“You really don’t make a wish? Like, ever?”
“It’s not my birthday, and this isn’t a cake,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but it doesn’t have to be. Why wouldn’t you ask for something, given the chance?”
“Birthdays are special. These are just candles.”
“Still counts,” he said firmly.
“Ambrose, come on.”
“What? You don’t need anything? Your life is perfect?”
“It’s just a wish,” I said. “I don’t want to burst your bubble, but just because you make them doesn’t increase the chances of them working.”
“You’re still putting it out there, though,” he countered. “Into the universe. Has to count.”
I looked down at the row of four flames in front of me,still lit. “Let’s just agree to disagree, okay? It’s your thing, like stealing dogs and doing the conga. Doesn’t mean it has to be mine, right?”
“That’s how you sum me up?” he asked, and I smiled. “Dog stealer and conga dancer?”
“And wish maker,” I added. “I’m just not. That’s okay, right?”
He held my gaze for a second, and I had the fleeting thought, out of nowhere, that he might say it wasn’t. Instead, though, he came over and bent down, then closed his eyes, blowing out the row from one end to another. When he was done, he gave me a smile, then walked off to the next table. It wasn’t until later, driving home, that I realized he’d never answered my question. But I knew the real reply to his. My last birthday, I’d closed my eyes and thought of nothing when I leaned over my cake. You stop believing in wishes when the only one you want to make can never come true.
CHAPTER
18
THAT MORNING,I texted Ethan as soon as I woke up, like I did every day. I never got out of bed until I saw his return message pop up on my screen.
MORNING, LULU. HAVE A GOOD ONE.
With that, I pushed back the covers, getting to my feet, and went to take a shower, dropping my phone onto the speaker just outside the bathroom on my way. I didn’t listen to Lexi Navigator that particular day, even though it was my go-to rise and shine music. Instead, it was news, just headlines, none of which I remembered after toweling myself off.
Once dressed, I grabbed my backpack and headed downstairs, where my mother was still in her bathrobe watchingDaybreak USA, her favorite morning show. For the two hours it was on each day, she’d keep up a running commentary on the four hosts, weighing in on their hair and makeup, their reactions as they interviewed guests, and their interplay with each other. Everyone had something, I guess, and my mom’s was a morning news program.
“Melissa is just too thin these days,” she said to me, as I popped a bagel in the toaster, checking the clock. “I know she’s going through that divorce, but she needs to take care of herself.”
I glanced at the screen, where Melissa Scott, in a teal dress, was reporting on the stock market. She looked fine to me. “What do you and William have going on today?”
“Just prep for Rachel Quaker’s rehearsal dinner, and the wedding tomorrow,” she replied. During the school year, I only worked on weekends, so I was less up to date on the various events we had planned. This one, though, I remembered, if only for the unique last name.
“This is the one with the bucking bronco, right?” I asked.
She sighed, closing her eyes. On the TV, Drew Tate, the meteorologist, was now pointing at a weather map. “It’s a mechanical bull, and I can’t believe you’re bringing it up when it’s not absolutely necessary.”
“Sorry,” I said, stifling a laugh. It wasn’t easy to throw something at my mom she wasn’t experienced with, but Rachel Quaker, a native Texan, had done just that when she requested a rodeo-themed rehearsal dinner. Besides the bull, there would be special-ordered barbecue and ribs trucked in from her home state, complimentary cowboy hats for all guests, and beribboned baskets full of wet naps. My mother had been complaining about it for weeks. The only upside was that the wedding itself was as traditional as the dinner was not: big church, big guest list, really big money. If my mom had a price for dealing with electronic animals, they’d clearly met it.
“Mark my words, someone will break their neck. We can only pray it is not the bride or groom,” she replied, which had been her mantra since the planning had gotten underway months earlier. She took a sip of her coffee, nodding at the TV. “Look at Patrick Williams. He’s had so much Botox he can’t even look concerned for those poor people on that wrecked ferry.”
My bagel popped up and I grabbed it, taking another look at the screen. This time, I could see her point. Patrick Williams had never met a cosmetic procedure he didn’t like, and HD kept no secrets. “I gotta go. I told Jilly I’d meet her early to study for that Spanish quiz.”
“Be sure to eat that whole bagel,” she called after me as I started for the door. “I’ve got enough worries with Melissa.”
In the car, I ate half as I headed out of our neighborhood, then turned onto the main road to school. At the first stoplight, my phone beeped. It was Jilly, driving KitKat and Crawford to school, like she did every day.
LUNCHBOX FAIL. BE THERE ASAP. COURTYARD?
