The Wish Stealers (11 page)

Suddenly Grandma Penshine couldn’t stop coughing.
Hacking. Gasping for air. Her fragile chest heaved for breath.

“Grandma!” shouted Griffin.

Her grandma coughed until her chest looked like it might collapse. “Grandma!” shrieked Griffin, and she ran to grab a glass of water.

Nothing happens unless first a dream.

—Carl Sandburg

F
irst thing Monday morning Griffin slumped down the school hallway. Shadows and bags hung under her eyes. All weekend she’d worried about her grandma. Her coughing attack had been so severe she’d had to lie down and cancel their lesson.
I wish for Grandma Penshine to get well soon
rattled through Griffin’s head. Right before school, she slipped the “change the world” penny into her shoe. She figured so much in her world needed changing. Including herself.

“Griffin, did you hear?” said Libby, running up to her.

“Hear what?”

“At Samantha’s party! Her dad bought paintball guns as
a surprise so everyone could play in their huge backyard, but the paint cartridges overheated and exploded—a giant paint bomb splattered everywhere!”

Every hair on Griffin’s arms stood up. “Really?” she said, bug-eyed.
Did I wish that?
she thought.
A paint bomb!

“Hey, Griffin! Hi, Libby,” said Garrett, coming up to them.

“Hi, Garrett,” said Griffin.

“How was Samantha’s party? Did you go?” said Libby.

“Yeah, she and some girls came to my house and practically dragged me to the party. Then her parents freaked when paintballs exploded and grafittied their lawn furniture. All the food was ruined and everyone just went home covered in paint. I had to take, like, three showers to get the paint off.”

Griffin stared.

“Wow!” said Libby.

Griffin’s heart plummeted. Had her wish caused the paint to explode on all the kids? Were tendrils of darkness overtaking her, winding their way around her soul as she stood there?
I need to work faster, try harder, and return these wishes,
she thought.

“Griffin?” said Libby and Garrett at the same time. Her face had turned white.

“Yeah, sorry. I spaced,” she said.

“Bye. See you at lunch,” Libby said, running off.

“Bye,” she said. “Garrett, do you still want to do our project on alchemy and the Pennies for the Planet fund-raiser I texted you about?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“We have to ask Mr. Blackwell at lunch. He’s the science coordinator and has to give final approval for all the projects at science night.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Meet you in the teacher’s section of the cafeteria,” she said.

“Cool,” he said, walking off.

Griffin did not notice Samantha in a velvet minidress and knee-high crisscross fur boots lurking by the lockers. “Lunch date?” snarled Samantha.

“It’s for the science project, Samantha,” said Griffin, willing herself not to wish anything bad on her.

“The one you’re going to bomb?” taunted Samantha.

Griffin thought of her grandma. “Our project is gonna rock,” said Griffin, and she walked away.

At the start of lunch period Garrett, eating a bag of Fritos, was hovering by the water fountain. “Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” said Griffin.

“Fritos really make you thirsty,” he said. “You want some? They’re way better than school lunch!”

Griffin smiled. “No, thanks.”

Garrett crunched harder.

Walking over to the teachers’ table, Garrett wiped his greasy Fritos hands on his pants. He smelled like a giant corn chip.

“Excuse me, Mr. Blackwell?” said Griffin.

Mr. Blackwell turned to face them. Gooey crumbs stuck to his mustache. “Yes? Is this important enough to disturb my lunch?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Griffin, “but Mr. Luckner said we had to get your approval for our science night project. We wanted to do our report on the alchemists and their contributions to modern-day science. We also wanted to do a fund-raiser that would turn pennies into gold—kinda like the alchemists. A charity called Pennies for the Planet helps kids collect tons of pennies and uses them to stop the destruction of the Amazon rain forest.”

Still chewing his food, Mr. Blackwell looked at them. “Do you two really think
pennies
will help save the Amazon rain forest? It’s not worth your effort.”

Suddenly Griffin felt the “change the world” penny in
her shoe start to burn. “We thought we’d try,” she said.

“Actually, my rock band volunteered to play at science night as free entertainment to try to get donations for the planet.”

“Really?” said Griffin, looking at Garrett.

“Yeah, my band is awesome. We could totally raise money!”

Food dribbled on Mr. Blackwell’s tie. “I had a band once. Every kid thinks he can be in a band. But ninety-nine percent of bands fail. No one shows up to rehearse. Everyone wants it his own way. How long have you had this band of yours, Mr. Forester?”

“Since last summer,” said Garrett.

“You’ll see.”

Griffin reached for her shoe. The sole of her foot was on fire. She took out the labeled penny, and it burned her palm. “Actually, Garrett’s band is amazing. They’re really talented,” she said, even though she had never heard them. “Plus, we already have our first donation: a lucky penny that is worth much more than one cent.” She held out her palm, revealing a coin that shot light like a laser.

Mr. Blackwell read the label stuck on the penny, and said, “A little penny to
change the world
. How sweet. Are you two
numismatists
now?”

“What?” said Garrett and Griffin at the same time.

“A new-miss-ma-tist, kiddos. A coin collector of rare and special coins. Look at that! An 1872 Indian Head penny!” His eyebrows scrunched together.

The coin was on fire, shining streaks of light on the cafeteria ceiling.

Walking toward the table, Mr. Reasoner, the metalworks teacher, said, “What is that beautiful radiance? Flash anything shiny at a fish or a metalworks teacher, and both will get lured right in!”

He stooped over and examined the penny in Griffin’s hand. “I know an awful lot about coins. Any kind of metal is my specialty. A 1872 Indian Head penny! What a lovely label.” Mr. Reasoner sighed and said, “I certainly do wish we could change the world!”

“What’s so great about an 1872 Indian Head penny?” asked Garrett.

“Most old pennies aren’t worth much, usually one cent or maybe a few dollars. If you’re
really
fortunate, every once in a while, you might find an old penny worth ten dollars. If a penny is unpolished and hasn’t been touched for hundreds of years, it can actually be worth thousands of dollars, but this penny is probably worth about a hundred and fifty dollars.”

“A hundred and fifty dollars!” said Mr. Blackwell, Garrett, and Griffin in unison.

“That’s a great start for our fund-raiser!” said Griffin.

“Maybe you’d like me to keep it safe for you?” said Mr. Blackwell. He reached to scoop the penny out of Griffin’s hand, but his fingers accidently flicked it instead. A burst of copper shot though the air and landed in the custodian’s dirty mop bucket nearby.

SPLASH!
sang out, and the penny sank to the bottom of the dark swirling pail. Water swooshed up at the custodian, Mr. Newoski. “Was that a rocket? I was almost blinded!” said the janitor, wiping his eyes.

Garrett and Griffin rushed toward Mr. Newoski. “Are you okay?”

“Yup. I didn’t know I’d have to watch for missiles while I mopped!”

Mr. Reasoner and Mr. Blackwell gathered around the container. The mop bucket slopped filthy water everywhere. A sneer seeped out of Mr. Blackwell as he peered into the black bucket. “Well, better get your penny, kids.”

Griffin glared at him. “Can we do our project or not?”

“Go right ahead. Let the band play!” He went back to his table. “But don’t be disappointed with the results. Being realistic is important.”

Mr. Reasoner turned toward the janitor. “Mr. Newoski, there is a valuable penny in this bucket. Do you think we can dump the water so that the kids can get back their coin?”

“Not a problem,” he said, plunging his hand straight into the bucket. After fishing on the bottom for the penny for a few seconds, he grabbed it and wiped it dry on his rag. “Little dirt never hurt anybody!” He placed the penny in Griffin’s hand. It was now even more spectacular, immaculately clean from the detergent.

“Come by the metal shop at afternoon recess, Griffin,” said Mr. Reasoner. “I can give you an empty ring box to keep your penny in.”

“Thanks, Mr. Reasoner,” she said as she tucked the penny into her pocket.

Garrett and Griffin walked back to the kids’ side of the cafeteria. Griffin said, “So you’ll play at science night?”

“Yeah. We’re great. We’re rehearsing tomorrow in my garage. You wanna hear us? Bring your bass so I can hear it. I’m gonna tell the guys we should rename our band the Alchemists.”

“What’s your band’s name now?”

“Five Cool Guys,” he said.

She laughed. “I thought we could work on our project tomorrow.”

“We already worked on it Friday,” said Garrett.

“Yeah,
once
. We have so much more to do,” reminded Griffin.

“Fine,” said Garrett. “Come to my house tomorrow and see my band, and we’ll work after. I’ll talk to my friends about the rock concert.”

“What rock concert?” she said.

“For the planet,” he said.

“Oh, yeah, cool,” said Griffin. She hoped his band was good.

At the start of recess Griffin headed to Mr. Reasoner’s huge metal shop.

“Hello. Come in, Griffin,” he said. “I have this box that will be perfect for your penny. What’s this I hear about a fund-raiser?”

“It’s for science night. We’re collecting pennies for Pennies for the Planet to help save the Amazon rain forest,” she said.

“Count me in. I have two huge mayonnaise jars of pennies that I’ve been waiting to donate to a good cause.”

A boy with a goofy grin, reddish hair parted down the middle, and a sprinkling of freckles all over his face was working in the back of the metal shop. He listened to every word. Griffin noticed him eavesdropping but didn’t think anything of it.

Keep away from people who try to belittle your
ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really
great make you feel that you, too, can become great.

—Mark Twain