Wishing Day

by Lauren Myracle

  Ava ran her finger over the domed entrance. She looked at the couple. “Are you going in?”

  “Maybe later. Right now, we’re just admiring,” the man said.

  Ava ducked into the maze, pulling Natasha behind her. Darya brought up the rear. Ava led them through twists and turns and dim passages that shimmered an unworldly gray. It was the best maze Natasha could remember. She could get lost in here. She really could.

  When they reached what felt like the heart of the maze, Ava said, “How about here? Is here good?”

  They sat, all three squished together with their knees drawn to their chests.

  “Well, that was humiliating,” Natasha said. Her voice quavered.

  “Now do you agree that his motorcycle boots are stupid?” Darya said.

  Natasha wasn’t ready to joke about it. “He likes Belinda, and he hates poems.”

  “But Natasha,” Ava said. She shook Natasha’s knee. “Guess who doesn’t hate poems? Guess who doesn’t have a crush on Belinda?”

  “Ha. I noticed that too,” Darya said.

  “Noticed what?” Natasha said.

  “Stanley,” Ava said.

  “Totally,” Darya agreed.

  “Stanley totally what?” Natasha said.

  “He’s the one who likes you,” Ava said. “Not Benton. Stanley!”

  “And he doesn’t wear stupid motorcycle boots, and he was the nicest of all those guys,” Darya said. “Benton’s fine, but Stanley’s better. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you, Natasha.”

  “No,” Natasha said.

  Ava nodded. “Actually, yes.”

  Natasha tried to rewind the scene. Poems aren’t crap, Stanley had said. And, Natasha, are you okay?

  “Stanley wrote the notes,” Darya pronounced. “So the new question is, what are you going to do?”

  Stanley, not Benton, Natasha thought. She weighed the two in her mind. Stanley. Not Benton. Stanley was nice. He said smart things in class, and, that one day, he’d told her he liked her coat.

  Darya scrabbled to her feet. “My butt’s cold, and if we sit here much longer, we’re all going to look like we wet our pants. But you know what, Natasha?”

  Natasha looked up. Darya’s red hair was a halo around her.

  “A boy likes you. Not me or Molly or Belinda or any of the other girls in Willow Hill, at least not in a crush kind of way. He likes you, Natasha.”

  “Oh,” said Natasha.

  “It’s a good thing,” Ava said.

  “Is it?”

  “Yes,” Ava and Darya said at the same time.

  Ava unpretzeled herself and got to her feet. She took one of Natasha’s hands, and Darya took the other.

  “One, two, three,” Darya said, and Natasha let them pull her up.

  I wish boys got wishes.

  Why don’t boys get wishes?

  Boys wish for things, too.

  —STANLEY GILMER, AGE THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Natasha made her way back from the maze in the cover of her sisters, who stayed by her side the whole way.

  Darya kept a lookout for Benton. “Though you have nothing to embarrassed about,” she said.

  “You can say that because you’re the scary sister,” Natasha said.

  Darya whipped her head around and arched her eyebrows.

  “Kidding,” Natasha said.

  “But not really,” Ava said.

  Darya set her jaw. “I will scare Benton if you want me to.”

  “By jumping out at him and going ‘Boogity-boogity-boo’?” Natasha said.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I’m just being weird. Anyway, Benton didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Neither did you,” Ava said. She squeezed Natasha’s hand. “Neither did Stanley.”

  “Hmmph,” said Darya. Her color was high, as if she were raring for a fight. “That’s true.”

  “Are you going to talk to him?” Ava asked.

  “Not today. Today I’m just going to . . .” Her words trickled off. Was that Benton by the Slurpee machine? Was that Stanley, off to the left? It was. Stanley spotted the three sisters and lifted his hand, and Natasha turned away.

  They reached Papa’s booth, and Natasha gave him a tight hug. He hugged her back, startled. “Do you girls need money for lunch?” he said. “There’s a hot dog stand, I think.”

  “Not me,” Natasha said. “I’m going to wait in the truck.” She hurried to the parking lot, calling over her shoulder. “I’m fine, I’m just not hungry. Sell lots of lutes!”

  The weekend of the Spring Festival kicked off Willow Hill’s spring break, which Natasha was glad of. No school from Monday through Friday meant no Benton from Monday through Friday, and most likely no Benton on the following Saturday or Sunday as well.

  No Stanley, either.

  Natasha couldn’t go that long without talking to Molly, however. As soon as Molly got back from her long weekend at her aunt and uncle’s, Natasha asked if she could come over.

  “Sure,” Molly said over the phone. “I’m grubby—do you care?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then I’ll come right now. I’ll get my mom to drop me off.”

  When Molly got there, Natasha launched herself at her, almost knocking Molly off her feet with the force of her hug.

  “Natasha?” Molly said.

  “What? Can’t I hug you? Why does everyone act so surprised if I hug them?”

  “You’re on my toe,” Molly said.

  Natasha stepped backward. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “It is a little un-Natasha-like. The hugging.” Molly looked at her. “Who else have you been hugging?”

  “No one. Just Papa. And Darya and Ava, I guess.”

  “That’s not very exciting.”

  “I know. I have something more important to tell you, anyway.” She took Molly’s jacket from her and tossed it into the mudroom. “Come up to my room?”

  They sat facing each other on her bed, both of them cross-legged. Natasha held on to her ankles, drawing her legs in closer to her, while Molly leaned back on her palms.

  “So?” Molly said.

  Natasha got nervous. “First tell me about your cousin’s bar mitzvah.”

  Molly lit up. “It was so much fun,” she said. “He had to give a speech—in Hebrew! Actually, that part was boring. The best part was the party afterward.”

  Natasha listened as Molly described chocolate fountains and plastic blow-up saxophones and a money tree, where guests left money for her cousin, all in multiples of eighteen dollars, because eighteen was symbolic of “life,” for some reason.

  It sounded strange and exotic to Natasha. Then again, she supposed life in Willow Hill might sound strange and exotic to Molly’s out-of-town relatives. Ancient willow trees, Wishing Days, mysterious notes—except, ack. Molly’s out-of-town relatives wouldn’t know about any of that. Molly didn’t know about it, hardly.

  Molly broke off. “Am I boring you?”

  “Not at all!” Natasha said. “It sounds awesome.”

  “It was. And my cousin’s friend was there, and he was super cute.”

  “Curtis?” Natasha hazarded, calling up the name from the recesses of her mind.

  “Yeah!” Molly said.

  “Cool,” Natasha said. Her heart fluttered. “Hey, Molly?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You remember what you said in the cafeteria, about my having intimacy issues?”

  “I apologized for that,” Molly said. She uncrossed her legs and pulled her knees toward her chest.

  “No, I know.” Natasha took a breath. “You just . . . you might have been right, sort of.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, you tell me all kinds of stuff about what’s going on in your life.”

  “Because I’m full of myself? Because I’m self-centered?”

  “No! Molly, just listen. This time I’m the one trying to apologize.”

  Molly’s mouth fell open.

&nb
sp; “You tell me about your life, which is great,” Natasha said. “But a lot of times . . . no, sometimes, you tell me about my own life, like what I should wear or how I should do my hair or whatever.”

  “I do?”

  Natasha nodded. “And sometimes, I guess, it makes me not tell you stuff. Not because I don’t want to, exactly. Just . . .” She sighed. “That came out wrong. It really was supposed to be an apology.”

  Molly rested her chin between her knees. “My mom says I do that,” she confessed. “She says I boss you around. Like, that I hand you my hairbrush and tell you to fix your ponytail, and you do, but my mom says it’s rude of me to do that.”

  Natasha swallowed. “She’s kind of right. I know you’re just trying to help me . . . but it makes me feel dumb.”

  Molly was silent for several moments. “Do you know why, though? Why I give you my hairbrush?”

  “Because I have bumps,” Natasha said. Why would Molly point that out, when Natasha just told her it made her feel bad?

  “No,” Molly said. “Yes, but . . . when we were little, when we were in kindergarten, you always looked after me.”

  “I did?”

  “Uh-huh. Even my mom says so. You’re good at taking care of people, Natasha.”

  Natasha felt spinny. “Oh.”

  “But then your mom left, or whatever . . .”

  Natasha snuck a glance at Molly.

  “And I thought I should take care of you,” she finished in a rush. “I got into the habit, I guess. And you never told me not to. . . . But it turns out it’s been bugging you all this time! Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I don’t know,” Natasha said. “But . . . I’m saying something now—and not in a bad way, because you’re right, I should have spoken up. I want to be better. I do want to share stuff with you.”

  “I want that, too,” Molly whispered.

  “Okay,” Natasha said.

  “Okay,” Molly said. She gave Natasha a tremulous smile. “Is there something right now that you want to tell me? Other than how I should quit telling you what to do?”

  Natasha hesitated, and then she went for it. She told Molly about the whole messy, embarrassing business: Benton, the notes, and the humiliating realization that he had a crush on Belinda, not Natasha.

  “Oh, Natasha!” Molly said. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” She slashed her hand through the air. “Never mind. Forget I said that. Then what happened?!”

  So Natasha told Molly the Stanley part. About how Stanley did like poems, and how, at the Festival, he seemed genuinely worried when Natasha turned gray and swayed. If you need anything, come get me, he’d called. So maybe Stanley had left Natasha the notes? Maybe Stanley was her secret admirer?

  “Of course he is!” Molly said. She bounced on the bed. “He’s got to be. Natasha!”

  “What?”

  “What do you mean, ‘what’? This is so exciting!”

  “Is it? It’s also pretty awful, the Benton part.”

  “Well. Yes. But Stanley’s better than Benton any day.”

  “That’s what Darya and Ava said.”

  “’Cause they’re almost as smart as me,” Molly said. “But the question is: What do we do next?”

  “We?” Natasha asked.

  Molly’s eyes widened. “You! I meant you! What do you do next?!”

  “I have no clue,” Natasha said. She paused. “Will you help me figure it out?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  When they returned to school the following Monday, the weather was warmer. Boys arrived in short-sleeved shirts, and the girls abandoned their winter coats and Uggs, which meant that Darya was no longer alone in wearing shoes designed for fashion rather than warmth. It seemed to annoy her, Natasha thought. It annoyed Darya when girls wore ugly boots, and it annoyed her when they didn’t.

  But ever since the Spring Festival, Natasha had felt closer to Darya. When they got home from school after their first day back, for example, Darya brought Natasha a Coke and a plate of mini-marshmallows with peanuts stuck into them. Natasha didn’t know who made up that family snack. Probably Ava. Natasha didn’t like marshmallows and peanuts all that much, but it was a sweet gesture.

  Ava treated Natasha more tenderly, too. She checked in with Natasha after their first day back as well, asking if Natasha had talked to Stanley and if Stanley had talked to Natasha. Was romance blooming in the air?

  “I didn’t talk to anyone,” Natasha confessed. “I was too nervous. But I’m going to do better tomorrow. Molly’s making me.”

  “She’s making you?” Ava said. “How?”

  Natasha took a step back from her own life. Things had been so much better between her and Molly since their talk, and Molly agreed wholeheartedly with Ava and Darya that Natasha should go for it with Stanley.

  “He’s so adorkable,” she’d said during passing period, clutching Natasha’s arm as they watched Stanley make his way down the hall. “You have to talk to him, Natasha. You have to!”

  But Molly wasn’t making Natasha do anything. Natasha got to choose for herself. And, oddly, Molly’s bossiness didn’t bother her so much now that she’d realized that.

  Molly, for her part, was trying to be less bossy. Natasha knew that. But Molly was Molly, and on Tuesday during lunch, she scooched close to Natasha and said, “So???”

  “So what?”

  Molly shoved her. Natasha laughed and said, “Ow.”

  “So have you made your move?” Molly asked. “You know that’s what I meant.”

  “I don’t have a move.”

  “But . . . but . . .” With sudden Molly hyperness, she took Natasha’s hands and pumped them up and down. “He could be your first kiss! You could be his!”

  Natasha’s heart thumped. To be kissed, that was her second wish. The wish she could make happen herself. But could she really make that happen, her and not Molly, her and not anyone else?

  “How do you know Stanley’s never kissed anyone?” she asked.

  “Hmm,” Molly said. She held up one finger. “One sec—I’ll find out!”

  “Molly!” Natasha cried. “Please don’t!”

  “Too late!”

  Molly dashed across the cafeteria, weaving through tables. Natasha couldn’t watch. Five minutes later, she was back, breathless and bright-eyed. “Nope!” she said. “No kissy-kissy for Stanley, not yet. He is as unkissed as a summer’s day. I asked him if he wanted to kiss a girl, and he said—and I quote—‘It depends on the girl.’”

  “Oh no,” Natasha groaned.

  “So I said, ‘And the girl you would kiss—would her name rhyme with Flatasha, by any chance?’”

  Natasha hid her face in her hands. “No. No, no, no.”

  “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

  “Is he still in here? Is he watching?”

  There was a pause. Then Molly pried Natasha’s hands down and said, “He’s gone. He’s not at his table anymore. But he wants to kiss you, Flatasha!”

  “Please don’t call me that.”

  “Can I call Stanley ‘Flanley’?”

  Natasha shook her head. She loved Molly, and she was very very glad they talked more openly now. Still, she sometimes wished Molly would disappear.

  Except she didn’t wish it wish it, of course. To “wish” for something had taken on a different meaning since her Wishing Day. She was still murky on where she stood on magic—it was all so confusing! But who would wish for a person to disappear? Natasha wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Certainly not Molly.

  “Well, that’s boring,” Molly said. “But guess what?” She put her mouth by Natasha’s ear. “I told him you’d be waiting for him today after school, by the water fountain. And I picked the water fountain so you can have a quick sip of water if you get nervous, because I know how you get nervous!”

  “Only when my best friend makes water fountain dates for me without my permission!” Natasha tugged a strand of her hair. “Did you honestly tell him that? That I’d
meet him by the water fountain?”

  “Yeppers.” She clapped Natasha on the shoulder. “No need to thank me. You can just name your first baby after me.”

  Flolly? Natasha almost said. Instead she asked, “What did he say?”

  Molly made an indignant sound. “Natasha! He said yes! Duh! And the tips of his ears turned red, which made him look even more adorkable than usual.”

  “Molly? I would like you to hush. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Just . . . hush.”

  “Will you meet Stanley by the water fountain?”

  Natasha sank lower in her seat.

  “Will you? Promise? ’Cause think how mortified he’ll be if you don’t. Can you even imagine?”

  “But if I’m supposed to meet him after school . . . what am I supposed to do until then? Avoid him all day in the halls? Pretend not to see him during English class?”

  Molly held up her hands and stood up from the table. “Don’t shoot the messenger. Sheesh. I do think, perhaps, that I’ll stay out of your way for the rest of the day.”

  “Ha, ha.”

  “Um, not kidding.” She snaked out one arm and grabbed her sack lunch. “But will you call me after?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Excellent. So, you and Stanley: Two-forty by the water fountain. And—oh!” She dug in her pocket and tossed Natasha a lint-covered Altoid. “They’re curiously strong, you know.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Molly giggled. “You’re silly. This is all going to be awesome, you silly, silly girl!”

  Chills ran up and down Natasha’s spine. She half stood, tempted to go after Molly and ask her why she’d called her that.

  But Molly was gone.

  During English, Natasha ignored Stanley, and Stanley pretty much did the same, although he did say hi when he passed her desk. And he smiled at her the one time she dared to look over at him. So maybe he wasn’t ignoring her? Maybe he was giving her space. Or maybe he was as nervous as she was, which was pretty adorable, really.

  During algebra, Natasha made a list of his charms.

  1. He was nice.

  2. He treated Ava like a human being, even though she was a sixth grader.