The Wish

by Nicholas Sparks

  I wondered why some people had to make things so complicated. And, frankly, why was that insight even profound? Didn’t everyone know that loneliness could be a bummer? I could have told them that and I was just a teenager. Hell, I’d been living it since I’d been marooned in Ocracoke.

  Then again, maybe I’d misinterpreted the whole passage. I was no English scholar. The real question was why my aunt had underlined it. It obviously had meant something to her, but what? Was my aunt lonely? She didn’t seem lonely and she spent a lot of time with Gwen, but then again, what did I really know about her? It wasn’t as though we’d had any deeply personal conversations since I’d been here.

  I was still thinking about it when I heard an engine and the sound of tires crunching gravel out front. After that, the thumping of a car door. Rising from my seat, I opened the slider and listened, waiting. Sure enough, I eventually heard someone knocking. I had no idea who it could possibly be. It was the first time I’d heard a knock at the door since I’d been there. Maybe I should have been nervous, but Ocracoke wasn’t exactly a hotbed of criminal activity, and I doubted a criminal would knock in the first place. Without a care, I went to the front door and swung it open only to see Bryce standing before me, which pretty much made my brain freeze in confusion. I knew I’d agreed to let him tutor me, but somehow I’d thought I had a few days before we’d begin.

  “Hi, Maggie,” he said. “Your aunt said I should come by so we can get started.”

  “Huh?”

  “Tutoring,” he said.

  “Uh…”

  “She mentioned that you might need some help preparing for your tests. And maybe catching up on your homework.”

  I hadn’t showered, hadn’t brushed my hair, hadn’t put on makeup. In my pajamas and slippers and jacket, I probably looked homeless. “I just got out of bed,” I finally blurted out.

  He tilted his head. “You sleep in your jacket?”

  “It was cold last night.” When he continued to stare, I went on. “I get cold easy.”

  “Oh,” he said. “My mom does, too. But…are you ready? Your aunt said to be here at nine.”

  “Nine?”

  “I talked to her this morning after I finished working out. She said she’d come back to the house and leave you a note.”

  I guess I had heard someone in the kitchen earlier. Oops. “Oh,” I said, trying to buy time. There wasn’t a chance I’d let him come in with the way I was looking now. “I thought the note said ten.”

  “Do you want me to come back at ten?”

  “That might be better,” I agreed, trying not to breathe on him. For his part, he looked…well, a lot like he had the day before. Hair slightly windblown, dimples flashing. He was wearing jeans and that cool olive jacket again.

  “No problem,” he said. “Until then, can you get me the stuff that your aunt Linda set out? She said it might help me get a handle on things.”

  “What stuff?”

  “She told me it was on the kitchen table.”

  Oh yeah, I suddenly thought. That thoughtful stack on the table, for the morning kick-start.

  “Hold on,” I said. “Let me check.”

  I left him waiting on the porch and retreated to the kitchen. Sure enough, on top of the stack was a note from my aunt.

  Good morning, Maggie,

  I just spoke to Bryce and he’ll be coming by at nine to get started with you. I also photocopied the list of assignments and homework, as well as quiz and test dates. I’m hopeful he’ll be able to explain the subjects that I can’t. Have a wonderful day and I’ll see you this afternoon. Love you.

  Blessings,

  Aunt Linda

  I reminded myself to keep my eye out for notes in the future. I was about to grab the stack when I remembered the paper I’d written. I went to the bedroom and retrieved it before scooping everything else into my arms and carrying it all to the front door, where I quickly realized my mistake.

  “Bryce? Are you still here?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Can you open the door? My hands are full.”

  When the door swung open, I handed him the stack. “I think this is what she set out for you. I also wrote a paper last night, so I put that on top.”

  If he was surprised by the size of the pile, he didn’t show it. “Great,” he said, reaching for it. He took the stack, bobbling it slightly before rebalancing. “Do you mind if I figure this out here on the porch? Instead of going home and coming back?”

  “Not at all,” I said. I really, really wished I’d brushed my teeth. “I need a little time to get ready, okay?”

  “Sounds good,” he said. “I’ll see you whenever. Take your time.”

  After closing the door, I went straight to my bedroom to find something to wear. Quickly undressing, I pulled out my favorite jeans from the pile in the closet, but when I buttoned the top, it dug into my skin and hurt. Same thing with my second-favorite pair. Which meant I’d probably have to wear the same baggy ones I’d worn on the ferry. I sorted through my tops, but thankfully they still fit. I picked something maroon with long sleeves. For shoes, though, I didn’t have much. Sneakers, slippers, rubber boots, and Uggs. Uggs it would be.

  With that decided, I showered, brushed my teeth, and dried my hair. After dabbing on some makeup, I slipped into the clothes I’d picked out. Because my aunt had been so insistent about the cleanliness thing, my room was all set, so all I really had to do was straighten the sheet, pull up the comforter, and prop Maggie-bear against the pillow. Not, of course, that I had any intention of showing him my bedroom, but if he needed to use the bathroom and peeked in, he might notice that I kept things tidy.

  Not that it mattered.

  I washed and dried the plate, glass, and utensils I’d used for breakfast, but other than that, the kitchen was all set. I pulled open the drapes, letting more light into the house, and taking a deep breath, went to the door.

  Opening it, I saw him sitting on the front porch, legs perched on the steps.

  “Oh, hey,” he said, no doubt hearing me behind him. He realigned the pile and got to his feet, then suddenly froze. He stared as though seeing me for the first time. “Wow. You look really nice.”

  “Thanks,” I answered, thinking that maybe I looked all right, even if I would never be as pretty as Morgan. But even so, I felt my cheeks redden slightly. “I just threw on whatever was lying around. You ready?”

  “Let me grab this stuff.”

  He gathered up the stack and I stepped back so he could squeeze through the door. He stopped, no doubt wondering where to go.

  “The kitchen table is fine,” I said, motioning. “That’s where I usually work.”

  In those rare instances I do work, I thought. And when I wasn’t doing it in bed, which I wasn’t about to tell him.

  “Perfect,” he said. In the kitchen, he set the stack on the table, pulled out the manila folder at the top, and settled in the chair I’d used for breakfast. Meanwhile, I was still thinking about what he’d said to me on the porch, and even though I’d invited him inside, the fact that he was actually at the kitchen table felt bizarre, like something you might see on television or at the movies but never expected to experience in real life.

  I shook my head, thinking, I need to get hold of myself. Starting toward the kitchen, I veered to the cupboards near the sink. “Would you like some water? I’m going to get a glass.”

  “That would be great, thanks.”

  I filled two glasses and brought them to the table, then sat in the spot that was usually my aunt’s. I was struck by the thought that the house looked entirely different from this angle, which made me wonder how it appeared to Bryce.

  “Did you see the paper I wrote?”

  “I read it,” he said. “He’s one of the most prominent justices ever to serve. Did you choose him, or did the teacher assign it?”

  “The teacher picked it.”

  “You got lucky there because there’s so much to write abou
t.” He folded his hands in front of him. “Let’s start with this. How do you think you’re doing in your classes?”

  I hadn’t expected the question and it took me a second to answer. “I’m doing okay, I guess. Especially considering that I’m supposed to learn all this on my own without having a teacher. I didn’t do all that great on my recent quizzes or tests, but there’s still time to get my grades up.”

  “Do you want to get your grades up?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I grew up hearing my mom say ‘There is no teaching, there is only learning’ over and over. I must have heard it more than a hundred times, and for a long time, I didn’t know what she meant. Because she was my teacher, right? Was she telling me that she wasn’t a teacher? But as I got a little older, I finally understood that she was telling me that teaching is impossible unless a student wants to learn. I guess that’s another way I could have phrased it. Do you want to learn? Really and truly? Or do you simply want to do enough to get by?”

  Just like on the ferry, he came across as more mature than other people his age, but maybe because his tone was so nice, it made me reflect on what he was really asking.

  “Well…I don’t want to have to repeat my sophomore year.”

  “I get that. But it still doesn’t really answer my question. What grades would you like? What would make you happy?”

  Straight A’s without having to do the work, I knew, but I didn’t think it would do me any good to say it out loud. The fact was, I was normally a B or C student, with more C’s than B’s. Sometimes I got an A in the easier classes like Music or Art, but I’d had a couple of D’s, too. I knew I’d never compare with Morgan, but part of me still wanted to please my parents.

  “I think that if I averaged B’s I’d be happy with that.”

  “Okay,” he said. He smiled again, dimples and all. “Now I know.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Not exactly. Where you are and where you would like to be aren’t aligned right now. You’re at least eight assignments behind in your math homework, and your test scores are pretty low. You’re going to need to do outstanding work the rest of the semester to get a B in Geometry.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’re way behind in Biology, too.”

  “Oh.”

  “Same situation in American History. And English and Spanish, too.”

  By then, I couldn’t meet his eyes, knowing he probably thought I was an idiot. I understood enough to know that West Point was almost as hard to get into as Stanford.

  “What did you think about my paper?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

  His gaze flickered over it; it wasn’t in the folder—he’d placed it on top of the stack of textbooks.

  “I wanted to discuss that with you, too.”

  * * *

  Because I’d never had a tutor before, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Add in the tutor is WAY cute and I was even more clueless. I guess I imagined we’d work and then take a break and get to know each other, maybe even flirt a little, but the day was nothing like that, other than the first part.

  We worked. I went to the bathroom. We worked some more. Yet another bathroom break. Repeat for hours.

  Aside from going over my paper—he wanted me to make it more chronological as opposed to jumping back and forth in time—we spent most of the day on geometry, catching up on homework. There was no way I could get through everything, because he made me do every single problem by myself. Whenever I asked for help, he’d go through my textbook and find the section that explained the concept. He’d have me read through it and if I didn’t understand, he’d try to break it down for me. When that still didn’t help—which was most of the time—he’d examine the homework question that had me stumped and would then create an original question that was similar. After that, he’d patiently show me how to answer that sample question step by step. Only then would I go back to the original homework problem, which I had to do myself. All of which was seriously frustrating because it made the whole process slower while simultaneously increasing the amount of work I had to do.

  My aunt came home just as Bryce was about to leave and they ended up speaking in the doorway. I have no idea what they discussed, but their voices sounded cheery; as for me, I hadn’t moved from my chair and my forehead was on the table. Right before my aunt had walked in the door, and even after all I’d done, Bryce had given me additional homework, or rather, homework I was already supposed to have completed. In addition to reworking my paper, he wanted me to read chapters in both my biology and history textbooks. Though he’d smiled when he’d said it—as though his request were entirely reasonable after hours of brain-frying strain—his dimples meant absolutely nothing to me.

  Except…

  The thing is, he was really good at explaining things in a way that made intuitive sense, and he was patient the whole time. By the end, I kind of felt like I understood a bit more about what was going on and felt less intimidated by the sight of shapes and numbers and equals signs. But don’t be misled: I hadn’t suddenly turned into some sort of geometry whiz. I made big mistakes and little mistakes all day long, and by the end, I was pretty down on myself. Morgan, I knew, wouldn’t have struggled at all.

  As soon as he left, I took a nap. Dinner was ready when I finally woke, and after eating and cleaning the kitchen, I returned to my room and read from the textbooks. I still had more work to do on my paper, so I cranked up the Walkman and began scribbling. My aunt poked her head through my doorway a few minutes later and said something to me; I pretended I’d heard her, even though I hadn’t. If it was important, I figured that she’d come back and tell me again later.

  After I’d been writing for a while, I made the mistake of forgetting that I was pregnant. I shifted to a more comfortable position and all at once, nature called. Again. When I opened the door to the hallway, I was surprised to hear conversation drifting from the living room. Peeking around the corner to see who it was, I noticed Gwen placing a cardboard box full of ornaments and lights in front of the Christmas tree and vaguely remembered my aunt telling me that we were going to decorate it tonight after work.

  What I hadn’t expected was to see Bryce chatting with my aunt as she tuned the radio, finally settling on a station that was playing Christmas music. I felt my stomach do a little flip at the sight of him, but at least I wasn’t wearing pajamas and slippers and looking generally like I rode the rails, hobo style.

  “There you are,” Aunt Linda said. “I was about to come get you. Bryce just arrived.”

  “Hi, Maggie,” Bryce said. He was still wearing the same jeans and T-shirt, and I couldn’t help noticing the pleasing silhouette his shoulders and hips made. “Linda invited me over to help with the tree. I hope that’s okay.”

  I was momentarily speechless, but I don’t think any of them noticed. Aunt Linda was already slipping into her jacket on her way out the door. “Gwen and I are going to make a quick run to the store to get some eggnog,” she said. “If you two want to get started on the lights, feel free. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  I remained in the doorway before remembering with painful urgency why I’d left my room in the first place. I went to the bathroom and washed my hands afterward. Peering into the mirror above the sink, even I could tell I was tired, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I ran a brush through my hair, took a breath, and went out, wondering why I suddenly felt nervous. Bryce and I had been alone in the house already for hours; why was this any different?

  Because, a voice inside me whispered, he’s not here to tutor me. He’s here because clearly Aunt Linda wanted him to come over, not for her, but because she thought I might like that.

  By the time I walked out of the bathroom, Aunt Linda and Gwen were gone and Bryce had pulled a strand of lights from the box. I watched him struggle to untangle them, and playing it cool, I fished out a different strand and started untangling, too.

  “I finished my reading
,” I said. “Some of my paper, too.” Without sunlight streaming through the windows, his hair and eyes seemed darker than usual.

  “Good for you,” he said. “I took Daisy for a walk on the beach and then my parents had me chop firewood. Thanks for having me over.”

  “Of course,” I said, even though I’d had no say in the matter.

  He finished with his strand and scanned the room. “I need to check to make sure the lights are working. Is there an outlet handy?”

  I had no idea. I’d never needed to know where the outlets were, but I think he was mostly talking to himself, because he bent lower, peering under the table next to the couch. “There it is.”

  He squatted down, his movements fluid, and reached underneath to plug in the strand. I watched as the multicolored lights blinked on.

  “I love decorating Christmas trees,” he offered, heading to the box again. “It gets me into the spirit of things.” He reached for another strand just as I finished untangling mine. I plugged it into the strand on the floor, watching as it blinked on as well, then reached for another strand.

  “I’ve never decorated a tree.”

  “Really?”

  “My mom usually does it,” I said. “She likes it to look a certain way.”

  “Oh,” he said, and I could tell he was puzzled. “It’s the opposite in our house. My mom sort of directs while the rest of us do it.”

  “She doesn’t like to decorate?”

  “She does, but you’d have to meet her to understand. The eggnog was my idea, by the way. That’s part of our tradition and as soon as I mentioned it, your aunt Linda thought we should have some here, too. I was telling her how well I thought you did today. Especially at the end. I barely had to help you at all.”

  “I’m still pretty far behind.”

  “I’m not worried,” he said. “If you keep going like you did today, you’ll catch up in no time.”

  I wasn’t so sure. He clearly had more confidence in me than I did. “Thanks for all your help. I’m not sure that I told you before you left. I was kind of out of it by then.”