Chasing Wishes (2 page)

"This way," he whispers, waving for me to follow him. Before I know what’s happening, I’m climbing behind him up the ivy. The vines are so old that they’re as thick as tree branches, but I’m still scared as I climb higher and higher up the wall. My heart pounds in my chest as I reach the third story windows, and I gasp in terror as a vine breaks free from the wall and shifts beneath my foot.

I won’t look down,
I tell myself.
I just won’t look down and I’ll be okay. I’ll stay right here and wait until I’m calm and then I’ll keep climbing. Just don’t look down!

I look down and start to panic.

"Give me your hand," Isaac whispers from above me. He’s already up on the roof, looking nervously down at me.

"I’m okay," I tell him, but my trembling voice gives me away. I’m scared as hell and I’m getting dizzy from vertigo.

"Nina,
give me your hand
," he repeats, and this time he’s not asking. His tone tells me that I’m giving him my hand and that’s that—it’s not open to debate.

I nod weakly, wipe my sweating palm on my T-shirt, and reach up toward him as I cling to the side of the house. He grabs my hand tightly, braces himself against the rain gutter with both feet, and pulls me up onto the roof beside him as if I weigh little more than feather.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I nod back and he leaps to his feet again, grabs me by the hand and drags me reluctantly behind him higher and higher up the roof. The wind is stronger than I expected up here; one false step and we’re both just obituaries in the morning paper.

"Come on, Neenie. We’re almost there!"

Step by step, foot by foot, we finally make it to the ridge of the roof and sit together with our backs against the chimney. The warm bricks are the perfect complement to the chilly autumn breeze coming off the lake. I lean back against the chimney and my brain starts to feel fuzzy as Isaac’s arm touches mine again.

"Well shit," he suddenly swears, and then he starts to laugh. "You’re going to hate me, Nina."

"What’s wrong?" I ask, rolling my eyes at him in the dark. Me, hate him? Yeah right.

"The cocoa’s in the kitchen," he whispers embarrassedly. "I’ll go back down and..."

"Are you crazy?" I interrupt him. "No way! You’re not making that climb again in the dark."

"You sure?" he asks, and I shake my head.

"Seriously, Isaac. I’m okay. How would you climb up the ivy with mugs, anyway?"

He sighs in relief and suddenly, I understand something new and amazing about him—something I’d never realized about him before. He’d promised me cocoa, and if I still wanted it, he was going to get it eve

I... I’m not that special. He shouldn’t do that for me.

...but it makes me so happy that he would.

"Look, Neenie!" he calls out, pointing up at the clear, starry sky above us. "I knew we could see the meteor shower from out here."

He’s right—the stars are bright and beautiful above us, and the tall trees block the pink glow of New Haven from sight. I curl up against the chimney and enjoy the warmth of the bricks—and the warmth of his body pressed softly against mine—as we stare up at the sky together.

There are no car horns out here, no people shouting, no strange men in the living room with my mother... why can’t I have this instead? I don’t want the house or that ridiculous conservatory—I just want the feeling that I’m safe, the feeling that things
can
work out and that there'll be a happy ending someday.

I don’t want to be Nina Torres anymore. I don’t want to grow up to be like my mother.

A shooting star flashes through the sky above us and Isaac excitedly points up at it.

"There it is, the first one of the night! Make a wish," he says, but I’m way ahead of him. I’ve been making my wish for years.

I wish that I didn’t have to be scared of Mom’s customers touching me or of stepping on her needles in the dark at night. I wish that the rest of the students at school didn’t hate me—that I didn’t get knots in my stomach on the school bus every morning.

I wish I didn’t have to go home after this. I wish I could stay here with Isaac forever.

Isaac stares silently up at the sky for a long time before looking back down at me, and for a moment, he almost looks scared.

"I wished for..." he starts, but I cut him off before he can finish.

"Don’t tell me your wish or it won’t come true!"

He inches closer and smiles awkwardly before saying anything. Suddenly I realize just how quickly my heart is racing. Why does being around him do this to me? I... no, I can’t let myself think like that. I can’t let myself think about things that can never happen between us.

"It can’t come true unless I tell you," he whispers, and before I can say anything else, he kisses me.

My arms somehow find their way around him as we snuggle up together against the warmth of the chimney, and all my fears fall away. God, this is wonderful! I’ve never felt like this before, and as Isaac presses his lips to mine again, I feel a tear trickle down my cheek. Another one follows it—then another—and soon he’s holding me close as I cry in his arms. Maybe it’s not so wonderful after all. Why am I crying?

"I wished I had the guts to tell you how much I love you," he whispers in my ear.

All I can do is cling to him, kissing him over and over as tears stream down my face. I can’t make heads or tails of my feelings right now. Am I miserable or overjoyed? Both? What the hell is going on inside my head?

I love him. I can never, ever have him, but I love him to death.

"I don’t gi hin’ve a shit what my mother thinks or what your mom’s like, Nina," he whispers, squeezing me so tightly that I feel as if I’m going to pop. "No matter what happens—no matter where life takes us—I’m going to find you. We’ll be together and I don’t care what anyone else says."

Maybe life has something to offer after all. Maybe I’m not really doomed to end up like Mom—a drug addict, a prostitute who steals from her own fucking daughter.

Deep down inside, though, I don’t really believe it.

I wish that I could believe him, but I just don't anymore. I wish I could believe in a happily ever after, but I’d only be setting myself up for disappointment. His mother would never accept me; I’d be nothing to her but her son’s bad decision.

Tonight, though, being with Isaac is everything I could possibly want. I lay in his arms on the roof all night long as we watch the stars fall down around us.

I wish I didn’t have to go home. I wish that I was someone else—someone with a future.

Wishes only come true when you’ve made the wrong wish.

I don’t know it yet, but tomorrow morning, Child Protective Services is finally going to pay my mother a visit.

I’m going into foster care far, far away, and I’m never going to see Isaac again.

"I’m still not sure about this," I whisper, and Clara Hartley, my new foster mother, pats me lightly on the shoulder as she sits beside me. I stare down at the form lying on the table in front of me. The big bold text at the top reads ‘Application for Change of Name (Adult for Minor), Form PC-901.’

"Nina," she explains again, "it’s really important. Your mother owed bad people a lot of money, and we have to make sure they don’t come try to find you."

"You can say ‘dealers’ around me, Mrs. Hartley," I say, glancing up at her. "I grew up there. Stop treating me like I’m a five-year-old."

"I’m sorry," she apologizes, leaning heavily on the table. "All my other fosters were very young. Old habits die hard, you know."

She’s trying hard to be nice to me, but I’m still on edge. I’ve lost my home, my school and my boyfriend, and even if I hated two out of three, my entire life’s still been turned upside down. Now, on top of everything else, she wants me to change my name.

"You can pick any name you like," she says, her voice low, warm and calm. "Just... it can’t be Nina Torres anymore. Maybe someday, but for now, we need to keep you safe."

"I’ll change my name if you let me talk to my boyfriend again."

God, I miss Isaac. I haven’t seen him since our last night on the roof together, since the night he kissed me. I still remember the feeling of his lips against mine, the feeling of his arms holding me close as we lay against the chimney.

The police officer sitting across from us shakes his head, and I sigh and close my eyes.

"I know this is very hard on you," whispers Mrs. Hartley, "but we have to do this. It’s just until the police have sorted everything out and we know you’re safe, okay? Everything will go back to st normal soon, I promise."

She’s trying to sound reassuring, but I can hear the real words hiding behind the lies. It’s
never
going to be okay, and when I sign that sheet of paper, my old life will disappear forever. She's going to drag me halfway across the state to wherever it was she lives—East Lyme, I think she said—and I'm never going to see Isaac again.

"You’re acting like I have a choice in this, but I really don’t, do I?" I whisper sadly.

"Not unless you want to be in a group home until we find a foster family who can take you outside the state," answers the officer. "It’s for Clara’s protection as well as yours, and we wouldn’t ask you to do this if we didn’t think it was necessary."

Clara leans over and gently hugs me, and I stiffen at her touch. I don’t know her, don’t trust her, and right now, I don’t even like her.

"You can think about it longer if you need to," she offers. "We can meet up again next week and see if—"

"Irene," I blurt out.

"What?" Clara asks, looking confused.

"My new name is Irene," I repeat. I’ve always liked the name, and it’ll go so well with his name if I ever see him again. Isaac and Irene...

"Irene Hartley it is, then," she says with a smile, and she fills in the blanks on the form and slides it back over to me again.

The petitioner, Nina Torres, seeks name change to "
Irene Hartley
" in order to match foster family’s surname. Furthermore, a petition to seal this name change record is filed on the basis of potential harassment from birth mother’s customers and creditors. The state hereby identifies that there is significant risk of interference in foster care program by previous family and grants said petition.

WHEREFORE, the petitioner(s) as indicated above, request(s) a change of name to...

I skim straight past the wall of dense legalese until I reach the signature box at the bottom of the page. My hand is shaking so much that I can barely hold the pen.

There it is... my old name signed onto the paper for the last time. Goodbye, Nina.

I’m never making a wish e
ver again.

"I
t's about time you showed up, Irene. The kids have been waiting for almost twenty minutes," the librarian Susan tells me as I race into the library lobby. I’m soaked from the pouring rain and completely out of breath from my sprint across the parking lot. It’s another beautiful autumn day outside—that is to say, completely miserable.

"I’m so sorry," I apologize. "I got held up at work. Boss problems again."

"Is Tyler still doing that?" whispers Susan, tossing me a towel from behind the desk as she twirls her long black hair between two fingers. "Is he still... you know?"

"Trying to get into my pants?"

"Not so loud!" she hisses at me, flushing with embarrassment as she points to the children’s section. "The kids welyerill hear you!"

I roll my eyes at the scandalized librarian. After my boss spent the last two hours making unwanted advances at me, the last thing I need is a lecture about propriety.

"To answer your question—yes, he is still doing that, and it’s really getting on my nerves."

"You really need to talk to someone about this," Susan tells me. "Harassment is illegal and you shouldn’t have to put up with it. Surely your HR department has someone you..."

We go through this conversation every time and I just don’t think she gets it. I’ve reported my manager’s lewd comments and wandering hands more times than I can count and HR has never done a thing. It’s his word against mine, and he’s the full-time employee. I’m the part-time cafeteria girl, so nobody at work gives a crap about me.

"I know, I know," I tell Susan to placate her. "I’m working on it. First thing first, though—I owe the kids a story. We can talk about this later."

I don’t want to talk about it later. I’m hoping she forgets so that I can forget. I’d rather not think about my boss trying to get me into his bed—I’d rather just keep my head down, do my job, and go home.