Wish: Chapters 4–9

Gus took off his baseball cap and scratched his head. “That ole mutt is mighty skittish.”

I made a solemn vow and promise to myself right then and there. That dog was going to be mine.

Then Gus came in the kitchen and I didn’t hardly even recognize him. He had on a coat and tie! Instead of his usual muddy boots, he wore lace-up black shoes buffed and shiny.

While she read the questions, the boys fidgeted and the girls whispered and giggled in their dresses, while I kept quiet in my ugly jeans.

When Bertha introduced me to Howard’s mama, she hugged me and said Howard had told her about me. Then she craned her neck, looking around the room. “Mr. Odom must be outside. And I’ll never catch those wild boys of mine long enough to introduce you.”

When my teacher called the house to tell Mama how bad I’d done on my math test or ask why I hadn’t turned in my book report, Mama would holler and carry on for about five minutes and then she’d throw up her skinny arms and heave a big sigh before she said, “What’s the use?”

Then she’d shuffle out of the room in her bedroom slippers, muttering about how she didn’t deserve that aggravation.

If you see a white horse, just make a wish. But for a black horse you have to shake your fist at it three times. I’d learned that one from Scrappy, which made me a little skeptical, but I did it anyway.

The mad was swirling inside me, making my ears ring and my stomach churn.

And then, while I was sitting there wallowing in my pity, somebody said, “What’s the matter, Charlie?”

This boy beat all. He sure had a lot of gumption for a little ole redheaded up-down boy.

I told him about all those times I watched from the bedroom window when Scrappy drove off with his tires screeching and gravel flying while Mama yelled “Good riddance to bad rubbish” from the front porch.

“I bet he’s full of ticks,” he said. “And he might have the mange. Stray dogs have the mange.”

She went to her room and came back with a tattered shoebox. She took the lid off and said, “Look.”
I peered inside. Photographs.

Bertha rummaged through them and took one out. She smiled at it and handed it to me.

She and I used to spend all day at the mall, wandering from store to store trying on crop tops and miniskirts that we were never allowed to have. Picking out earrings we would buy if our ears were pierced. Spritzing fancy perfume on each other from the samples at the cosmetics counter.

So we shopped all morning, and by the time we headed back to Colby, I had two new dresses and a lavender cardigan sweater.

“But Gus said he’s liable to be anywhere,” I added.

Then I closed my eyes, made my wish, and blew, sending that eyelash out into the air where it disappeared, probably settling on the floor with clumps of dirt and chewed gum and trampled spelling tests.

I didn’t tell her I sure could believe that, with the likes of Audrey Mitchell in that so-called church family.