Don't You Wish

by Roxanne St Claire

  Where is he?

  The minute I hear Dad leave, I fly into action. I’m driving to Charlie’s house in whatever car I can get my hands on. I have to tell him my plan for Missy, my decision to stay and use all my considerable resources to make her life a happy one. I want to be with him, part of his happy family, and help all of them live the best life they can. Right here and right now.

  Burning with the need to share this, I don’t even hesitate to grab the keys to the Aston Martin. I already think of it as my car. Yeah, this universe has perks.

  As I pull out of the garage, the rain instantly drenches the car, with thunder rolling in the distance. I close my eyes and hear Missy’s voice.

  It was a car accident, four years ago. Four years ago in less than a week on November seventeenth.

  Holy crap! I hit the brakes on the drive and fishtail a little on a puddle. That’s today. This very day. November seventeenth!

  We were on our way home from my soccer game, which had gotten called on account of lightning.

  Is that where Charlie is going—back to the place where the accident happened? Just like he told me to do with my mirror?

  I struggle to remember Missy’s exact words.

  We were on Old Cutler Road. You know that really winding one down south? We were just turning onto 168th Street, and …

  I have no idea where that is! With shaky hands, I punch numbers and words into the GPS. I have to get there before he does. Before he leaves.

  I bang the steering wheel, waiting for the satellites to tell me how to get to that intersection. To take me there.

  To take me to Charlie.

  As the woman’s voice starts spewing out directions, I follow, gripping the wheel, staring through the slap and smack of the windshield wipers. I can’t see a thing, and I have no idea where I’m going. But I won’t let that stop me.

  Thump-woof. Thump-woof. Thump-woof.

  Somehow the GPS lady gets me through Coral Gables to a winding street called Old Cutler Road. Lined with an umbrella of banyan trees, the street is dark like black soup. My lights are barely enough to keep me from driving off the snake like road.

  How will I ever find him?

  I tamp down the question and check the street numbers with the next flash of lightning. I’m at 144th. I do some math to figure out that I’m twenty-four blocks away from the intersection. The street winds, there are no “blocks,” and I can’t see a damn thing.

  But I power on.

  As I get closer, a gash of white lightning slices through the sky, almost immediately followed by a roll of thunder. Peering through the swish of the wiper blades, I scan for his Jeep, imagining him parked on the side of the road, holding a curved mirror out the window to catch the light.

  But there’s no one out tonight. No other cars, no people.

  Just as I reach 168th Street, the light turns yellow. I hesitate for a second, knowing I can cross safely because there are no cars anywhere. I’ve made it halfway through when suddenly a car comes barreling toward me, toward the intersection.

  I blink at the headlights of the oncoming car, blurred in the downpour and darkness. They’re oddly shaped. High, round, close together.

  Jeep Wrangler headlights, and they are making a left turn directly in front of me!

  I slam on the brakes, hydroplaning wildly on a puddle, and fishtailing, but I can’t stop. I’m going to hit that Jeep. I’m going to hit that Jeep exactly like it was hit before, when Missy was paralyzed.

  I pump the breaks and jerk the wheel, doing everything I can scare up from driver’s ed, but it’s like the world’s in slow motion and I am careening right toward that canvas top and plastic windows.

  Screaming, I just squeeze the steering wheel as the front of the Aston crunches into the Jeep, a noisy, horrific bang of metal against metal, followed by the air bag smacking me in the face and stealing the breath I was holding.

  Then everything is silent, but for the rain on the roof and the slow hiss of the air out of the bag under my head.

  I’m alive. I’m alive! But what about Charlie?

  With trembling hands, I fight the air bag and manage to get my belt off. I throw open the door and stare into the pouring rain. The intersection is empty. Where did he go?

  Another universe.

  “Oh!” Choking on rainwater and emotion, I turn to see how bad the Aston is. Then a flash of lightning bathes the intersection in white and I see the Jeep on the side of the road.

  “Charlie!” I tear across the street, trying to process that Charlie and his mother are taking Missy out and putting her in the wheelchair.

  “Ayla, no. You can’t be here!”

  I freeze at the words, at the tableau of the three of them standing in the middle of the storm, about to get hit by lightning. Then I see the mirror Charlie is holding.

  “No!” I scream. “You’re going to get killed!”

  “We have to do this!” Mrs. Z. cries from behind the wheelchair, her hands on Missy’s shoulders. “We have to try!”

  Missy’s eyes are filled with hope. I can see it burning there, firing through her like the bolt of lightning she’s waiting for—unadulterated hope that she can get to a better place.

  “Charlie.” I reach for him, and he wraps his arm around me.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. But I already know the answer.

  “An experiment,” Charlie says, lifting the drenched mirror. “We have to re-create the scene, to the minute, everything about what happened that night.”

  “And get killed trying?”

  “We’re not going to get killed,” he insists.

  “You almost just did,” I fire back, gripping him and fighting the desire to shake some sense into him.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Ayla,” he says. “I thought you were already … gone.”

  “I didn’t go, Charlie.”

  “When you didn’t call, I figured—”

  “I fried my phone. And it didn’t work.” I point to the mirror. “I don’t think it’s going to work, Charlie. I have a better idea. A different idea.”

  “Please, Ayla, let us go,” Missy cries. “We all want to live our lives in a different universe, one where this accident never happened.”

  “But you live in this one,” I insist, swiping the water off my face. “And I have the means to help you even more than some company. I can make your life better.” I put my hand on the mirror, and it angles toward me, reflecting my face.

  But it’s not my face. It’s … Annie’s face.

  “You see it, don’t you?” Charlie asks.

  I just nod. “How did you do that?”

  “With the picture you emailed me. We all see ourselves the way we want to be. Just ask Missy.”

  “I’m on a skateboard,” she says with a mischievous grin. “You should see me fly.”

  “I want to see you fly,” I say, tears rolling and mixing with rain. “That’s why you should stay and let me—”

  “Annie.” Charlie puts his hand on my cheek. “You can’t do that for her. But this can.”

  I close my eyes and tilt my head into his palm. “I’ll miss you so much. I don’t want to be here without you.”

  “Hey, look at me.”

  I open my eyes and get lost for a minute in his, so dark and comforting. “What?”

  “You don’t want to be here, either, Annie Nutter.” He angles the mirror again and tilts my face to look at it. “You want to go home where you belong. With your family and your friends.”

  I can’t speak, my throat is so tight with tears. He leans forward and kisses me softly. He tastes like rain and … home.

  “C’mon, you two! You’re supposed to be thinking about where we’re going, not where you’ve been,” Missy says.

  She’s right of course, and Charlie and I break apart. As my eyes open, I look to the mirror, to Annie Nutter. Yes, that’s where I want my soul to reside. Right there in that—

  A huge flash of lightning whitens everything, freezi
ng the instant in stark, blinding light that reflects off the mirror.

  Sudden, intense heat slams through my whole body as I blink into the light and see Charlie doing the same thing.

  I try to speak, but everything is tingling, sparkling, prickly heat. My arms and legs are heavy. My head feels so light, it’s as if I’m floating on air.

  I can see Charlie, he’s in front of me, his whole being radiant and light. Everything else has disappeared; the world is dark and airless, and all I can see or feel or experience is Charlie.

  I cling to his hand, though, electricity zapping through both of us.

  He’s breaking up, his color fading, his light dimming.

  “Charlie! Don’t forget me!”

  He’s disappearing and so am I.

  “I won’t, Annie. One-four-three! I love—”

  The world goes completely dark. All I can hear is a weird noise. A loud, deep rumble right in my ear.

  Is that the wind? Is that a motor? Thunder? Or is it …

  With every ounce of strength I can muster, I open my eyes to come eyeball to eyeball with a boy who is burping in my face.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “Theo!” I try to scream, but it comes out almost as a growl.

  “Sorry, but Mom told me I had to wake you up, Annie. It’s almost seven-thirty and the bus’ll be here in half an hour.”

  Mom. The bus. Annie. Is this possible?

  “And I gotta tell you.” He lowers his voice and gets closer, killing me with his peanut butter breath. “Dad and Mom are barely talking. It’s actually worse than yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” Oh, this is too good to be true. I did it. We did it. Back to the right world, the right time. “What about Charlie?”

  Theo backs up and looks at me like I’ve grown another head. “Who’s Charlie?” he asks. “Does Mom have, like, a boyfriend or something?”

  “What?”

  He almost falls onto my bed. “I heard them talking about some guy, and I heard her say she loved him.”

  I throw the covers back and sit up, vaguely aware of the SpongeBob sleep pants that I missed while I was in the other universe. And my room. My tiny, crowded, not-very-glamorous room. It looks wonderful. Even my brother looks … I almost pull him to me to kiss him, but common sense rules the day. “You misunderstood, I’m sure. I’ll go talk to her.”

  I barely look around, heading right out to the hall toward the kitchen, where I hear water running. “Mom?”

  She turns from the sink, her eyes puffy. But it’s her. My mom with the little wrinkle between her brow and a few extra pounds and home-colored hair.

  “Oh, God, Mom.” I can’t help it, I just throw my arms around her. “You can’t let him do this to you.”

  “Daddy didn’t—”

  “Jim Monroe.”

  She freezes a few seconds, then inches away from me. “This isn’t about him.”

  “Yes, it is. It’s about you having second thoughts and wondering about what you did and why you did it.” I grip her shoulders, the conviction of what I know practically shaking me. “You would never have been happy with him.”

  “Annie, I—”

  “Listen to me. You wouldn’t have. He made you feel inadequate and … and imperfect.”

  She almost shrugs, unable to disagree.

  “And Dad makes you feel …” I squeeze tighter to make my point. “Flawless. Flawless on the inside, and, Mom, that is what really matters.”

  “But, Annie, you don’t know—”

  “I know this, Mom,” I insist. “Dad loves you for who you are. And, really, Mom, that is worth a billion dollars.”

  She blinks, and one last tear falls.

  “You’re wrong, Annie.” At the sound of my dad’s voice, I turn to see him in the door that leads to the basement, an empty box in his hand. “It’s not worth a billion dollars,” he says. “Because you can’t put a price on how I feel about your mother. It’s priceless.”

  Behind me, Mom sniffs again.

  “And everything else in this house is worthless.” He raises the box. “I’m cleaning up today. Everything. No more Nutter Clutter. I’ll do anything …” His gaze shifts over my shoulder and settles on my mother. “Anything to keep your mother happy. She is the most beautiful, wonderful, exquisite creature in the world, and I don’t know how I won her, but I am not about to lose her.”

  “Oh, Mel.” Mom sweeps by me, arms outstretched as she reaches for Dad. He pulls her into a warm hug, dropping the box so he can use both arms.

  “One-four-three, honey,” he whispers into her hair. “One-four-three.”

  I can’t even swallow the lump in my throat, it’s so big. And so is the hole in my heart. Whatever universe Charlie has landed in, I hope someday he finds someone to love like that.

  Theo burps from the hall, and Watson comes lumbering in to howl for bacon. The Nutter chaos reigns again. Then Mom jumps out of Dad’s arms and hollers, “Oh, my God, Annie. The bus is going to be here in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll drive her to school,” Dad says. “Annie hates to ride that stupid bus.”

  I shake my head. “Lizzie’s expecting me,” I say, heading down the hall. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

  “When did she get so grown-up?” I hear Mom ask.

  I pause to listen to Dad’s answer. “It’s like it happened overnight.”

  Well, not exactly.

  Lizzie, freckled and grinning from ear to ear, is waiting in our usual seat when I climb up. One glance to the back tells me why she’s smiling. Shane Matthews is already on the bus, sitting with some boys, already acting stupid.

  “Please, Zie, don’t make me smack you. We hate him, remember?” I know, a funny thing to say to your BFF when you’ve been apart so long, but technically I just saw her last night when she had a sleepover with Nickel-ass in another universe.

  “That’s not why I’m smiling,” she says.

  “Oh, you’re just happy to see me?” I’ve already decided I can’t tell her the truth. Not with my landing back here the next day; no time has passed for her, yet. She’ll think I had a weird dream. If I relegate the past few weeks in a parallel universe to some kind of Wizard of Oz dream state, it’ll mean I dreamed up Charlie, and I want to believe that somewhere he exists. I have to believe that.

  “Didn’t your dad tell you?” she asks.

  “My dad? Uh, things were a little crazy at my house last night. What’s up?”

  She gives a little clap of joy. “He and your mom set my mom up on a blind date with his friend from Process Engineering and they went out last night.”

  “Really?”

  “Ohmigod, Annie, he’s soooo nice.” Lizzie squeals a little. “This could be the one.”

  “The universe has a way of making things work out,” I say, feeling worldly and wise. And really glad that Lizzie might get her engineer dad in this world, too. “Anything else happen while I was … Last night?”

  Lizzie gives me a sympathetic look. “Obviously you didn’t go on Facebook. Nickel-ass had to brag about her stupid dare, and Shane …” She shifts her eyes over her shoulder. “He’s dead to me for what he did to you, Annie. I don’t care if he’s the hottest thing that ever walked. He’s a tool.”

  “Totally.” I brace myself as the bus turns the corner and heads up a hill to the stop where Courtney and company get on. More tools on the way. But now they can’t bother me.

  “Maybe she got a ride today,” Lizzie says, as though she can read my mind.

  I shrug. “Couldn’t care less. She doesn’t affect me.”

  “Riiiight.” Lizzie drags the word out with plenty of disbelief.

  “I mean it. You don’t know what goes on behind closed doors. She might be miserable inside because her family’s a wreck or she can’t trust her friends. You just don’t know.”

  Lizzie draws back, ready to joke. Then her face falls. “Wow, that Shane thing really got to you, didn’t it?”

  “No. Well, maybe.” I’m
going to need an excuse for my new philosophies, and if Shane Matthews provides it, then he’ll be good for something.

  As the bus stops, I don’t look out the window, but I can hear Courtney’s chatter as the doors open and she flounces up the stairs, pausing right in front of me to turn to one of her handmaidens behind her.

  “Oh, my gawd, Miranda. Did you see? I must have that. Must. Have. That.”

  The girl behind her gives a gentle push. “Get in line.”

  Still laughing, the two of them head to the back, and I duck before any bags hit me.

  “Uh, excuse me.” A low voice comes from the sidewalk, pulling Geraldine’s attention.

  “Are you the new kid?” the bus driver demands. “You gotta have your paperwork, son. Signed by the dean, or I can’t take you on this bus.”

  Lizzie leans toward the window to see who’s talking, since our view is blocked.

  “Wow. Who’s that?” she asks.

  “I have the paperwork, ma’am, but the problem is—”

  “No problems, just solutions.” Geraldine extends her meaty hand. “Paperwork.”

  Slowly, a dark head rises from behind the metal plate, and a male hand wraps around the pole in front of me. I stared at the hand for a second, at the lean but masculine fingers. Fingers that look … strong but gentle.

  The first little flutter of butterfly wings tickles my tummy.

  As he steps up, the whole bus hushes, and with good reason. He lets go of the pole to brush thick hair off his forehead, revealing dark eyes under a thick brow, a strong jaw, and just enough stubble that he has to be a senior.

  Broad shoulders clad in a loose orange and teal football jersey rise and fall in a frustrated sigh that is tempered with a quick smile at Geraldine.

  “I have a problem, though.”

  “I told you I don’t want your problems. I want your paperwork.”

  I can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t think a single thought that makes any sense whatsoever. Because he looks so much like …

  “Ashton Kutcher.” Lizzie whispers the words under her breath. “Only, you know, seventeen.”

  “Can you just wait a minute?” he asks Geraldine. “My sister is coming and …” He bites his lip and glances through the bus windows. “It might take her a while.”