Jessi's Wish

by Ann M. Martin

“I did,” Karen replied. “And I did not say my snake was slimy. I said he was sliming along. I can say that if I want.”

  “Why’s your snake going to be blue?” Reid asked Karen. “Snakes are green.”

  “Not all of them. Besides, if I made my snake green and my tree green, then almost my whole jungle would be —” Karen stopped speaking suddenly. She stared, entranced, at her creation.

  Margo glanced up. “Karen?” she said questioningly.

  Karen didn’t answer. But her eyes slowly grew wide and round. She looked like an owl. Or like a cat about to pounce.

  “What’s going on?” Claudia asked warily.

  Karen spoke in a whisper. “Look at the elephant. His trunk is moving.”

  Six kids jumped up and crowded around Karen.

  “Ahem,” said Mr. Renfrew.

  The kids took their seats again.

  But Karen continued to stare at her nearly completed sculpture. And the children continued to stare at Karen.

  “Don’t you see it?” said Karen hoarsely, not taking her eyes off the elephant.

  Claudia said it was at this point that Karen began to give her the chills.

  Jackie Rodowsky remained seated, but leaned over to peer at the elephant. Suddenly he cried, “Oh! The elephant’s trunk is moving! I think.”

  “The whole jungle is alive!” Karen exclaimed softly. “The branches of the tree are swaying, the snake is sliming, and now … yes, now the elephant is walking. He’s walking toward the snake.”

  “Aughhh! He’s going to step on the snake!” cried Reid. “Then you’ll really have slime. Stop the elephant, Karen!”

  Well, of course, nothing was moving on Karen’s sculpture. The kids were suffering from a mass case of overactive imaginations. Still, Claudia knew she had to get everyone under control. She didn’t want Mr. Renfrew to think she wasn’t doing her job. “Karen?” she said.

  “What?” (Karen’s eyes were glued to her jungle.)

  “It’s a shame about your sculpture. I’m really sorry.”

  Karen finally moved. She raised her eyes to meet Claud’s. “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve got to glaze the sculptures and get ready to fire them in the kiln. But we can’t do either thing to your jungle.” Claudia looked terribly sad and apologetic.

  “Why can’t we?” Karen wanted to know.

  “Are you kidding? Put a live tree and a live elephant and a live snake in an oven and fire them?”

  “Oh. I guess we can’t do that.” Karen regarded the sculpture again. Then she leaned over and stared at it intently. Finally she said, “You know, I think everything has stopped moving…. Yup. I just see a clay elephant and a clay tree and a clay snake. How could clay move?”

  “But Karen,” began Margo, “I thought you —”

  “Okay, my jungle is all finished,” Karen interrupted. “Time to glaze it and burn it. I mean, cook it. I mean, um —”

  “Fire it,” supplied Claudia.

  “Yeah, fire it.”

  Claud breathed a sigh of relief. Around her, the kids were returning to rolling and molding and flattening and poking their lumps of clay. The Hamburger Man now wore a lettuce-and-tomato hat. Margo was busily making bacon strips (which looked a lot like flattened snakes).

  What would happen during the glazing and firing of the sculptures, Claud could only imagine. But she figured she could handle anything.

  “She isn’t really weird,” Becca said.

  “I never said she was, did I?” I replied.

  “No. But some of the other kids think so.”

  Becca was talking about Danielle. She was sitting cross-legged at the end of my bed, dangerously close to the edge. She looked so serious that I didn’t even bother to tell her to watch out. I didn’t want to interrupt her thoughts.

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  Becca gazed past me, out the window into the nighttime. “They talk about her,” she said after awhile. “They talk behind her back. Sometimes they forget and talk to me. Or to Charlotte.”

  Which was pretty thoughtless, considering that Becca and Charlotte had become friends with Danielle. The three of them didn’t see much of each other during school, since Danielle is in fourth grade, and Charlotte and my sister are in third, but they had become nearly inseparable during meetings of the Kids Club. They had cooked up several good ideas together. And the three of them were champion gigglers.

  “I don’t understand it,” Becca said to me that night. “It’s like, after you get to know Danielle, you don’t even think about her bald head or her medicine. You forget she has cancer. You don’t think about diabetes every time you see Stacey, do you?” (I shook my head. No.) “But the other kids won’t even try to get to know Danielle — and most of them knew her last year! They act like she’s from another planet. Well, not all of them. But a lot of them.” Becca paused thoughtfully. Then she went on, “At least they don’t say mean things to her. That would be awful.”

  “Why do you think the kids protect her that way?” I asked. “I mean, why do they go to the trouble of talking behind her back?”

  “I don’t know. I guess they don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

  “That’s a start, isn’t it?” I said.

  “I guess so.” Becca smiled at me.

  The next day, Becca asked Mama if Danielle could come over to play on Saturday. “Charlotte, too,” added Becca.

  “I don’t see why not,” said Mama, “if it’s okay with Danielle’s parents.”

  It was.

  So at eleven o’clock on Saturday morning, Mrs. Roberts dropped off Danielle at our house. She and Mama talked for a few minutes. Then Mrs. Roberts kissed Danielle, said, “Remember your medicine,” and, “I’ll be back around four,” and drove off.

  Becca and Danielle looked at each other joyously. What a pair they made — Becca, dark-skinned, shorter and chunkier than Danielle, wearing a flashy pair of jams, her thick hair arranged in ponytails; and Danielle, still pale, with the shape of a bean pole, wearing droopy jeans and her even droopier BALD IS BEAUTIFUL T-shirt, a blue-and-green scarf not really hiding her almost bald head.

  I don’t think either one of them noticed, though. Besides, they didn’t have time to stand around thinking about themselves. They had plans — and plenty of them — for the day.

  “First we call Charlotte,” said Becca, heading for the phone.

  “Jessi?” said Mama. “Can you watch the girls and Squirt for awhile? Daddy and I want to work in the garden. Aunt Cecelia’s out for the day.”

  “Sure,” I replied.

  “The garden” is a rose garden that my parents planted in our backyard. It’s their pride. They work on it every weekend that they can.

  Mama and Daddy left through the garage door.

  Becca hung up the phone and announced to anyone in earshot that Charlotte was on her way. “And she’s bringing her Barbies.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Danielle. “I left my Barbies at home.”

  “That’s okay. I have twelve. You can borrow a few,” Becca said generously.

  Charlotte showed up, Barbie case in tow. I knew perfectly well what was inside that case: three beat-up Barbie dolls, a jumble of clothing, a spool of thread, a yo-yo missing its string, and a small flashlight. (When asked what the thread, the yo-yo, and the flashlight were for, Charlotte merely shrugged and said, “It’s stuff I need.”)

  “Hi!” cried Becca as she let Char inside. “Here’s Danielle. She forgot her Barbies, but she’s going to borrow some of mine.”

  “Okay,” said Char. “Hey, Becca, why don’t you lend five to Danielle and two to me? That way, we can each have five.”

  This seemed to be an important point. Once Becca had agreed to it, the girls charged upstairs. I turned to Squirt, who was sitting on the floor. He had been watching the girls, probably wishing he were old enough to be a part of things. He grinned at me.

  “How about a piggy-back ride?” I said. I settled Squirt on my back and ran him arou
nd the house. We were passing the staircase when I heard shrieking upstairs. So I backed up and then ran to the second floor.

  “What’s going on?” I called.

  The shrieking stopped.

  “Nothing,” Becca finally called back.

  I skidded to a halt at the doorway to Becca’s room.

  “Moy!” cried Squirt.

  “No more,” I told him. “Not now. Becca —?”

  “We’re not hurt,” Becca assured me, before I could say a word about the red streaks that crisscrossed her face, as well as Char’s and Danielle’s.

  “It’s our war paint,” added Charlotte.

  “We’re Indian warriors,” Danielle informed me.

  “What happened to playing Barbie?” I asked.

  The girls looked at each other guiltily. They removed their Barbies from various carrying cases. Each Barbie was wearing her own war paint.

  When the girls and the dolls had been cleaned up, I led the girls downstairs.

  “Okay,” said Danielle. “It’s time for … Squirt Tag!”

  Nobody, not even Danielle, knew what Squirt Tag was. Nevertheless, a noisy, energetic chase ensued. The girls followed Squirt around the house. Squirt ran just ahead of them, giggling. The girls pretended that Squirt could move faster than they could. They pretended to be unable to tag him. When Squirt tripped and fell down, the girls fell down, too.

  “Okay, everybody outside!” I said as the kids got to their feet.

  “Outside for a game of The Return of Squirt Tag!” shouted Danielle.

  The kids ran around the backyard. When they started to look sweaty, I called, “Who wants lemonade?”

  “Me!” cried the girls. (Squirt raised his hand.)

  I picked up my little brother. Becca and Charlotte dashed for the house. Danielle lagged behind them. As I held the door open for her, I thought she looked paler than usual, which seemed odd, because Char and my sister and Squirt were flushed from all the running around.

  Danielle walked inside, completely out of breath. She headed for the nearest couch and collapsed onto it. Then she lay sprawled on her back, her eyes closed. She barely moved.

  “Danielle?” whispered Becca. (She looked scared to death.)

  “I can’t move,” Danielle murmured.

  I set Squirt on the floor and ran to Danielle. “What’s wrong?” I cried.

  Danielle opened her eyes. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m okay.”

  “You don’t look okay.”

  “But I am. Honest.” Danielle struggled to sit up. “I shouldn’t have run around so much. That’s all.”

  “Well, do you have a fever or what?”

  “A fever? No, I just got too tired. I need to rest for awhile.”

  “All right,” I replied. My mind was racing. “Charlotte, why don’t you get Danielle a glass of water. Becca, you keep Danielle company. I’ll be right back.”

  I picked up Squirt again and ran to my parents in the yard. I told them what had happened. They dashed inside, took a look at Danielle, who already seemed better, and decided to call her parents anyway. But no one answered the phone.

  “I really, really am fine,” Danielle assured us.

  Since she did, in fact, look better, Mama and Daddy relaxed a little.

  Danielle sat up. Some color had returned to her cheeks. “Let’s play Barbies again,” she said to Becca. So Becca brought the dolls, their clothes, and all their accessories into the living room. She and Danielle and Charlotte played together until four o’clock. But Danielle never left the couch.

  “I shouldn’t have played so hard this morning,” she said. “But sometimes I forget that I can’t play the way I used to. Oh, well. I’ll learn.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Roberts came by our house at exactly 3:55 that afternoon. I told Mrs. Roberts that Danielle had gotten overtired. I felt I had to.

  “She does get overtired,” Mrs. Roberts agreed, “but she knows how to deal with that. I’m sorry we weren’t home when you called, though. We — Oh! I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this right away. Someone from YWIMC called this afternoon. He said Danielle has been placed on their ‘wish list.’ That means that as soon as enough money is donated, Danielle’s wish can be granted.”

  “All right!” I exclaimed. With a little luck, Danielle might get to go to Disney World after all.

  One evening, Becca and I had a nice surprise. The surprise was a phone call from Danielle.

  “Guess what!” she cried.

  I almost said, “Has your wish been granted? Are you going to Disney World?” Luckily, I didn’t say that. First of all, I remembered, just in time, that Danielle didn’t know about YWIMC. If her wish was granted, it was going to be a surprise for her. Second, what if that wasn’t the news anyway? So I caught myself and simply said, “What?”

  “Mommy and Daddy are going to have a cookout on Saturday night, and they said that you and Becca and Charlotte are invited!”

  “Fantastic!”

  “Charlotte already said she can come. Can you and Becca come, too?”

  “I think so. I’ll have to check.”

  “I hope you can. Because we’re going to barbecue chicken and hamburgers and hot dogs. And Daddy is going to make his special potato salad. And Mommy and I are going to bake brownies, or maybe a cake. Oh, and Greg is going to mix up the lemonade.” (Greg is Danielle’s brother. He’s six and a half.)

  “It sounds like a lot of fun,” I said. “Becca or I will call you back.”

  It turned out that Becca and I were both free, so late Saturday afternoon Charlotte Johanssen came over, and Daddy drove her and Becca and me to Danielle’s house. Becca and Charlotte had been there before. I hadn’t.

  Daddy pulled up in front of a small brick house. The lawn in front was sort of scraggy (if you know what I mean), but someone obviously tended the two flower gardens very carefully.

  “There’s Danielle!” cried Becca, as she opened the door. “See you later, Daddy!”

  “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Ramsey,” added Charlotte politely.

  Becca was already running across the lawn. “Oh, good! You’re wearing the T-shirt!” she said to Danielle. (For some reason, Becca just loved that BALD IS BEAUTIFUL shirt. She was ecstatic each time Danielle wore it.)

  “Hi, girls!” Mrs. Roberts called from the front door. “Danielle, slow down.”

  Danielle leaned conspiratorially toward Becca and Charlotte. “I had a headache earlier today,” she whispered. “Mommy made me rest all afternoon. I got so bored. I’m really glad you’re here.”

  “Do you have to rest during the cookout?” asked Charlotte.

  “I hope not,” Danielle replied. “Come on inside, you guys. Hey, Jessi, you haven’t met Mr. Toes yet.”

  “Who’s Mr. Toes?” I asked.

  “Our new kitten. Well, really he’s Greg’s new kitten, but he seems to belong to everyone in the family.”

  Becca and Charlotte and I followed Danielle inside — and right through her house and out the back door.

  “Mr. Toes is so cute,” Becca informed me on the way. “He’s all gray except for his toes, which are white. That’s why Greg named him Mr. Toes.”

  On the back patio were Mr. Roberts and Greg. Mr. Roberts was wearing an apron and a chef’s hat. He was standing over the barbecue, flipping hamburgers and turning pieces of chicken. Greg was on his hands and knees, peering inside a grocery bag that was lying on its side.

  “Mr. Toooooes, Mr. Toooooes,” he was calling softly.

  A gray bundle of fur darted out of the bag, then back inside.

  “Well,” said Danielle, “that was Mr. Toes. He moves fast.”

  We played with Mr. Toes until dinner was ready. Danielle’s mother had set the picnic table with a red-and-white-checked cloth, paper plates, and plastic forks and knives.

  “This looks fantastic,” I said, as Mr. Roberts set down a bowl of potato salad.

  Danielle’s parents did everything they could to make the picnic special. When supper
was over, we roasted marshmallows in the barbecue. Then we sang songs. Mr. Roberts even sent Becca, Charlotte, Danielle, and Greg on a treasure hunt. (The prize was a book of jokes.) While the kids followed the clues, which led them around the backyard, I sat with Mr. and Mrs. Roberts. I watched them as they watched the kids. Mostly, they smiled. The kids were clowning around. Danielle kept shouting, “X marks the spot! X marks the spot!” and Greg rushed after her, crying, “Buried treasure!” and, “Yo ho ho! We are pirates!”

  But sometimes this very thoughtful expression would come over the Robertses’ faces. I thought I knew why. Four energetic children were tearing around the yard. There was Greg, with his sturdy legs and his shock of reddish-brown hair. There was Becca, who seemed to have endless energy and was always the one sent up trees or behind bushes to search for clues. There was Charlotte, her long, dark hair pulled into a fat braid, dashing after Becca. And there was Danielle, with her knobby knees and elbows, her slightly askew scarf that showed her bald head quite plainly, and her BALD IS BEAUTIFUL shirt.

  What did her parents think as they watched her? Did they remember cookouts from a year earlier, when Danielle was strong and healthy and had hair like her brother’s? Did they wonder whether they would have another cookout, just like this one, a year from then? Did they hope? Did they try not to hope? Did they try to forget?

  “Danielle!” called Mrs. Roberts, standing up. “Pill time!”

  “Right now?” exclaimed Greg. “Right in the middle of our treasure hunt?”

  “Yes, right now,” said Mrs. Roberts. “Danielle, come on, sweetie.”

  “Is Danielle going to get a piece of candy after she takes her pills?” asked Greg. “Because if she is, that’s not fair. I mean, if she is, I want a piece of candy, too. I want —”

  “Greg, you don’t have to take pills,” said Mr. Roberts.

  “And Danielle, you do. Come here, please.”

  Danielle trotted across the grass to her mother.

  Mrs. Roberts rested her hand on Danielle’s forehead. “Feeling okay?”

  Danielle nodded. “I’m fine. I want to finish the treasure hunt.”

  “Okay. After your pills. And when the treasure hunt is over, Becca and Jessi and Charlotte will have to go home. You need to go to bed.”