I Wish (20 page)

“No,” I called back, staring at Grant in horror. If Ms. Paxton walked in, there was no way they could get out of here in time.

The doorknob turned.

Grant and my mother evaporated in a puff of blue smoke.

The woman frowned and looked around the bedroom until she spotted me. In my absence, she had donned a pair of glasses. New, cute, and expensive. Not what I would’ve expected from a social worker.

“Where is she?”

This woman was pretty bold. Weren’t there laws about privacy or something? “I don’t know.”

“Can you guess?”

“I really couldn’t.”

Ms. Paxton’s eyes narrowed behind her shiny red frames. “Are you concerned about her absence?”

I shook my head. “She’s probably at a neighbor’s house.”

“What about your brother?”

That question made me hot and shaky. “What about him?”

“Where is he right now—with your mother?”

The idiocy of her assumption took me aback. How could someone in her position not know when the schools let out? “He won’t be home from school for another half-hour.”

The woman checked her watch. “Unfortunately, I have somewhere else to be. I’ll return on a different day.” She retraced her path to the living room and bent to gather her things.

I held the front door.

She smiled gently. “I’m not the enemy. I only want to make sure you are receiving the appropriate level of services. We’re here to help.”

She seemed so genuine that I was almost fooled. “I understand.”

Shrugging, she turned to go. Stiletto heels clicked on the hardwoods, then the porch, then the concrete sidewalk. A car door thudded. An engine roared to life and faded away.

Relief made me dizzy. I leaned against the wall, not trusting myself to stand unassisted. That had been a close call.

There would be a next time, unannounced and probably during school hours. My mom couldn’t stay hidden forever.

Status Report #18
Monday’s Wish: Refurbishing Appliances and a wish on credit

Dear Boss,

The appliances in the kitchen, as well as the washing machine and dryer, are now in impeccable condition. They should last for years.

I heard a familiar voice today. I had not seen Camarin since her promotion to Principal. Did you send her to investigate my effectiveness? I assure you—it is unnecessary. Especially from her. She lacks sufficient humility to assess me, nor is she subtle enough to handle Chief’s family with the sensitivity they require. Don’t do this again, please.

I am puzzled over Crystal. Although her mood remains uneven, it had been many days since it had sunk quite this low. I had spent a large portion of the morning helping her plan a yard sale. It had given her great pleasure to think that she might contribute to the family’s income. This was a small victory for her; I can’t imagine how it could have changed so quickly.

Humbly submitted,
Grant

T
he day for our colonial project demo had finally arrived, and getting dressed put me into a seriously bad mood. Why didn’t the wench costume look as good on me as it had in the photo? I hadn’t bothered to try it on when the Reys dropped it off last night, and now I wished I had. The peasant blouse and long dark skirt hung about me like a tent, and the ankle boots looked like I was on my way to a construction site. I would wait to put the corset on at school—no use walking through the neighborhood looking any more stupid than I had to.

I went straight to the girls’ bathroom when I arrived at school. Nobody walked in on me as I struggled into the corset, which was just as well because it took a frustrating and curse-filled five minutes to get the crazy thing on.

When I was done, I paused for a moment of painful communion with my colonial sisters. Breathing, it turned out, was optional in one of these things. Spinning around, I looked in the mirror.

Okay. Wow
.

I hardly recognized me. Lacey-the-wench looked curvy and hot. The corset pulled in my waist and pushed up my boobs. If girls didn’t have the whole suffering issue to deal with, corsets would be hugely popular.

Oh yeah. I was definitely feeling the magic now.

Time to find the rest of my project team. Kimberley was waiting for me in the media center with her bag of twisted iron. She wore a costume too, which no one would notice with me around—the first time that had ever happened.

She hopped out of her chair, hoisted the clanking bag, and blinked at the sight of me. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks.” Maybe wench-hood wouldn’t be so bad after all.

We caused a sensation when we walked into APUSH, just before the bell rang. Mr. Jarrett, who lounged behind his desk absorbed by his computer, looked up at the stirring of noise that greeted our entrance. He sneered at the sight of Kimberley, flicked a glance at me, and then did a double take. He scrutinized me with a great deal more intensity than was appropriate for a teacher. Creep. “Poodle,” he said without looking at her, “would your team like to go first in the show-and-tell?”

“Yes, Mr. Jarrett. We would.”

Kimberley ran the demo. I stood next to the projector attached to her iPad, smiling like a spokesmodel on a game show and paging down through the slides while Kimberley talked. She was good at public speaking. Of course, it helped that the slides had intense notes.

The presentation ended too quickly, a thought I’d never had before on a social studies project.

“Thank you, ladies. The demo was helpful. And Lacey, my compliments on your…um, assets.” His gaze never moved above my chin.

Until that comment, I’d been having a good day. Why did this creep have to screw it up? I glared at him, almost choking on my outrage. He’d been mean to Kimberley since she arrived, and now he was staring at my breasts. Why did any of us put up with his crap?

Before I could think through what I was about to say, my saucy-wench mouth opened and out came, “Talk to my face, pervert.”

There was a brief, shocked pause before the whole class erupted into applause.

Mr. Jarrett shouted for silence. When that didn’t do any good, he flapped his arms, but no one paid attention. I tried not to gloat, but it was impossible.

When his gavel crashed on the edge of the desk, the applause died away.

His fierce gaze swept the classroom before landing on me. “Maybe you should tell the vice principal what you called me.”

“Maybe you should tell him why.” The boldness in the clothes must have been infecting me.

Everybody roared with laughter—except Mr. Jarrett. His face got tight enough for the veins to pop out on his forehead. “Lacey, go change your clothes. Poodle, take a seat.”

The adrenaline rush faded. I spun on my heel and ran to the bathroom, a little shaky as I tried to recover from what had just happened. We probably lost an entire letter grade because of me. I’d better leave wench-hood behind before I got into worse trouble.

My hands wouldn’t cooperate. I stared into the mirror, obsessed with my reflection, putting off my return to being ordinary. Minutes passed before I prodded myself into movement.

I loosened the laces on the corset and regained the fine art of breathing. Normal Lacey started to emerge.

Wait
.

I wasn’t going back to APUSH. If Mr. Jarrett noticed that I hadn’t returned, I’d mumble “lady problems” and hope he didn’t ask more. The costume stayed. I tied a bow in the loosened laces, walked out to the hallway, turned in the opposite direction of the classroom, and hid for the rest of first period in the media center.

My corset-induced confidence lasted through lunchtime. I sauntered into the cafeteria, looking for people to dazzle.

There was a line of students waiting to buy something from a booth. The attached poster announced the Dance Club’s September fundraiser. They held a dance every year on the Friday night of our football team’s bye week.

I positioned myself so that I would be seen.

Eli stepped out of the front of the line. As he turned to leave, he spotted me and detoured in my direction, his attention occupied with stuffing tickets into his wallet.

“Hey, Eli,” I said, swishing my saucy skirt.

His gaze swept me from head to toe and then back again. He smiled. “Feeling better?”

“I am. Thanks for checking on me Saturday.” Eli must’ve forgiven my rudeness enough to speak to me again. This costume was magical. “If Henry’s team remains undefeated for the rest of the season, do they get a prize or something?”

His smile deepened. “Or something.”

“Will they get trophies and stuff?”

“They will. They’re good, Lacey.”

“Cool.” This conversation was going well. My hot look made me bold. I pointed at the wallet he was sliding back into his pocket. “Are you going to the dance?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know how to dance like that?”

“Some.” He shrugged. “They’ll give lessons. You can try ballroom, Latin, swing. It’s fun.”

“What about your knee?”

“I’ll be careful.”

“You got two tickets. Does that mean you have a date?”

His voice, his face, his entire body went instantly still. “No.”

Heat rose up my neck. I hadn’t been fishing, but it must have been what he thought. I had to fix this. “Well, have a good time. I’m not going. Dances aren’t my thing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” I looked around desperately for a way to end this conversation now. Kimberley waved at me from the front of the ticket line. “Excuse me, but I’d better go. I see my friend over there.”

He nodded and took off for the cafeteria exit.

A finger—with a sharp fingernail—poked me in the back. “What was that all about?”

I spun around. Kimberley was still in her costume, which was solid black except for a white scarf covering her hair. She looked like one of the nuns from
The Sound of Music
. I’d been too consumed with being a wench to think about it earlier. “Eli doesn’t have a date to the dance.”

“Did you ask him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

The family budget couldn’t cover something like a ticket. Or the right kind of dress. Or any of the stuff that went along with asking someone out on a date. “I don’t want to go.”

“You’re a pathetic liar. Here’s your ticket.” She held one out to me.

“No thanks.” Spinning around, I headed out the cafeteria and down the hallway. Her footsteps plodded along behind me.

I stopped at my locker.

“Take it, Lacey.”

“No.”

“Look. It won’t be fun if I go by myself.”

I pulled my math homework out of my backpack. “The ticket isn’t the only cost.”

“You can borrow a dress from me. I have lots.”

“No, I can’t.” She was smaller than me everywhere except bra size. Bad idea.

“Do I throw the ticket away?”

My locker door banged shut. She was right. It might be fun, and I would like to go. But jeans and sneakers would be out of place at the dance. “Do whatever you want with it.”

“Good. I will.” A wide smile lit her face. “See you.” She glided away, uncaring about the other students gawking at the nun floating down the hall.

Really? It was hard to believe that Kimberley had given up so easily. I turned in the opposite direction, mulling over when she might try another assault on my decision. There were only three days left.

After school, I hurried home, dumped my backpack in the foyer, then charged up the attic stairs as quickly as the colonial skirt allowed. The costume came off. Jeans and a T-shirt took its place.

If I wasn’t careful, I’d be late for work. I tore downstairs, grabbed the car keys from a hook hidden behind the bureau, and thundered into the foyer.

“Chief,” Grant called.

I wanted to ignore him, but the happiness in his voice wouldn’t let me. I looked over my shoulder.

He was hunched over piles of paper on the dining room table, smiling.

What was going on with him? Our Grant didn’t smile very often.

“What is it?”

“Come here. You need to see this.”

His excitement was contagious. “What?” I was smiling too, without even knowing why.

“I reviewed the accordion file we found this weekend.”

Not what I expected. “I burned through two wishes yesterday. You didn’t have to do this one today.”

He gestured dismissively. “We’ll catch up sometime. What I uncovered is more important. It’s a key.”

My scalp tingled. Maybe I hadn’t heard that right. “A key to what?”

“I would guess a storage facility.”

There was a loud humming inside my head. “Let me see.”

Grant crossed to my side and held out his hand. On his palm lay an ornate key made of polished brass, the kind that fit into an old-fashioned padlock. A storage facility was a decent guess. But where? And why?

“Mom,” I shouted.

She appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, a dish towel in her hand and a smear of flour on her cheek. “What, baby?”

“Did Josh ever mention that he put some things in storage?”

She nodded. “He took me with him once.”

A wave of pleasure washed over me. What could be in there? “Where is it?”

“I don’t remember.”

Of course not. But never mind. There weren’t that many facilities around town. I could go to all of them until I found the right one. “Do you remember what he put in it?”

Her face paled. “Projects.”

“Art projects?” My stepfather had been good. Too good for this town to understand. “Are you saying that Josh stashed some of his carvings?”

“Yeah.” She turned to leave.

“Mom, wait.” When she hesitated, I rushed out my next question. “How many projects did he store?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you give me an idea? Was it more like five or fifty?”

“I said I don’t know.”

Deep breath. Should I press it or not? “Why haven’t you told me about this?”

She lifted a hand to her mouth. “I forgot,” she mumbled around biting her cuticles.

“This could be huge—”

There was a touch on my shoulder. I cut a sideways glance at Grant. He shook his head at me.

“Okay, fine, Mom. But we have to find out what’s in there. It could be valuable.”