I Wish (30 page)

“Thanks.” I stayed horizontal.

She came closer. “Standing up to Mr. Jarrett was pretty cool. You’re everybody’s new best friend.”

“Great.” I was guaranteed to fail APUSH now, which meant I wouldn’t graduate early like I’d hoped. But at least I’d have friends during the spring semester I had planned to skip.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Do you want some company? You could lie there and listen to me talk.”

“That would be nice.”

“Good.” She slid to the floor next to the bed, bringing her face on a level with mine. “My dad came to visit this weekend. He brought his new girlfriend.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t remember her name—it’s something fluffy—and she’s thirty-one years old. The whole thing is wrong on a lot of levels.”

It was like I had a glass bubble around my head. I could see the heat of her anger, but the bubble stopped it from reaching me. I thought I should hurt for her, but I couldn’t. I was a bad friend. There was no room left for anyone else’s pain.

She talked nonstop for an hour, requiring nothing further from me than my presence, which was good because I had nothing else to give.

Within seconds of Kimberley’s departure, the door creaked open. Henry’s turn. “Lacey, are you sick?”

“Yes.” I didn’t want to talk. It hurt to move my mouth.

“Did you catch something at school?”

“No, little man. I’m the only one who has it.”

“Do you want me to find Grant? He can fix anything.”

Pain rippled through me anew but for a different reason. I had to tell Henry the news, and I didn’t want to. “Grant is gone.”

He blinked. “Gone gone?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

I didn’t want to think about this. “Forever.”

Henry’s eyes grew big, round, and watery. “He left without saying goodbye to me?”

I couldn’t let Henry believe that Grant would be so callous. “I made him leave.”

“Why, Lacey?”

“I can’t explain.”

He ran from the room and thundered down the steps.

My mother checked on me around supper time, but I pretended to be asleep. She watched for a good five minutes before leaving. She didn’t return.

It was a horrible night. I curled around my pillow, wide-eyed, reliving each thought and decision. It wasn’t too late. All I had to do was rub my tattoo and he would come right back.

No. I had to stop thinking about it. Our month with Grant was over.

I
awakened at four, having slept enough to be functional, which was good because today was the deadline for Ms. Dewan’s essay contest. She believed that my writing skills would do well in a competition. I needed to do this for her. For me.

It would mean writing a draft the old-fashioned way, since all I had was paper and pen, but it didn’t seem to matter. The words flowed in such a rush, I could hardly write fast enough.

After ninety minutes of drafting, the essay was done.

I threw on some clothes and tiptoed downstairs. The house was dim and quiet at this hour, the only noises the tick of the clock and the hum of the A/C. I’d nearly made it to the door when my mother spoke.

“Morning, baby.”

I spun around. “Oh. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

She sat on the couch under a navy-blue blanket. Holding up one corner, she beckoned me over. When I flopped down next to her, she tucked the blanket’s edges around me.

“Mom, about Grant—”

“Shhh,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “I prefer that you don’t mention him for a while. Coping with Henry’s grief is all I can take. I’m not ready to handle my own.”

“Henry’s talking to you about Grant?”

She gave a sharp nod. “In his mind, you’re the villain.”

That hurt. “What do you think?”

“I think it must be one of those things where no one’s wrong and everybody loses.”

The urge to explain gripped me, but I couldn’t. Not now.

We cuddled quietly until the clock struck seven.

“Time for me to go,” I said. “I have an essay I need to finish for Ms. Dewan.”

“I’ll call the school to excuse your absence yesterday.”

“Can you excuse my first period class this morning too?”

“Sure, baby.”

“Thanks.” I kissed her cheek, slid from the couch, and let myself out of the house. I got to school in record time and entered the media center the second the doors were unlocked. After almost an hour of revisions and several frustrated kicks at a jammed printer, I finally got a printed copy of my contest entry. There was no way it would win, but it would give the judges something to think about.

I missed APUSH for the second day in a row, which made me an idiot, but I didn’t care. The essay was more important.

Ms. Dewan wasn’t in her room at the beginning of second period. I wanted to put the submission directly into her hands, but I didn’t want to hang out at her desk. So I went to the back row, slumped in a seat, and stared at my masterpiece. My eyelids drooped. The letters blurred.

“Hey. Are you okay?” Eli’s voice seemed to boom next to me.

I jerked upright. “I’m fine.” “You don’t sound fine.”

“Okay, then. I’m not fine.” I picked up a pen and doodled on the cover of my notebook.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” There was a buzzing in my head. Or maybe it was the bell.

“Does it have anything to do with Grant?”

“Yeah.” It was incredible how everyone accepted that Grant and I had been a couple. How could it have been so obvious to others when it hadn’t been that obvious to me? Maybe I was just slow.

“Did you break up?”

“We did.” I shot Eli a quick glance, daring him to ask more.

“Sorry.” He nodded and then pointed at my contest entry. “Did you argue against English Lit?”

“Yeah.” Safer subject. I shifted the paper so he could see the title.

“‘The Language of Choice,’” he said with a half-smile. “I’d guess you aren’t choosing to read more Shakespeare.”

“Correct. Did you write an essay?”

“I turned mine in yesterday. ‘The View Through Shakespeare’s Prism.’”

A brief smile trembled on my lips. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. You too.” His face scrunched into concern. “How’s Henry’s leg?”

“It’s fine. Did he have any problems at practice yesterday?”

“All of the guys seemed a little off. We’re planning an extra practice for this afternoon.”

“Excuse me, Lacey and Eli?”

Crap. That was Ms. Dewan. We both straightened and faced forward.

“Would you two like to share your conversation with the rest of the class?”

There was a sea of faces staring at us. When had class started? What had we missed? My mind went blank. I couldn’t think of a single decent lie.

“We were discussing our favorite Shakespearean sonnets,” Eli said.

I looked at him and nodded. Impressive. He nodded back.

“Great. Why don’t you tell us your favorite, Lacey?” Ms. Dewan prompted.

She was mad, which happened occasionally but had never before been directed at me. I dropped my gaze and caught sight of my doodle. A music box.

“‘Farewell!’” My voice cracked. I stopped, cleared my throat, and tried again, more softly the second time. “‘Farewell! Thou art too dear for my possessing…’”

There was silence in the room—a profound silence, as if they were all holding their breath.

“Thank you, Lacey. A lovely choice.” Her voice had softened. “Eli?”

I felt his gaze on me but didn’t meet it. Couldn’t meet it.

“‘From fairest creatures we desire increase,’” he quoted, “‘that thereby beauty’s rose might never die.’”

Utter silence.

“Good save,” the teacher said. “We’ll cover both of those sonnets in this unit.” Her heels clicked on the tile floor as she crossed to her desk. She fished around for a small book, then held it up. “All right, class, get out your copies of
Macbeth
…”

At the end of the period, I walked to her desk and stood until she finished speaking with another student.

Her expression was neutral. “Yes, Lacey?”

I handed her the entry. She took it, puzzled, and flipped through the pages. A smile spread as she skimmed my essay. “You did it,” she said, looking up. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“I wanted to see if I could.”

“You made the right decision. If the first paragraph is anything to go by, I can’t wait to read the rest.”

The praise felt good. I left the room and lingered in the hallway, glad I’d gone through with it after all.

It was my lunch period, but more than food, I was dying for sleep.

Easy choice. I diverted to the nearest exit.

My mom didn’t seem surprised when I arrived home. She didn’t ask why I was skipping school or what had happened yesterday. All she said was, “I’m having apple pie for lunch. Want to join me?”

We ate half a pie between us, drank a pot of herbal tea—my mother’s new hot beverage obsession—and talked about the garden. It was weird to have a whole conversation that didn’t mention Henry, Josh, or Grant.

Afterwards, we quietly washed the dishes and then went our separate ways. She disappeared into her bedroom and I trudged up to mine.

But sleep wouldn’t come immediately. I lay on my side, staring into space, wondering what Grant was doing or thinking right now. Would he emerge each day and force me to wish him away? Was he mad? Did he understand yet?

I held up my arm, pushed my copper bracelet aside, and studied the tattoo. It would be so simple to summon Grant and continue with my wishes. Mom needed more from him. We had renovations to complete on the house. I could use his help marketing the shoes. And we hadn’t even begun to look for the storage facility.

I needed Grant the BSB. I wanted Grant the guy. All I had to do was call out and I would have both.

No.
No
. I’d made the right decision.

The music box had to go.

When Eli brought Henry home from practice today, I would be waiting.

I hovered in the front yard, peering down the street for the Mustang. When it finally pulled up at the curb, I rushed over to the driver’s side of the car. “Can you take me to the flea market?”

“Sure.”

I ran to the front porch and picked up the music box. The wood gleamed in the sunlight, rich and dark. I clamped my lips against the pain of what I was about to do. Taking Henry’s place in the passenger’s seat, I buckled up, clutched the box to my chest, and closed my eyes.

“What do you have?” Eli asked.

“Nothing special.”

“I think it
is
special.”

The stereotype that portrayed guys as not talking much? That hadn’t been my experience, and I wished it was. “Why do you say that?”

“You’re crying.”

Was I? I lifted a hand to my wet cheek. “It’s hard for me to sell this box.”

“Family heirloom?”

I shook my head. “Family treasure.”

“Are you selling it because you need the money?”

I nodded. His assumption was as safe an answer as any.

Eli didn’t say anything else until we reached our destination. “Here we are.”

I fixed my gaze on the sign. “Magnolia Grove Flea Market” was painted in peeling black paint on a crooked board warped by weather and neglect.

My legs mutinied, not wanting to participate in my plan. I frowned, willing them to cooperate. The decision was made. There was no use in delaying it.

The muscles twitched reluctantly. Time to move. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. Thanks.” I pushed the door open with my foot and slid from the car. My sneakers slapped against the broken asphalt as I wove through the sparsely filled parking lot and turned into the entrance. My journey down the main aisle was slow and measured. Vendors reclined lazily, some reading, others half-dozing, while a thin stream of customers wandered around without buying much. A few nodded at me as I passed.

Four weeks ago, I had arrived, blissfully unsuspecting of what was to come. A different girl. A different world.

Madame Noir was in her spot, her smile dimming when she recognized the object in my hands.

I set it with a
thunk
on her table. “Will you buy this back from me? I’ve cleaned it up.”

“Well, now, there hasn’t been too much business lately for music boxes.”

“If you pay cash, I’ll take whatever is reasonable.” It was important for her to complete the transaction quickly, and it might help if she thought I was desperate for the money. At this point, I would’ve given it to her for free if it wouldn’t have raised too many questions.

“Twenty-five?”