Autumn's Wish (2 page)

“Put those down!” I say, slapping the binoculars out of Jack's hands. “What is wrong with you?”

Jack shrugs. “Don't put on a show unless you want someone to watch.”

He pulls away from the curb, but as he rolls up next to J.J.'s car, he rolls down
my
window, beeps his horn, and shouts, “Nice technique, Austin!”

I bury my head in my hands as J.J. and Carrie stop what they're doing to stare at us, and I keep it buried long after Jack pulls away and zooms down the street.

“He's not happy,” Jack laughs.

“Of course he isn't!” I snap. “That was totally obnoxious!”

I sound mad, but I'm not. Jack's Jack. He's gross and obsessed with sci-fi and comics…and I love him for it. Just like I love Amalita for her quick temper and constantly jingling jewelry, and Tee for throwing herself into all things dramatic, and Reenzie for her crazy-insane drive, and Sean for being so certain he's the hottest thing around, and J.J. for instantly knowing every anagram for any given phrase. I mean, I love them for their good traits, too, but their bizarro quirks make me even happier because…I don't know…they're my people. Loving them for their weirdness makes them feel even more like my people.

“Any chance we'll all end up at the same college?” I ask Jack.

He snorts. “You crazy? Reenzie's all Stanford.
Maybe
J.J. could get in there. But Sean'll go to some state school that gives him a huge football scholarship. Taylor'll be at some la-la theater school. Amalita wants somewhere ‘exotic—' ”

“Okay,” I interrupt him. “But
some
of us might end up at the same school, right?”

“Doubt it. I mean, maybe Carrie and J.J., 'cause she's applying to all his same schools. Otherwise”—he turns and leers at me—“enjoy me while you've got me.”

I roll my eyes, and even though we talk for the rest of the ride, I'm not paying attention. Instead I'm obsessed with finding out how many of her high school friends my mom stayed close with when she went to college and how many she's still friends with now.

“Mom!” I call when we get to my house and I run inside.

She doesn't answer. I look outside at the pool, but she isn't there, so I run all over the house, peeking into every room and calling for her until there's only one place left to look.

“Hey, Erick, have you seen—” I say as I throw open the door to my thirteen-year-old little brother's room…and choke before I can finish my sentence. The whole room reeks of boy sweat. The boy in question wears denim shorts and no shirt as he hoists himself again and again over a pull-up bar he begged Mom to let him install.

“One hundred eight…,” he croaks in his half-deep/half-high-pitched voice as he bobs his head above the bar, “one hundred nine…”

“Yeah, right,” I say. “Try
eight…nine…
”

Erick grins. “Try
one,
” he challenges me.

I grimace. I
did
try one when Erick first installed the bar. I did it when no one else was home, because I had a feeling it wouldn't go well. I gripped the bar, hung down, and managed to bend my elbows a couple of very impressive centimeters before searing pain ripped through my biceps and I let go of the bar so fast I tumbled onto my butt. I shook it off and figured no one would ever know, but of course my film-obsessed brother had installed a motion-activated bar-cam to record his workouts, so now my athletic feat is immortalized on his YouTube channel.

“Have you seen Mom?” I ask.

“She's at work,” he grunts as he dramatically squeezes out one final pull-up, then leaps nimbly to the ground. “She called and said we're on our own for dinner. I vote protein. Need to feed the furnace.”

He flexes his biceps and kisses them, one at a time.

“Ew,” I say. “Put those away.”

“Wanna see me make my pecs dance?”

“Wanna see me lose my lunch?”

He makes his pecs dance anyway. I don't actually lose my lunch, but I do leave the room immediately. It's infinitely weird and disturbing to me that Erick is considered a “hot boy” at school, a fact I know from the pool party we had at the end of summer. A bunch of kids from his class came over, and all the girls were oohing and aahing over how much he'd changed over the summer. I have to admit it's true. He's as tall as our mom now, so just a little shorter than me, plus his braces are gone, and while I'd never tell him this, you can totally see all the work he puts in on his muscles.

Still, it's weird. Erick's not supposed to be studly. He's my dorky, scrawny, film-obsessed little brother, and he's supposed to stay that way. Just like my mom's supposed to stay the kind of mom who's around all the time, instead of working so hard to open another branch of her successful animal-rescue foundation, Catches Falls. And just like my friends are supposed to stay right where they are, here with me, instead of going to new places where they'll meet new friends and forget all about me.

I lean against the hall wall and slide down it, disgusted by my own thoughts. I pull out my phone and text Jenna, my best friend from forever and the one person I'm still close to back in Maryland.

I am a horrible human being. I want everyone else to fail just so things don't have to change.

Right there with you
, Jenna texts back.
Looking up black magic spells to make Sam tank his SATs. Come over and let's be horrible together.

Sam is Jenna's boyfriend. They're both track superstars, and while Sam could get a track scholarship to University of Oregon just like the one Jenna's after, he's a genius and has his heart set on MIT. A bad SAT would bump him out, leaving him free to join Jenna in a West Coast runners' paradise.

I smile when I read her text. I love Jenna. If someone as well adjusted and together as her can be just as insane as me, maybe I'm not so insane after all.

Or maybe I am and I just have good company.

Be there in 5.

I know it's a very weird thing for me to say to someone in Maryland when I'm in Florida, unless I mean five hours or five days. Which I don't. See, my dad left me this gift after he died. A couple of gifts, actually. The first one was a diary that made wishes come true. I know, it sounds crazy, but it happened and it was real and it worked…until all of a sudden it didn't work anymore. I thought that was the end of it, but then I found
another
gift—a dry-erase map of nowhere that existed in the world. When I write on the map, it takes me to that place. Like, I could write “Australia,” and
bam,
I'd be hugging a koala. An
angry
koala, with my luck, and I'd end up getting my face scratched off. But if I use it carefully and really think about what I'm writing, it usually gets me exactly where I want to go.

Dad had left me both the map and the diary as part of my mission—to bring peace and harmony to my little corner of the world. I kind of made a mess of that last year, but I cleaned it all up by New Year's. And even though I'm all kinds of messed up in my own head about J.J. not being my friend anymore, and Mom and Erick changing, and everyone leaving for college in less than a year, that's all my own stuff. For my friends and family, things have been pretty peaceful and harmonious, so I haven't used the map except to see Jenna on a regular basis, because yeah, a magic portal to your best friend in the universe? Kinda the most amazing thing ever.

I go into my room and rummage through my school backpack until I find the pouch where I keep the map and dry-erase pen. I shut my bedroom door, plop down on my bed, and scrawl “Jenna” across the weird green landmassy blob in the middle of blue ocean.

And nothing happens. I'm still on my bed.

I peer closely at the map. Did I write her name wrong? It wouldn't be the first time I made a mistake like that, only I'm not sure how even with my dyslexia I could have messed up the letters in “Jenna” to make the word “home” or “my bed.”

Nope, the name is fine. I wrote it the same way I always do.

Did I not press hard enough? Was I maybe not thinking about Jenna hard enough when I wrote her name?

My phone rings.

“Hey.”

“Where are you?” Jenna asks.

“It didn't work,” I say. “Let me try it again.”

I lick a finger and start rubbing off Jenna's name so I can write it again, but then I hear her voice go all dark and foreboding in my ear.

“Is the
zemi
still there?”

I freeze, and not just because I realize I'm an idiot and Jenna is much smarter than me. I slip my fingers underneath the postcard-sized board. I raise it slowly and nervously, like I'm expecting a cockroach to scuttle out from underneath. Finally, I flip it over.

The back is plain blue plastic. No design. No
zemi.

No spirit of my father.

“No,” I say breathlessly. “It's not there.”

“And that's why you're not here,” Jenna says.

She declares it like it's a normal conclusion. A dry-erase board with a design on it? Of course it can totally take you magically anywhere you want to go. No design? Are you kidding? No way can you leap through space with something like that. For a super-logical girl like Jenna, it's a weird jump…except she and I have been through this before. When I first received the wish-granting journal, it had a
zemi
on the front—a design that looks kind of like a triangle with a face in it. My grandmother Eddy told me that my dad's ancestors, the Taino, said the
zemi
holds the spirits of the dead. A few years ago I'd have thought that was crazy, but now I know it's true. I'm not saying my journal and the map are
possessed
by my dad or anything, just that somehow, some way, a little piece of him is attached to those
zemis,
and that's why the magic works. He was looking out for me, making sure I accomplished what he knew I could do.

Last year, when the
zemi
disappeared from my journal, I was devastated. I felt like I'd lost my dad all over again. For a second I feel that same pang, but then my heart speeds up and I'm so buzzed with energy I jump to my feet.

“If it's gone from this,” I say, “maybe it's on another gift. Maybe it's in a hidden compartment somewhere on the map!” That's how I found the map in the first place—it appeared in a hidden spot in the diary.

I shake the map by my ear and listen for anything rattling inside.

“Anything?” Jenna asks.

“A breeze,” I say, fanning my hair out of my face. “A really nice breeze.”

“But nothing inside?” Jenna prods.

“I don't think so,” I say, “but maybe it's somewhere else. Maybe it's in my room. Maybe it's in another part of the house? Oh God, what if it's in Erick's room? I can't take any more body spray mixed with hormones mixed with sweat.”

“Trying to ignore those words so I don't torture myself and imagine the smell,” Jenna says. “But looking for it isn't the answer.”

“It's not?”

“No,” she says. “You have to go see Eddy. She gave you the diary; she clued you in on how to find the map. She'll know what to do now.”

Jenna's right. If anyone will know what the spirit of my father wants next, it's my grandmother, Eddy.

Time to take a trip to Century Acres.

Eddy, my father's mother, is the main reason we moved to Aventura in the first place. She lived alone down here for years, but when she had a stroke and couldn't take care of herself, Dad moved her into Century Acres, an assisted-living home. The idea was the whole family would come down and help her, but…well…things changed. At the time I thought there was no way we'd move without Dad, and when we did I kind of resented Eddy for it. Like it was her fault Mom was ripping me away from everything I loved.

I don't feel that way anymore. Eddy's a little crazy and a lot embarrassing, but I love her. And I owe her a visit anyway, since I haven't seen her all summer. Jenna and I spent the summer as counselors at the sleepaway camp we've gone to since we were kids. We used to say we'd do that every summer until we were eighty, but Jenna already told me this was probably her last time. If she's going to run in college, she'll have to spend next summer getting in shape.

I think I handled the news well. I told her that would make her the first of my friends to abandon me next year, and for an entire week I had all the kids in our cabin refer to her only as Judas.

Point is, even though Eddy and I talked on the phone while I was away, I didn't see her all summer. Then when I got back I had to catch up with all my friends and cram in all the reading and assignments I'd ignored during vacation, and
then
I got busy with school, and now I'm a whole week in and I haven't seen Eddy at all…so I was planning to visit her soon anyway. Now I'm just motivated to do it right away.

I pound on my brother's blissfully closed door. “Erick! I'm running out for a sec! We'll order pizza when I get back!”

I half hear him shout something about “too many carbs,” but I'm already heading for the garage. In a happier world I'd call J.J. for a ride. Instead I have no choice but to ride my bike three miles through the thick humidity and heat. By the time I get to Century Acres, my cutoff shorts and filmy tank are sweat-stuck to my body, and my hair clings like droopy orange noodles to my face and neck. I'm also wheezing a little. It's a good look for me, especially since there's a decent chance that my all-time pop-star idol, weirdly now-kinda-sorta-sometimes friend, and oh-my-God-I-for-real-
kissed-
him bae Kyler Leeds could be inside.

The second I open the door, a
whoosh
of arctic-level air-conditioning freezes me solid, and my ears are assaulted by overly amplified classical piano music: the pre-dinner entertainment for the residents. I can see the pianist. He doesn't look much older than me, and I'm sure this is his good deed for the day, but he's not enjoying it. His forehead is a mess of sweat and he keeps glancing nervously at two little old women who won't stop heckling him. Their matching plush chairs are pivoted toward the pianist, so I can only see them from the side.

“Boo!” cries a tiny white-haired woman in a purple terry cloth tracksuit.

“You're no musician!” adds an equally tiny woman with thinning jet-black hair. “Play something good!”

“We want another song!” calls the first woman, and she climbs onto her seat and punches a fist in the air as she makes it a chant. “We want a-no-ther song! We want a-no-ther song!”

I sigh. This is my grandmother Eddy and her best friend, Zelda Rubenstein. I dart over to them and mouth “I'm sorry” to the piano player as I grab their attention.

“Hi, guys!”

“Autumn!” they cry in unison, and immediately forget about the piano player. Eddy throws her arms around my neck for a hug. It's a little strange because even standing on the chair, she's barely taller than me, and she's so light I feel like I'm hugging a child who I should pick up and set safely down on the floor.

“Oh, I missed you this summer,
querida
!” she coos, cupping my face in her hands. They're strong against my cheeks, and I remember she made her living as a potter for years when she raised my dad in Cuba.

“Hey!” calls Zelda. “Bring that
punim
down here too. I want in.”

I have no idea which part of me is my
punim,
so I just bend down and lean toward her. She also grabs my face, but her hands feel like thin papery gloves. She pulls me close for a kiss that lands uncomfortably close to my lips, and I can feel the big red splotch left by her lipstick.

“Don't manhandle her, Zelda,” Eddy says as Zelda wipes the mark off my face. “She's
my
nieta.
”

“Well she'll be mine, too, once she marries my Kyler,” Zelda counters.

“Sí, sí,”
Eddy admits, “but I still say we have the reception down here. I don't trust the people in New York. They put things in the water.”

“You're
meshuggeneh,
” Zelda says, waving her off. Then she turns to me. “And don't you pay attention to what you read on the Internet. Those supermodels are just a phase for Kyler. You're the one he'll come back to in the end.”

“Ai, mi carina,”
Eddy sighs as she sits dreamily back in her seat. “You'll be such a beautiful bride.”

“Who says I'm marrying Kyler Leeds?!” I balk, even though the real answer to that question would be
Me!
I
say it! Almost every day of my life!

At least, I
used
to say it. Having my dream become Eddy and Zelda's dream is a total buzzkill.

“What, he's not good enough for you?” Zelda asks. “He's a big star.”

Like I don't know that. My room was papered with his picture until we actually met and I felt weird having him stare at me all the time.

“And he got us the new comfy chair so we could both sit,” Eddy adds, patting the armrests of her chair. “We owe him.”

So I'm payment for a chair. Sometimes I wish Eddy and Zelda had stayed mortal enemies.

“Eddy, I actually have to talk to you about something.” I glance over toward Zelda and smile apologetically. “Something…personal.”

“
Haria cualquier cosa por ti.
Anything for you.” She leans on the armrests and pushes herself up, then points warningly at Zelda. “Anyone touches my chair, you know what to do.”

Zelda nods knowingly, patting her silver handbag. Then she leans as far back in her own seat as she can and stretches her legs so they extend onto Eddy's chair cushion.

“What is she going to do?” I ask as Eddy links her arm through mine and we start down the hall toward her room.

“Mace 'em,” Eddy says. “Kyler got her a can for her birthday. She's just waiting for a chance to use it.”

I shake my head and don't say anything else until we're inside Eddy's room with the door closed. I help her settle into her favorite chair; then I perch on the side of her bed.

“Is it the
zemi
?” Eddy asks.

I nod and pull the map from my purse. “It was on the back of this, but it's gone. I figure there's another one on something, like last time, but I don't know where to find it.”

Eddy nods and takes the map in her hands. She rubs her fingers over the front of it, like a blind woman reading braille. Then she turns it over and does the same.

“It's not like on the diary,” I say. “It was just printed on. You wouldn't feel it.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Eddy says, but she stops feeling the map and instead holds it up to her eyes. She moves it closer, then farther away. She leans over and turns on her night-table lamp, then pushes the map right next to the bulb. “Ah,” she says, smiling. “Reinaldo. He's still here.”

Every hair on my body jumps to attention. Reinaldo is my dad. And even though I know she doesn't mean he's actually
here,
just the idea of it makes me ache so much I can barely sit still. “He's not, though,” I say. “The
zemi
's gone.”

“
Almost
gone,” Eddy clarifies. She motions me over to the lamp. “Look closely,
querida.
In the right light, you can just barely see it.”

I get up and lean over the lamp. This close, the light's so bright it burns my eyes, but I force them open as wide as I can and stare at the map as Eddy slowly tilts it back and forth.

“I see it!” I gasp. It's the triangle face of the
zemi,
right where it always was, but so faint that I don't know if it's really there or if my eyes are playing tricks on me. Before I can be sure, Eddy sits back, pulling it out of the light.

“Just enough,” she says, “to help you find the thing you want most.”

I smile, understanding what she means. I dig into my purse and pull out the dry-erase pen, then take the map from Eddy. I pause, my pen poised over the map. What should I write? Carefully, I spell out “My dad's next gift.”

“Ow!” I shout as my shin hits something hard.

“Autumn?
Estas bien?
” Eddy asks, half rising from her chair.

That's weird. I'm still in Eddy's room, only I'm on the other side of her bed, next to the night table…which I think just gave me a nasty shin bruise. Immediately, I realize two things. First, whatever part of my dad is still in the
zemi
clearly lost its strength, because I didn't even make it out of the room. Second, for the first time ever, someone saw me travel by map.

Or did they? Eddy looks pretty nonchalant for someone who just saw the impossible.

“Eddy…did you just see me bounce across the room?”

“Sí,”
she says, like it's a perfectly normal thing to witness. “So what are you waiting for?
Mira!
”

She nods to the night-table drawer, urging me to look inside.

“Your night table?” I ask. “Do you have something in there for me?”

Eddy rolls her eyes. “Me? No. Reinaldo…”

She scurries over to me and nods meaningfully at the night table. I frown at her. Is she serious? If my dad's gift for me was there, wouldn't she know it?

Or am I crazy for thinking logically when I just beamed across the room like a sci-fi hero?

Yeah, probably that last one.

I open the drawer. The inside is completely empty except for a circular, slightly tarnished silver medallion, about the size of a roll of Scotch tape. A thick silver chain lies through a loop on its top.

An antique necklace?

I pick it up.

“Ah,” Eddy breathes next to me. “The
zemi.
Te quiero,
Reinaldo.”

Unexpected tears well in my eyes. The triangle-faced
zemi
is etched in deep, beautiful lines across the silver. I rub my thumb over the now-familiar face and imagine my father smiling through it.

“I wonder what it does,” I say.

“Open it,” Eddy advises, which is when I see a latch on one side of the medallion.

Is it a locket? Is there a picture inside? I imagine a shot of my dad and me together, maybe one of the ones from his phone that got lost in the accident. I eagerly press the latch and the locket snaps open.

Only it's not a locket. What's inside is an array of steampunkish open cogs that whirr and click and spin. On top of the cogs are four windows, one at the top and bottom of the locket and one on each side. The top window shows the number 10 in a blocky old-style font, the left window says “December,” the right “19,” and the bottom window…

I stop breathing and I nearly drop the medallion.

“Dios mio,”
Eddy says softly. She crosses herself, and I know she sees it too.

The windows show a date. The exact date my father died.

“Why would he give this to me?” I ask, my voice shaking. “I don't want it.”

Eddy pretends to spit on the ground. “
No.
You don't say that about a gift from the spirit world. If your father wants you to have this, there's a good reason.”

That's what she says, but she starts pacing around the room, muttering prayers in Spanish.

Still, she's right. My dad loves me. No part of his spirit would come back to torture me with the day he died. There has to be another reason he gave me this thing. He has to believe it'll help me bring peace and harmony to my little corner of the world.