Dreamer, Wisher, Liar

by Charise Mericle Harper

  “He has a store with a ramp and his name is Peter, and he’s only a little bit taller than me and he’s a grown-up,” said Claire. She took a deep breath.

  That was a lot of information in one sentence. Mom did the eyebrow thing again. This time, I helped her.

  “He’s the guy who owns the VS Depot. You know, the one with the photocopiers at the front of the store. I think you went there once to photocopy something for Dad.”

  Mom nodded but still looked confused. Peter and the ramp probably weren’t there when she’d gone.

  When the clothes were dry, Mom sent me down to get them. I hadn’t been down to the basement since the dream, and for the first time ever, I was suddenly feeling weird about going down there. Before I left, I asked Mom if we had one of those gas detector things down there. Of course she wanted to know why. You can’t ask a question like that and just get a yes or no answer.

  When I said “No reason,” she told me to quit stalling and get the clothes.

  Our washing machine and dryer are on the opposite side of the basement from the workbench and chair—I was glad I didn’t have to walk by them. Halfway down the stairs I stopped and took a couple of deep breaths. It was a test for the gas, but I felt fine—not sleepy or strange. Plus Mom had already been down there with the laundry, so it was probably safe.

  I emptied the clothes into the basket and walked to the stairs, but something caught my eye, just for a second, over by the workbench. It was probably the wish jar—maybe the light reflecting off the label—but now I was curious. I dropped the laundry basket and walked toward the workbench. I was expecting something—a funny feeling? that same tingling that had happened before?—but there was nothing. Everything looked the same, and nothing felt strange. The jar was on the workbench, and the open wish—the one I’d read—was on the chair. It was a little disappointing. I was hoping for something unusual—proof that what had happened was real. Watching those girls hadn’t felt like a dream. Plus my name was on the wish—was that really just a coincidence? I sat down and read it again.

  I Wish Ashley Wouldn’t Ignore Me

  It was the same wish as before, except that when I finished reading it, nothing happened. It was just me sitting in the chair, in the basement, reading a piece of paper. I read it again, and again, and again, but still nothing happened. What a relief. It had been a dream. I hadn’t been with those girls. Of course not—that was impossible and unbelievable. Maybe it was stress. Could losing a best friend do that to you? Make you kind of crazy? I picked up the jar; the little paper balls jiggled inside—there were too many to count. I shook it and watched them fall to the bottom. One was stuck, clinging to the side. I unscrewed the lid and poked it with my finger until it fell, joining the others, but now it was misshapen—more of a Frisbee than a ball. I picked it out and rolled it between my thumb and finger to make it round again.

  I moved my hand toward the jar to drop it in but then changed my mind. Maybe I should read one more. Just as a test. I pulled the ball back toward me and slowly unwrapped it—nothing was going to happen; it was just paper. I looked down; it was blank, but not completely—there was writing on the other side. My fingers tingled as I turned the paper over, and suddenly I knew. I was wrong—it wasn’t impossible, only unbelievable. This paper had power. I read the words, and an instant later I was gone. Only this time I was ready—sort of.

  I Wish I Had Brothers

  In front of me were the same two girls as before. Dark long hair and short blond hair—they were easy to recognize. They were laughing. And after a few seconds of watching them, I could tell that they knew each other and were friends. We were in a bedroom—a boy’s room, messy with boy things. The girls were sitting on the floor in front of an open closet, busy working on something, and then abruptly collapsing in fits of giggles. It reminded me of Claire and the old people craft thing.

  I coughed. Could they hear me? They didn’t look up. I tried again, louder, but still they ignored me. I gave them one final test, just to be sure.

  “Blue elephant!” I shouted out the words and waved my arms in the air. I was a ghost. But it was different from before, because I wasn’t scared. I knew I’d get home again.

  I walked closer to the girls. It felt weird to stand right in front of them and have them not see me. They were sitting next to a huge pile of shoes, carefully picking out nonmatching pairs and knotting the laces together. It looked like they were almost done. Suddenly I heard a noise from outside the door—someone was coming. Suddenly two boys burst into the room. For a few seconds everyone was surprised—the girls, the boys, and me. I flattened myself against the wall. What if the boys could see me? The girls backed away from the closet and looked around for an escape. Were they scared too? “So this is your payback prank?” asked the bigger boy.

  “It was a joke—don’t tell,” pleaded the dark-haired girl. She was trying not to smile. That made me feel better.

  “I’ll get Ashley!” said the bigger boy.

  Suddenly the boys grabbed the girls’ feet. There was kicking, squealing, and laughter, and a jumble of arms and legs everywhere. And then it was over. The girls were still on the floor and the boys were up standing by the door.

  “I told you,” said the bigger boy. “You can’t prank us!”

  “Yeah! Boys win!” said the smaller boy. He looked like he might say something else, but the older boy punched his arm and said, “Come on! We’ve got to get to practice—Mom’s in the car!”

  They each grabbed an armful of shoes and ran out the door.

  Now it was just me and the girls. They looked at each other and burst out laughing, rolling on the ground, their legs intertwined. As I got closer, I could see why—their shoes, all four of them, were tied together in a big tight knot. The girls sat up and looked at their shoes. It was a mess. There was no way they could untie them. How would they get loose?

  “Scissors,” said the dark-haired girl—she was the one the bigger boy had gone after. She must be Ashley.

  “I guess that’s what Spencer and Gavin will do,” said the blond girl.

  “No they won’t.” Ashley smiled, pulled out a shoebox, and lifted off the lid. It was filled with scissors. “Every pair in the house!” she screamed. “Plus even the ones from the car! They’re going to be so mad!”

  “Ashue-mazing!” said the blond girl, and they leaned in and slapped hands. They had done that before—I could tell. I wondered what it meant.

  Ashley smiled and clapped her hands again. “Now we’re even.”

  “Serves them right for eating our cookies,” said the blond girl.

  They burst into giggles, and even though I didn’t want to, I felt myself slowly fading away.

  Suddenly I was back in our basement. This time there was no welcome home. Mom wasn’t calling from the stairs, and the one light above the workbench was gloomy and uninviting. It took me a minute to adjust to the quiet and dark. Mom and Claire were upstairs, only a minute away, but still I felt lonely. I didn’t want to be here; I wanted to go back to the girls. The girls had something Mom and Claire didn’t, and it was something I needed. For the first time since finding out about Lucy, I was feeling it again—and now I wanted more. It was excitement, adventure—but more than that, watching them made me feel happy.

  I stuck my hand in the jar. The balls swirled through my fingers. I smiled. I felt powerful, in control—like suddenly I was the master of a whole new universe. I picked out a ball and studied it. It was just paper, but it had powers; it was a ticket to somewhere else.

  A second later I was on my way again.

  chapter thirteen

  Somewhere Else

  I Hope Ashley Still Likes Me

  The girls were in a bedroom again, but this time it was a girl’s room. They were sitting on the floor surrounded by piles of paper and colored pencils—they were drawing. I knew they wouldn’t hear me, but I tested them anyway. I picked a color and an animal.

  “Pink hippo!” I shouted and waved
my arms. It was silly, it made me smile. And just as I expected, there was no response.

  Ashley was smiling. “Almost done.” She looked over at the other girl and quickly covered her drawing with her arm so the other girl couldn’t see it. I moved closer to look, but it was hidden.

  “Me too!” said the other girl.

  I wished I knew her name. I looked around the room for hints, but there was nothing. Maybe this was Ashley’s room.

  “We can show each other together, when we’re done,” said Ashley. She was excited.

  The other girl wasn’t so sure—maybe she wasn’t as good at drawing. I knew how that felt. Sometimes people who were good at stuff liked to show off by tricking you.

  There was a girl at school like that, Melissa. She was always asking everyone to draw with her. She’d say, “When we’re finished, let’s count to three and show each other our drawings.” And then on three Melissa would hold up an amazing picture that made yours look like it was drawn by a third-grader. Of course you’d have to say, Oh, Melissa, yours is so much better. You’re such a good artist. This next part was Melissa’s favorite. She’d make her face look all sweet and say, Oh, really? Thank you, like she was surprised or something—which she wasn’t, because she’d totally planned the whole thing. She’d tricked a lot of people, and once even me—but I learned my lesson. I never drew with her again.

  I was lucky. Lucy wasn’t like that. Neither of us was a good artist, but still, she was good at other stuff that I wasn’t, and she never made me feel bad about it—not once.

  Now it was harder to watch the girls. I wanted to keep liking them, but if Ashley was a show-off, that was going to change. Show-offs weren’t my kind of people.

  Finally the girls were done.

  “I’ll go first,” said Ashley. “On three.”

  “Okay,” said the blond girl. She seemed a little more hopeful; maybe her drawing had turned out. Ashley counted out the numbers, and on three she held out her paper.

  “Here.” She handed it to the blond girl. “It’s for you. It’s my phone number. You can keep it in your room, in case you want to call me. And I put kittens and stars on it, because I know that you like those things. And some other stuff too.”

  I leaned over to look. It was cute, but not a masterpiece. Under her name she had written “Ashley plus Shue equals ASHUE-MAZING!” Shue? Was that the blond girl’s name? What a weird name. The blond girl was frozen, just staring at the paper. It made me wish I had more powers than just being invisible—I wanted to know what she was thinking. I wanted to read her mind.

  I guess I wasn’t the only one, because Ashley finally said, “Well? What do you think? Do you like it?”

  “I do! I really do. Thank you,” said the blond girl. Her voice was quivery like she was trying not to cry. She got up, found some tape, and taped the paper to the mirror.

  Now I knew whose room this was.

  The blond girl looked over at Ashley. “It looks good, right?” She forced a smile.

  “Sure,” said Ashley. “What did you draw?”

  The blond girl looked down. Her smile disappeared, and she looked embarrassed.

  “Uh, nothing—just a horse for my uncle. It’s his birthday on Saturday, and he really likes horses.”

  “Oh,” said Ashley.

  Both girls looked at the floor without saying anything.

  The silence was painful. A couple of times the blond girl looked like she might be about to say something, but each time, she changed her mind and kept quiet.

  Finally Ashley handed her a piece of paper and said, “Here, write down your number for me.”

  I was glad about that. It gave the blond girl something to do. She wrote out the name “Shue” and a phone number. Under that she drew a little heart with feet, and a smiling flower. So Shue was her name. She handed the paper back to Ashley, and they both stood up.

  “Let’s go to Anderson’s,” said Ashley.

  Instantly Shue brightened. “I’ll put on my old sweatshirt.”

  While Shue got ready, Ashley folded up the paper and put it in her pocket.

  What’s Anderson’s? I wondered. And why change into something old?

  But I never found out, because suddenly I was back home and Mom was calling my name.

  “Ash! Ash! Are you okay?” Mom was halfway down the stairs. I shook my head and blinked fast to clear it. It wasn’t easy to be suddenly back in normal life. Luckily the basement was kind of dark; I didn’t want Mom to see the wish jar, or me just sitting in the chair.

  “I’m okay,” I answered. “I was going to fold the clothes before I brought them back up.” I pointed to the laundry basket halfway across the floor. It was a terrible lie—I never fold clothes, plus the basket wasn’t even close to me. Mom took a few more steps down. I jumped up and stood in front of the jar.

  Mom shook her head. “Listen Ash, I know this is hard, but you can’t hide out here in the basement. I think you’re going to be great for Claire, and if you give it a chance, it’ll be fun for you too. She needs someone like you.”

  Mom looked me up and down, to emphasize her point, or to check out if it was true—I couldn’t tell which. I didn’t say anything. She continued.

  “Maybe I pushed too hard for the first day. If you come upstairs and watch her fashion show for ten minutes, you can have the rest of the afternoon off. I’ll take her out somewhere.”

  I nodded. It was a fair deal. Now I just needed Mom to leave first, so I could put everything away. “I’ll be right up.” I pointed to the workbench. “I knocked a few nails on the ground, and I want to pick them up, so no one steps on them and gets hurt.”

  Mom started up the stairs, but before she got to the top, she stopped and turned back to look at me.

  “Only two more minutes. Okay?”

  “Promise.” I held up my hand. I had a feeling she didn’t believe me about the nails.

  After she left, I picked up the wish jar and stuffed the wishes inside. I pulled a box out from under the workbench and hid the jar behind it. It wasn’t the best hiding place, but it was fast, and my two minutes were up. I grabbed the laundry basket and forced myself upstairs. I didn’t want to go.

  chapter fourteen

  Puzzle

  Mom and Claire were waiting in the living room. As soon as I put the basket of clothes down, Claire grabbed it and dragged it behind the sofa. I walked over and sat in the chair next to Mom. I wasn’t looking forward to this. There was a lot of stuff in that basket; this was going to be a long and painful show. Claire was behind the sofa, singing to herself and getting ready. There was a Grand Canyon of difference between her excitement and my enthusiasm.

  Suddenly her head popped up. “Can we have music?”

  “Good idea,” said Mom. She turned to me. “You pick something.”

  I didn’t complain. My music was definitely going to be better than Mom’s. As soon as the music was on, I felt a lot better. Sometimes I forget how music can do that—help change your mood.

  Claire’s fashion show was a surprise—it was fun and cute. I wasn’t going to wear any of her oufits, but on her they looked good. When it was over, Mom and Claire got ready to go out.

  Claire was wearing her new old clothes—a dress, a skirt, and a vest. I couldn’t quite decide what I thought of it. It was old-fashioned and kind of artsy at the same time. She saw me looking and did a twirl. She was happy.

  “Don’t you want to come?” she asked.

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’ll stay here.”

  She frowned. “You’re going to miss all the fun. Plus we’re going to pick out ice cream for dessert tonight. Don’t you want to pick out your own flavor?”

  “That’s okay.” I pointed toward the kitchen, where Mom was. “Mom knows what I like.”

  As soon as I said it, I knew it was a mistake. Claire didn’t have a mom to buy her ice cream. Was she going to feel bad? I tried to fix it. “Hey Claire, why don’t you surprise me. You pick a flavor for me. As lon
g as it’s not chocolate, I’ll like it.”

  “You don’t like chocolate?” asked Claire. “But everyone likes chocolate.”

  She was right, everyone did like chocolate—everyone except me. I hated it. I couldn’t stand the taste. It’s not easy to hate something the rest of the world loves. When you do, the world thinks you’re strange, but I had a way around it—a way to pretend to be normal.

  I sighed, shook my head, and tried to look sad. It was a performance, and it had to look authentic. I glanced at Claire to be sure she was watching me and sighed heavily. I studied my shoes—lies were easier if you weren’t looking at someone’s face.

  “I can’t have chocolate,” I said. “I’m allergic to it.”

  That usually did the trick. Once you said “allergy,” people nodded their heads and stopped bugging you. But that didn’t work with Claire. She kept going. She had questions.

  “What happens to you? Will you die?”

  Before answering, I checked to be sure that Mom wasn’t around. If she heard me, she’d totally bust me on the lie.

  I pointed to my arm. “I get giant red itchy lumps all over my arms. It’s like getting a hundred mosquito bites all at the same time.”

  Claire took a step back and covered her mouth. She looked at my arms. There was nothing to see, but I held them out anyway.

  “That’s not fair. The best thing in the world, and you can’t have it.”

  Claire looked sad, like she might even cry. I started to feel guilty; maybe I’d overdone it.

  “It’s okay.” I smiled. “I’m used to it.”

  Claire ran over and gave me a giant hug. I wasn’t expecting that; now I really felt guilty.

  “We’re only going for a few hours,” said Mom. She was standing by the door, watching us.

  I knew what she was thinking; she thought the hug was for good-bye.

  I peeled Claire off me and pointed her toward the door. “Have fun!”

  Claire took a few steps forward and then looked back. “How about brownies?”