“You look really nice,” Peter supplied. “You look cool.”
“Ready, kids?” said Mr. Katz.
“Ready!” they chorused.
“All right. We have three poppers. Please divide yourselves into three groups.”
The kids did so quickly. Then Mr. Katz explained how the poppers operated, and he and I hovered around the kids as they set to work.
“What else are we going to put in the goody baskets?” asked Mr. Katz, as the kids made batches of popcorn and filled small bags, tying each one with a red ribbon. They worked industriously, concentrating on making perfect popcorn (no burned kernels) and perfect bows on the bags.
“What do old people like?” asked Wendy.
“Wendy!” cried Danielle. “Old people are just the same as any other people. They like all sorts of things.”
“But some of them don’t have many teeth,” Wendy objected.
“And some of them have all their teeth,” replied Danielle. “Come on. Let’s think about what we’d want if we were stuck in … oh, a hospital.”
“What did you want when you were in the hospital?” asked Charlotte.
“I wanted to go home.” Danielle giggled.
“What did you want to eat?” pressed Charlotte.
“Mmm. Treats. Popcorn is a good choice. Maybe some peppermint candies.”
“Grown-ups like disgusting stuff, like caviar,” announced Nicky.
“Do the goody baskets have to be full of food?” asked Danielle. “I got bored in the hospital. Maybe the people at Stoneybrook Manor would want things to keep them busy. We could put crossword puzzles in the baskets.”
“Paperback books,” added my sister.
“Pens for writing letters, or maybe poems,” suggested Vanessa.
“How about pictures of us?” said Bruce, who liked using the Polaroid.
“Yeah, pictures!” exclaimed Danielle.
Half the kids had abandoned the poppers. Once again they were crowded around Danielle, talking eagerly.
“Are you kids paying attention to the —” Mr. Katz began to say.
BANG! The lid exploded off of one of the poppers. It sailed across the room and crashed into a bookshelf. From the popper erupted a shower of popcorn.
“Poppers?” Mr. Katz finished.
“No?” suggested Danielle.
Mr. Katz smiled. So did I. The kids began to laugh. Then Danielle and her friends flopped onto the floor and began to clean up the popcorn.
“Please, please, please? Can we leave, leave, leave?” sang Becca.
“Too bad, ‘please’ and ‘leave’ don’t rhyme,” said Charlotte.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter.” Becca was hopping around our kitchen. “If you must know, it’s time to go!” she continued.
“Becca, can you come here for a sec?” I asked. I pulled my sister into the living room. “You are annoying Aunt Cecelia,” I hissed.
“But I’m ready to go to Danielle’s.”
“I know. So am I. So is Charlotte. But Squirt isn’t. Just let Aunt Cecelia finish dressing him, okay? He got all sticky.”
My sister was excited beyond reason. She had run in the door from school about twenty minutes earlier. Now she was ready to spend the afternoon at the Robertses’ house. Early the next morning, Danielle and her family would leave for Florida. Becca and Charlotte and I had been invited over to help Danielle pack and get ready for the trip.
And to say good-bye.
“Just calm down long enough to let Aunt Cecelia put Squirt’s overalls on him,” I whispered to Becca. “Then we can go.”
Fifteen minutes later, Aunt Cecelia pulled up in front of Danielle’s house. Becca and Charlotte exploded out of the car. I followed more slowly. “Thanks, Aunt Cecelia,” I called. “Daddy said he’d pick us up at six o’clock.”
Aunt Cecelia and Squirt drove off and I ran to the Robertses’ front stoop. Danielle was letting Charlotte and Becca inside.
“Hi, Jessi!” she yelled.
“Hi!” I replied.
“Come help me pack!”
Danielle ran to her bedroom, Becca, Charlotte, and I after her.
“Danielle! Slow down!” called Mrs. Roberts.
“She has been saying that all afternoon,” said Danielle. But she did slow down.
“Excited?” I asked as I entered Danielle’s room.
It was an unnecessary question. The room itself told me the answer. It was the biggest mess I had ever seen. Mama would have described it simply as a “sight.” Clothes were everywhere — on the floor, strewn across the bed, under chairs. A shirt was draped over a lampshade. Two suitcases yawned open. Both were already full — mostly of toys and books.
“Why are you packing your toys?” asked Becca.
She said that at the same time that I pointed to the lampshade and said, “What’s with your shirt?”
Danielle looked at the shirt and frowned. “I don’t know how it got there,” she said, mystified.
“Hey! I smell something burning!” exclaimed Charlotte.
Smoke rose from the lamp. I grabbed the shirt off of it. A hole was smoldering in the back.
“Uh-oh,” said Danielle. “I better calm down.”
“You better clean up this pigsty,” said her mother from the hallway.
Danielle settled down — sort of. She removed the toys from her suitcases. “I guess I don’t really need these,” she remarked.
“Yeah, who needs toys at Disney World?” said Charlotte.
“I’ll just pack all these clothes,” Danielle went on.
Mrs. Roberts was listening from her bedroom. “We’re only going to be gone for three days,” she reminded Danielle. “Pack one suitcase, please.”
Giggling, Danielle jammed the clothes into the larger suitcase.
“Did you remember sunscreen?” asked Charlotte. “Florida will be hot.”
“Did you pack your bathing suit?” asked Becca.
“Sunglasses?” I added.
“Yipes,” said Danielle. “Maybe I better start over. How many dresses should I bring? Four?”
“None!” cried Becca and Charlotte and I.
Danielle dumped out the suitcase, put away the dresses, and began again. When she finally finished, the four of us collapsed on the floor.
“These are going to be the funnest three days,” said Danielle. She sighed. “Everything will be great. The airplane ride. Oh, we get to eat breakfast on the plane. I have never eaten scrambled eggs in the sky.”
“Maybe you’ll have something more delicious than eggs. Maybe you will eat French toast in the sky,” said Charlotte dreamily.
“Yeah,” said Danielle. “And when the plane lands, we’ll be in Florida. Nice warm weather, palm trees. And we’ll stay in a hotel.”
“After you see the hotel, you’ll go to … Disney World,” I added.
“Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Goofy, Tigger,” chanted my sister.
“You know what, Jessi?” said Danielle. “I wish you could come with us.”
“Me, too,” I replied. “But you and your mom and dad and Greg are going to have a great time. Just your family. All together.”
At six o’clock, Daddy arrived. He honked the horn from the street.
“We have to go, Danielle,” said Becca.
“I’ll write lots of postcards,” Danielle promised. “I’ll write to all of you. And to Mr. Katz. And to the Kids Club. Good-bye, you guys!”
Charlotte and Becca and I ran to the car.
* * *
Danielle kept her promise. She did write lots of postcards. They arrived after the Robertses came home, but that was okay.
The Robertses flew home on Thursday night. They got in late, so Danielle and Greg were allowed to stay home on Friday. But they were back in school on Monday, and on Tuesday, I saw Danielle at the Kids Club meeting. Her return was triumphant. She showed up with presents for everyone. Each member of the Kids Club, except Becca and Charlotte, got a Mickey Mouse sticker. Danielle had chosen special presents for Be
cca, Charlotte, Mr. Katz, and me. For Becca, a Donald Duck T-shirt. For Charlotte, a book about Disney World. For Mr. Katz, mouse ears with “Mr. K.” written on the back. And for me, a delicate silver necklace in the shape of a star.
“It’s a wishing star,” Danielle told me. “Because you helped make one of my wishes come true. I’ll never forget that.”
“Thank you,” I said seriously.
Danielle grinned. “Thank you. You know what? The trip to Disney World was the best trip ever. It made my life!”
It was my last day with the Kids Club. The following week, Ms. Simon would be back. Actually, she had already returned to Stoneybrook, but she was taking her time getting involved with school and the club again.
I had planned a surprise for the kids. I was going to show them how to make Christmas wreaths from coat hangers and tissue paper. Then, in December, they could make wreaths to decorate Stoneybrook Manor, the hospital, and any other place they could think of.
Mr. Katz and I got out a stack of metal coat hangers, a pile of green tissue paper, and a smaller pile of red construction paper (for holly berries). We set the things on a table at the front of the room.
“Will you be glad to get back to baby-sitting?” Mr. Katz asked me.
I nodded. “Yes. But I’ll miss the Kids Club.”
“Well, glad as we are to have Ms. Simon back, we’ll miss you, too, Jessi. The kids adored having you. And of course they’re delighted that there still is a Kids Club.”
“Thanks. I adored being here. And I’m glad there’s still a Kids Club, too. For Becca’s sake. For Danielle’s…. For a lot of reasons.”
“Hey, I’m he-ere!” shouted Peter Tiegreen. He ran into the room, bouncing an imaginary basketball. “He shoots!” he said under his breath, “and … yes! He makes it! Two points. The crowd goes wild.”
Nicky Pike arrived next. His shoes were untied, and he tripped over the laces, fell, and stood up as if nothing had happened.
“It is the best book,” I heard Becca say, as she and Charlotte came into the room. “You have to read it. I’m telling you if you don’t, you’re missing something good. It’s called Number the Stars. Remember that.”
A few minutes later, Mr. Katz raised his voice. “Are you ready to begin, kids? Is everyone here?”
I was searching the room. “Danielle isn’t,” I pointed out.
“Was Danielle in school today?” asked Mr. Katz.
The kids became unnaturally quiet.
“No,” answered Peter.
Wendy raised her hand hesitantly. “Um, I heard she’s in the hospital again,” she said, almost in a whisper.
I felt as if the floor gave way beneath me. I actually had to steady myself by reaching for the back of a chair.
Mr. Katz looked at the solemn faces. “Is that just a rumor?” he asked.
“I guess so,” replied Wendy. “But I heard it from my teacher. And she heard it from Greg Roberts.”
Oh, no. Oh, no. This was not fair. What had happened?
“What happened?” I asked Wendy.
“I’m not sure,” she replied. “My teacher didn’t say.”
I looked across the room at Becca. She was crying silently. Tears ran down her cheeks and dripped onto her shirt. Next to her, Charlotte was also crying.
I pulled myself together. “Mr. Katz,” I whispered. “I’m going to take Becca and Charlotte outside for a few minutes. I’ll bring them right back.”
Mr. Katz glanced at the girls, then nodded.
I led Becca and Charlotte into the hallway. Behind me, I could hear Mr. Katz saying, “What would you rather do first today? Begin making Christmas wreaths, or write letters to Danielle?”
I couldn’t hear the kids’ answer, but that didn’t matter. I didn’t need to. I knew what they would decide.
“Come on, you two. Let’s go to the girls’ room,” I said.
“Okay,” Becca replied, sniffling.
We walked down the hall and I pushed open the door to the bathroom. The girls followed me inside.
“Sit on a windowsill,” I instructed them.
“We’re not allowed,” replied Charlotte.
“Just this once,” I said. “If you get caught, I’ll take the blame.”
The girls climbed slowly onto the sill and sat there, looking at me, tears still running down their cheeks. My chest ached. That was how hard I was trying not to cry with them.
Before I could say a word, Becca said just what I’d been thinking: “It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair at all. Danielle is too nice.”
I held onto Becca’s hands. “No. It isn’t fair,” I agreed. “But it happened. Just like a lot of unfair things that happen. It isn’t fair that Stacey has diabetes. It isn’t fair that people sometimes tease you because your skin is darker than theirs. It isn’t fair that parents get divorced. War isn’t fair. But those things happen, and then we have to deal with them.”
Charlotte looked thoughtful. “You know what?” she said. “We don’t even know why Danielle is in the hospital. We just decided she was sick again. But maybe she fell down and broke her leg or something.”
“Maybe,” said Becca, “but I don’t really think so. Do you?”
“No,” replied Charlotte in a small voice. She began to sob. “I don’t … I don’t” (she could hardly speak) “I don’t want Danielle to be sick.”
“I don’t want her to die,” added Becca.
“Neither do I,” I said. “Let’s concentrate on Danielle’s doctors. Let’s hope they’re taking extra good care of her. She does have a chance of beating the leukemia, you know. Maybe we can help her along.”
“We’ll still be her friends,” said Charlotte.
“Of course,” I agreed.
“Remember Danielle said she would get bored in the hospital? We should write letters to her. And send her stuff,” Charlotte went on.
“Good idea,” I said. “She’ll be glad to know you’re thinking of her.” I paused. “You know what?” I went on. “If you go back to the Kids Club now, you can write letters to Danielle this very second. I think that’s what the others are doing. Are you ready to go back?”
“I guess,” said Becca.
“I guess,” said Charlotte. “Do we look like we’ve been crying?”
“A little,” I answered. “Why don’t you wash your faces first?”
The girls washed their faces and returned to Mr. Katz’s room.
* * *
That night I talked to my mother. “Mama?” I said. Dinner was over. I was trying to do my homework, but I couldn’t keep my mind on it. Mama had come into my room and was sitting on the end of the bed.
“You’re thinking about Danielle, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “I really want to know what’s going on. I need to know. So do Becca and Charlotte. Do you think it would be okay to call Danielle in the hospital? I’d only talk to her for a few minutes.”
“I know you would, honey,” said Mama. “But I think maybe you shouldn’t call. Not yet. How about writing her a letter? Did you write one this afternoon with the kids?”
“No. I just helped the kids. With spelling and stuff.”
“Then why don’t you write? You’re pretty special to Danielle. I’m sure she’d want to hear from you. I also think she’d want to answer you. Let you know what’s going on.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Mama,” I said. “I’ll write her this very minute. Then I’ll do my homework. I promise I can finish it.”
“Okay.” Mama smoothed back my hair. She stood up to leave.
“Hey!” I exclaimed. “I just got an idea. Could I call the Robertses at home?”
Mama looked thoughtful. “I don’t see why not,” she said after a moment.
I ran to my parents’ room and dialed Danielle’s number.
Greg answered the phone.
“Hi!” I cried. “It’s Jessi!” Greg didn’t say anything, so I continued, “Um, I heard Danielle is — is back in the hospital.”
“Y
eah.”
“Well … what happened?”
“She wasn’t feeling well. The doctors wanted to do some tests.”
“She’s in just for tests?” I repeated. That didn’t sound so bad.
“Yeah,” said Greg again.
He did not want to talk, that was clear. So I ended the conversation. I was feeling better, though. I returned to my room and wrote a cheerful note to Danielle. I ended by saying:
Four days later I came home from school and found a letter addressed to me lying on the kitchen table. The handwriting looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. I turned over the envelope. It was from Danielle! (She was still in the hospital.)
I tore open the envelope, and read the letter quickly:
I folded Danielle’s letter and replaced it in the envelope.
Wishes do come true, I told myself. So I wished my wish again.
Please get better, Danielle.
* * *
Dear Reader,
The idea for Jessi’s Wish came to me after I heard about the Make-A-Wish Foundation, an organization that grants wishes to critically ill children. I thought it sounded like a wonderful program, so I granted a wish for a young girl named Danielle. Once I got to know Danielle, I was struck by her courage in the face of her illness, and I wanted to write a story about a girl who, like Danielle, had cancer. This is why Jessi’s Wish is dedicated to the real Danielle.
Several years after this book came out, Starlight, an organization in Chicago similar to Make-A-Wish, contacted me. They had heard about a girl named Nikki whose wish was to meet the author of The Baby-sitters Club. So I flew to Chicago and spent the day with Nikki and her family. A couple of years later, another girl with a similar wish came to New York with her family to meet me. And just a year ago, I heard about Elizabeth, whose wish was to meet her favorite author. She and her family were flown to New York City, and I spent the afternoon with them. I’ve met many wonderful kids who have inspired me with their spirit, which is why Jessi’s Wish is so special to me.
Happy reading,
* * *
About the Author
Jessi's Wish Page 8
