Last Wishes

by Victoria Schwab

“Where is this coming from?” pressed her mom.

  “Filigree is expensive,” Mikayla said, “and I’m not having fun.”

  But her father only seemed to hear the first part. “We’ll find the money. We’ll make it work. Especially now —”

  “But I don’t want to make it work,” Mikayla pressed on, sounding stronger than Aria had ever heard her. “I don’t want to compete anymore. I don’t want to focus on every flaw. I don’t want to spend every minute of every day worried about being the best, stressed out by the idea of getting silver instead of gold.” Her voice cracked, and tears slid down her face. “Winning isn’t worth it if you’re miserable. And I’ve been miserable for a long time. I’m sorry if I’m letting you down. I’m sorry if this makes me a failure.”

  As the words poured out into the air, so did the smoke, uncoiling from Mikayla’s shoulders and dissolving into fog and air and nothing. Aria watched it happen.

  Only the barest tendril remained as Mikayla stood facing her parents. Finally, they both folded her into a hug.

  “You’re our daughter,” said her mom. “Of course we don’t think that.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything before?” asked her dad.

  Mikayla wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

  “We’re only disappointed that you didn’t tell us you were so miserable,” her dad said softly.

  “You’ve given up so much …” Mikayla started.

  “We didn’t give it up for you to be a star,” said her dad. “We gave it up for you to be happy.”

  “So this community dance center,” said her mom. “You’re happy there?”

  Mikayla broke into a grin, wiping away tears. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s great. Every time, we learn a new routine….” She told them about the punch card, and Phillipa’s philosophy, and the way she felt when she was dancing there.

  “It sounds great,” said her dad, wiping away another one of her tears.

  Her mom smiled. “Can we come and watch you dance sometime?”

  “It’s nothing fancy or formal,” said Mikayla. “But sure, you can come if you want. They have some seats in the back.”

  “We’d watch you dance anywhere,” said her mom.

  “We’re proud of you,” said her dad.

  “Even now?” Mikayla asked.

  “Yes,” said her mom. “Especially now.”

  Aria looked down at her bracelet, expecting to feel the cool grace of the third charm on her wrist, but it wasn’t there. She was surprised to feel a flicker of relief that it wasn’t quite time to go yet. But she wondered what could possibly be left to do.

  Mikayla got up and made her way down to the basement, and Aria trailed after. When the girls were alone, Aria flickered into sight, and began turning the gold trophies on Mikayla’s wall pink and blue and green and purple.

  Mikayla laughed and turned to see Aria there.

  “I thought it might help,” said Aria. “You know, take your mind off the gold and silver….”

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” said Mikayla. “Somehow, you told Miss Annette, or …”

  “I maybe tipped off Sara,” said Aria, apologetically. “But I didn’t know you’d actually tell your parents!”

  “Have a little faith,” teased Mikayla, shaking her head. “But maybe I needed the push. So, did you hear everything?” she asked. “Or do I need to catch you up to speed?”

  Aria smiled bashfully. “I heard.”

  The two sat down on the floor, underneath what had been rows of gold trophies and were now rows of rainbows.

  “So I guess that’s that,” said Mikayla. “No more Filigree. No more competitions, for now. Just dance.”

  “Are you happy?” asked Aria.

  “I’m … relieved. Like a weight’s been lifted, and I can breathe.”

  Aria nodded, knowingly. “Secrets are heavy,” she said.

  They both looked at the mirror. Aria studied the last clinging tendril of blue smoke around Mikayla’s shoulders.

  “You won’t need me much longer,” she said at last.

  “You sound sad,” said Mikayla.

  Aria tried to smile. “Not at all!” she said, too cheerfully.

  But staring at Mikayla’s remaining blue smoke, Aria couldn’t help but wonder what she was missing, and why she was so afraid of finding it.

  The letter from Drexton came on Saturday.

  It was sitting on the stoop, a shoe print on the envelope from where someone had stepped on it as they passed, obviously mistaking it for trash. But it wasn’t trash. Aria could tell by the way the envelope made her feel just looking at it. It was important.

  Aria hesitated. She understood, as soon as she saw it, what it was. What it meant.

  This was the last step, the reason Mikayla’s smoke hadn’t disappeared.

  The reason Aria was still there.

  And then, out of nowhere, a thought occurred to Aria Blue.

  Staring down at the letter, she realized that this was her chance. Her chance to avoid the unknown of what came next. To stay. To have a life. Mikayla didn’t know the letter was coming. She wasn’t expecting it. Only Aria knew that something was missing. If she didn’t give the letter to Mikayla, then Aria wouldn’t have to move on. She wouldn’t be able to. And neither would Mikayla.

  But … Mikayla had moved on. In almost every way. She’d found balance. She was happy.

  Why shouldn’t Aria be happy, too?

  Her heart fluttered defiantly.

  She knew it was wrong, to be afraid of the unknown. She knew it was breaking a rule — the most important one of all — to put herself before the girl she was supposed to help. But part of her still wanted to stay.

  She could remain here, in this incredible city. She could see everything there was to see….

  But there were holes in her imagination, things she couldn’t dream up, because she knew she couldn’t magic them into being. Things like a family. A future. A normal life. Aria would never be a normal girl.

  And deep down, she knew she wasn’t meant to be one.

  So she knelt down, picked up the letter, and slid it under the door.

  The letter from Drexton came on Saturday.

  It was sitting on the kitchen table, waiting in the spot where her dad’s laptop usually was. Aria and Mikayla had just gotten back from a movie with Beth and Katie. It turned out Aria had never been to a movie theater before (something she confessed to Mikayla in a whisper as the previews started). It was crazy, the simple things she’d never done, and the joy she got out of doing them.

  All the way back to Mikayla’s house they’d chatted, Mikayla about the movie itself and Aria about how big the screen had been, and the peculiar buoyancy of popcorn. When they got to Mikayla’s house, Aria seemed to see the envelope first. Mikayla followed her gaze and recognized the emblem: the two dancers woven together to form the D and A of Drexton Academy. Mikayla came to an abrupt stop.

  Mikayla’s mom was standing beside the table, waiting.

  “It came today,” she said. “I hope you’ll forgive me, I snuck a peek.”

  Mikayla looked from her mom to Aria to the letter on the table, and then she picked it up with nervous fingers, and began to read aloud.

  “Dear Mikayla Stevens,” she read, voice trembling, “Congratulations. The Admissions Committee at Drexton Academy would like to offer you a place …”

  Mikayla stopped reading and looked up.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “It must be a mistake.”

  “It’s not,” said her mom. “I called Drexton, and apparently one of their talent scouts has a daughter who takes classes at the Community Dance Center. She saw you dance.”

  Mikayla smiled sadly, and laughed.

  “What is it?” asked her mom.

  “Miss Annette used to say that someone important was always watching. I guess she was right.” She looked at her mom. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “It’s your choice,�
� said her mom. “It has to be your choice.”

  Mikayla looked down at the paper in her hand. For a second, she felt once again like the girl who only wanted to be gold. It was hard enough to move past something when you’d lost. But it was even harder to walk away from something when you’d won.

  Even if it wasn’t what you wanted anymore.

  The silence in the room grew heavy.

  And then Mikayla closed her eyes and set the letter back on the table. She put her hand over it, ran her fingers over the emblem embossed on the paper.

  And then she pushed it away.

  “I love to dance,” she said. “But I don’t want to eat and sleep and breathe dance.” She smiled. “I want to eat and sleep and breathe and dance. It’s an honor to be offered a place, but it’s not for me. Not right now.”

  Mikayla’s mom brought a hand to her shoulder and squeezed. “Okay, then.”

  “Okay,” Mikayla echoed. And for the first time in ages, the word was true.

  Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aria slip through the front door and onto the porch.

  Mikayla hurried after, afraid the girl would just disappear from her life as easily as she had first appeared. But she found her standing on the front step looking down at her charm bracelet, where a third feather charm now glinted in the afternoon light.

  “Hey,” said Mikayla.

  “Hey,” said Aria.

  For an instant, she seemed … insubstantial, like Mikayla could put her hand right through her. But when she reached out and touched the angel’s arm, it was solid, still there.

  “I thought of another place to take you,” said Mikayla. “We can go tomorrow after dance. There’s a great cafe with these amazing cookies, and —”

  “I’m sorry,” said Aria gently. “I don’t think I’ll be able to come with you.”

  “Oh,” said Mikayla. There was a moment of sad silence — they both knew what the feather charm meant — but then Mikayla said, “Can you stay for dinner?”

  And to her relief, Aria burst into a smile. She pulled a piece of folded paper from her pocket, and held it up for Mikayla to see. It was titled Aria Blue’s Things to Do, and there in the middle of the page, amid a sea of checked-off tasks, many of them big and exciting, was a simple desire that made Mikayla’s heart twist.

  Eat dinner with a family, it said.

  “I’d love to,” said Aria.

  And Mikayla was glad that, for once, she could be the one helping.

  “Come on, give it back,” said Mikayla, wresting a tennis ball from Chow’s mouth. “Let go.”

  They were sitting on her back steps after dinner — after the best and only home-cooked meal that Aria had ever had — tossing the ball into the garden for the excitable dog. It was cool, but not too cold, and the sunset was leaving bright streaks of color across the sky. Aria gazed up at it, trying to convince herself that it was a gift, this last sunset. Trying not to think that word: last.

  Then Aria’s gaze drifted down to her charm bracelet. Along with the third and final feather, she’d felt something else settle over her, a simple, solid certainty that she was done here. That it was time to go.

  Go where? she wondered to herself, a thread of panic weaving through the calm. She was always telling the girls she helped to look forward, to not be afraid of change. Now she had to take her own advice.

  Mikayla wrapped her arm around Aria’s shoulders, and the two sat there for a moment in silence.

  Aria’s shadow fidgeted beneath her. “I better get going,” she said at last.

  Mikayla started to nod and then bounced to her feet, eyes bright with an idea.

  “Wait!” she said, turning to go inside. “Stay here. I have something for you!”

  Before Aria could say anything, the girl was gone. She got slowly to her feet, and stretched, and waited.

  Suddenly, though, Aria’s shadow began to glow. And as it filled with impossible light, she could see the hint of wings.

  A strange panic filled her chest.

  Mikayla wasn’t back yet, but there was something about the pulse of light, something unspoken, that told her it would be okay. This wasn’t an end. Just another step. Her shadow knew best. It always did. So she took a breath, and looked up at the sky one last time, just in case, and stepped into the light.

  One moment Aria was surrounded by white, and the next moment she found herself standing in a girl’s bedroom. She recognized it at once. The walls had been painted purple since her last visit, and were now covered in art and photos. Gabby was sitting cross-legged on the bed, hunched over homework, a thin stream of music pouring from the headphones around her neck. She was singing along softly. Her voice was lovely as always.

  Aria smiled. “Hi,” she said.

  But Gabby didn’t look up.

  Aria frowned, realizing that Gabby couldn’t see her. Which was weird, because she could still see herself. She was all there, from her green sweater to her blue tights down to her pink-laced shoes. But when she brought her hand to the corner of the bed, it went right through.

  It didn’t make sense. Her shadow had sent her, so she knew she was supposed to be here. But if not for Gabby, then for whom?

  And then Aria understood.

  This trip was for her.

  One last look.

  Someone knocked on the doorframe. A lanky teenage boy. Gabby’s older brother, Marco.

  He had a cane in one hand and was clearly tired, but he looked much better. Stronger. The color was in his cheeks and his eyes were bright. He looked right through Aria at his sister.

  “Hey, Gabs,” he said. “Dinner.”

  Gabby nodded. She tossed the headphones onto the pile of homework and got up, walking within inches of Aria.

  Aria noticed that her laces were purple.

  “Bye, Gabby,” she said, right before the girl vanished through the door. To her surprise, Gabby stopped, and turned back. She couldn’t have heard her, but her eyes still hovered on the air near Aria’s head.

  “What is it?” asked Marco.

  “Nothing,” said Gabby after a moment. “I just thought I heard something.”

  “Must be ghosts,” said Marco, with a teasing stomp of his foot.

  Gabby grinned, and gave him a playful shove toward the kitchen. She cast one last glance back. “Must be,” she whispered. And then she was gone.

  Aria smiled after her.

  The shadow at her feet began to glow again.

  “Okay,” said Aria, looking down. As she stepped into the light, she had a feeling she knew where it would take her next.

  There was a campfire in the backyard.

  A handful of girls huddled around it, elbow to elbow as they toasted marshmallows on metal skewers and traded stories. It was dark, but Aria could see the outline of the trampoline behind them. She recognized Ginny and Elle, and Lily.

  And there, blond hair pulled into a ponytail, was Caroline.

  Caroline tilted her head back, and so did Aria. It was a clear night, and unlike in the city, here the sky was full of stars. Aria smiled, and one shot across the sky.

  Caroline broke into a grin. “Did you see that?” she asked, but the girls had been staring down at the fire, and looked up too late. She was met by a chorus of no and see what.

  “A shooting star.” Caroline pulled her marshmallow from its stick and sandwiched it between two crackers along with some chocolate. It looked strange and wonderful and delicious, and Aria was secretly sad that she’d never gotten to try one. “Did you know that when you look up at the sky, you can see for almost twenty quadrillion miles?”

  “Cool,” said Ginny.

  “Weird,” said Elle.

  “Random,” said Lily, adding, “but still cool. Only you would know that.”

  “I didn’t even know quadrillion was a word,” said Ginny.

  Elle squinted up. “That’s a really long way.”

  “Yeah,” said Caroline. “And all that empty space up there? It’s not actually
empty. It’s full of stuff we just can’t see. Some of it we can’t even explain …”

  Aria smiled, and beneath her, the shadow began to glow again with light.

  Aria expected to find herself back in front of Mikayla’s house. Instead, she wasn’t really anywhere. She was standing in an empty place, everything blank like the screen before a movie started. Then, instead of going backward, or staying put, time began to roll forward.

  Of course. Because she wouldn’t be there to see it.

  Aria stood still as Mikayla’s future unfolded around her, not solid but ghostly as smoke, the images twisting into one another, tangling.

  Aria saw Mikayla at the Community Dance Center, but she wasn’t alone. Beth and Katie were with her, all of them breathless from dance and laughter.

  She saw Mikayla going to movies, and school parties, riding her bike with Alex, and drawing with Katie, and playing tennis with Beth. She saw her tossing the ball for Chow and reading on the front stoop.

  She saw her packing up the trophies and the rest of the house, saw her in a new apartment — smaller, but still home. She saw her tacking the now battered list of goals up on the new wall, old lines crossed out, new ones added.

  She saw her, taller now, stretched out in Central Park, listening to music, with Alex by her side.

  And Aria saw Mikayla dancing. Threaded through every memory of a life not yet lived, she watched the girl made of gold fall back in love with dance.

  The last thing Aria saw wasn’t from months or years in the future. It was probably only a few minutes ahead of now. She saw Mikayla standing in her backyard alone, staring at the place where Aria once stood. She saw her turn and go inside, through the house and out the front door. She saw her take a deep breath and then turn to Alex next door, working on his bike. Saw her smile, and lean across the fence, and say, “Hey, stranger. Still up for that ride?”

  The light flared again, and Aria found herself back in Mikayla’s yard as if nothing had changed.

  And seconds later, Mikayla came through the door. “Good,” she said. “You’re still here.”

  Aria nodded. “I’m still here.”

  Mikayla hopped down the steps with something hidden behind her back. “You should have these,” she said, revealing the gift: a pair of iridescent wings, the very same ones from Mikayla’s dance costume.