I sighed, wiping perspiration off my forehead with the back of my hand. I tried to get into the game. I concentrated hard, mainly on not messing up. But I was pretty discouraged.
Then, a few minutes into the game, Judith and I both dove for the ball at the same time.
Somehow, as I dove, my arms outstretched, Judith’s knee came up hard—and plunged like a knife into my chest.
The pain shot through my entire body.
I tried to cry out. But I couldn’t make a sound.
I uttered a weird, gasping noise, sort of like the honk of a sick seal—and realized I couldn’t breathe.
Everything turned red. Bright, shimmering red.
Then black.
I knew I was going to die.
4
Having your breath knocked out has to be the worst feeling in the world. It’s just so scary. You try to breathe, and you can’t. And the pain just keeps swelling, like a balloon being blown up right inside your chest.
I really thought I was dead meat.
Of course I was perfectly okay a few minutes later. I still felt a little shaky, a little dizzy. But I was basically okay.
Ellen insisted that one of the girls walk me to the locker room. Naturally, Judith volunteered. As we walked, she apologized. She said it had been an accident. Totally an accident.
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want her to apologize. I didn’t want to talk to her at all. I just wanted to strangle her again.
This time for good.
I mean, how much can one girl take in a day? Judith had tripped me in math class, dumped her disgusting tapioca pudding all over my new Doc Martens in Home Ec, and kicked me unconscious in basketball practice.
Did I really have to smile and accept her apology now?
No way! No way in a million years.
I trudged silently to the locker room, my head bent, my eyes on the floor.
When she saw that I wasn’t going to buy her cheap apology, Judith got angry. Do you believe that? She shoves her knee through my chest—then she gets angry!
“Why don’t you just fly away, Byrd!” she muttered. Then she went trotting back to the gym floor.
I got changed without showering. Then I collected my stuff, and slunk out of the building, and got my bike.
That’s really the last straw, I thought, walking my bike across the parking lot in back of school.
It was about half an hour later. The late afternoon sky was gray and overcast. I felt a few light drops of rain on my head.
The last straw, I repeated to myself.
I live two blocks from the school, but I didn’t feel like going home. I felt like riding and riding and riding. I felt like just going straight and never turning back.
I was angry and upset and shaky. But mainly angry.
Ignoring the raindrops, I climbed onto my bike and began pedaling in the direction away from my house. Front yards and houses went by in a whir. I didn’t see them. I didn’t see anything.
I pedaled harder and harder. It felt so good to get away from school. To get away from Judith.
The rain started to come down a little harder. I didn’t mind. I raised my face to the sky as I pedaled. The raindrops felt cold and refreshing on my hot skin.
When I looked down, I saw that I had reached Jeffers’ Woods, a long stretch of trees that divides my neighborhood from the next.
A narrow bike path twisted through the tall, old trees, which were winter bare and looked sort of sad and lonely without their leaves. Sometimes I took the path, seeing how fast I could ride over its curves and bumps.
But the sky was darkening, the black clouds hovering lower. And I saw a glimmering streak of lightning in the sky over the trees.
I decided I’d better turn around and ride home.
But as I turned, someone stepped in front of me.
A woman!
I gasped, startled to see someone on this empty road by the woods.
I squinted at her as the rain began to fall harder, pattering on the pavement around me. She wasn’t young, and she wasn’t old. She had dark eyes, like two black coals, on a pale, white face. Her thick, black hair flowed loosely behind her.
Her clothing was sort of old-fashioned. She had a bright red, heavy woolen shawl pulled around her shoulders. She wore a long black skirt down to her ankles.
Her dark eyes seemed to light up as she met my stare.
She looked confused.
I should have run.
I should have pedaled away from her as fast as I could.
If only I had known…
But I didn’t flee. I didn’t escape.
Instead, I smiled at her. “Can I help you?” I asked.
5
The woman’s eyes narrowed. I could see she was checking me out.
I lowered my feet to the ground, balancing the bike between my legs. The rain pattered on the pavement, big cold drops.
I suddenly remembered I had a hood on my windbreaker. So I reached up behind my head and slipped it over my hair.
The sky darkened to an eerie olive color. The bare trees in the woods shivered in a swirling breeze.
The woman took a few steps closer. She was so pale, I thought. Almost ghostlike, except for the deep, dark eyes that were staring so hard at me.
“I—I seem to have lost my way,” she said. To my surprise, she had an old woman’s voice, sort of shaky and frail.
I squinted at her from under my hood. The rain was matting her thick, black hair to her head. It was impossible to tell how old she was. She could have been twenty or sixty!
“This is Montrose Avenue
,” I told her, speaking loudly because of the drumming of the raindrops. “Actually, Montrose ends here. At the woods.”
She nodded thoughtfully, pursing her pale lips. “I am trying to get to Madison,” she said. “I think I have completely lost my direction.”
“You’re pretty far from Madison,” I said. “It’s way over there.” I pointed.
She chewed at her lower lip. “I’m usually pretty good at directions,” she said fretfully in her shaky voice. She adjusted the heavy red shawl over her slender shoulders.
“Madison is way over on the east side,” I said with a shiver. The rain was cold. I was eager to go home and get into some dry clothes.
“Can you take me there?” the woman asked. She grabbed my wrist.
I almost gasped out loud. Her hand was as cold as ice!
“Can you take me there?” she repeated, bringing her face close to mine. “I would be ever so grateful.”
She had taken her hand away. But I could still feel the icy grip on my wrist.
Why didn’t I run away?
Why didn’t I raise my feet to the pedals and ride out of there as fast as I could?
“Sure. I’ll show you where it is,” I said.
“Thank you, dear.” She smiled. She had a dimple in one cheek when she smiled. I realized she was kind of pretty, in an old-fashioned way.
I climbed off my bike and, holding onto the handlebars, began to walk it. The woman stepped beside me, adjusting her shawl. She walked in the middle of the street, her eyes trained on me.
The rain continued to come down. I saw another jagged bolt of lightning far away in the olive sky. The swirling wind made my windbreaker flap against my legs.
“Am I going too fast?” I asked.
“No, dear. I can keep up,” she replied with a smile. She had a small purple bag slung over her shoulder. She protected the bag by tucking it under her arm.
She wore black boots under the long skirt. The boots, I saw, had tiny buttons running up the sides. The boots clicked on the wet pavement as we walked.
“I am sorry to be so much trouble,” the woman said, again pursing her lips fretfully.
“No trouble,” I replied. My good deed for the day, I thought, brushing a drop of rain off my nose.
“I love the rain,” she said, raising her hands to it, letting the raindrops splash her open palms. “Wi
thout the rain, what would wash the evil away?”
That’s a weird thing to say, I thought. I muttered a reply. I wondered what evil she was talking about.
Her long, black hair was completely soaked, but she didn’t seem to mind. She walked quickly with long, steady strides, swinging one hand as she walked, protecting the purple bag under the other arm.
A few blocks later, the handlebars slipped out of my hands. My bike toppled over, and the pedal scraped my knee as I tried to grab the bike before it fell.
What a klutz!
I pulled the bike up and began walking it again. My knee throbbed. I shivered. The wind blew the rain into my face.
What am I doing out here? I asked myself.
The woman kept walking quickly, a thoughtful expression on her face. “It’s quite a rain,” she said, gazing up at the dark clouds. “This is so nice of you, dear.”
“It isn’t too far out of my way,” I said politely. Just eight or ten blocks!
“I don’t know how I could have gone so far astray,” she said, shaking her head. “I was sure I was headed in the right direction. Then when I came to those woods…”
“We’re almost there,” I said.
“What is your name?” she asked suddenly.
“Samantha,” I told her. “But everyone calls me Sam.”
“My name is Clarissa,” she offered. “I’m the Crystal Woman.”
I wasn’t sure I’d heard that last part correctly. I puzzled over it, then let it slip from my mind.
It was late, I realized. Mom and Dad might already be home from work. Even if they weren’t, my brother, Ron, was probably home, wondering where I was.
A station wagon rolled toward us, its headlights on. I shielded my eyes from the bright lights and nearly dropped my bike again.
The woman was still walking in the center of the street. I moved toward the curb so she could move out of the station wagon’s path. But she didn’t seem to care about it. She kept walking straight, her expression not changing, even though the bright headlights were in her face.
“Look out!” I cried.
I don’t know if she heard me.
The station wagon swerved to avoid her and honked its horn as it rolled by.
She smiled warmly at me as we kept walking. “So good of you to care about a total stranger,” she said.
The streetlights flashed on suddenly. They made the wet street glow. The bushes and hedges, the grass, the sidewalks—everything seemed to glow. It all looked unreal.
“Here we are. This is Madison,” I said, pointing to the street sign. Finally! I thought.
I just wanted to say good-bye to this strange woman and pedal home as fast as I could.
Lightning flickered. Closer this time.
What a dreary day, I thought with a sigh.
Then I remembered Judith.
The whole miserable day suddenly rolled through my mind again. I felt a wave of anger sweep over me.
“Which way is east?” the woman asked, her shaky voice breaking into my bitter thoughts.
“East?” I gazed both ways on Madison, trying to clear Judith from my mind. I pointed.
The wind picked up suddenly, blowing a sheet of rain against me. I tightened my grip on the handlebars.
“You are so kind,” the woman said, wrapping the shawl around her. Her dark eyes stared hard into mine. “So kind. Most young people aren’t kind like you.”
“Thank you,” I replied awkwardly. The cold made me shiver again. “Well… good-bye.” I started to climb onto my bike.
“No. Wait,” she pleaded. “I want to repay you.”
“Huh?” I uttered. “No. Really. You don’t have to.”
“I want to repay you,” the woman insisted. She grabbed my wrist again. And again I felt a shock of cold.
“You’ve been so kind,” the woman repeated. “So kind to a total stranger.”
I tried to free my wrist, but her grip was surprisingly tight. “You don’t have to thank me,” I said.
“I want to repay you,” she replied, bringing her face close to mine, still holding onto my wrist. “Tell you what. I’ll grant you three wishes.”
6
She’s crazy, I realized.
I stared into those coal black eyes. Rainwater trickled from her hair, down the sides of her pale face. I could feel the coldness of her hand, even through the sleeve of my windbreaker.
The woman is crazy, I thought.
I’ve been walking through the pouring rain for twenty minutes with a crazy person.
“Three wishes,” the woman repeated, lowering her voice as if not wanting to be overheard by anyone.
“No. Thanks. I’ve really got to get home,” I said. I tugged my wrist from her grasp and turned to my bike.
“I’ll grant you three wishes,” the woman repeated. “Anything you wish shall come true.” She moved the purple bag in front of her and carefully pulled something from it. It was a glass ball, bright red, the size of a large grapefruit. It sparkled despite the darkness around us.
“That’s nice of you,” I said, wiping water off the bike seat with my hand. “But I don’t really have any wishes right now.”
“Please—let me repay you for your kindness,” the woman insisted. She raised the gleaming red ball in one hand. Her hand was small and as pale as her face, the fingers bony. “I really do want to repay you.”
“My—uh—mom will be worried,” I said, glancing up and down the street.
No one in sight.
No one to protect me from this lunatic if she turned dangerous.
Just how crazy was she? I wondered. Could she be dangerous? Was I making her angry by not playing along, by not making a wish?
“It isn’t a joke,” the woman said, reading the doubt in my eyes. “Your wishes will come true. I promise you.” She narrowed her gaze. The red ball suddenly glowed brighter. “Make your first wish, Samantha.”
I stared back at her, thinking hard. I was cold and wet and hungry—and a little frightened. I just wanted to get home and get dry.
What if she won’t let me go?
What if I can’t get rid of her? What if she follows me home?
Again, I searched up and down the block. Most of the houses had lights on. I could probably run to the nearest one and get help if I needed it.
But, I decided, it might be easier just to play along with the crazy woman and make a wish.
Maybe that would satisfy her, and she’d go on her way and let me go home.
“What is your wish, Samantha?” she demanded. Her black eyes glowed red, the same color as the gleaming ball in her hand.
She suddenly looked very old. Ancient. Her skin was so pale and tight, I thought I could see her skull underneath.
I froze.
I couldn’t think of a wish.
And then I blurted out, “My wish is… to be the strongest player on my basketball team!”
I don’t know why I said that. I guess I was just nervous. And I had Judith on my mind and all that had happened that day, ending up with the disaster at basketball practice.
And so that was my wish. Of course I immediately felt like a total jerk. I mean, of all the things to wish for in the world, why would anyone pick that?
But the woman didn’t seem at all surprised.
She nodded, closing her eyes for a moment. The red ball glowed brighter, brighter, until the fiery red radiated around me. Then it quickly faded.
Clarissa thanked me again, turned, tucked the glass ball back in the purple bag, and began walking quickly away.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I was so glad she was gone!
I jumped on my bike, turned it around, and began pedaling furiously toward home.
A perfect end to a perfect day, I thought bitterly.
Trapped in the rain with a crazy woman.
And the wish?
I knew it was totally stupid.
I knew I’d never have to think about it again.
7
&nb
sp; I found myself thinking about the wish at dinner.
I couldn’t get over the way the crystal ball had glowed that strange red color.
Mom was trying to get me to take another helping of mashed potatoes, and I was refusing. They were the kind from a box—you know, potato flakes, or something—and didn’t taste at all like real mashed potatoes.
“Sam, you’ve got to eat more if you want to grow big and strong,” Mom said, holding the potato serving bowl under my nose.
“Mom, I don’t want to grow anymore!” I exclaimed. “I’m already taller than you are, and I’m only twelve!”
“Please don’t shout,” Dad said, reaching for the string beans. Canned string beans. Mom gets home from work late and doesn’t have time to make any real food.
“I was tall when I was twelve,” Mom said thoughtfully. She passed the potatoes to Dad.
“And then you shrunk!” Ron exclaimed, snickering. My older brother thinks he’s a riot.
“I just meant I was tall for my age,” Mom said.
“Well, I’m too tall for my age,” I grumbled. “I’m too tall for any age!”
“In a few years you won’t be saying that,” Mom told me.
When she looked away, I reached under the table and fed some string beans to Punkin. Punkin is my dog, a little brown mutt. He’ll eat anything.
“Are there more meatballs?” Dad asked. He knew there were. He just wanted Mom to get up and get them for him.
Which she did.
“How was basketball practice?” Dad asked me.
I made a face and gave a double thumbs-down.
“She’s too tall for basketball,” Ron mumbled with a mouth full of food.
“Basketball takes stamina,” Dad said. Sometimes I can’t figure out why Dad says half the things he says.
I mean, what am I supposed to say to that?
I suddenly thought of the crazy woman and the wish I had made. “Hey, Ron, want to shoot a few baskets after dinner?” I asked, poking my string beans around on the plate with my fork.
We have a hoop on the front of the garage and floodlights to light up the driveway. Ron and I play a little one-on-one sometimes after dinner.