He was quiet. “All right. I’m a poet, or I want to be one. I should believe you.”
“The first time I saw the old lady—or fairy or witch, whatever she is—the first time was . . .” And I told him about giving her a seat on the train. When I got to the part about the wish, he said, “What did you ask for? I know what I would have wanted.”
“What?”
“Better poems. What did you ask for?”
He was going to think I was an idiot. “I asked her to make me the most popular kid at Claverford. And it ended yesterday because we graduated.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he said, “I didn’t think popularity mattered to you.” He stopped talking again.
I called Reggie, to give myself something to do. What was he thinking? Was he angry, like Nina and Ardis had been?
He grinned. “You’re great. I have to tell Brad about this. You cared that much about being popular and you still let Antoinette do the caricature. And you let me hang it in my locker.” He told Reggie to sit. Reggie did, looking surprised. Then Jared kissed me again. And again. “You’re even better than I thought.”
I felt dizzy. I felt more turned upside down than when the spell began or ended. Jared didn’t think I’d done anything terrible. He didn’t feel tricked, maybe because he’d liked me before the spell started. If I wanted to be popular, and I made it my wish, there was nothing wrong with it.
It was really stupid, but in a second I was going to be crying my head off. I went to Reggie and touched my chest. He jumped up and licked my face. If my cheeks were wet, his tongue would be my excuse.
Jared started laughing. “But you missed your chance, Wilma. You could have gotten a pet elephant, or your own porpoise.”
I could have. I never thought of it.
Epilogue
Jared said he’d call me from camp. I told him he should write too and send me more poems.
At Sixty-sixth Street and Broadway, he went down into the subway after such a long final kiss that Reggie started growling.
When I couldn’t see him anymore, I walked Reggie a little longer. I wanted to be alone for a few minutes before I went home. At Sixty-fifth Street four or five people were waiting for the crosstown bus. I was almost past them when I saw her. The old lady. Waiting for the bus. My heart stopped. Why was she here?
I made Reggie heel and went up to her. She was facing down the street, looking for a bus. She didn’t seem to notice me. “Excuse me.” I didn’t know her name.
She shuffled to face me. “Wilma! What a lovely surprise. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Yeah. Right.
She smiled. “Congratulations. I see you’re on your way to becoming a cool cat.”
She could make sure I did, by giving me back my wish, by making it last as long as I wanted it to.
“What are you doing here?” I said.
“Why, I’m waiting for the bus. I just missed one.”
“Can you . . . Would you . . .”
I heard Ardis’s voice in my mind, as loud as if she were right next to me. “You’d do it again! You’d force us again. You don’t get it.”
Then I thought about Ovideo and Timothy, gossiping about me, saying mean things. When I went to Elliot in the fall, I’d have to put up with a lot of that from the kids who’d gone to Claverford.
I thought about Ardis and Nina and BeeBee, judging me, trying to make up their minds about being friends with me. I thought about them leaving yesterday still not positive, even though they were leaning in my direction.
The old lady could make it all better. She could make me exempt. I could judge everybody else, pick who I wanted, and never be judged.
And then I remembered wondering if Ardis and the rest of them really liked me, under the spell. I wanted friends who liked me because I was Wilma, because I had a caricature done, because I loved dogs and could imagine being one, because I helped an unpopular kid when Suzanne teased her. I wanted friends who liked me without a spell.
Maybe I could get a different wish, though. Maybe I could get her to give me a porpoise or an elephant, like Jared said. Or maybe she could change Maud into a chimpanzee. I’d love to share a room with a chimp.
“Could I do something else for you? Help you onto the bus? Pay your fare?” Stir your cauldron.
She chuckled. “That wouldn’t be a good deed. You’d have an ulterior motive. You’d be doing it for yourself, not for me.”
I noticed that she had perfect teeth, and her wrinkles seemed to be millions of laugh lines, so she always looked a little smiley. But who knew if this was her real shape. Her real shape could have thirteen legs and pincers and teeth like nails.
I might never see her again, and I wanted to know. “Is this your real shape?”
“What? My real shape? Oh. Yes, it certainly is.”
“Oh. Well, isn’t there anything I can do? I do other good deeds, help kids study, give to—”
“I’m sure you do, dear. I’m sure you’re very sweet. But you can’t do any more good deeds for me. And it’s probably not wise to turn your sister into a chimpanzee.” She smiled again. “Good-bye, Wilma.” She shuffled to look up the street again.
I couldn’t force her to give me another wish. If I tried, she could turn me into a toad. Besides, I had Reggie. I didn’t need a chimp. And—maybe—I had a few friends. And Jared.
I started to walk away, but then I turned back and went to one of the other people waiting for the bus, a boy about my age. The old lady was still looking down the street, away from us.
“When the bus comes,” I whispered to the boy, “help that old lady on. It’s a good idea. You’ll see.”
Excerpt from The Two Princesses of Bamarre
Out of a land laid waste
To a land untamed,
Monster ridden,
The lad Drualt led
A ruined, ragtag band.
In his arms, tenderly,
He carried Bruce,
The child king,
First ruler of Bamarre.
So begins Drualt, the epic poem of Bamarre’s greatest hero, our kingdom’s ideal. Drualt fought Bamarre’s monsters—the ogres, gryphons, specters, and dragons that still plague us—and he helped his sovereign found our kingdom.
Today Bamarre needed a hero more than ever. The monsters were slaughtering hundreds of Bamarrians every year, and the Gray Death carried away even more.
I was no hero. The dearest wishes of my heart were for safety and tranquility. The world was a perilous place, wrong for the likes of me.
Once, when I was four years old and playing in the castle courtyard, a shadow passed over me. I shrieked, certain it was a gryphon or a dragon. My sister, Meryl, ran to me and held me, her arms barely long enough to go around me.
“It’s gone, Addie,” she whispered. “It’s far away by now.”
Meryl was my protector, as necessary to me as air and food. Our mother, Queen Daria, had succumbed to the Gray Death when I was two and Meryl was three. Father rarely visited the nursery. Bella, our governess, loved us in her way, but her way was to moralize and to scold.
Meryl understood me, although we were as different as could be. She was fair, and I was dark complexioned. She was small and compact, a concentration of focused energy. I was always tall for my age, and loose-limbed, and my energy was nervous and fluttery. Meryl was brave, and I was afraid of almost everything—from monsters to strangers to spiders.
Her favorite game was the Gray Death adventure. Oddly enough this one didn’t frighten me. The Gray Death wasn’t a monster or a spider I could see and shiver over. It was invisible. If I caught it, it would be somewhere within me, and while the outside world was full of danger, I knew my interior. I was certain I could oust an intruder there.
In the game I always portrayed the Gray Death’s victim.
I’d fall asleep there on the floor. A moment or two later I’d wake up and rise, consumed by fever. I’d rush to the fireplace and rub ashes int
o my cheeks, because the faces of the afflicted always turned gray near the end. I’d pretend to shiver, and I’d try to make my teeth chatter.
Meanwhile, Meryl would be busy battling monsters, consulting with sorcerers, climbing mountains, sailing stormy seas. While I shivered, I’d keep one eye on her, because I couldn’t start to die until she was ready to rescue me. When she triumphed and found the cure, I’d slump to the floor.
She’d rush to me, cradling the cure in both hands. Kneeling at my side, she’d whisper, “I have found it, maiden. You shall live.” She’d cure me, and I’d jump up.
We knew that a cure would be found one day. A specter had prophesied it, and the prophecies of specters always came true. The cure would be found when cowards found courage and rain fell over all Bamarre. That was all we knew.
Once, at the end of our game, I asked Meryl if she really planned to quest for the cure. I was nine at the time, and Meryl was ten.
She took a heroic stance, legs apart, brandishing an imaginary sword. “I’ll find the cure, and knights will flock to me. We’ll destroy the monsters and save Bamarre. Then I’ll return home.”
She wouldn’t. She’d be dead. But I knew better than to say so. Instead I asked, “What will I do while you’re away?”
She lowered her pretend sword and smiled. “Why, you’ll be the wife of a handsome prince and mother of a little princess who is learning to embroider as beautifully as you do.”
I didn’t smile back. “What if the prince hasn’t come yet, or he didn’t like me and left?”
“Then you’ll come with me.”
“No, I won’t. I’d be too afraid. You know I would.”
We lay quietly for a moment.
“If I ever really caught the Gray Death,” I said, “even if you hadn’t found the cure yet, I wouldn’t die.”
Meryl rolled over. “Why not?”
“Because I wouldn’t give in to it. When the disease made me feel tired, I wouldn’t act tired. When it made me want to sleep, I’d stay awake. If the fever still came, I’d run up and down to keep myself warm. By refusing to do the Gray Death’s bidding, I’d chase the illness away.”
Meryl leaped up. “I will find the cure, you know.”
I nodded. “But if I become ill before then, I won’t fall prey to death.”
About the Author
Photo credit David Levine
GAIL CARSON LEVINE grew up in New York City and has been writing all her life. Her first novel, ELLA ENCHANTED, was a Newbery Honor Book. Levine’s other books include FAIREST, a New York Times bestseller, Publishers Weekly Best Book, and School Library Journal Best Book; EVER, a New York Times bestseller; DAVE AT NIGHT, an ALA Notable Book and Best Book for Young Adults; THE WISH; THE TWO PRINCESSES OF BAMARRE; and the six Princess Tales books. She is also the author of the nonfiction book WRITING MAGIC: Creating Stories That Fly, the poetry collection FORGIVE ME, I MEANT TO DO IT: False Apology Poems, and the picture books BETSY WHO CRIED WOLF and BETSY RED HOODIE, illustrated by Scott Nash. Gail and her husband, David, live in a twocenturies-old farmhouse in New York’s Hudson Valley. You can visit her online at www.gailcarsonlevine.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
Books by Gail Carson Levine
DAVE AT NIGHT
ELLA ENCHANTED
EVER
FAIREST
TWO PRINCESSES OF BAMARRE
THE FAIRY’S RETURN AND OTHER PRINCESS TALES
BETSY WHO CRIED WOLF
WRITING MAGIC: CREATING STORIES THAT FLY
FAIRY DUST AND THE QUEST FOR THE EGG
FAIRY HAVEN AND THE QUEST FOR THE WAND
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Credits
Cover art © 2005 by Judy York
Cover design by Amy Ryan
Cover © 2005 by HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
Copyright
The Wish
Copyright © 2000 by Gail Levine
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Levine, Gail Carson.
The wish / Gail Carson Levine.
p. cm.
Summary: When granted her wish to be the most popular girl in school, Wilma, an eighth grader, forgets that she will graduate in three weeks and her popularity will vanish.
ISBN 0-06-027900-1. — ISBN 0-06-027901-X (lib. bdg.) ISBN 0-06-447361-9 (pbk.) — ISBN 0-06-075911-9 (rack)
[1. Popularity—Fiction. 2. Friendship—Fiction. 3. Schools—Fiction. 4. Wishes—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.L578345Wi 2000
98-19087
[Fic]—DC21
CIP
AC
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EPUB Edition © MARCH 2014 ISBN 9780062253590
First Harper edition, 2001
First rack edition, 2005
10 11 12 13 14 OPM 10 9
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Gail Carson Levine, The Wish
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