didn’t have to go home. I wish that I was someone else—someone with a future.
Wishes only come true when you’ve made the wrong wish.
I don’t know it yet, but tomorrow morning, Child Protective Services is finally going to pay my mother a visit.
I’m going into foster care far, far away, and I’m never going to see Isaac again.
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One week later...
"I’m still not sure about this," I whisper, and Clara Hartley, my new foster mother, pats me lightly on the shoulder as she sits beside me. I stare down at the form lying on the table in front of me. The big bold text at the top reads ‘Application for Change of Name (Adult for Minor), Form PC-901.’
"Nina," she explains again, "it’s really important. Your mother owed bad people a lot of money, and we have to make sure they don’t come try to find you."
"You can say ‘dealers’ around me, Mrs. Hartley," I say, glancing up at her. "I grew up there. Stop treating me like I’m a five-year-old."
"I’m sorry," she apologizes, leaning heavily on the table. "All my other fosters were very young. Old habits die hard, you know."
She’s trying hard to be nice to me, but I’m still on edge. I’ve lost my home, my school and my boyfriend, and even if I hated two out of three, my entire life’s still been turned upside down. Now, on top of everything else, she wants me to change my name.
"You can pick any name you like," she says, her voice low, warm and calm. "Just... it can’t be Nina Torres anymore. Maybe someday, but for now, we need to keep you safe."
"I’ll change my name if you let me talk to my boyfriend again."
God, I miss Isaac. I haven’t seen him since our last night on the roof together, since the night he kissed me. I still remember the feeling of his lips against mine, the feeling of his arms holding me close as we lay against the chimney.
The police officer sitting across from us shakes his head, and I sigh and close my eyes.
"I know this is very hard on you," whispers Mrs. Hartley, "but we have to do this. It’s just until the police have sorted everything out and we know you’re safe, okay? Everything will go back to st normal soon, I promise."
She’s trying to sound reassuring, but I can hear the real words hiding behind the lies. It’s never going to be okay, and when I sign that sheet of paper, my old life will disappear forever. She's going to drag me halfway across the state to wherever it was she lives—East Lyme, I think she said—and I'm never going to see Isaac again.
"You’re acting like I have a choice in this, but I really don’t, do I?" I whisper sadly.
"Not unless you want to be in a group home until we find a foster family who can take you outside the state," answers the officer. "It’s for Clara’s protection as well as yours, and we wouldn’t ask you to do this if we didn’t think it was necessary."
Clara leans over and gently hugs me, and I stiffen at her touch. I don’t know her, don’t trust her, and right now, I don’t even like her.
"You can think about it longer if you need to," she offers. "We can meet up again next week and see if—"
"Irene," I blurt out.
"What?" Clara asks, looking confused.
"My new name is Irene," I repeat. I’ve always liked the name, and it’ll go so well with his name if I ever see him again. Isaac and Irene...
"Irene Hartley it is, then," she says with a smile, and she fills in the blanks on the form and slides it back over to me again.
The petitioner, Nina Torres, seeks name change to "Irene Hartley" in order to match foster family’s surname. Furthermore, a petition to seal this name change record is filed on the basis of potential harassment from birth mother’s customers and creditors. The state hereby identifies that there is significant risk of interference in foster care program by previous family and grants said petition.
WHEREFORE, the petitioner(s) as indicated above, request(s) a change of name to...
I skim straight past the wall of dense legalese until I reach the signature box at the bottom of the page. My hand is shaking so much that I can barely hold the pen.
There it is... my old name signed onto the paper for the last time. Goodbye, Nina.
I’m never making a wish e
ver again.
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NINE YEARS LATER...
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Chapter II
Irene
"It's about time you showed up, Irene. The kids have been waiting for almost twenty minutes," the librarian Susan tells me as I race into the library lobby. I’m soaked from the pouring rain and completely out of breath from my sprint across the parking lot. It’s another beautiful autumn day outside—that is to say, completely miserable.
"I’m so sorry," I apologize. "I got held up at work. Boss problems again."
"Is Tyler still doing that?" whispers Susan, tossing me a towel from behind the desk as she twirls her long black hair between two fingers. "Is he still... you know?"
"Trying to get into my pants?"
"Not so loud!" she hisses at me, flushing with embarrassment as she points to the children’s section. "The kids welyerill hear you!"
I roll my eyes at the scandalized librarian. After my boss spent the last two hours making unwanted advances at me, the last thing I need is a lecture about propriety.
"To answer your question—yes, he is still doing that, and it’s really getting on my nerves."
"You really need to talk to someone about this," Susan tells me. "Harassment is illegal and you shouldn’t have to put up with it. Surely your HR department has someone you..."
We go through this conversation every time and I just don’t think she gets it. I’ve reported my manager’s lewd comments and wandering hands more times than I can count and HR has never done a thing. It’s his word against mine, and he’s the full-time employee. I’m the part-time cafeteria girl, so nobody at work gives a crap about me.
"I know, I know," I tell Susan to placate her. "I’m working on it. First thing first, though—I owe the kids a story. We can talk about this later."
I don’t want to talk about it later. I’m hoping she forgets so that I can forget. I’d rather not think about my boss trying to get me into his bed—
I’d rather just keep my head down, do my job, and go home.
One of these days, I tell myself as I hurry to the children’s section of the library, I’m going to get out of here. I’m going to get my big break and never look back.
"Hello everyone!" I exuberantly greet the children as I sit down in front of them with my legs crossed. "I’m so sorry I’m late, but I promise I have a great story for all of you today!"
Every month, the crowd gets smaller and smaller. There are only eight children here today, and one of the boys is playing a game on his cell phone. Here I am counting myself as lucky that my ancient cell phone can actually send text messages while a five-year-old has a data plan. Why does a five-year-old even need a smart-phone when he can barely even read? At least the rest of the children look excited.
"Hmm... I think today’s story needs something special," I tell the children with a wink, and I pull a long, blond costume wig out of my backpack and put it on my head.
"Anyone know who I am?"
"Rapunzel!" squeal several of the little girls in the front row, and they all crowd around me to look at the illustrations as I read. I’m glad that at least someone is still interested in books; techno-boy still hasn’t looked up from his phone.
"Once upon a time, there were a man and a woman who had long desired a child," I begin.
Reading hour at the Groton library is always the high point of my week. I get to watch the children’s faces glow as I read to them, and I get to forget about everything but the story. My overdue bills don’t matter when the three little pigs are dealing with the wolf. A handsome prince is trying to wake up Sleeping Beauty, not a disgusting, overweight cafeteria manager with more hair on his neck than his head. Nothing matters except giving the children something special.
I can’t help but smile at the enraptured looks of wonder on the children’s faces as I read. This is what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. My degree says I’m a voice actress, but my student loan bill says I’m whatever the hell I can get. Right now, I’m the girl at the sanastl at thdwich station at the Verta Pharmaceuticals cafeteria.
One of these days, I’ll get my big break. I just know it.
"The witch locked Rapunzel away in a tall tower in the woods," I tell my wide-eyed audience. "No doors! No stairs! Just a tiny window at the very tippy-top of the tower, and whenever the witch wanted to come in, she’d stand at the base of the tower and call out..."
Just as I’m about to put on my witch voice, I see him walk into the library.
Jesus. Christ.
The sexiest man I’ve ever seen just walked into the library, and I’m doing my witch impression while wearing a long, ratty wig and a mustard-stained cafeteria uniform. I always give great first impressions.
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel! Let down your long hair!" I cry out in an embarrassingly nasal voice, and the red-haired toddler leaning against my knee giggles.
The man is tall and trim, and he has disheveled blond hair that probably hasn’t seen a comb in days. No... I take that back. It’s completely intentional. He’s combed his hair straight back and just let it go ‘poof’ and fly off to wherever it’s going to go. It’s the most orderly-looking haystack ever to grace a guy’s head. I’d never have imagined the haystack look could actually work for someone, but it totally does on him—he's projecting a mixed aura of "too busy to care" and "too gorgeous to care," but that second one might just be my infatuation.
Standing beside him is an older man, completely bald and wearing a long white coat, and... and he’s hooking elbows with Mister Sexy. Well shit. It’s practically cradle robbery and, more importantly, completely unfair.
The young man leans over the counter in the lobby, talking quietly with Susan, and a brief pang of jealousy hits me. This is ridiculous. What am I jealous of? It’s not like Susan’s getting him or anything—his arm is firmly entwined with his septuagenarian sugar daddy’s. It’s one hell of an arm, too. He’s struck the perfect balance between toothpick and gym meathead, and I’m a little envious of his physique. There’s no way in hell my shift manager would screw with me if I had arms like that.
"Then Rapunzel let down the braids of her hair, and the witch climbed up to her."
You’re not being fair, I chide myself, now telling the story completely by memory and staring at the handsome man instead of the book. What if that’s his father and he’s just helping him walk?
The elderly man wanders off to the new releases shelf, leaving his delicious young companion leaning over the counter and spoiling my attempt to give them the benefit of the doubt.
The little redhead sitting beside me jabs me in the thigh with her elbow, drawing my attention back to the children and away from my eye candy before I started drooling. Children always have the sharpest elbows.
Right... the kids. Reading. That stuff. I force myself to look away from Mister Sexy up at the counter and return to Rapunzel’s story.
"And then on the same day that she cast out Rapunzel, the wicked witch took the girl’s chopped-off braid and waited for the prince to visit. When he arrived, he cried up to the tiny window in the tower..."
I gesture to the children with a smile, and they shout ome they sout Grimm’s trademark line.
God, they’re so adorable, I think. The kids are so cute while they bounce around excitedly that I can’t help but start laughing.
The young man’s head snaps up at the sound my laughter and he catches himself against the counter with both hands as if to stop himself from falling. He’s staring at me—his bright green eyes drilling into me—and... and all my words are gone. His eyes are so green that I can see the color from all the way across the library.
They’re so familiar.
Oh God, they’re just like Isaac’s.
My face is suddenly hot and I can feel myself begin to sweat. No, it can’t be Isaac. He’s long gone and I’m never going to see him again. I tried to find him two years ago and it was hopeless. All I could find out was that he severed ties with his family after high school and then disappeared into thin air. He just vanished.
He’s still staring right at me, his gaze so intense that it’s almost overpowering. I feel as if I can’t look away. No... it can't be him. There's no way he's Isaac. Isaac was handsome, but even as gorgeous as my memory's built him up to be, he was nothing like this guy. They may have the same eyes, but this guy is built like a Greek god and Isaac was so thin that you could mistake him for a talking string bean.
"Are you okay, Mister Radcliffe?" asks Susan, her voice drifting into the children’s section as she stares at the young man in alarm.
Isaac’s last name was Preston. It’s not him.
Even though I knew it couldn’t have been him, my heart sinks all the same. I can’t keep doing this to myself every time I see a man who reminds me of him.
You need to grow up, Irene, I tell myself. He’s gone forever.
Mr. Radcliffe is still staring straight at me and it’s making me really uncomfortable now that I know he’s not Isaac. I avert my eyes and try to focus on the pages of the book.
"The prince ascended Rapunzel’s braid, but instead of finding his dearest love at the top, he found the evil witch instead! She cackled at him with a wicked, venomous look," I read aloud.
I can still feel him staring at me while I read, as if he doesn’t give a damn how uncomfortable it’s making me. I shoot him a glare over the top of the book, hoping he’ll get the hint, but he doesn’t even blink. Why are all the handsome men in Connecticut complete assholes?
Not counting you, Isaac, I mentally apologize, and I turn the page and continue reading to my enraptured audience.
"Thanks again for your help," the old man says to Susan as he hobbles back to the counter and grabs Mister Radcliffe by the arm once again. "We’ll be on our way now."
I breathe a sigh of relief as the old man drags his younger companion toward the door, finally breaking his spell over me and letting me focus on the book. His eyes had me so enthralled that
I haven’t looked down at the book for at least five pages now.
"'Aha!' cried out the witch. You seek your darling Rapunzel, but she’s gone, never to be seen again! The cat’s got your little bird and will scratch your eyes out as well!"
My heart skips a beat as Mister Radcliffe stops dead in his tracks, turning toward me as if he’s about to say something, but then his elderly partner yanks him sharply by the arm to get him moving again.
Chasing Wishes Page 2