The Wish

by Gail Carson Levine

  My face was blotchy. My Claverford uniform was rumpled. I tried to put my hair up the way BeeBee had done it, but it kept coming out lopsided. For three weeks it hadn’t mattered how I looked. Today it mattered, and today I looked lousy.

  When the elevator door opened, Suzanne and her parents were inside.

  “Wilma!” Suzanne squealed. “You look super!”

  Outside, it was raining. Suzanne buzzed on and on. I looked at my watch—ten after eight.

  It was almost impossible to do the ordinary stuff—walk, breathe, try not to listen to Suzanne. When we got to the subway, I looked for the old lady. The train came. No old lady. Fiftieth Street. Forty-second. Thirty-fourth. Twenty-eighth. Twenty-third. Our stop. No old lady.

  By the time we got out of the station, the rain had stopped. It was the same weather as the day I got my wish.

  And then we were there. We turned into the entrance. Could the transformation happen as soon as I stepped inside, ending exactly the way it had begun? I stopped outside the doorway so suddenly that the person behind me crashed into me.

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  “Anytime.” It was Timothy.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Maud said.

  “Nothing.” I took a deep, shaky breath and stepped inside.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  BeeBee was in the lobby with her mother. She grinned and waved to me. The end hadn’t come . . . yet.

  Mom and Maud and I followed people up the stairs to the auditorium. What goes up doesn’t always come down. The Wilma who was going up, the popular one, might not come down.

  Seventh graders handed programs to everybody as we filed into the auditorium. I had to sit in front with the other eighth graders. We were in alphabetical order, and I was between Ovideo Stout and Erica Talbot.

  When everybody had come in, we all had to stand to sing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” I just moved my lips. My mouth was too dry to sing.

  When we finished, Mr. Winby gave a speech. I didn’t hear a word. I wanted to climb over everybody’s legs and run up the aisle, yelling, Stop! No graduation!

  After Mr. Winby was done, Mr. Imber, the music teacher, played the piano. Even though the auditorium was air-conditioned, sweat beads formed on my forehead and my blouse was soaked—and I was shivering.

  The next event on the program was giving certificates to the honors students. I was one of them, so I would have to go onstage. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stand up.

  I managed it, although I was puffing by the time I got to the stage, convinced I’d left a wet trail from my perspiration. There had been applause for the other kids, but when Ms. Virrone, the assistant principal, gave me my certificate, the clapping from the first four rows was deafening.

  After the honors awards, Daphne got up to give her valedictory speech. She was the only hope I had left, and I didn’t have much hope. But I clapped hard when she climbed onstage, and the applause, which was weak at the beginning, got stronger.

  Daphne began her speech by remembering how it had felt three years ago to be a sixth grader and how exciting it had been to have left elementary school behind. She went on to say that it was exciting yet again to move on to high school. She said we had to start thinking about what we were going to make ourselves into. We had to look out at the world and see where we would fit in it someday and how we would do—and she meant more than what we would be when we grew up.

  Then she said, “We’re different from the sixth graders who arrived three years ago. I know I am. But even though I’ve learned a lot and am a better person for it, most of my years here were not happy. For most of them I was without friends. And then, a few weeks ago, a friend found me. I’m saying this—”

  She was talking about me! I was surprised—overwhelmed—and I missed what she said next. Then I heard “. . . friends we make during our teen years can stay with us forever, if we’re lucky. And friendship is more than hanging out; sometimes friendship is picking your friend up when she’s down or has been stepped on; sometimes it’s bringing your friend into the same circle with your other friends; and sometimes it is just hanging out.

  “But whatever it is, it’s because of our friends that we are never really going to graduate from Claverford. In our hearts—in the truest sense—even though we get our diplomas today, we will always be Claverfordians, remaining forever in eighth grade in the company of the people we care for the most.”

  That was the end. I clapped as hard as I could, and the applause grew again. It might be the last time I’d be able to help her out.

  But maybe her speech had worked. Maybe staying in the eighth grade in our hearts would be enough for the old lady.

  Mr. Imber started playing the piano again. The eighth graders, including me, marched up the right-hand aisle, behind the last row of seats, and into the left-hand aisle. This was it.

  “And now,” Mr. Winby said, “the moment some of you have been waiting for since you came here three years ago. Camilla Abrams, you’re first. Come on up.”

  Camilla climbed the steps to the stage and walked behind Mr. Winby to stand on his left.

  “Congratulations.” He handed her the rolled-up diploma tied with a ribbon. She took it.

  And nothing happened, as far as I could tell. She shook Mr. Winby’s hand and left the stage.

  Nothing special happened with the next kid either. Or the next.

  The first of the kids I knew best to get her diploma was Nina (Draper). Maybe she’d look at me so I could figure out what was going on. She did. As she walked up the aisle, she looked for her friends, and she grinned at me. She grinned at me! She was still my friend. One down. Many more to go.

  When Jared got his diploma, he waved it at me and grinned. I loved his grin. I loved that it was aimed at me. Still aimed at me.

  Ardis got her diploma, and then BeeBee did, and then Suzanne. As she left the stage, Suzanne held it over her head, like an Olympic medal. And as she walked up the aisle, she smiled at all the most popular kids—including me!

  Then it was my turn. Maybe the old lady was waiting for me to get my diploma. I made it to the stage. I was supposed to accept the diploma with my left hand and shake Mr. Winby’s hand with my right. I did it backward. When I held the diploma, I couldn’t tell if anything had happened. I felt like I was having a stroke, but that might have been from panic, not from something really happening.

  I tripped on the first step down from the stage. I heard people gasp, but I caught myself and didn’t fall. When I joined the kids waiting halfway up the aisle, Ovideo asked me if I was all right, and Ardis smiled sympathetically at me.

  So it wasn’t over yet. It was still going on. Maybe Daphne’s speech had worked, after all.

  Parents and students milled around in the lobby after the ceremony. I couldn’t find Jared—but it was wonderful to know that I didn’t need to find him. Mom and Maud and I headed for the door with Ardis and her family.

  “We should do something when we leave the building,” I told Ardis. “Something to commemorate our final exit.” My heart was thudding again. This could be it. It could have waited till now to end.

  “That sounds like we’re dying.”

  One of us might be.

  “What if we step across the threshold facing each other,” I said. “So we can see each other take the step into the future.” So I could see Ardis’s expression change, if it happened.

  “So I can say at our fiftieth reunion . . .”

  We were almost at the door. We were at the door.

  “Now,” I said.

  We faced each other and stepped across.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Nothing happened.

  “An eighth-grade Wilma and a one-second-old ex-eighth-grade Wilma look the same,” Ardis reported.

  The spell was still on! I would stay popular! I would keep my friends! Thank you, old lady!

  “Maybe you do look different,” Ardis said.

  My heart stopped.

/>   “Happier,” she added.

  It started again.

  Ardis’s father called her. So she left me, saying she’d be over at three.

  “What a great graduation!” I said to Mom and Maud. “I wish Reggie could have seen it.” I hugged Mom. “Wasn’t it a great graduation?” I hugged Maud. “Wasn’t it?”

  “I guess.” Maud straightened her blouse. “The valedictorian’s speech wasn’t bad.”

  It was wonderful not to have a big secret. Not to have one to reveal, that is. Now I just had to think of a good reason for having invited everyone over.

  Mom took us to my favorite restaurant for lunch. It’s Middle Eastern, small and cozy. The food was better than ever before. The waiters were friendlier. Even Maud was all right, although she asked me twice why I was grinning like an idiot.

  Mom and Maud didn’t go home with me. Mom had to go to work, and Maud was going to her best friend Portia’s house.

  At home I changed into shorts and a T-shirt as I thought about what my fake big secret could be.

  Nothing was new with Reggie. We weren’t moving. Mom hadn’t lost her job. Maud hadn’t run away from home. What if I said I wanted to plan what we were going to do together at Elliot next year? That might work.

  At ten to three, I dumped a package of chocolate-chip cookies into a bowl and took them into my room. At five to three, Daphne came, and the rest of them came about a minute later.

  In the bedroom, Nina flopped across Maud’s bed. “BeeBee thinks you’re going to say that your mom’s getting married ag—”

  “I do not think that!”

  She plowed on. “Ardis thinks Reggie’s going to be a father, and I think you’re skipping Elliot and going straight to veterinary school.”

  I laughed. “Nope. None of the above. Have a cookie.” I handed the bowl to Ardis, who was sitting cross-legged on my bed. She took one and passed the bowl to BeeBee. Daphne was sitting at Maud’s desk, not looking as comfortable as the rest of them. I stood next to her and looked at the four of them.

  “If I could have tryouts for friends,” I said, “among everybody in the world, I would pick you guys.”

  “Points off for senti—”

  BeeBee choked on her cookie. “Water,” she gasped, coughing.

  “CPR—” Ardis said.

  I raced for the kitchen, calling over my shoulder, “CPR’s only when you’re not breathing.”

  I ran water. I could hear BeeBee coughing over the sound of the tap. I filled a glass and turned away from the sink.

  The old lady was sitting at the kitchen table.

  I dropped the glass. It shattered.

  “Reggie could cut his paw,” I said automatically. “I have to clean up.”

  “He won’t come in, Wilma,” she said in her rich voice.

  He didn’t. And I didn’t hear BeeBee coughing anymore, either.

  “Thanks for the wish. And thanks for not taking it away.”

  “That’s why I’m here. It must end now.”

  “Why? Why does it have to end? I wished to be popular.”

  “At Claverford. You graduated today.”

  “But I didn’t mean that part of it. You knew what I meant.”

  “I did indeed.” She sighed. “People are rarely wise in their wishes.”

  “Can’t you give me what I want? Please?”

  She shook her head. “I could only give you your wish exactly as you wished it.”

  “Could you give me another—”

  “Hush.” She closed her eyes. I tried to talk, tried to tell her what Daphne had said in her speech, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move my lips. She opened her eyes. “It’s over now, Wilma. You are as you were before.”

  Reggie howled.

  I turned at the sound. I turned back. On the kitchen table was the glass filled with water, unbroken. I heard BeeBee coughing in my room. And the old lady was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  I stared at the glass. I didn’t want to leave the kitchen.

  Nina yelled, “Hurry, Wilma, you jerk.”

  Jerk! She wouldn’t have called me that ten minutes ago.

  Ardis rushed in. “Give me that.” She glared at me, took the glass, and left.

  I followed her. She handed the glass to BeeBee. They were crowded around her. BeeBee sipped the water and gradually stopped coughing. She stared at me over the rim of the glass.

  They were all looking at me. I saw the realization go through them that something was different. Nina frowned, shook her head, and frowned again. BeeBee’s mouth hung open. She held the glass tilted. She was going to spill water on her jeans. Daphne half smiled at me, looking confused.

  Ardis’s face was dark red. She looked furious, so mad she was fighting back tears.

  They didn’t think I was wonderful anymore. They weren’t my friends anymore. I fought back tears too.

  I took the glass from BeeBee.

  “Tha—” She trailed off.

  “What just happened?” Ardis asked. “What did you do, Wilma?”

  If I tried to talk, I was going to cry. It wouldn’t be good to cry in front of people who didn’t like me. I started crying anyway. Tears oozed out and then a flood came. Reggie rushed to me, wagging his tail. I petted him and went on crying. “Sorry,” I got out.

  Daphne came over and patted my shoulder. Nobody else moved.

  I wanted to go on crying now that I’d started. When I stopped, I was going to have to tell them something, and I didn’t know what to say. I never should have invited them. I should have just let it happen and faced them in the fall. They hadn’t liked me before the wish. It hadn’t killed me.

  But I finally stopped crying. I looked up.

  “What happened?” BeeBee said. “Something happened.”

  “Wilma did something,” Ardis said. “I don’t know what.”

  “And then she cried,” Nina added, “so we’d feel sorry for her.”

  “I didn’t do anything.” I couldn’t tell them. They didn’t like me anymore, and telling a crazy story, even though it was true, wouldn’t make any difference.

  Ardis said, “If you’re not going to tell us, I have to go. I have to pack for camp.”

  BeeBee stood up. Ardis and Nina turned toward the door. Daphne stayed where she was, standing uncertainly in the middle of the room.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” BeeBee reached into a pocket and pulled out a small packet wrapped in tissue paper. She handed it to me. “It’s your locket.”

  Ardis started to leave.

  I couldn’t let them go. “Wait!”

  They turned.

  “I still have Ardis’s comb.” I went to my bureau. I was just stalling. What was I going to do?

  “Talk,” Daphne urged. “Tell them something. Anything.”

  I handed the comb to Ardis. “Thanks.” Then I took a deep breath. “Remember May twenty-sixth? A Tuesday? That was the day I became popular. . . .”

  BeeBee came back and sat on my bed. Ardis and Nina stood by the door. Daphne sat next to BeeBee. I stood between my desk and Maud’s. And I told them.

  Daphne listened the way you’d listen to a friend, nodding, smiling, frowning in all the right places. BeeBee said “far out” once, and “oh, wow” once, but mostly she fiddled with her hair, winding a strand around her finger and unwinding it. Nina crossed her arms and stared at me without saying anything. Ardis made clicking noises with her tongue every so often, like everything I said was garbage. She never looked at me, just stared up at the ceiling.

  When I finished, Daphne said, “Something happened. I agree. Right here.” She gestured at the room. “But magic? The end of a wish?”

  I could see she wanted to believe me, and if she didn’t, even though she wanted to, I had no chance with the rest of them.

  “It’s what happened,” I said. “I wasn’t popular before, and after Ms. Hannah read my essay, I was unpopular. What could make me suddenly popular? So popular that everybody liked me?”

  Bee
Bee said, “How should we know?”

  “Points for imagination, Wilma.”

  Daphne said, “What if the food in the cafeteria was drugged?”

  “Yeah,” BeeBee said. “I like that.”

  “What drug would make everybody like me? Only me?”

  “I don’t know,” Nina said. “But—”

  “Listen. Here’s proof. Remember when we went skating with Stephanie? She didn’t like me.”

  “And you made her upset,” BeeBee said.

  “We should have realized then that you were a creep,” Nina said.

  “I got mad when she didn’t like me. But I told her I was sorry.”

  “That’s not good enough,” Nina said. “Saying you’re sorry isn’t good enough.”

  “Why does that prove there was a spell?” Daphne asked.

  “Because she’s the only one who was immune to me. Because she didn’t go to Claverford. She wasn’t under the spell.”

  “But,” Daphne said, “I like you now. Am I bewitched now?”

  “No. The spell ended. You’re not bewitched. You really like me.”

  “I believe it,” Ardis said.

  “You do?” BeeBee asked. “You think?”

  “Yeah, I do. It felt like the end of a spell would feel, like I had been sitting on cushions a mile high, and they disappeared, and I landed on a pile of sharp rocks.”

  Nina nodded. “Maybe. It was too sudden to be normal.”

  “A spell?” BeeBee said. “For real?”

  “Tell us, Wilma,” Ardis’s voice was extra soft, extra polite, “why did you wait for it to end to let us know? It would have been nice to know I had to like you.”

  “You wouldn’t have believed me, and anyway, I wasn’t sure it was going to end.”

  “So if it didn’t end, you would have gone on fooling us. You don’t know how it felt when you walked into the room before. It was . . .” Ardis stopped. “Forget it.”

  “What was it like?” BeeBee asked. “Maybe it was different for me because I was coughing.”

  “It was like I had this stuffed animal . . .” Ardis looked at Reggie and almost smiled. “No. It was like I had this pet. It loved me no matter what, and I loved it no matter what. And then it came into the room, and it wasn’t my pet anymore. It had turned into something else, an animal that didn’t like me—”