Shue crept forward to look. Funny, I hadn’t noticed it before, but from Ashley’s window there was a perfect view of the Dumpster and the back of Anderson’s. While the girls hid on the sides, I stood in the middle of the window and looked out. That was the benefit of being invisible.
A man was standing at the edge of the road, looking in the direction of where the girls had run. He was holding one boot and wearing socks.
Shue seemed nervous. “Do you think he saw us?”
Ashley looked up. “Probably just our backs. And you can’t recognize someone from their back.”
Shue looked down at her shirt and shook her head. “I probably shouldn’t wear these clothes again.”
Suddenly Ashley grabbed her arm. “Look!” She pointed.
The man was shaking the stones out of his boot.
“I think that one was mine,” said Shue.
How could she tell? Weren’t both boots the same? The man gave the boot a final shake and shoved it on his foot. Suddenly he was shouting and hopping around on one leg. He yelled, lost his balance, and fell to the ground. We burst out laughing. It was ridiculous. The man yanked off the boot and turned it upside down. I couldn’t be sure, but I think something fell out.
“My squished stone!” laughed Shue.
“Stop!” gasped Ashley. She waved at Shue. “I can’t breathe. I’ll pee my . . .”
Suddenly they were gone, and the next voice I heard was Mom’s.
“. . . BELIEVE IT! THAT’S IT! NO MORE BASEMENT! For a week! Do you hear me? We’ve been looking all over for you. And you’re hiding out again!”
Mom was halfway down the steps, and she was glaring at me. I couldn’t see her eyes, but sometimes you can tell about glaring from a voice, and her tone definitely said glaring. I jumped up and ran to the bottom of the stairs. I was busted. There was no way around it.
“Upstairs now!” barked Mom. I followed her up. She lectured me the whole way, and I let her. The only way to defend myself was to tell her about the wishes, and I couldn’t do that. What if telling someone ruined everything? What if it stopped the magic? I had to stay quiet. I couldn’t take that chance.
chapter eighteen
Patience
Claire was pretty much the only one talking during breakfast. Mom said a few things, but I could tell she was distracted. She was probably feeling guilty; she always got that way after she yelled at me. When we were done with breakfast, Mom stopped Claire from getting out the list. Instead she made an announcement.
“Today we’re going to skip the list; let’s do something else.” She paused for a second to make sure we were paying attention. “How about we go to one of those tree-top adventure parks. Do you know what that is?”
Claire shook her head and I nodded. Mom’s surprise made me instantly feel better. I’d been wanting to go to one of those places forever. Mom is big on the philosophy of going outdoors and moving around if you are in a rut. I knew why this was happening—it was for me. Because I was sad about Lucy being gone, and being forced to take care of Claire. But Mom had it wrong; I didn’t have a problem with Claire. So really it was only a half rut, but it didn’t matter; I was glad we were going. I listened while she explained everything to Claire.
I already knew about the rope bridges, the zip lines, and the different challenges in the trees, but the part I was not expecting was when Mom said, “I’m going to do it too!” I couldn’t imagine her walking across a tightrope in the trees. She didn’t seem like that kind of person. It was the kind of thing I was going to have to see to believe.
It didn’t take long to get ready. The hardest part was getting Claire to wear the right kind of clothes—you can’t wear skirts and dresses to go on a zip line. Mom finally had to pick out a T-shirt and shorts and stand there while Claire put them on. When we got in the car, Mom let me pick out the radio station. I took that as a good sign—I was probably forgiven. Sometimes when a good song comes on, you can almost feel like things are perfect. I was having that exact feeling, when all of a sudden I saw Peter walking down the street.
“Hey Claire!” I pointed out the window. “Look, it’s Peter.”
Claire squealed and waved, but he was too far away to see us. Mom gasped and swerved the car. I thought it was because of Claire, but it wasn’t. It was because of me.
Mom pulled the car over and stopped. “Ash! Did you just recognize someone? I can’t believe it. That’s amazing.”
I sat up; she was right. Of course I knew why it had happened—Peter was pretty distinctive, smaller than other people—but still, that kind of thing never happened to me! I smiled and leaned back against the headrest.
“Why is that so amazing?” asked Claire. “I do it all the time.”
I leaned farther into the seat and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to explain this. Mom waited for a minute to see if I would answer. I kept quiet.
Mom pulled out into traffic, and then, when we were going again, she answered Claire.
“Ash has face blindness. It was something she was born with. It means she has trouble recognizing people.” I knew this wasn’t going to be a fast explanation. Regular people usually had lots of questions, so with Claire it was going to be even worse. I kept my eyes closed. I was right, Claire had a million questions, but Mom was patient and answered most of them. My favorite was “If I grew a mustache, would she still recognize me?” It was hard not to laugh when she asked that.
When we got to the adventure park, the first thing we had to do was put on special safety harnesses and gloves. They weren’t very comfortable, but when you’re wearing something that can save your life, you can’t be picky about a little discomfort. Even Claire seemed okay with it.
The adventure park was just like I was expecting it to be except for one thing—Mom. Claire wasn’t scared, I was slightly scared, and Mom was totally not scared at all. I couldn’t believe it. She was like a mountain goat, good at everything. I was shocked. I’d lived with her my whole life. How could I have not known this before? When I asked her about it, she just shrugged and said, “Oh, I’ve always had good balance.”
We got home early, which was good, because there was a postcard from Lucy in the mail, and seeing it reminded me about sending hers off. So far I was on schedule—one every other day, just like I’d promised. I took a few minutes and read her message. She was having fun canoeing and swimming, and the food was good. She said she missed me, but the big news was that she had slept outside for a whole night with only a sleeping bag—not even a tent. That didn’t make me jealous. I liked sleeping in things, things like tents, which kept bugs out. I put the postcard down and got myself ready to go to the VS Depot. I invited Claire, but she said she didn’t want to go, even when I suggested bike riding.
She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t like bike riding!”
This was bad news. I loved bike riding, and Dad had even fixed up my old bike for Claire. I pulled her over to the window and pointed to it. It was leaning against the garage. I was hoping she’d be excited about the supercute kitty helmet, the new bell, and the fun pink flag on the back—we’d bought all those things special for her. But she just looked at it and shook her head. It was too bad we hadn’t known about her goldfish thing. A goldfish helmet might have changed her mind. I left Claire with Mom and Steve—she was drawing him again—and went to get my bike.
My favorite thing about my bike is that Lucy and I have the exact same one—color, size, everything. We got them together last year. The only difference is that she has a silver basket and I have a black one. We called them our twikes—twins plus bikes. Pulling my bike out of the garage made me sad—you shouldn’t separate twikes, and Lucy’s was now in Portland.
Riding to the store was ten times faster than walking. I was there in minutes. Peter was at the counter just like I was expecting, and I waved to him as I walked in.
“Hi, how’s the book?” he asked.
The question surprised me, so I didn’t answer right away. This
new book was different from the other PJ Walker books. Viola was great as always, but I wasn’t so sure about some of the other characters. Mainly it was a character named Percy who I was having trouble with. He spent a lot of time telling stories that had nothing to do with the mystery. If you are trying to solve a mystery, it’s kind of annoying to have to listen to a story about the time someone caught a squirrel in his bathroom—even if it’s kind of funny.
“It’s okay,” I answered. “But Percy’s stories are kind of long.”
Peter looked surprised. “Really? What chapter are you on?”
“Just finished four.” I put the party hat on the counter and glanced up—he was staring at me. I looked around—suddenly I was feeling uncomfortable. There was a huge banner with a giant picture of a goldfish on it hanging over the photocopiers. It was advertising posters—I hadn’t seen it before. I didn’t want to talk about the book anymore.
I pointed to the banner. “Is that new?”
Peter nodded. “Yes. We’re having a special. Do you need a poster?”
“No.” I shook my head. “But why a goldfish?”
Peter shrugged. “You don’t like goldfish?”
“No, I do. They’re okay.” Now I was feeling awkward again. I should have made Claire come with me. People liked her. I pushed the party hat forward. “I need to mail this.”
Peter shook his head. “I bet you’ll like it better if you give it time.” For a second nothing happened, and then we both reached for the hat—me to take it back, and him to weigh it.
Peter laughed. “I’m sorry, I meant give the book time, not the hat. The hat is fabulous. Did you have a party?”
I sighed. “Sort of, for Claire’s goldfish.”
He pointed to the poster and smiled.
I nodded.
After that everything went smoothly. He stamped the hat, I paid, and we both said good-bye. As I was stepping out the door, Peter called out to me.
“Remember!” he shouted. “If it’s in the story, it has meaning. Just keep reading.”
I nodded. Next time I was definitely bringing Claire, whether she wanted to come or not.
When I got home from mailing the hat, I reread Lucy’s postcard. It was hard to really know what was going on from only eight sentences. I hoped she was okay.
When Claire went upstairs to bed, I went up too, to read my book. This wasn’t like in the beginning—it wasn’t the best part of my day, but Peter was right, the book was getting better. It took all my energy to get to the last word of the chapter without falling asleep—it had been a long day.
chapter nineteen
Old-Fashioned
When I woke up the sun was shining and the air was warm, but that was only the weather. My personal forecast was anxiety and dread. Today was crafts at the old people’s home, and I kept imagining a sea of old faces, and me having to shake everyone’s hand. It felt like a nightmare, only I wasn’t going to wake up and have it be gone—it was real and it was going to happen. I forced myself out of bed. Maybe there’d be some kind of minor disaster and we wouldn’t have to go. Nothing with injuries, but enough to keep us at home. It was unlikely, but I was hopeful, and that helped me get dressed and down the stairs. As soon as I walked into the kitchen, Claire ran over and jumped in front of me, blocking my way. I tried to push past her, but she wouldn’t move.
“Claire!” I grabbed her shoulders and moved her to the side. What was she doing?
She grinned and followed me over to the cupboard. “You recognized me! I knew you would.”
I pulled out the cereal box and smiled. Now it made sense. I grabbed a handful of cereal and walked to the table. Claire followed, waiting for me to be as excited as she was. She still didn’t get it, how it all worked. It was complicated, strange, and hard to understand, but I tried to explain it.
“Of course I know you. I’m expecting you here. But if I saw you next to some other kids in a store or something, and I wasn’t expecting to see you, then maybe I might not recognize you.”
Claire thought about it and shook her head.
“No. You’d know me. I know you would.”
I popped some cereal into my mouth and nodded. I wished it were true—everyone likes to be recognized.
Claire was the only one who had pancakes that morning. Mom was finally sick of them too. Was it even healthy to eat pancakes every day? Mom made Claire eat a couple of slices of pear, so she was maybe thinking about that too. Claire talked nonstop about the craft thing all morning. She had enough enthusiasm for a hundred people, which was good, because I didn’t have any. It was a nice thing to do, help old people, but that didn’t mean I wanted to do it. It was a hard morning—her wanting me to be as excited as she was, and me forcing myself to ignore the basement. I knew if I went down there and got caught, I’d be dead. I couldn’t risk it, so I worried about it instead. The wish jar was out in the open. What if Mom went down there and saw it? Would it all be over? I spent the morning hovering close to the basement door, ready to run interference in case she did laundry. It wasn’t easy—pretending to be normal on the outside, while being a wreck on the inside.
The craft thing was at two o’clock, but by one o’clock Claire was dressed and ready to go. We left fifteen minutes early, because Mom was tired of Claire asking, Is it time yet? every twenty seconds. I was nervous about giving up my post by the basement door, but Mom said she was going grocery shopping while we were at the craft event, so that made it easier. The wish jar would be safe until we got back.
The old people’s home was close by, only ten minutes away. Mom came in with us to check it out. I was still hoping we’d get to turn around and go home, but the minute we walked inside, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. The entrance was nice, the lady at the front office was friendly, and the craft room was perfectly fine. Claire was bouncing up and down; she could hardly contain herself.
Marjorie was the lady in charge of the crafts. She seemed kind of like a grown-up version of Claire. She was superhappy to meet us. When we got to the craft room, I could see why—she needed our help. It was almost two o’clock, and everything was still in boxes, waiting to be set up. Of course Marjorie fell in love with Claire—why wouldn’t she? The hand-shaking thing was a real icebreaker, and not something you’d expect from a seven-year-old. After we all shook hands, Marjorie showed us what to do. Mostly it was just setting out the supplies on the tables. The craft for today was painting ceramic tiles, so we put out markers, stamps, paints, brushes, cleaning supplies, and, of course, tiles. The door to the craft room was closed, but it had a window, and I could see people lining up outside. That made me a little nervous.
When it was time to start, Claire and I stood to the side, and Marjorie opened the door. It was hard to keep Claire still, but I did my best.
Suddenly Claire was shouting, “Look! Look!” She wriggled past everyone coming into the room and disappeared into the hall.
I called after her, but it was too late—she was gone. I had no choice but to chase her. I was furious. I stomped out the door. She was standing just outside the door.
As soon as she saw me, she pointed to a room down the hall. “It’s him! The boy Sam, from the thrift store. He’s here.”
I froze.
She grabbed my arm and pulled me down the hall. “Let’s say hi.”
Normally I would have said no and pulled back, but I was confused—still transitioning from furious to surprised—and not feeling anywhere near normal. Suddenly we were in front of the door, looking into the room.
“SEE! I told you, it’s Sam.” Claire pointed.
I wasn’t so sure. There were four people in the room: a boy, an old man, an old lady, and another man—probably not as old as the other two. They were standing around a table full of boxes, talking. Why would Sam be here? It made no sense. It couldn’t be him. It was just someone who kind of looked like Sam. The old man pushed by us and walked down the hall without saying a word. He seemed grumpy.
“HI, S
AM!” Claire yelled and waved wildly. I froze. Claire really needed some kind of warning light or a buzzer, so I could be ready for her embarrassing outbursts. Everyone in the room looked over. The boy smiled.
“Hey,” he said. “What are you guys doing here?”
I recognized the voice. It was Sam! “We’re doing crafts down there.” Claire pointed to the craft room. She was bouncing up and down, excited. “You have to come see. We’re making things.”
I knew I should say something, but I was too shocked to speak. I nodded and tried to smile. A second later I was standing alone in the hall, and Claire was in the room shaking hands with everyone. I wanted to leave, but my feet wouldn’t move. Finally I got it together, leaned in, and grabbed her arm.
“We need to go back.” I pulled her into the hallway. My teeth were clamped down so hard, my jaw was hurting.
Claire shouted and waved to everyone.
“Bye Sam, bye Miss Sato, bye Mr. Fred.” She skipped down the hall beside me.
“That was lucky I saw Sam. You wouldn’t have recognized him without me.” She looked up for confirmation.
I nodded, but it wasn’t a yes-I’m-so-happy-you-helped-me nod, it was a you’re-making-my-life-miserable nod. On the outside they maybe looked the same, but their meanings were completely different.
Considering how everything had started, the craft event turned out pretty well. Except for the whole Sam thing. I had a good time. We didn’t have to do much. Mostly it was cleaning brushes, providing encouragement, and opening the paint containers when the lids were hard to get off. Near the end we even got to paint a tile ourselves. Claire painted a picture of Steve, and I wrote Lucy’s name in fancy script. We each had our favorites.
Once everything was cleaned up, we walked outside and helped Marjorie load the boxes into her car. Claire wanted to go back inside, but I made her stay with me by the front door. Mom would be by any second, and as soon as she pulled up, we were out of there. I wasn’t hanging around any longer than we had to. Claire leaned against the side of the building fidgeting.
Dreamer, Wisher, Liar Page 8