The Wish Stealers (19 page)

Sincerely,
Florence Lorraine Daniellson Busby

“Griffin?” called her mom through her bedroom door.

“I’ll be right out,” she answered.

“Who’s the letter from?”

Griffin hesitated. She never lied to her mom, but she couldn’t risk having her hurt by Mariah’s curse. Griffin crossed her fingers and said, “An old lady. Part of a community service pen pal thing.” She tucked the letter back into the envelope and slid it under her bed before she opened her door.

“I’m going to the store,” said her mom. “Do you want to come? I’m having serious pregnancy cravings for mustard, orange juice, avocado, and barbeque potato chips!”

“Sounds really gross, Mom!” Griffin laughed.

“Doesn’t it?” Her mom smiled and rubbed her big belly.

“I’m okay. I’m just gonna start my homework,” said Griffin.

When Griffin heard the front door close behind her mother, she grabbed the phone and dialed information.

“City and state, please,” said an operator.

“Topeka, Kansas. The Sunflower Assisted Living Home, please,” said Griffin. She copied down the number and dialed.

“Hello, Sunflower. How may I help you?”

“Hello, my name is Griffin Penshine and uh … I’m a friend of Mrs. Florence Daniellson Busby. I’m thinking of getting her a top secret present, and I was wondering if your home allows pets.”

“Yes, we do. Cats, small dogs, and certain kinds of birds are allowed. What kind of pet were you thinking of?”

“A small puppy.”

“That sounds very nice.”

“Thank you,” said Griffin, and she hung up the phone.

“Griffin?” said her mom in her bedroom doorway.

“HUH!” Griffin jumped. She hadn’t even heard her mom come in.

“What are you doing?” asked her mom with her hands on her hips.

“You’re back already!” said Griffin.

“I forgot my wallet,” said her mom. “Now, who in the world are you calling? Who is Mrs. Busby? What’s this about a
puppy
?”

“Well, see …” Griffin just stopped. “Mom, before I tell you, I have two questions: How far is Dadesville to Topeka? And how much would a puppy cost?”

“It is a twenty-minute drive to Topeka from here, and a puppy rescued from the pound would probably be about seventy-five dollars.”

“Mom, you know how you asked if I wanted a puppy a week ago?”

“Yes.”

“Can I get one and then give it as a present to someone?”

“Griffin,
what is going on
?” said her mom.

She crossed her fingers behind her back again. “Mom, I was just trying to make an old lady’s wish for a puppy come true. Kinda like a service project. Is that okay?” Griffin began to sweat.

“I need to think about this one. Let me talk it over with your dad,” said her mother.

Griffin uncrossed her fingers.

At midnight Griffin jingled the last few pennies in her hand: “STOP,” “popular,” “world peace,” and the unlabeled penny
were still complete mysteries. Clasping two pennies in one hand and two pennies in the other, Griffin paced around her dark bedroom.
I’ve given away more than half the pennies, and I think a few wishes have come true,
she thought. The night-light in her room cast strange shadows on the walls, mocking the faded stars on her ceiling.
I need to put new stars up,
Griffin thought. New sticker stars that glowed, shimmered, and shone to replace the dull ones. Her mom would help her with that; they’d probably replicate the real night sky. Griffin slowly parted her curtains, scanning the inky night roofs.

Don’t let your stars fade.

I
f this isn’t a first!” called Dr. Penshine from the kitchen after school. “Mr. Castanara called from the music center and had to cancel your lesson. It seems he’s caught a terrible cold.”

“Really?” said Griffin.
My wish of becoming an amazing bass guitarist is definitely not coming true,
she thought.

“Since I thought you were going to be at your lesson, I made a doctor’s appointment, and Dad won’t be home until late tonight. Do you want to go over to Grandma’s and hang out with her so you’re not all alone in the house?” asked her mom.

“Sure,” said Griffin. She wanted to ask her grandma about the yarn she’d seen in her box. After they played a
few games of cards, she would ask her why it was just like Mariah’s yarn.

Grandma Penshine was in her bed, covers tucked high all around her, when Griffin came over. “Hi, Grandma, how are you feeling?” asked Griffin. It didn’t seem possible that her grandma could look so tired. What had happened to Giorgione and his soft clouds?

“Come here, my love.” Grandma Penshine clasped her warm hands around Griffin’s hand. “I’ve felt so tired the past few days. Like those dark clouds sapped some of my energy.”

“Can I get you something, Grandma?”

“A glass of water, please. Oh, and in the kitchen on the table is a FedEx package that came for you today,” said Grandma. “Why is it coming here for you, Griff?”

“I’ll go get your water!” Griffin darted into the kitchen, where a thin FedEx envelope waited. Return address: Nome, Alaska. Griffin took a deep breath and pulled on the perforated cardboard strip.

Dear G. Penshine,
What do you have to tell me? I’m often on my boat, the Internet rarely works, and
mail takes forever here. Please use the FedEx envelope and pre-addressed slip I enclosed in this package. Just seal it and drop the envelope in a FedEx bin.
Thank you.

Sincerely,
Brian Patterson Forester

Griffin’s stomach tightened.
What
do
I have to tell Garrett’s dad about him?
That Garrett used to wish for a dad, but he doesn’t wish for such “stupid things” anymore?
What have I done?
She slammed the letter down, filled a tall glass of water, and trudged toward her grandma’s room.

“Why such the long face?” asked her grandma, sitting up in bed.

“It’s nothing, Grandma.”

“Really? In my experience ‘nothing’ doesn’t look like
that
on someone’s face, especially not on yours. Do you want to tell me about that FedEx package? Did you open it?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“Well, see … Grandma, I’m not sure if I did something good or bad. I kinda wrote to someone and they wrote back,” said Griffin.

“Maybe I can help?” said her grandma.

Griffin slumped on the side of her grandma’s bed. “What if someone wished for something, and you wanted to help them get it. But then, when you thought about it, maybe they don’t really want that wish to come true, and you’ve just made things worse for them.”

“That’s a tough one,” said her grandma. “You know, that makes me think of a story. Can you see that bush outside my window?”

Griffin strained her neck to see out her grandma’s bedroom window.

“The butterflies like it there because it’s protected by the house, and the leaves give them lots of nourishing food to eat while they grow. Every spring I watch the butterflies struggle and struggle to break free from their caterpillar cocoons, and every spring I want to get my garden gloves and help them out of their cocoons, but that would be the wrong thing to do. Because if they don’t do it themselves, they won’t be strong butterflies. Actually, they might not
even be able to fly if I help them. So, to answer your question, sometimes it’s wrong to help people do things. They might not
want
help or even be
ready
for new things to happen. But there are always exceptions.

“One spring we had the oddest weather; one minute it was cool, the next minute hot as the desert, and this little half butterfly, half caterpillar didn’t know whether to come out or stay in. Then he was almost gobbled up by a crow, so I shooed the bird away, picked up the cocoon, and nestled the little guy in the shoulder of a tree. So I did help him. I interfered right down to jingling bells at the crow. But when he finally broke free, he was one of the most beautiful butterflies I’ve ever set my eyes on. All summer he kept me company, fluttering his rainbow wings and visiting my windowsill. So sometimes it’s best to leave things alone, and sometimes your heart tells you to jingle bells at the crows!”

“I’m not quite sure which one this is.”

“When in doubt, trust your heart. How about we take a break and play a game of pistachio poker?”

They played eight games of pistachio poker until Grandma’s eyelids flickered like two falling stars, and Griffin knew it was time for her nap. She realized she’d
forgotten to ask her about the yarn. Carefully she gathered the deck of cards and placed them in a neat stack. Then she returned to the kitchen to read Mr. Forester’s letter one more time.

The heart has its reasons,
of which reason knows nothing.

—Blaise Pascal

M
idnight again, and Griffin fiddled at her desk, her eyes glued on Garrett’s father’s handwriting. Dark bags hung under her eyes from staying up so late the past few nights. Slowly Griffin began to write to Mr. Forester.

Dear Mr. Forester,
My name is Griffin Penshine and I’m twelve. Garrett and I are in the same science class in Dadesville, Kansas. I’m very sorry to have bothered you with a
letter. Garrett and I were assigned by our science teacher to do a huge project together for science night. When my mom took us out to dinner after working on our project, Garrett told us he used to wish on his birthday for a dad. So I gave him a lucky penny and secretly wrote to you for extra luck to happen. I think he would be mad if he knew I wrote to you. I’m very sorry to have touched a cocoon I shouldn’t have touched.

Sincerely,
Griffin Penshine

Griffin slid her letter inside the FedEx envelope and zipped it inside her backpack. The only FedEx drop she knew of was at the front office at school by Mrs. Davis’s desk. During lunch tomorrow she would quietly place the envelope in the bin.

“Good morning, Miss Penshine,” said Mrs. Davis from behind the desk in the front office.

“Hi, Mrs. Davis,” said Griffin.

“What are you doing here? Certainly
you
can’t be in trouble?”

“Can I put this in the FedEx bin?” she asked, holding the packet.

“Sure. They pick up at three o’clock. Whatcha dropping off?” she said.