Autumn Falls (9 page)

I don’t know if it was dyslexia or a Freudian slip or a combination of both, but what I
actually
wrote was this:

That’s graphic.

And specific.

And very eerily accurate.

I flip back to the beginning of my journal. I’m not really looking for anything. There’s nothing to find. I’m just curious.

My first entry ended with
I wish just one thing could be easy
.

That’s hardly eerie
or
specific. I remember I did have that very easy French quiz a couple days later, but connecting that to a wish for one easy thing is a stretch.

I flip through more journal pages. I remember I wrote a bunch of entries without doing the “I wish” thing, until I wrote

My heart stops.

That was just yesterday. And last night Reenzie posted the picture of me on the portal.

My heart’s going again, but double time. I flip through more pages to the end of the entry I wrote just this morning, after meeting with Mrs. Dorio.

What happened after that? I got the letter reminding me about ADAPT, where I got to hang out with Sean.

And then my most recent wish—that Reenzie eat it in a pile of excrement.

I don’t realize I’m not breathing until I finally do, and the air sucks in with a long, jagged gasp.

This is why Eddy told me the journal could change my life.

It’s a
freaking magic wish-granting journal
.

I have a magic wish-granting journal. I can make anything happen.

My dad
left
me a magic wish-granting journal. He
wanted
me to have the power to make anything happen.

Anything.

I pick up the pen. It shakes in my hand. I have to be very
careful. These are the most important words I’ll ever write.

Dear Dad,

Shoot. The tears. I can’t cry. I have to write. Deep breath. Okay.

I sit back and look at the words.

I’m trembling.

What now?

I strain to hear anything. Footsteps. A door opening. Nothing.

This is crazy. I can’t sit here all night and wait for something to happen. I’ll lose my mind.

I force myself to act like everything’s normal. I get ready for bed. I pretend I’m not straining for every click, every swish, every creak, every sound. I crawl under the covers and close my eyes, but they dart around behind my lids.

My stupid brain buzzes unhelpfully with scenes from this stupid horror movie Jenna made me watch with her last summer, but eventually I fall asleep.

I wake up to the sound of my father’s voice.

“Autumn! Erick! Get your butts down here!”

I bolt awake in a cold sweat, but for a swimmy second I can’t imagine why.

“Kids?” Dad calls.

Holy crap.

I jump out of bed, throw open my bedroom door, and race downstairs.

“Dad!” I shout. “Dad!”

I fly into the living room, my heart practically bursting out of my chest … and freeze.

Mom and Erick are sitting on the couch with Schmidt sprawled across their laps.

“Look what I’ve got!” Dad says … on the TV. Schmidt’s in his arms, but he’s just a puppy. I hear Erick and me screaming, then the image spins and it’s us on the TV, only Erick’s eight and I’m twelve. We run to Dad and he laughs as Schmidt tries to leap out of his arms to get to us.

My face burns and my throat is raw with disappointment. I want to cry. I want to beat my head against the wall for being such an idiot. Instead I say as casually as possible, “You’re watching the Schmidt video.” Every year Erick watches that video on the anniversary of our getting Schmidt. I can’t believe I thought it was really Dad back from the dead.

They don’t answer. Mom looks worried, and Erick’s staring at me like I’m a car wreck on the side of the road. The disappointment that washes over me is so great I’m not sure I can stand up any longer. I crouch down and give Schmidt a good scratch. “Happy anniversary, pup.” I clear my throat. “Could you get me some grapes to bring for lunch?” I ask Mom. “I’m going to go get ready for school.”

When I get back to my room I flip through the journal again, and each “wish” I read gets me angrier. How could I have possibly thought the journal was magic? Every single wish can be explained away. Reenzie would have posted the picture of me whether I wished her to or not. ADAPT with Sean was already scheduled, and he was already in it before I even wrote the journal entry. The dog crap thing, yes, that’s a weird coincidence, but weird coincidences happen.

Erick’s already left for the bus stop by the time I get downstairs. Mom’s at the kitchen table reading the newspaper, but she lowers it the second I come in. I know she wants to talk, and it’s great that she’s there for me and all, but what am I going to do, tell her I’m upset because
I thought I’d brought Dad back from the dead and I hadn’t? She’d have me in a psychologist’s office within the hour.

“Hi, Mom.”

Best to act normal. Normal and busy. No time to stop and talk. I grab a bottle of orange juice and rummage through the pantry and find a granola bar for breakfast.

“Bye, Mom,” I call as I head for the door.

“Autumn, please wait.” She walks over to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “This morning … are you okay?”

Part of me really wants to tell her. I want her to comfort me and maybe help me feel okay, but there’s no way. I’m surprised when the words come tumbling out.

“It was a dream,” I say thickly. “I dreamed it never happened, and we’d all moved down here together. It felt so real. And you know how sometimes you wake up and you’re still fuzzy and half dreaming? And then I heard his voice, and—”

I can’t say any more because I’m starting to cry. Mom pulls me close for a hug, and this time it doesn’t matter that she’s shorter than I am because for a minute I feel like the smaller one and it feels good.

“I’ve had those dreams,” she says, her own eyes welling up. “Waking up from them is always hard.”

I let her hold me a little longer. I may not have told her the exact truth, but the feelings were true, and saying them out loud helped. By the time I say good-bye and head to school I’m much more sane about the whole thing.

“Dirt Cadets … Addict Rest … Dead Strict …”

I’m walking with J.J., and he’s making no sense whatsoever.

“What are you talking about?” I ask moodily.

“Those are anagrams for ‘distracted,’ ” he says. “What’s up?”

He’s right. I’ve said next to nothing our whole walk. I keep wrestling with the journal thing. One second I’m positive all the wishes coming true were pure coincidence, the next I’m wondering all over again. Sure, it didn’t bring back my dad, but resurrection’s a pretty tall order.

“You’re a logical guy, right?” I finally ask J.J.

“I have my Vulcan moments,” he says.

“I have no idea what that means.”

He sighs. “Yes, I’m a logical guy.”

“Do you believe in anything supernatural?” I ask.

“Nope.”

“That was a pretty quick answer,” I say.

“It’s a pretty easy question. Why do you ask?”

“My grandmother,” I tell him. Sort-of-truth seems to be working for me today. “She’s into a lot of spiritual premonitions and life-after-death kinds of things. Weird stuff, but she makes it sound possible, you know?”

“Not really,” J.J. says. “I mean, I get that some people believe it, and I don’t hold it against them or anything. I’m just more of a debunker.”

I drop the subject, at least out loud. I talk to J.J. on autopilot until we get to school. Amalita’s already there, pacing in front of my locker.

“Dios mío!”
she screams when she sees me. “Do you not check your texts?”

I hadn’t this morning. I pull out my phone and see one from Amalita:

I nod. “Oh, now I understand … absolutely nothing.”

“Do you watch
Pop Idol
?” she asks.

“No. My mom and brother love it,” I say, “but I’m not into it.”

“Me neither. But I
do
follow Kyler Leeds on Twitter, and this morning he announced a contest: Night of Dreams with Kyler Leeds!”

She does a dance to music in her own head, then stops, clearly beside herself at my lack of movement. “Why are you not dancing? This is huge. You watch
Pop Idol
, you go to the Night of Dreams website and answer a question about the show, and you’re entered to win, for you and a friend, an actual
night of dreams with Kyler Leeds
!”

“Hence the name of the contest,” I say.

“How are you not excited about this?
Pop Idol
is on tonight. Come over and we’ll watch it together and enter.”

I shake my head. “I hate TV talent shows.”

“It’s not about the show, it’s about Kyler Leeds!” Amalita
insists. Then her expression changes, and she looks me up and down.

“What?” I ask. “Is there something wrong with my clothes?”

“Entiendo,”
she says. “You’re not a real Kyler Leeds fan.”

Now she’s gone too far. “That’s insane,” I say. “I’m a
huge
Kyler Leeds fan. Last year I made my mom drive me four hours to get tickets to one of his shows because the Baltimore one was sold out.”

“You’ll do that and you won’t watch a stupid TV show?”

“There’s no point,” I say. “The entire universe will enter that contest.” I see J.J. coming back from his locker, Jack at his side. “Logical Man,” I call to him, “what exactly are the chances that either Amalita or I would win a random drawing to meet Kyler Leeds?”

“Seriously?” Jack laughs. “Is this the Night of Dreams thing? My sister was freaking out about that this morning. She’s
twelve
,” he adds pointedly.

“Kyler appeals to women of all ages,” Amalita says, a dreamy expression coming over her face. “Twelve, twenty … anyone with good taste.”

J.J. looks unimpressed. “Well, that’s why the odds are not in your favor. Every girl in America’s going to be entering this thing. You’ve got, like, a none-in-a-zillion chance.”

“None in a zillion,” I repeat to Amalita. “Not worth bothering.”

Sean’s already at a desk when I get to homeroom. He
catches my eye and smiles, but I end up in a seat in the front row, so I don’t know if he looks my way during the period, and he’s out the door before me. I don’t expect to see him in the hall, but he’s there with Reenzie and Zach. Reenzie’s babbling about something, but when Sean sees me he cuts her off and falls into step next to me.

Reenzie’s nostrils flare like a bull’s as she witnesses this. It’s not an attractive look for her, but given the cause, I very much hope I get to see it more often.

“So I feel bad I had to un-ask you to hang out yesterday,” Sean says as we move down the hall.

“Un-ask?”

“Dis-ask?” he suggests.

“Un-ask’s good,” I say. “And it’s okay. Extenuating circumstances.”

“Very. How about this afternoon? Would you be up for watching practice again and then …” He trails off.

“Sure,” I say. “That’d be great.”

“Cool.”

We’ve already walked past his next class, so he turns and heads back the other way.

“Oh, wait,” he says.

I turn around and he digs in his pocket. “Here.”

He hands me a quarter. I don’t get it.

“Now when I see you I can ask for my quarter back. Did I mention I play quarterback?” He smiles in a knowing way that makes me melt inside, then heads down to class.

I squeeze the quarter and grin. One afternoon together and Sean and I already have an inside joke.

I’m in the middle of French class conjugating verbs in the pluperfect tense when I realize something. Sean and I have an in-joke not because we had ADAPT together, but because we hung out
after
ADAPT. We were both scheduled for ADAPT long before I wished for time alone with him, but the hang-out happened
after
the wish. Or to use the pluperfect tense, I
had wished
to hang out with Sean when he asked me to come with him on a walk.