Wish Upon a Star

Chapter I

Chapter I

I carefully place the book back on the shelf, careful not to bend the cover or any of the pages. I don't see why I bother, I could easily just wish the book back to mint condition later. I had just reread it for about the seventh time and was still recovering. No matter how many times I read the damn thing, I'm never prepared for Gus's death. But I suppose that's the thing about rereading. With each read, you can bring a character back to life, but with each new life, comes a new death.

And then my alarm clock rings and I'm supposed to wake up. I can already hear the pops of wishes coming true on the floors above and below me. But instead of wishing myself in front of the fridge, or my breakfast to my bed or whatever, I get up and go rifle through the freezer for some waffles.

I grab a bottle of water and rush out the door, hoping to make it to work on time. That's a big rule, we're not allowed to wish ourselves money. I check my watch about halfway down my street and nearly swear aloud. I sigh and wish myself to the door of the old bookshop.

The bookstores here aren't very exciting. Nearly all of the books are rule books, or boring biographies or encyclopedias or whatever. The only fiction books are extremely boring. I suppose I understand the Council of Nobles's reasoning. If I were the supreme governing force of a world where people's wishes came true, I wouldn't want children reading books like Percy Jackson and then wishing that they could fight evil Greek mythological villains.

I think one of the major reasons that I love it here is because books give me comfort. The smell of them, the feel of them, everything about books just seems to calm me down.

About two and a half hours into my shift, I hear the little bell at the front of the store ding, meaning that someone's in the store. I panic, thinking it might be my boss, shove my phone in my pocket, and hastily step out from my hiding place between the bookcases containing respectively two copies of the 39 volume set of the Complete Book of Council Rules and several dozen copies of Ideas for the Wishful Thinker.

"Hello! How may I-" My cheerful greeting dies in my mouth when I see who it is. "What the hell are you doing here?" I ask Paul, my ex-boyfriend. "Now, now, Del. Don't-" "Never call me that." I tell him angrily. "Sheesh! You don't even know-" "I know enough." I am fuming. How dare he come back into my life, even for a moment?

"Now what do you want?" Still, he is a customer. "You." He replies, trying to wrap his arms around my waist. I take several steps away. "That's it. I have a right to refuse service to anyone, so fuck off." He sighs. "I do so wish-" "Don't you dare." I interrupt him, backing away. "-that you'd listen to me." And suddenly I cannot help but hang onto his every filthy lie of a word.

•••

"... And so you see, I didn't mean to get with her. I was drunk, and she was drunk, and you were on vacation, and it just... happened." Despite the fact that I had to listen to him, I didn't have to agree. Not yet, anyway. "Fuck you. That is a fucking lie. I talked to that girl, and she told me that you had gone out several times before that, and that she had no idea that I even existed, so fuck off." I didn't normally swear like this, but Paul pissed me off so bad.

"You haven't heard me out." "I don't fucking care!" I yell, throwing my hands in the air in exasperation. "I know. But you still have to listen." "Bastard." I muttered under my breath.

"Anyways, I didn't know you had come back from vacation. It's not my fault you walked in on us-" "Holy crap, okay, enough. It's not my fault I walked in on you and some other girl screwing in my apartment? That is the worst excuse I have ever heard in my entire nineteen years of existence." "You're eighteen." Paul interrupted. "I know. But when I was zero, that counts as a year." "Hm. I guess so."

"Anyways!" I shake myself out of the relatively civil conversation I'd been having with Paul, "You have to get the fuck out of this store right now before the boss shows up and I lose my job." I made that excuse up on the spot, and I'm an awful liar and can tell he doesn't buy it.

"Come on Delilah. I wish you'd just come sit with me." Against my will, my feet bring me over to sit on the floor next to him. Well, he's not the only one can play dirty. "I wish you'd get out." I murmur. And he got up and left. I hate using wishes to deal with my problem, but Paul just... ugh. And I think the worst part is that I actually used to care about him. The bastard.

The bell rings again. "Paul. Get. Out." But it's not Paul. It's a 12-year-old boy. I know this because he has a sign taped to his shirt reading 'I'm Matt. I'm a homeless twelve-year-old boy. Help me out?' He's filthy, his clothes too small, his feet bare and black with dirt and dust. And when I see him, my heart melts instantly.

"Hi. Can you help me?" He asks in a small, defeated voice. "Sure." I say. I pull my wallet out of my pocket and take out a ten dollar bill. I give it to him and he stares at it like it's the meaning of life. "Thank you!" He says. "You want to stay here until my shift is over? It's supposed to rain." I ask him. "Okay!" His eyes are gleaming and he's looking at me like I'm Jesus.

I go and find the most exciting book I can think of (that's in here anyways) which happens to be a copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone that I brought once and left here in case of extreme boredom. I hid it behind volumes 12, 13 and 14 of the Complete Set of Council Rules. I give it to him, and he looks at it in confusion. "I've never seen this book in here before." He says. "It's one of mine." I tell him, and he shrugs and goes to sit on the old overstuffed armchair in the corner.

He finishes the book right when my shift is over three hours later. "I want to find out what happens next." He tells me. "Okay. I'll take you to my place. You can stay over if you want. I have an extra room." I tell him. "For real?" He asks. I nod. "Okay!" He says brightly. We walk back to my apartment.

When we get there, I give him a dinner of slightly burnt pizza I got out of the freezer. He acts like it's a five star meal. I wonder what this sweet kid has been put through. I pull the entire Harry Potter series down from my shelf (I have two copies of Philosopher's Stone) and bring it to the guest room, where I carefully set the books down on the dresser. I send him to take a shower while I wash his clothes.

Once he's asleep I pull out my notebook of Things I May Need When I Become An Author and flip to the pages on character names. I scribble the words Matt Stone (I don't think that's the real Matt's surname but I think I like how it sounds). Then I jump into bed and try to sleep without thinking of the boy sleeping a few rooms over.