The Seventh Wish: Chapters 1–11

Now, every year on the first super-cold morning of winter, I go to Abby’s room and bounce on her bed until she gets up and comes outside with me to look. Sometimes we find the lake churning with freezing waves that splash icicles onto the rocks.

It was a Christmas present from Mom and Dad—a note card that read “This certificate entitles the bearer to one solo dress for Irish dance (up to $300).” That might sound like a lot for one dress, but the truth is, it’s barely going to cover the most basic one you can get.

Abby pulls the pillow over her head. “Charlie, it’s like seven o’clock. Leave me alone.”
Her voice is hoarse and scratchy, like maybe she’s getting sick.

“You check that ice with an auger?” The voice startles me, and I turn to see Drew’s nana, Mrs. McNeill, standing at the shore in a snowmobile suit.

“As I was saying,” Mrs. McNeill goes on, and Drew rolls his eyes. She’s a retired science teacher who takes care of Drew when his parents are working, which is pretty much always. Drew gets a lot of science lessons. “This pattern of frost formation is an Arctic phenomenon. When the air is very cold and ice forms quickly over warmer water, then...”

“I’m thinking of a word,” I tell Mom and Dad at breakfast the next morning.
Dad pushes his bagel into the toaster and looks up at the ceiling. “Vendetta?”
“Marigold,” Mom says from the closet, where she’s pulling out snowshoes.
“Dad wins. It was telegram.”

Abby: I’m thinking of a word.
Mom: I hope the word is study. Don’t you have a test Friday?
Charlie: Diligent.
Abby: Oohhh, fancy guess.
Charlie: Vocab word.

Once Mom and Dad argued for ten minutes over which word was closer to sunflower–flashlight or rebellious.

Mom’s eyes dart to the stairs and then to Dad, who grimaces and shakes his head. They’ve had a lot of serious kitchen-table conversations with Abby since her first semester grades showed up during vacation. I guess the grades weren’t very good.

Drew’s nana gave him The Worst-Case Scenario Handbook a couple of years ago, and he’s read it cover to cover, fifteen times. Sharing techniques for surviving unlikely catastrophes is his favorite thing in the world besides fishing.

Drew’s nana gave him The Worst-Case Scenario Handbook a couple of years ago, and he’s read it cover to cover, fifteen times. Sharing techniques for surviving unlikely catastrophes is his favorite thing in the world besides fishing.

Mrs. McNeill gives me a reassuring smile and shakes her head. “The ice is fine, my dear. You’re simply hearing air bubbles working themselves up through the fissures now that the sun’s up. Listen...”

I pick up an insulated bucket and can feel the bait sloshing around inside.

“Please,” someone says.
And I freeze. Because it’s not Mrs. McNeill and it’s not Drew. And it’s not the stupid growly ice talking this time either. This voice is quiet and low-pitched and raspy.

This new fish is quiet. It has the same slimy stripes but regular beady fish eyes. I drop it in the keep bucket and rebait my hook.

“I hope we can move up to Novice soon.” I tighten my laces and fasten the strap that goes over my ankle. “You’re doing the Montreal feis, right?”

We run through the dance three more times, getting more confident with our steps until the sound of our shoes stomping in unison shakes the room like thunder.

“Maybe that’ll be the silver lining of basketball practice,” I say. “Developing speed to outrun the bees.”

“I’m thinking of a word,” Mom says.
“Peppermint?” I guess.
“Nope. Diminutive,” Dad says.
“You’re both wrong. It was place setting.”

Mom hands Dad the colander and peels the spaghetti off the cupboard.

“Sorry, I was just thinking. I’m happy for Mom with the new job.” I polish off my slice of pizza and reach for a second. “Also, I’m thinking of a word.”
“Persnickety?” Dad says, making a face that matches his guess.
“Great word,” I say, “but no.”

Catherine rummages through her bag, pulls her flour baby out from a jumble of shoes and extra clothes, and props it up on a chair.

I volunteer to help put up a “Getting Ready for Pi Day” bulletin board after school so I can hang around until Drew is finished.
At three thirty, I find him at the art club bake sale, counting pennies and trying to negotiate a lower price for his Rice Krispie treat.

I start to leave, but as soon as I turn around, I see Mom’s silhouette in the kitchen window and I remember that I need a wish.

Our class had a whole discussion about what we would have done differently if we were the characters, and we were all kinds of smug about it.

“He’d be right. You’re lucky you only hurt your arm, Ab.”
“I know. I usually lift with Olivia and we spot for one another, but she had a sorority thing.” She shrugs. “Help me out, okay? I’m not in the mood for a lecture.”

When I clear away the laundry, I see that Mom’s left a book of science fair ideas on my dresser. I pick it up, flop down on my bed, and flip through the pages.
Examining the motion of a pendulum.
Boring.

Some people who spend all day on the ice haul out tiny little houses, called shanties, to sit in.

“I’ll try to make the next game.” I wave and head inside my house. The kitchen smells like roast chicken, and for the first time in days, I’m not stressed out about my fish wishes. Even though I messed up, things are working out okay. I’m helping Dasha with her classes. Drew will be all right as the lake monster, even though he’s not thrilled about his smelly costume. And Bobby...well, Bobby is still swooning, but he’s not all that bad.

I know this has nothing to do with my feis—this is bad and serious and totally different—but I can’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy.