The Wish Read online

  He was also hanging out with Chloe, a senior from one of the public high schools I vaguely recognized but didn’t know, who was equally gorgeous. It was clear they were together; Nancy Drew that I was, I couldn’t help but notice, since they were making out and basically hanging all over each other. Even so, that didn’t stop me from checking him out as I sat on my towel the rest of the afternoon, in much the same way I ogled the Taylor boys at church. I admit, I’d gone a little boy-crazy in recent years.

  It should have ended there, but strangely, it didn’t. Because of Jodie, I saw him on the Fourth of July—that one was a nighttime party because of the fireworks, but there were a lot of parents there—and then again a couple of weeks later at the mall. Each time, he was with Chloe and he didn’t seem to notice me at all.

  Then came Saturday, August 19.

  What can I say? I’d just seen Die Hard: With a Vengeance with Jodie, even though I’d already seen it once before, and afterward, we went to her house. This time, her parents weren’t home. The cousin was there, along with J, but Chloe wasn’t. Somehow, J and I ended up talking on the back porch, and miraculously, he seemed interested in me. He was also friendlier than I’d expected. He told me about California, asked me about my life in Seattle, and he finally mentioned in passing that he and Chloe had broken up. Not long after that, he kissed me, and he was so gorgeous, things just got away from me. Long story short, I ended up in the back seat of his cousin’s car. I didn’t set out to have sex with him, but probably like everyone my age, I was curious about the whole thing, you know? I wanted to know what the big deal was. Nor did he force me. It just kind of happened, and the whole thing was over in less than five minutes.

  Afterward, he was nice about it. When I had to leave to meet my eleven p.m. curfew, he walked me to the car and kissed me again. He promised to call me, but he didn’t. Three days later I saw him with his arm around Chloe, and when they kissed, I turned around before he could see me, my throat feeling as though I’d just swallowed sandpaper.

  Later, when I learned I was pregnant, I called him in California. Jodie got his number from the cousin, since J hadn’t given it to me, and when I told him who I was, he didn’t seem to remember me. It was only when I reminded him about what happened that he recalled our time together, but even then, I had the sense that he didn’t have the slightest clue what we’d talked about or even what I looked like. He also asked why I was calling with a kind of irritated tone, and you didn’t need a perfect SAT score to know he had no interest in me at all. Though I’d intended to tell him that I was pregnant, I hung up the phone before the words could come out, and I’ve never spoken to him again.

  My parents know none of this, by the way. I refused to tell them anything about the father, or how nice he’d seemed at first or even that he’d forgotten me entirely. It wouldn’t have changed anything, and by then I already knew I’d be giving the baby up for adoption.

  You know what else I haven’t told them?

  That after that phone call with J, I felt stupid, and as disappointed and angry as my parents were with me, I felt even worse about myself.

  * * *

  While I was seated on the bench, with ears already red and my nose beginning to run, I saw a flash of movement from the corner of my eye. Turning, I spotted a dog trotting by with a Snickers wrapper in its mouth. It looked almost exactly like Sandy, my dog back home, only a little bit smaller.

  Sandy was a cross between a golden and a Labrador retriever, with a tail that never seemed to stop wagging. Her eyes were a soft, dark caramel, full of expression; had Sandy tried to play poker, she would have lost all her money because she couldn’t bluff. I could always tell exactly what she was feeling. If I praised her, her gentle eyes would shine with happiness; if I was upset, they were full of sympathy. She’d been in our family for nine years—we got her when I was in the first grade—and for most of her life she’d slept at the foot of my bed. Now she usually slept in the living room because her hips weren’t so good and the stairs were hard for her. But even though she was getting white in the muzzle, her eyes hadn’t changed at all. They were still as sweet as ever, especially when I cradled her furry head in my hands. I wondered if she would remember me when I moved back home. Silly, of course. There was no way that Sandy would forget me. She would always love me.

  Right?

  Right?

  Homesickness made my eyes moisten and I swiped at them, but then my hormones surged again, insisting that I MISSED SANDY SOOO MUCH! Without thinking, I rose from the bench. I saw Imitation Sandy trotting toward a guy seated near the edge of the deck in a lawn chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. He wore an olive-green jacket and beside him, I noticed, was a camera mounted on a tripod.

  I stopped. As much as I wanted to see—and yes, pet—the dog, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to engage in stilted conversation with the owner, especially once he noticed I’d been crying. I was about to turn away when the guy whispered something to the dog. I watched as the dog turned and trotted to a nearby garbage can, where it popped onto its rear legs and carefully deposited the Snickers wrapper.

  I blinked, thinking, Wow. That’s kind of cool.

  The dog returned to the guy’s side, settled, and was just about to close its eyes when the man dropped an empty paper cup onto the deck. The dog quickly rose, grabbed the cup, and put it into the garbage before returning. When another cup was dropped about a minute later, I couldn’t help myself.

  “What are you doing?” I finally asked.

  The man turned in his seat and it was only then that I realized my mistake. He wasn’t a man, but rather a teenager, maybe a year or two older than I was, with hair the color of chocolate and dark eyes flickering with amusement. His jacket, made out of olive-colored canvas with intricate stitching, was strangely stylish, especially for this part of the world. When he raised an eyebrow, I had the uneasy feeling that he’d been expecting me. In the silence, I felt a burst of surprise at the thought that my aunt had been right. There actually was someone my age around here, or at the very least, someone my age who was on his way to Ocracoke. The island wasn’t entirely composed of fishermen and former nuns, or older women who ate biscuits and read romance novels.

  The dog, too, seemed to evaluate me. Its ears perked up and it wagged its tail hard enough to thump the guy’s leg, but unlike Sandy, who loved everyone immediately and intensely and would have trotted over to greet me, this dog turned its attention back to the cup, quickly repeating its earlier performance, once more putting it into the garbage can.

  Meanwhile, the guy continued to watch me. Even though he was seated, I could tell he was lean, muscular, and definitely cute, but my whole boy-crazy phase had pretty much died the moment Dr. Bobbi spread that goop on my tummy and I heard the heartbeat. I let my gaze fall, wishing that I’d just gone back to the car and regretting I’d said anything at all. I’d never been good at eye contact except at slumber parties when I was having a staring contest with my friends, and the last thing I needed was another boy in my life. Especially on a day like today; not only had I been crying, but I hadn’t worn any makeup, and I was dressed in baggy jeans, Converse high-tops, and a down jacket that probably made me look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.

  “Hi,” he finally ventured, breaking into my thoughts. “I’m just enjoying the fresh air.”

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I continued to focus on the water, pretending that I hadn’t heard him and hoping he wouldn’t ask if I’d been crying.

  “Are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

  Great, I thought. Even though I didn’t want to talk to him, I didn’t want him to think I was an emotional wreck, either.

  “I’m fine,” I asserted. “I was at the front of the boat and the wind made my eyes water.”

  I wasn’t sure he believed me, but he was nice enough to act like he did. “It’s pretty up there.”

  “There’s not much to see once the sun goes down.”

  �
��You’re right,” he agreed. “The whole ride has been pretty quiet so far. No reason to even reach for the camera. I’m Bryce Trickett, by the way.”

  His voice was soft and melodic, not that I cared one way or the other. Meanwhile, the dog had begun to stare at me, its tail thumping. Which reminded me of the reason I’d spoken up in the first place.

  “Did you train your dog to throw out garbage?”

  “I’m trying to,” he said before breaking into a smile, dimples flashing. “But she’s young and still working on it. She ran off a few minutes ago, so we had to practice again.”

  My attention was fixed on those dimples and it took me a second to retrieve my train of thought. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why train your dog to throw out the garbage?”

  “I don’t like litter, and I didn’t want any of it blowing into the ocean. It’s not good for the environment.”

  “I meant why don’t you just throw it out?”

  “Because I was sitting down.”

  “That’s mean.”

  “Sometimes the mean justifies the end, right?”

  Ha ha, I thought. But actually, I’d walked right into the stupid pun, grudgingly acknowledging that it was kind of original as far as puns went.

  “Besides, Daisy doesn’t mind,” he went on. “She thinks it’s a game. Do you want to meet her?”

  Even before I could respond, he said, “Break,” and Daisy quickly rose to her feet. Walking over, she curled around my legs, whining, her tongue lapping at my fingers. Not only did she look like Sandy, she felt like her, and while I stroked her fur, I was transported back to a simpler, happier life in Seattle, before everything went sour.

  But just as quickly, reality came rushing back and I realized that I had no desire to linger. I offered Daisy a couple of final pats and put my hands in my pockets while trying to think of an excuse to leave. Bryce was not deterred.

  “I don’t think I caught your name.”

  “I didn’t tell you my name.”

  “That’s true,” he said. “But I can probably figure it out.”

  “You think you can guess my name?”

  “I’m usually pretty good,” he said. “I can read palms, too.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Would you like a demonstration?”

  Before I could answer, he gracefully rose from his chair and started toward me. He was a little taller than I’d expected, and lanky, like a basketball player. Not a center or forward like Zeke Watkins, but maybe a shooting guard.

  When he was close, I could see flecks of hazel in his brown eyes, and again I noticed the trace of amusement in his expression that I’d seen earlier. He seemed to scan my face, and when he was satisfied, he motioned to my hands, which were still buried in my pockets. “Can I see your hands now? Just hold them faceup.”

  “It’s cold.”

  “It won’t take long.”

  This was weird and getting weirder, but whatever. After I showed him my palms, he leaned closer to them, concentrating. He held a finger up.

  “Do you mind?” he asked.

  “Go ahead.”

  He traced his finger lightly over the lines in my palms, one after the other. It struck me as strangely intimate, and I felt a little unsettled.

  “You’re definitely not from Ocracoke,” he intoned.

  “Wow,” I said, trying to keep him from knowing how I felt. “Amazing. And your guess probably has nothing to do with the fact that you’ve never seen me around here before.”

  “I meant that you’re not from North Carolina. You’re not even from the South.”

  “You might have also noticed I don’t have a Southern accent.”

  Nor did he, I suddenly realized, which was strange, since I thought everyone in the South was supposed to sound like Andy Griffith. He continued to trace for another few seconds before pulling his finger back. “Okay, I think I’ve got it now. You can put your hands back in your pockets.”

  I did. I waited but he said nothing. “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Do you have all your answers?”

  “Not all of them. But enough. And I’m pretty sure I know your name.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “If you say so.”

  Whether he was cute or not, I was done with the game and it was time for me to go. “I think I’m going to go sit in the car for a while,” I said. “It’s getting cold. Nice meeting you.” Turning around, I took a couple of steps before I heard him clear his throat.

  “You’re from the West Coast,” he called out. “But not California. I’m thinking…Washington? Maybe Seattle?”

  His words stopped me in my tracks and when I turned, I knew I couldn’t hide my shock.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “How did you know?”

  “The same way I know you’re sixteen and a sophomore. You’ve also got an older sibling and I’m guessing it’s…a sister? And your name starts with an M…not Molly or Mary or Marie, but something even more formal. Like…Margaret? Only you probably call yourself Maggie or something like that.”

  I felt my jaw drop slightly, too stunned to say anything at all.

  “And you didn’t move to Ocracoke permanently. You’re only staying a few months or so, right?” He shook his head, breaking into that smile again. “But enough. Like I said earlier, I’m Bryce and it’s nice to meet you, Maggie.”

  It took a few seconds before I was finally able to croak out, “You could tell all that from looking at my face and my palms?”

  “No. I learned most of it from Linda.”

  It took me a second to figure it out. “My aunt?”

  “I visited with her for a little while when I was in the cabin. She pointed you out when you walked past our table and she told me a little about you. I’m the one who fixed your bike, by the way.”

  As I peered at him, I vaguely remembered my aunt and Gwen talking to someone in the booth.

  “Then what was all that stuff about my face and my palms?”

  “Nothing. Just having fun.”

  “That wasn’t very nice.”

  “Maybe not. But you should have seen your expression. You’re very pretty when you have no idea what to say.”

  I almost wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. Pretty? Did he just say that I’m very pretty? Again, I reminded myself that it didn’t matter one way or the other. “I could have done without the magic trick.”

  “You’re right. It won’t happen again.”

  “Why would my aunt tell you about me?” And, I wondered, what else had she told him?

  “She wanted to know if I was interested in tutoring you. I do that sometimes.”

  You’ve got to be kidding me. “You’re going to be my tutor?”

  “I haven’t committed to it. I wanted to meet you first.”

  “I don’t need a tutor.”

  “My mistake, then.”

  “My aunt just worries a lot.”

  “I understand.”

  “Then why doesn’t it sound like you believe me?”

  “I have no idea. I was just going on what your aunt told me. But if you don’t need a tutor, that’s fine with me.” His grin was relaxed, his dimples still in place. “How do you like it so far?”

  “Like what?”

  “Ocracoke,” he said. “You’ve been here a few weeks now, right?”

  “It’s kind of small.”

  “For sure.” He laughed. “It took me a while to get used to it, too.”

  “You weren’t raised here?”

  “No,” he said. “Like you, I’m a dingbatter.”

  “What’s a dingbatter?”

  “Anyone who isn’t originally from here.”

  “That’s not a real thing.”

  “It is around here,” he said. “My father and my brothers are dingbatters, too. Not my mom, though. She was born and raised here. We’ve only been back for a few years.” He hooked a thumb over his s
houlder toward an older-model truck with fading red paint and large wide tires. “I’ve got an extra chair in the car if you want to sit. It’s a lot more comfortable than the benches.”

  “I should probably get going. I don’t want to bother you.”

  “You’re not bothering me at all. Until you showed up, the ride was fairly boring.”

  I couldn’t exactly tell if he was flirting, but uncertain, I said nothing at all. Bryce seemed to take my lack of an answer as a yes and went on.

  “Great,” he said. “I’ll get the chair.”

  Before I knew what was happening, the chair was angled toward the ocean beside his, and I watched as he took his seat. Suddenly feeling a bit trapped, I made my way toward the other chair and seated myself gingerly alongside him.

  He stretched his legs out in front of him. “Better than the bench, right?”

  I was still trying to digest how good-looking he was and that my aunt—the former nun—had set all this up. Or maybe not. The last thing my parents probably wanted was for me to meet anyone of the opposite sex ever again, and they’d probably told her that, too.

  “I guess. It’s still kind of cold.”

  As I spoke, Daisy moseyed over and lay down between us. I reached toward her, giving her a quick pat.

  “Be careful,” he said. “Once you start petting her, she can get kind of insistent that you never stop.”

  “It’s okay. She reminds me of my dog. Back home, I mean.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sandy’s older and a little bigger, though. I miss her. How old is Daisy?”

  “She turned one in October. So I guess she’s almost fourteen months now.”