A Little Bit of Spectacular by Gin Phillips

Author:Gin Phillips
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2015-04-19T16:00:00+00:00

“I don’t know,” said Amelia, when I’d called her over. “A star? It’s not too hard to find a drawing of a star.”

“You think it’s a coincidence?” I asked. “‘Our home is in the stars?’”

“Yes, I do think it’s a coincidence. Otherwise, oh, the American flag might also be a clue. Or those little glow-in-the-dark designs you stick on your ceiling. Stars are everywhere.”

I didn’t agree, but I didn’t have a good argument. I’d already circled all the other trees, and the rest of the carvings had been faded and shallow. Not like this sharp, clear star. I ran my fingertips over the wood, feeling each line of the star. The wood was rough, and sandy bits stuck to my fingers. When I raised my hands to my mouth to blow off the wood dust, my skin smelled like a forest.

“It’s the only new carving here,” I said.

“Right,” said Amelia. “But it could have been done by anybody. I don’t mean to be rude, but you might be seeing what you want to see. You might want this too bad.”

I wanted a lot of things.

“Maybe,” I said.

“Is this what you want most of all?” she asked, eyes sharp and focused. “Is this what you would wish for if you could wish for anything? To find out about Plantagenet?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think so.”

“Then what is it? And don’t say coffee this time.”

I frowned. Amelia could be a little repetitive sometimes. Frogs, frogs, frogs, frogs. Wishes, wishes, wishes.

“Why do you care?” I asked.

“Because I’m curious,” she said, like it was obvious. “Why does anyone ask anything?”

That made me smile. Any annoyance sort of drifted away. Because, honestly, Amelia was possibly the most curious person I’d ever met.

“To be back home in Charleston, I guess,” I said. “That would be my wish.”

She studied me with her scientist face, narrowing her eyes and cocking her head. “No way,” she said.

I started to argue with her, irritated that she’d ask for my wish and then tell me I’d named the wrong one. It’s not like you could measure the truthfulness of wishes, like she could keep track of my facts and figures like she kept track of her frogs.

“Look,” I said, “that was . . .”

She was already turning away, pointing at her mother, who was gesturing for us to come back to the car.

“Hey, I still haven’t seen that cool wall at Trattoria Centrale,” Amelia said. “Will you show it to me? Before we take you home?”

I could have argued with her about wishes. Or I could go get a tasty cup of coffee and enjoy showing a friend—a brand-new friend—my favorite place in town. I was prepared to let the wish thing slide.

By the time we got to Trattoria, I really had to pee. For the first time in I couldn’t remember how long, I actually needed to go to the bathroom for a reason other than staring at the walls. I was in such a hurry that I didn’t even look at the purple writing when I first came in.

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