As You Wish

by Chelsea Sedoti

  “Yes,” Penelope says quietly. “Yes, I’d make the same wish.”

  I suspected as much. Even with Fletcher’s anger and bitterness, Penelope feels deep down that she did the right thing. And you can’t help but admire that, yeah?

  I give Penelope a hug and tell her again to give it some time.

  She’ll bounce back, I know. Penelope’s resilient. Eventually, she’ll work through her guilt and come out of this situation OK.

  As for Fletcher, whether or not he’ll bounce back… Well, that’s anyone’s guess.

  • • •

  In the locker room after school, a lot of zombie jokes are tossed around.

  “Hey, you think Fletcher craves brains now?” Otto Alvarez asks, and the other guys laugh.

  “This is a blessing for him,” Calvin Boyd says. “I mean, dude had no chance of getting a prom date before this. Now he can go to the cemetery and dig one up.”

  More laughter. Except from me. I slam my locker shut.

  “What’s your problem, Wilkes?” Calvin asks.

  As if he can’t imagine why I’m not joining in on their good time. As if he’s the king of the freaking world, and I, his loyal subject, should be honored to be included in their festivities.

  “I just don’t think this is funny,” I say.

  Calvin raises his eyebrows. “I’d think you, of all people, would find this situation hilarious.”

  “I don’t.”

  There’s nothing funny about dying or almost dying or whatever it is that Fletcher did. There’s nothing funny about the state he’s in right now.

  “Well, don’t get all butt hurt about it,” Calvin says.

  I continue to suit up and steady myself with a deep breath. This is my first day back at practice. Pounding the smirk off Calvin’s face is definitely not in my best interest.

  The conversation moves away from Fletcher and to prom. It’s this Saturday, and even though Madison’s proms are nothing fancy, not like you see in movies, it’s still an excuse to party. The after-prom parties at the hot springs are a huge deal.

  There’s a lot of talk about how far everyone will get with their dates. Spoiler alert: most of the guys will end up lingering around first base. I don’t call anyone on their shit though. I’m just glad to be back in the locker room. Missing out on a week of football practice kind of sucked.

  Except for the part where I didn’t have to see Calvin.

  “Juniper’s asking for it,” he gloats. “Trying to drop hints or whatever, but you can see through it. She might as well come out and tell me how much she wants me to fuck her on prom night.”

  I tense up. Take another deep breath. I’m not going to let him get to me.

  “Who’re you going with, Eldon?” someone asks.

  “Just friends,” I say.

  I can feel Calvin’s smirk even with my back turned. The dude is smothering the whole locker room with his smugness.

  Luckily, my dad comes in before I have to hear anything more about what Juniper does or doesn’t want Calvin to do to her on prom night.

  “I don’t need to tell you what a big week this is,” my dad says. “Sunday isn’t only our game against the Tonopah Muckers. For some of you, it’s the last time you’ll be on the field. That means you owe it to yourselves to play harder than ever before.”

  Everyone cheers, and my dad launches into a long speech about how much the Clash means, how the Madison Drosophilae are going to make the Mucker Fuckers wish they’d never been born. He’s trying to get everyone pumped up, and I guess it works. We all play hard.

  “Glad to have you back, son,” my dad says, clapping me on the back during a break.

  It’s good to be back.

  It’s good to feel like part of my life is normal again.

  Norie’s waiting for me outside the locker room when I get out of practice. Some of the guys nudge each other and laugh. Norie rolls her eyes at them.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  We walk down the hallway and out of school. The wind’s picked up since practice ended, and we get slammed in the face with dirt as soon as we step outside. So much for the shower I just took.

  “I wanted to see how you are,” she says. “After yesterday, and now with Fletcher being back.”

  “I’m all right.”

  She studies my face. “You don’t need to lie to me, you know. I’m not like the rest of them.”

  We stand on the steps of the school. Everyone else is getting into their cars and driving away or getting ready to walk home with the hot wind for company.

  I know Norie’s telling the truth. She doesn’t need me to be anyone but who I am.

  “I’m kind of messed up about the whole thing,” I admit.

  “You’re allowed to be.”

  “Thanks.” I hope she knows I mean it.

  “Need a ride home?” She’s already moving in the direction of her car.

  “Let’s go somewhere else.”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere.”

  • • •

  One of the few places with greenery in Madison is the Tuttles’ farm. It isn’t lush, but there’s some grass and bushes and stuff. They have horses and a couple of cows, and they keep bees for honey. Sometimes they get enough to sell, sometimes not. It doesn’t matter. At least three of their kids wished for money, so the Tuttles are doing fine.

  There’s a rock wall on the far edge of their property with a big mesquite tree next to it. Norie and I lie down in the grass under the tree, look up at the wind whipping though the branches. The Tuttles have enough acreage that they can’t see us from the house. They probably wouldn’t mind us being here anyway. They’re a nice family.

  “This has always been one of my favorite spots in Madison,” Norie says.

  “How come?”

  “Makes you feel like you’re somewhere else.”

  “It’s hard to imagine any place but Madison.”

  “No kidding.”

  We lapse into silence. I like that Norie doesn’t need to fill every moment with words. I watch from the corner of my eye as she twirls her Mormon ring on her finger.

  “I’m thinking of not wishing,” I say eventually.

  She looks over at me, surprised. “Really?”

  “No matter what I wish for, it’s gonna be messed up.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “People are always telling me wishing is such a privilege,” I go on. “Don’t you think the real privilege is getting to choose?”

  Instead of answering my question, Norie says, “We should go see that guy. Othello Dewitt. Find out how not wishing worked out for him.”

  “Tomorrow maybe? After practice?”

  She nods. “I’ll let Merrill know.”

  “I can text him,” I say, reaching into my pocket for my phone.

  “I was gonna call him later anyway,” Norie says.

  I shrug and put my phone away. Go back to staring at the tree above me, at the cloudless blue sky.

  “Norie,” I say after a while. “What did you wish for?”

  I assume she’ll be coy again. I’ve come to terms with the fact that Norie’s pretty set on keeping her secret. But when she looks at me, her expression is grave.

  “It’s not something I want the whole town to know,” she says.

  My heart rate picks up. “I won’t repeat it.”

  “Promise?”

  “Of course I promise.”

  Norie sits up and pulls her knees to her chest, wraps her arms around them. I’ve never seen her vulnerable, and it makes me want to hug her.

  “It’s not so much that I don’t want anyone to know my wish,” she says. “But I have this superstition that if I tell people, I’ll jinx it. And I want it to come true.” She thinks for a moment. “No.
I need it to come true.”

  I sit up too, my curiosity hitting an all-time high. Wishes are almost always instantaneous. “Your wish hasn’t come true yet?”

  “Soon,” Norie says. “It’ll come true soon.”

  Chapter 21

  The Wish History: Eleanor Havermayer

  This is Norie Havermayer’s chapter.

  But first, we’re gonna take a step back, soak up decade after decade of Madison pride.

  What’s that?

  You can’t find any?

  No kidding.

  Instead, there’s page after page of kids who hate this town.

  They hate how it’s tiny.

  How it’s hot.

  How it’s boring.

  Hundreds of pages of hate, of kids insisting one day they’ll get out. Pages with dreams of beaches and high rises. Of culture. Of adventure. Of a million attributes that’ll never be found on Madison’s dusty desert streets.

  This town is basically a teenager’s nightmare.

  And these kids, they’re ready to bust out of it, find their place in the real world.

  Can you guess what happens next?

  Do you need to read each individual story to know how their lives play out?

  All these kids talking about how they’re meant for so much more, well, they grow up. Make their wishes. Graduate high school. Get married and have babies, and then those babies get older and talk about how much they hate Madison.

  This history book, it’s the same story, over and over again.

  Forever.

  But occasionally, someone breaks the cycle. It’s rare, but it happens. With enough determination, it can happen.

  That’s where Norie Havermayer comes in.

  Norie knows few people leave Madison for good. All the big ideas kids have never amount to more than that, yeah?

  She also knows there’s a way to beat the system.

  Look at her on her wish day.

  Her parents don’t drive her to the wish cave. Not that she expected them to. Bernard and Harriet Havermayer have never taken much interest in their daughter. They haven’t taken much interest in anything besides the piles of money they’re sitting on.

  Norie makes her way up the trail, followed by the mayor and his men. See how hard she tries not to grimace at their nearness? Norie’s all for keeping an open mind about people, but she can’t see the good in Mayor Fontaine.

  He doesn’t care for her either.

  Flip back a few pages to when Norie had her prewish meeting with Mayor Fontaine. Check out his reaction when Norie refuses to tell him her wish.

  That barely concealed outrage.

  Norie doesn’t miss it.

  Mayor Fontaine threatens to not let her wish at all. “If you want to wish, you have to play by the rules.”

  Norie sweetly smiles back at him, calling his bluff. “Then I’ll make up something, and you’ll never know the difference.”

  He backs down.

  Of course he does.

  In the history of Madison, no one’s ever been denied their wish.

  Back to Norie’s wish day.

  It’s a long hike to the cave. Not as treacherous as the hot springs—not that Norie would know, because she’s never been—but much steeper. Mayor Fontaine starts huffing and puffing after a few minutes. He turns bright red, like an angry cartoon character.

  Norie tries to push that unchristian thought from her mind.

  They twist up the mountain, sidestepping rocks. The wind is fierce, and Norie ducks her head into it and says a prayer.

  Heavenly Father, she thinks, I try not to ask for much.

  But this once, I really, really need your help.

  Please let my wish work.

  Please, please, please.

  Please don’t let me get stuck here.

  Finally, the mouth of the wish cave is in front of them.

  It’s unspectacular. A dark slit in the rock. A heavy, barred door prevents anyone from entering. Even that’s not remarkable though. Tons of old mines in the area are blocked off in the exact same way for safety.

  The mayor hands a heavy key ring to one of his assistants. The man steps forward and unlocks the door, swings it open with a loud screech.

  “This is a momentous day,” Mayor Fontaine says. “For the rest of your life, you’ll look back and fondly remember the moment you made your wish. Choose wisely.”

  He’s given the speech so many times that Norie doubts it still has any meaning. If it ever did.

  One of the men hands her a candle and lights it. It’s ludicrous, using a candle in the cave. Dangerous too. It could blow out, and you’d be lost in the mountain, alone in the dark. But the goal is to recreate the original wish as closely as possible, and back then, there were no flashlights.

  Candle in hand, the mayor and his men waiting behind her, Norie steps into the wish cave.

  And she prays, please, honor this one prayer.

  Check out Norie Havermayer navigating through the cave. All those years of buildup, she’s expecting an amazing sight. But it’s a regular cave. Smooth walls, rocky ground, narrow in passages. Like so many milestones in life, the anticipation of the wish cave doesn’t match the reality.

  Norie knows where to go. She avoids the passages that branch off from the main tunnel. She’s memorized her path.

  She walks for about five minutes, twisting deeper into the mountain, candlelight flickering on the walls.

  And what’s she thinking about as she walks?

  Is she wondering about those other passages, if there’s magic waiting down them too?

  Is she thinking of all the kids who had gone before her, about their wishes, wondering if they were afraid?

  Or is her prayer still playing like a refrain through her mind?

  Heavenly Father.

  Please.

  Please, please, please let my wish work.

  Finally, she reaches an open cavern. On the far side, there’s a pool of water. That’s not unusual for caves. It’s probably from an underground spring. Rain water couldn’t make it all the way inside, not out in the desert where it only rains a couple of times a year.

  Norie takes off her shoes and socks.

  She takes a deep breath.

  She wades into the water.

  She spins the ring around on her finger, her reminder to do the right thing.

  Then Norie Havermayer speaks her wish out loud:

  “I wish, after graduation, to leave Madison and never come back.”

  Turn to the next page in the history book.

  Norie exits the cave, refusing to tell the mayor what she wished for. Brushing off her parents when they halfheartedly ask about it. Shaking her head and staying silent through her classmates’ barrage of questions.

  It’s not for them to know. It’s Norie’s secret. All her hopes are pinned on this one wish, and she’s not going to jeopardize them by repeating her wish.

  Please, let this work, she prays over and over again.

  Skim through the pages.

  See how confident she is in her decision.

  She won’t be leaving anyone behind. Her parents will pretend to be sad, then they’ll go back to counting their money. She has more acquaintances than friends. No loss there.

  There’s nothing, no one to keep her in Madison.

  There’s every reason to go.

  Maybe she could have left town without wishing, sure. But it would’ve been risky. People usually come back. They go away but never put down roots elsewhere. Some head to college, like Fletcher Hale likely will. But Norie’s sure he’ll return to Madison with a degree and end up teaching high school English or something.

  No, Norie Havermayer isn’t leaving her future to chance. She wants assurance. On the day she drives out o
f Madison, she will be positive that she’ll never return.

  Now it’s a waiting game.

  Every night, she crosses another day off the calendar, one step closer to graduation.

  Every night, she says a prayer.

  Every night, she dreams of living in a place where people are free to make choices and have second chances and believe in something besides wishing.

  She avoids thinking about that saying, the one about the grass always being greener. She doesn’t want to consider that, all over the world, even in places where there’s no wishing, people are bound to something.

  No, Norie’s too busy waiting for the moment her life will really start.

  Here’s what she hadn’t considered: that in the month before graduation, a month before she’ll blow out of Madison for good, she’d unexpectedly make friends. Friends who won’t be so easy to leave.

  “When are you going?” one of those friends asks her. The friend who’s lost in a way that Norie’s never been, who’s waiting for someone, anyone, to tell him what to do.

  Look at the two of them, sitting under the tree at the Tuttles’ farm. Look at how important this is to Norie—the moment when, for the first time, she tells someone her wish.

  “Soon,” Norie says. “Right after graduation.”

  “I’ll miss you.”

  Norie will miss him too, no question. She hadn’t expected their friendship, but she’s glad for it. These guys she’s been hanging out with, they click with her. Almost like the click she felt the first time she learned about God. Some things you just know are right.

  Look at the way Norie hesitates. At the hope in her eyes. “You can come with me, you know. You and Merrill. We can drive away from here and never look back.”

  Norie and her friend look at each other.

  And they both know it’s true.

  This friendship between them, it doesn’t need to end. There don’t need to be goodbyes. A door swings open, offers them possibilities they’ve never considered.

  “Maybe we can,” Norie’s friend says softly.

  And maybe they will.

  But this story’s conclusion comes in another chapter.

  Be patient.

  We’ll get there soon enough.

  For now, feel the way the air around them has gotten thicker.