Read You Wish Online

Authors: Mandy Hubbard

You Wish (21 page)

BOOK: You Wish
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And a lime-colored dirt bike.
Holy crap, there is a fluorescent green dirt bike in the garage, sitting innocently next to my mom’s shiny car.
My mom turns to look at me, shooting me a look that must wither anyone who stiffs her on a bill.
“That’s not mine,” I say, crossing my arms, hoping it’s true, knowing it’s probably not.
I knew I’d really wanted a dirt bike for a while. I guess if I think about it, it still sounds like fun.
I just didn’t know I ever wished for one.
For about two years, I asked for a dirt bike for every birthday and every Christmas. My dad always said I could have one once I got a little older, and my mom always shot him death glares when he said it, but I figured he would sway her to the dark side sooner or later.
That’s part of what sealed the deal with Ben. I wanted a bike, he had one.
Fate. Kismet. Back in seventh grade, my fantasies with him involved me dreaming of him showing me how to ride. He’d take me out, and I’d hang on to his waist and rest my cheek against his back, and life would be perfect.
My mom reaches into the pocket of her khaki slacks and produces a key ring.
A key ring with a big black plastic-encased key and a string of beads.
Beads that perfectly spell out
Kayla
.
“Where did you get that?” I ask. For some reason I reach out to grab the key, which makes me seem completely guilty. She snatches them away, continuing to dangle them as if they are the key piece of DNA evidence in a murder trial.
“Your room. I forgot a file and stopped in to get it. Once I saw the bike, I checked your room. Chase has been at work all day, so I knew it wasn’t his. Do you care to explain yourself ?”
I just stare, because it’s not like there’s a way to explain away a lime-green dirt bike, especially not one with a custom key ring.
“I throw you an enormous sweet-sixteen party and this is how you repay me?”
Pft. I can’t stop the escape of breath, the one that sounds like bitter laughter.
“What’s that for?”
I look up at her. If she hadn’t thrown that stupid party, if she hadn’t insisted I make a wish, I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. It’s
her
fault there’s a motorcycle in the garage. “I didn’t want that party and you know it. You know it because I told you over and over.
You
wanted the party so you could impress your clients.”
She narrows her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re being so ungrateful! A hundred girls would kill for a party that expensive and nice!”
“Maybe! But maybe if you paid one
ounce
of attention to me, you’d notice that I am not one of those girls!”
She crosses her arms. “What do you mean, if I paid attention? I work my butt off for this family!”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Don’t pretend your job is for us. I know it’s because you want to impress Dad. News flash, he doesn’t care about you or me or any of us.”
“Kayla!”
“What? You know it’s true. You’re obsessed with your stupid company. Nobody in this family even talks anymore! You don’t eat dinner with us, you don’t watch TV with us. Dad might as well have taken you with him when he went to Italy!”
My anger blazes and I look her in the eyes, but what I see wrenches straight through me.
Because I see something there that I’m not sure I’ve ever seen.
Hurt. She masks it well, but for one,
tiny
fraction of a second, I saw it.
And then, with sad clarity, I realize: He left my mom, too. Her husband, the man that swore to love her until death do them part, reneged on his promise, just like he did on all the others—the BB gun, the dirt bike, everything.
Maybe her company isn’t all about impressing him. Maybe it’s about forgetting him.
My mom grinds her teeth, the mask back. “I don’t have time for this conversation. I’ve got a retreat in Eastern Washington for the rest of the week. Chase in is charge.” She’s looking for her shoes and jamming her toes into the crème leather pumps. “We’ll discuss this when I get back. Until then, you’re grounded.”
“But—”
“We will finish this later.” She glares at me and the look on her face makes the words die in my throat. I can see being grounded is the least of my concerns.
“Okay,” I manage.
I’m frozen in the doorway as she backs the car out, and I’m still standing there when the garage door shuts, staring at the lime-colored bike in the second bay.
Is it wrong if I want to take it for a test spin?
26
I’M ON MY WAY
to my room, fuming about this whole stupid, mess of a day, when I see something sitting on the counter.
My mom’s planner.
I glance out the front window to be sure she hasn’t come back right away for it and then scurry across the tiles and unsnap the button holding it together.
It’s pristine, perfectly organized, nothing out of place. The total opposite of my life right now.
The front is a series of plastic pages that hold one business card after another. She must have a hundred cards.
I scan the first couple of pages. They’re DJs, banquet halls, caterers. My fingers glide over the surface as I scan the business names. A bakery isn’t among the first few pages.
A low humming noise outside catches my attention. I turn to see my mom parking in the driveway.
She’s realized that she forgot her planner.
I start flipping the pages faster, whipping through them. I have to find the card. I
must
find the card.
To undo the wishes, to undo this mess I’m in.
More rental halls, an inflatable-bouncy-house company, a few florists. My heart climbs into my throat as I hear her car door slam.
If I don’t find it, I’ll never get to the bakery. After today, my mom’s not going to be doing me any favors, even if it’s just looking up the address for a bakery. And she’s definitely not letting me out of the house to go buy a cake.
And then on the last page, I see it.
A big blue cake, carefully designed and imprinted on the card. It looks fancy, Dr. Seuss–like. Definitely in the style of my sweet-sixteen cake.
Betty’s Bakery
is embossed in burgundy swirly print across the top.
My fingers scramble to find the opening, figure out what side the card slides in on so that I can yank it out.
I hear my mom’s heels clacking across the slate stoop. She’s going to catch me digging through her planner.
My fingers find a gap in the plastic and I yank the card out and then flip the planner shut and dive behind the island just as the door is opening.
I count her steps as she crosses the foyer and walks across the tile. I hold my breath and listen as she re-buttons the planner.
Then silence. I don’t know what she’s doing. I think she might be listening for me. Wondering if I’m up in my room or in the garage.
Please don’t look for me.
I don’t need The Big Lecture: Part II.
I close my eyes and try not to sigh aloud as she turns around and heads back to the door. I don’t breathe until I hear her car door slam and hear her back out of the drive.
The business card is smashed in my palm, but it’s still in one piece.
IF MY LIFE
were a natural disaster, the president would now declare it a federal emergency and call in aid. The Red Cross would try to revive my social status and repair my relationships with my mom and best friend.
Since that’s not happening, it’s time to kick this plan into high gear. Ann and I are heading to Betty’s Bakery, which turns out to be outside a completely different mall than the one we went to last time. At least now I have the card tucked into my pocket and I know where I’m going.
I’m pinning all my hopes on reversing everything.
Unfortunately, it’s pouring rain now, covering the freeway, making it a little tough to speed, which I really want to do. My fingers grip the steering wheel and I glance down at the speedometer, wishing it said ninety-nine miles per hour. The faster this is over, the better. Everything’s changing, crashing down, and I’m afraid I’m going to fall apart just like the rest of it.
Ann clears her throat. She can tell I’m worked up over something. “Ken and I bought you something. Well, Ken bought it. I just came up with the idea.”
I look sideways at Ann. I’m almost afraid to hear what she’s going to say next. The wipers are hardly keeping up with the torrential downpour. I turn my attention back to the road. “What?”
Ann digs into her pockets. She found a pair of my jeans from junior high, when I was a size or two smaller. She’s also wearing a Hello Kitty T-shirt, the one I bought to pair with combat boots. She hands me something, a piece of paper.
When I see what it is, my eyes widen and I shake my head and toss it back at her. “No way.”
“But you like ballet!”
“
Liked
ballet. Past tense, remember?”
“You don’t have to dance in it, silly. We’re going to go and watch.”
“Pretty sure I’m grounded.”
“Forever?”
I snort. “No, but probably for at least two weeks. Longer if I get in trouble again.”
She frowns. “But the ballet is on Saturday. And we bought four tickets in case you want to bring a date.”
I whip around to look at her. “What do you mean, if
I
want a date? Isn’t Ken my date? Or doesn’t he
think
he’s my date?”
Ann gives me this,
I don’t know how to tell you this but
. . . look.
My eyes flare wide. “Oh my God! I’m the third wheel!”
I smack my forehead and then spread my fingers so I can see the road through them. “You and Ken are, like, totally into each other, aren’t you?”
I don’t have to look at her to know the truth.
“Unbelievable. First Nicole and now you . . . Why does everyone around me hook up?”
Ann kind of shrugs and crinkles her nose, because she knows it’s a rhetorical question. Or maybe it’s not. I don’t know.
“Won’t you come, though? It’ll be fun!”
I switch the wipers up to the highest notch as the downpour increases. I should have worn a jacket. Ann should have too. “I told you I’m grounded. And besides, I might be sticking hot needles under my toenails that day. I’ll have to check my schedule and get back to you.”
“Oh, come on, you have to come. If you don’t, Ken probably won’t go.”
I look at her sideways. “What do you mean? I thought he was into you.”
She kind of squirms in the seat. “Well . . . I was kind of hoping he could be. Because you’re not into him. So maybe if you brought a date, he’d turn his attention to me . . . ”
Maybe if Ann had asked me this yesterday, I would have considered it. But today? When so much is going wrong?
“Please? I really want to go. Ken showed me YouTube videos, and—”
“You watched YouTube videos with Ken?”
She nods.
“How? When?”
“We used your computer earlier today.”
“
Ken
was in my room?”
She nods and then looks out the window, as if what she just said is no big deal at all.
“Ann! You can’t just let people into my room like that. My mom could see you!”
“I wasn’t even there when your mom was home. Besides, it’s
our
room,” she says. “He was
my
guest. And you have no idea how bored I get when you’re not around.”
My hand tightens on the wheel. I stare, unblinking, out at the sheets of rain pouring down over the freeway, blurring the red tail-lights in front of me. The dynamic between Ann and me is getting increasingly complicated. It’s like she’s Pinocchio, and she’s ready to assert her independence. I don’t know how to deal with it, how to keep her under wraps. “He didn’t, um, like dig through my stuff, did he?”
She shakes her head. “Of course not.”
Silence falls between us. Just the muted sounds of the radio and the pounding of the rain. I flip my blinker on and take my exit. A big semi-truck roars by us to our left, and Ann jumps.
“So, will you go? Pretty please?”
I sigh and pull to a stop at the light just off the ramp. I feel like a tiny little ant lined up with all the other cars, ready to go marching two by two to get out of the rain. “I told you, I can’t. But maybe we can figure out how to get Ken to go with you.”
If I’m lucky, this cake thing will work and there will be nothing left to figure out.
The light finally turns and I hang a left and follow traffic for a few blocks to get to the mall. I feel tingly and nervous as I pull into the lot, my eyes scanning the nearby buildings for the bakery, aka, the reason for this entire disaster. Or at least, what I’m hoping is the reason.
It’s the only thing that makes sense. Because I’ve had a birthday every year for sixteen years, and I’ve never had my wishes come true. Then my mom buys this ridiculous frosted masterpiece and presto, magic. Maybe this bakery’s recipes include hair of witch and slime of a toad or something. I don’t know, but it’s my last resort, so it better work.
BOOK: You Wish
3.12Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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