Her smile slipped a little. “Well, you certainly are creative, child. But I thought you were gonna be more careful.”
“I’m being real careful!” I promised. “I was straight-up with all of them. Told ’em if I can’t fetch their wishes, they don’t have to pay me. And I said I was still learning, so they’d have to be patient.” I dribbled more starlight into my dough. “You do think the wishes are strong enough to find Miz Tromp a man, don’t you?”
“Easy peasy,” Gram assured me.
“And Handyman Joe’s medal?” I asked.
“He’s probably already got it in hand.” She flumped down on one of the dining room chairs. “Ugh. I got as much get-up-and-go as a tortoise in a snowstorm.”
“Are you sick?” I asked.
“Just tired,” she replied. “Well, the bright side to those wish barters is nobody has to go without anything to get what they need. Handyman Joe gives a little time and gets rid of those spare parts he’s always got lying around. And Mabel Tromp’s extra vegetables might have gone to waste otherwise.” Gram fiddled with her glasses. “It does make you think about Travis, some. Poor boy.”
“What do you mean?” I opened the stove and touched a bit of starlight to the heating element. It glowed red.
“I guess life hasn’t been easy for him.”
“He doesn’t make himself easy to like,” I retorted. “He’s snarky with everyone except me, and there, he’s like something stuck to my shoes: unpleasant and hard to get away from.”
Gram shrugged. “I reckon he feels that way about himself, too.”
Truth to tell, I didn’t fully understand what she meant by that, so I moseyed on to a different topic.
“Where’s Pa?” I couldn’t help wondering, if I did manage to wish-trade a job for him, would he even bother to show up for it?
“Oh, I imagine he’s off somewhere being snarky or hard to get away from,” Gram replied.
I rolled my eyes. She was probably right.
Let me tell you, that next Monday, the stars really started showing off.
A noise woke me early that morning—a banging sound that, at first, I feared was Pa on some kind of rampage. I put on my robe and rushed outside, index finger all poised to preach, but what I found was Gram standing on the porch, hands on her hips, smiling away as she watched Handyman Joe replace some time-and-termite-eaten boards on the side of our house.
Joe looked up from his work. “Well, if it isn’t Genuine Sweet, genuine wish fetcher. You know what? My daddy’s medal turned up last night.”
“It did?” My belly fluttered with the excitement of it. “Where?”
“My sister found it under the cushion of an old sofa I gave her some years back,” he replied. “She drove all the way from Ardenville to bring it to me. Said she had the strongest sense I might like to have it. Ha! That’s some knack you ladies have.” He nodded my way and tilted his head respectfully in Gram’s direction, too.
Also on the porch that morning was a basket of three dozen eggs! A note tucked inside it read:
Miss Genuine,
A detour sent me past the Beaks Chicken Ranch yesterday. There was a sign by the road: “Free hen houses—U haul ’em.” Mr. Beaks is trading it all in for a hacienda in Mexico! Bless you, Genuine. Your eggs are free for as long as I have hens.
—Caroline Snopes
Gram and I had fried eggs over miracle-flour toast that morning. No breakfast ever tasted so good!
Then, at school that day, we had pizza for lunch! I don’t mean the soggy, soy-cheese variety we knew so well. The real, delivery kind, all the way from Pitney! Missus Forks told us the cafeteria oven had breathed its last, so we’d be eating takeout till the replacement came in! Between delicious bites, Jura told me she was working on the perfect plan for saving the world.
“Anytime you’re ready,” she told me. “How are things going with the barter?”
I told her all about my barter buddies, the eggs, and the repairs on the house.
“Yes!” She shot a fist into the air. “Genuine, I am so glad! I’ve been lying awake nights, worrying about you being hungry and cold.”
“You have?”
Jura’s brow wrinkled. “You sound surprised!”
“Well, it’s awful nice of you, but I guess I wonder why.”
“Why worry about you? That’s a silly question. Because we’re friends!”
Of course, I already knew that. But hearing it from Jura’s own mouth, it warmed my heart—and gave me a certain pride. Down-home Genuine Sweet and fancy city-girl Jura Carver. Friends. Wasn’t that a peach?
Now that the stars were doing their thing, I reckoned I could stop worrying about wish management for a while. I decided to use my study period to ready myself for our Macbeth test.
While I was reading—real absorbed, you know what I mean? When everything but the story disappears?—something bumped up against my elbow. It took me a minute to come out of my book, and by the time I looked around, no one was there. But sitting on the edge of my desk was a fine piece of chocolate wrapped in gold paper, with a note on it. It said, I think you’re sweet.
There was no signature, but it had to be from Sonny! Who else could it be? I’m sure my grin was about as dopey as a smile can be, but I couldn’t help it. I squirreled the candy away in my pocket.
Later on, I tried to catch Sonny’s eye to thank him, but he never seemed to look my way. I figured he was feeling shy. That was all right. I had proof of his esteem right there on my person.
But that wasn’t the end of my mighty right day. Gram’s glasses got mended without even having to trade a wish for it! Who would have known Mister Barker used to work for the Ardenville Eyeglassery? He happened to see how off-kilter Gram’s frames were and fixed her right up. When I offered him a wish as payment, he said, “Don’t talk bolliwog, Genuine. It weren’t nothing at all.”
Sometimes life just goes your way.
That night I told Jura I was ready to get started saving the world.
7
The Infinite Biscuit Theory