You Wish (29 page)

I burst out laughing, giddy with crazed happiness.

Because nothing is holding me back anymore.

Ann rolls over and peers down at me from the bed.

“What the heck are you doing?” She rubs her eyes and tries to push a few curly strands out of her face.

“I don’t know. Nothing. Everything? I’m not sure anymore.”

“Well, at least you look happy doing it,” she says, and then groans and lies back on the bed again.

And then I smile to myself, because for the first time in a long time, I am.

Happy.

38

WHEN THE DOORBELL RINGS
at noon, I swing it open and see Nicole standing on the stoop, a big gray milk crate in her arms. I smile and take it from her, and she follows me up to my room.

When the door swings open, I see Ann jumping around in big crazy circles, her arms in the air, the middle of her perfectly flat stomach exposed as she dances along to Kiss 106.1, the local pop-radio station. I think the current song thumping out the speakers is Britney’s latest.

I cross the room and click the stereo off. “Ann, this is Nicole. Nicole, Ann.”

Ann stops jumping up and down and steps forward, her arm sticking out. “Nice to meet you.”

Nicole smiles. “Likewise. I hear you have a hot date tonight.”

Ann’s eyes widen and she nods vigorously. I can see by the tapping of her toe that she’s ready to start bouncing around the room again.

“Let’s set up in the bathroom and get you ready.”

I carry the big crate, which I swear weighs forty pounds, into the bathroom down the hall. I put the lid down on the toilet and set it on top, peering in to see the contents. Blow dryers, a set of hot curlers, round brushes, curling irons, hair spray, and lots and lots of makeup.

“We’ll put some hot curlers in your hair and then we can go pick out your outfit,” she says, taking charge. “They take a while to set. I’m thinking a partial updo, lots of curls. And you simply
must
wear something green.”

I smile as I watch Nicole in her element.

I know she’s changed, and she’ll never be the girl she was a year ago, but I can’t help but think maybe it’s not a bad thing, maybe it’s a major improvement. She’s happy now, ready to take on the world, and I feel a little inspired.

Nicole plugs the hot curlers in and then goes back into my room and grabs my computer chair, rolling it into the bathroom for Ann to sit on. I perch on the edge of the tub, one ankle propped up on my knee, and watch as her skilled fingers set to work, brushing out Ann’s hair and then dividing it into sections and rolling it into curlers. Periodically, she sprays enough hair product to kill at least a full foot of the ozone layer.

“So what’s Breanna Mills like, really?” I ask, watching Nicole’s pretty, flawless reflection in the mirror. Her look is one of utter concentration. I wonder if she wants to be a stylist someday.

“You really want to know?” She looks up at my reflection. I nod. “She’s really sweet. Definitely the nicest of the Old Navy dress clique.”

I grin, and Nicole realizes she’s slipped and referred to them as the Old Navy dress clique. She smiles and shrugs. “She is, though. Her house is, like, a quarter of the size of yours, you know. You’d be amazed the sorts of sales and stuff she finds. Her whole wardrobe probably cost a hundred dollars and she’s still one of the best dressed in school.”

“Maybe we can all hang out sometime.”

Nicole turns and looks right at me. “Yeah. I think that would be cool. She’s totally not as bad as you think she is. You might actually like her.”

I nod and realize that it might be true.

Ten minutes later, Ann’s head is a mass of hot curlers, and we get up and go to my room. I kick all the junk on the floor of my closet into the back so we can find my clothes. Nicole tears through it like a homing pigeon, zeroing right in on the dresses that are of suitable color for Ann’s complexion. She hands at least four options to Ann.

Then she holds up a fuchsia sweater with a square neckline and an empire-waist-style tuck. And when I realize she’s holding it out to me, I cringe, putting my hands up to stop her.

Nicole puts a hand on her hip and gives me a
Don’t even try it
sort of look. “Seriously, Kayla. Give it a chance. I bet it looks great on.”

I sigh and take it from her hands.
Clean slate,
I remind myself.

Ann drapes her clothing options over the bed, and Nicole and Ann go back to the bathroom. While they’re fussing over her hair, I slip my T-shirt off and pull the fuchsia top over my head.

When I walk into the bathroom to see how I look, Nicole’s face lights up. “Told you it would look great on.”

When I see myself in the mirror, I can’t help but smile too. Because she’s right. The hue of the shirt manages to bring a little color into my cheeks.

Maybe tomorrow, after Ann’s big date and homecoming and whatever else Nicole has on that busy social calendar of hers, she can come back and we can dig through my closet.

Somehow I know Nicole won’t mind that one bit.

A FEW HOURS LATER,
Ann and I are sitting at the counter, each of us on a barstool, waiting for the doorbell to ding. My foot resembles Nicole’s that day in biology, because it’s tapping away against the footrest. I don’t know why I’m nervous for Ann, but I am. She’s Cinderella, and this is her night. But in
Cinderella
, it’s the carriage that turns into something else at midnight.

Tomorrow is the last wish. Tomorrow, this is all over.

I may not be a fairy godmother, but I did have a rather cute dress for Ann hanging in my closet. She looks flawless, more gorgeous than I could have imagined. It’s an elegant emerald dress, with delicate spaghetti straps and a slightly flared, flowing skirt that stops just short of Ann’s knees. It has a sort of gauzy overlay that gives Ann’s pale skin a kind of ethereal quality.

Nicole was right. Green is definitely Ann’s color.

Thanks to the hot curlers and what must be a zillion bobby pins, her hair has been completely transformed from her moppy, frizzy look to a smooth, shiny uptwist. The curls that do remain are long, loose, stylish. She looks beautiful, and if Ken doesn’t fall all over himself for her, then he’s a total fool.

I think Ann is truly nervous as well, because for once in her life, she’s not bouncing around like a little kid. She’s sitting still, a little pale but serene, occasionally reaching up and touching her hair.

The doorbell rings, and we both jump and then lock eyes and giggle. Nervous laughter. Her green eyes sparkle with it.

I slide off my stool and it seems to screech across the tile.

I can see his silhouette on the other side of the leaded-glass insert in the door. “Are you ready?” I ask Ann.

Her eyes flare a little, betraying her nerves, but she nods.

I yank the door open and step aside so that Ann is the first thing Ken sees.

His lips curl up into a warm, happy smile, showing off those perfect teeth. Today, the smile seems oddly natural, genuine, so much less plastic than it looked a week ago. He steps forward and gives Ann a hug, his big, well-muscled arms wrapping around her, and she stands on her tippy toes to hug him back. I feel a little like a proud parent as I stand there in the foyer, watching them.

Ken looks over Ann’s shoulder at me, giving me the faintest of smiles. I can’t help but wonder if it’s a thank-you, because there’s some kind of gratitude in his eyes.

He unwraps his arms from her body and then looks down at Ann, nodding toward his Jeep in the driveway. “Shall we?”

“Don’t bring her back too early,” I joke. Ann bursts out with another nervous giggle. I think she might melt into a pool of them at any second.

One hand on the door, I watch as they head to his Jeep, which, thankfully, has the top back on today. I would have a serious problem with him messing up her adorable hair.

Ken opens the door for her and she climbs in, careful to arrange her dress so as not to show anything off, nervously smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles away. Ken walks around to his side and climbs in and fires up the car.

Just before they pull out of sight, Ann flashes me a thumbs-up, her lip-glossed lips curling into an all-encompassing smile.

I’m going to miss that stupid doll.

39

WHEN I WAKE
the next morning, my room is oddly bright, even through the thick green curtains. I blink a few times, wondering if I’ve slept in past noon, but the world is silent. Too silent, if it were midday.

I sit up in bed and peek behind the curtain, and what I see makes my eyes flare widely.

Snow.

Huge, fluffy white snowflakes are falling silently from the velvety sky. I can barely see the shed in our backyard between the millions of flakes pouring from the clouds above.

It’s barely October.

If it snows in November, it’s a rarity. A freak snowstorm.

I bet it has
never
snowed in October before. I blink, staring out at the falling flakes, wondering when I wished for this. I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from the sight. Our lawn is no longer green; now it’s just a beautiful blanket of pristine white powder.

“Ann!” I whisper, climbing to my feet so that I can press my forehead to the glass. It’s cold to the touch. It must have dropped thirty degrees last night. I feel giddy and silly, like a child waking up on Christmas Day.

“Ann! It’s snowing!”

I turn to wake her—maybe by walloping her with a pillow—but my stomach plummets and the smile melts off my face when I realize she’s no longer in my bed.

The bed is empty. Completely devoid of the freakish redhead I’ve come to know and like.

Ann is not a morning person. She has not once gotten up before me. She could sleep right through the sinking of the
Titanic
.

I walk to the closet, as if for some reason she’s going to be sitting on the floor in there. But she’s not. The big pile of toys and junk that I ripped from the shelves a couple days ago is still heaped on the Berber carpeting.

I yank my fluffy robe off the hanger and shove my feet into a pair of thick red slippers and dash out of my room, scrambling down the stairs so fast I nearly topple over before I reach the bottom, and I have to grab onto the railing to catch myself. I scurry out the back door and fling it open, and it’s only when standing on the back patio that it dawns on me that it really
is
snowing, and I’m wearing a robe and fluffy slippers.

I look up at the sky, and the snowflakes grace my cheeks and forehead and land in my eyes. I blink a few times and then stick my tongue out and catch a few.

They’re real. It is snowing in Enumclaw in October. I turn and look at the foothills around us, but I can barely make out their snowcapped peaks through the falling snow.

This has got to be some kind of record.

I want to marvel a bit longer, but it’s
freezing
, so I dash out across the white-blanketed lawn. The snow, icy and wet, seeps through my socks until it feels as if my ankles may break right off.

I make it to the garden shed, where I yank open the latch and fling the door open.

Ann is not there. Neither is the pony. It shouldn’t alarm me, because they could have just gone on a walk, but something else is missing too: the bags and bags of gumballs. They’re gone, and the shed is nearly empty, pristine, no hoof marks or horse poo or evidence of the wishes at all.

There’s just a forlorn looking lawn mower, sitting by itself in the corner. I could run to the garage and look for the dirt bike, but I know that’s gone too.

I swallow the lump that is growing in my throat. I turn and look back across the lawn, staring at the blanket of snow, the silence heavy in my ears. Why does the snow make it seem so . . . quiet?

Ann’s really gone. They’re all gone. This snow is my last wish, and now that it has arrived, somehow, the curse is broken.

This was what I wanted, at least, it
had
been what I wanted. But I feel a little empty as I trudge back toward the house, the snow crunching beneath my rapidly dampening slippers.

I’m going to miss her. And Ken. And that stupid pony.

I glance down. Well, I won’t miss my giant boobs, anyway. I’m fine with my barely there chest. I can’t believe I used to hate what I had, but I am totally happy to see those giant knockers gone.

I try to think of an Italian word, a phrase, anything, but I can’t.

It’s really over. Two weeks of insane, topsy-turvy, never-ending craziness, and then it just
ends.

I walk to the middle of the yard, the icy snow soaking through my slippers and straight to my toes now, and then look up at the silvery-gray sky, nearly blinded by the flakes as they brush my cheeks and land on my nose. There are no cars driving by, no birds squawking, just utter, beautiful, silence.