is negating my earlier wish since this really isn’t the first star I’ve seen tonight. Have my two wishes canceled each other out? I comfort myself with the thought that at least I had my birthday wish. And a birthday wish, especially for a girl turning thirteen, should be pretty powerful. Not that I’m obsessed or anything.
When I get inside, it’s time for Maia to take a bath and go to bed. She’s pretty much covered with frosting.
“Come on, shrimp,” I say, trying to avoid contact with her fingers. “Bath time.” Lately this has become my responsibility, not that I mind. My father is teaching an extra class at the college this semester and is always overloaded with work.
I start the tub and she strips, wiggling and giggling and throwing her clothes around the bathroom. No modesty in her whatsoever. Just wait till you’re still flat at my age, I think in her direction, you won’t go prancing around in your undies like that. Then again, maybe she will. I remember that I was shy naked when I was little. Maybe when Maia is my age, she won’t care about no boobs, no period, and slanty eyes.
I plop her in the tub and only get frosting up to my elbows. But when I reach into the water to rinse them off, Maia dumps a plastic cup of water and bubbles on my head. Shoulda seen that one coming. When will I ever learn? Wiping the dripping mess out of my eyes, I decide there’s only one thing to do: It’s time to call in the tickle monsters. The little brat has it coming to her.
Maia, shrieking with terror, and I, shrieking with menace, pretty much soak the entire bathroom in the next five minutes. Daddy only checks on us once.
“Rabble-rousers,” he mutters and leaves us alone.
In the end, Maia is sparkling clean, and I look like a drowned rat, but we’re both happy.
In her Barney pajamas, Maia is warm and cuddly. I love her so much my heart actually aches. And if it hurts this much to be a sister, I can’t imagine how it must feel to be a mom or a dad. Of course, sometimes she makes me so mad (like when she takes my pointy markers and flattens the tips) or grosses me out (like when she eats her boogers), but sometimes, like now, I just want to gobble her up. I also want to warn her about her future. About the teasing and awkwardness and all the secret wishing. Or, better yet, keep her in her room where she’ll be safe from it all. But I don’t lock her up, and I don’t say anything. Daddy might call this a lie of omission. Which means that keeping quiet about a truth is just as bad as telling someone an outright lie. He’d say it’s wrong even if you don’t get nabbed for it.
After she kisses Daddy good night, I put her to bed and get her favorite-of-all princess fairy books to read to her. Slowly, I read, pointing to the words like Mom used to do for me. I use all the different voices, even the deep, scary ones that might give a little kid nightmares. But Maia never gets them. She’s braver than I am.
When she starts to suck her thumb, I know she’s ready for sleep. I ease the book closed and kiss her on the forehead.
“See you in the funny papers,” I say, just like Mom used to say to me.
Maia smiles sleepily.
I tiptoe out. It’s still pretty early, but I’m tired myself. I find Daddy in his office, which is really the spare bedroom that he’ll have to clean up when Grandma Ann comes to visit. He’s correcting a pile of papers.
I put my arms around him, leaning against his bony back. “Good night,” I say. “Thanks again for the beautiful earrings.”
He turns on his swivel chair and pulls me onto his lap. “You’re almost too big for this,” he says, kissing my hair. “I can’t believe you’re a teenager.” He sighs.
“I’ll always be your little girl,” I tease. I quickly kiss him good night and hurry to my room. If I don’t, I know he’ll start in with the our bit. Other than referring to me and Maia as our children, or whatever, he never talks about Mom. I try not to let that bug me, but I have to admit, secretly, that it does.
Anyway, it’s time to go to bed. By the time I’m burrowing under my quilt, I’m half asleep. But not too asleep to do my nightly ritual. I’m not sure praying is any better than wishing on a star, but I figure with all the praying and wishing I’m doing, my dream is bound to come true sooner or later.
tw o
It’s TTGLIFF. That stands for Thank The Good Lord It’s Finally Friday. TGIF just seems too easy. And not only is it TTGLIFF, it’s halfway through the day already.
I’m standing in the lunch line, following along behind Julie. She takes a salad. I take a double cheeseburger. She takes water. I take chocolate milk. She skips dessert. I never skip dessert.
It’s not that I’m fat. I’m not. Some would even say that I’m petite. It’s just that Julie looks at food and she gains weight. She pretty much hates me for my metabolism, and I hate her for her height, her wavy blonde hair, and her girl parts, so I figure I hate her more than she hates me. Funny how we’re best friends.
We met when my family moved into the tiny house behind her mansion. We were both Maia’s age now—five. The first time Julie saw me, she thought I was the gardener’s granddaughter, and I thought she was a giant fairy. She really looked like one. You know, all fluffy pretty and wispy and wide-eyed, except she didn’t have any wings. That didn’t bother me, though. I figured she just kept them hidden under her shirt. So we got to be friends, her thinking I was one of the servants, and me thinking she was magic.
Someone behind me in the lunch line bumps into me. I turn around.
“Hey, chinko,” says Greg. He pats me on the shoulder.
“Hi,” I say.
His friend, Matt, says, “Yo, gook face, got any toothpicks to hold your eyes open?” They both crack up.
I kind of smile. What else can I do?
Julie whirls around and glares at the boys.
“Don’t talk to her like that,” she says through perfectly even, white teeth. She’s so tall she looks down on most guys.
“Oh, come on, bones,” Matt says, still laughing, “we’re only joking around.” He looks at me. “Right?”
I nod. I want to escape. My burger’s getting cold.
“Well it’s not funny,” Julie says. “And don’t call me bones, you little twerp.” She pays the cashier, smacking her money down on the counter, and stomps away.
“Man, what rhymes with itch?” Greg says.
Matt opens his mouth. “Bi—”
The lunch lady gives him the evil eye, which only makes those two laugh even more.
I pay quickly and follow Julie to a table near the windows. She’s still glaring as I sit down.
“Why do you let them talk to you like that?” she demands, picking up her plastic fork and wiping it on a napkin. She always does that.
I shrug. “It’s no big deal,” I say, wondering if Daddy would call this a lie of submission? I pour ketchup on my burger and squirt more out for my fries.
